Rich Mrs Griffin (standard:horror, 1370 words)
Author: Lev821	Added: Jul 27 2013	Views/Reads: 3067/1840	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
When you brag about your riches, don't be surprised when someone comes knocking.

The Citroen relay van pulled up outside a white-painted semi-detached
house, outside a flaking yellow wooden gate, and the driver glared at 
the passenger. “Right, this is it. You better hadn't screw this up” 
“Look, I know, you've been over and over this” “Well, I need you to get 
it right. She musn't suspect a thing.” “I know what to do, let's just 
do it”. “Oi, don't be over eager. That's why you teenagers get criminal 
records. You think you know it all, and what happens? you get caught 
don't you? get bloody tagged like animals and it serves you right as 
well. I've got no sympathy. Always have to learn the hard way. I was 
the same when I was your age, thought I was the business, thought I 
knew it all. Well guess what? it turns out you don't know everything, 
and when you're my age you'll look back and say, you know what! Sharpie 
was right. I wish I'd taken his advice”. “Advice? What advice? How to 
rip off the benefits system. How to con old men out of their 
life-savings. What a role model you are, and what are we doing here? Oh 
yes, stealing an old lady's valuables” “Sorry, didn't you volunteer for 
this? Won't be complaining if we come out with a fortune will you?” The 
youth was quiet for a few seconds then said: “Well go on then,” The 
older man smiled, and got out of the vehicle. 

Wayne Dougherty was 17, and was on an unstable fine line between crime
and going straight. He was thin, and most of the time wore tracksuits 
of the more expensive range. 

Neal Sharpe, who was 46 had found himself a kind of mentor to him,
himself on the criminal side of the line, having had dalliances with 
the police before. The temptation to steal was just too much, and it 
had paid well. Yet, he was never quite satisfied. There were things 
even out of his reach which made him nothing more than a petty 
miscreant without the intelligence to make it as a gangster. 

A gangster needs brains to stay out of jail. Neal deluded himself by
thinking he was something more than he was, his ego fed by his 
successes, his rolex watch and gold necklace. 

“Do I look the part?” he said, standing on the pavement in a navy blue
overall with a low slung utility belt, tools protruding from it. “Bang 
on,” said Wayne, sarcastically, “A proper plumber. You can come round 
to mine and fix my taps anytime” “It'll cost you” Neal said, walking 
across to the gate. 

He was soon ringing the doorbell, false identification knocked up in
photoshop in hand. 

A few moments later, the door was answered by a woman who looked to be
in her late 50s, early sixties. They only opened it a few inches, 
peering out with apprehension. “Sorry to bother you,” he said. “I'm 
Derek Hall, plumber”, He showed her the ID, but only for around two 
seconds. He didn't want her to look too closely at it. “There've been a 
lot of leaks lately in this area. We've had several complaints and some 
have had their water cut-off. I need to check your taps and pipes to 
make sure you're not at risk. I need to know if they're strong enough, 
that they're not going to burst at any moment, and while I'm here I'll 
just tighten them, free of charge. I'm doing to the whole area. Can I 
just come in? I'll only be five minutes?” “No,” she said, “The water's 
fine” “I need to check,” “The water's fine,” she repeated. “Sorry, but 
I need to check them by law”. The woman was silent for a few moments, 
then opened the door, and Neal stepped inside. 

In the van, with one foot on the dashboard, Wayne couldn't see the house
because of a high privet hedge. The house which was supposed to contain 
riches because of  Mrs Griffins flamboyancy, flaunting her wealth 
around the small town, arrogant in manner, gaining a reputation, a 
reputation that had filtered down to small-time criminals who could not 
resist the lure of wealth. 

After a few minutes, Neal was on his hands and knees in the kitchen
beneath the sink, staring at the pipes. "Yes", he said, “These could do 
with tightening. The tool I need is in the van. I'll just be two 
seconds,” he said, standing up. She just smiled at him as he went back 
out into the hallway. He was soon opening the drivers side door of the 
van. His voice was lower in the off-chance she heard him. “Come on 
you,” he said gesturing for Wayne to get out, which he did. He picked 
up a wrench from the dash-board. 



Click here to read the rest of this story (59 more lines)