four alarm fire // matty healy

THAT BITCH

It was almost dusk when we sat on the bench in the Tescos lot. It was a different Tescos than last time. This one was a 15 minute drive away from the last one. We got a tip that cops were setting up bait cars in that lot.

Not worth our time.

And then we saw him, football dad. No kids with him, but he had the biggest van. Seven passengers, I guessed. Isaac guessed it was manufactured in 1999, which meant there was a good chance of the car having a steering column I can work with. Football Dad ran his jersey'd arse up to the entrance of the store and then clicked the locks on from a distance.

We waited about ten minutes, thinking that if he had a list he might have been finished by now, but he didn't leave the Tescos yet. Isaac and I exchanged a glance and then we both knew. We walked slowly toward the van. From a distance, it looked black, but as we got closer, I could see the dark green tinge in it's paint.

Isaac brought out his phone and typed something into it. His fingers moved furiously, trying to dismantle the coded lock. I'd never get the same thrill from tampering with a digital lock as I'd with a real one. I want to see the fruit of my labour in real time. Whatever floats his boat.

"Get in." I sat in the drivers seat and then brought out the next tool for the Day. I lowered my eyes down to the ignition and fiddled my tools in it like a key. I caught every latch and stuck a long, thin screwdriver into the ignition. The engine sputtered to life once my wrist turned sharply.

Slowly and inconspicuously, we left the lot. Isaac pointed out that we drove right past football dad but his head was buried in his phone and didn't notice his transportation was getting away without him.

We drove away without looking back again, neither of us spoke for most of the ride into Peckham. Isaac changed the radio station with a gloved hand. Radio 1 came on, and Isaac decided not to change it once the music played. How appropriate, I thought as I turned up the volume.

Start with misdemeanors and then we make a business out of them
And we can find out the information

When we reached Matty's street, it was dark already. Wednesday night meant the streets were still, everyone home from school or work. Isaac and I pulled over and sat back in our seats. We were on the other side of the park, but I could just barely make out Matty's house through the grove of trees. The lights were on in all of his neighbours houses, and then at the top of the hour, his light timer turned on. Isaac and I shared a look.

We staked out the spot for as long as we could, then when it looked like everyone had gone to bed, we drove to the other side of the green space. The engine on the van was quiet, which helped us sneak around the block. The engine died around the corner from Matty's. I looked down the road from the driver's side.

"Out in a bit." I almost opened the van door, but Isaac grabbed my wrist with dagger-like fingernails. His eyes like mine were cold.

"Don't take too long." He spoke through gritted teeth. A nod in response, and I met the night air.

It was a crisp night, chilly enough to tuck my hair into my hood. I walked the familiar sidewalk and then went up his walkway. My shadow loomed over the spot at the bottom of his steps. I had to bite back a smile.

What on earth am I doing?

I took the small kit from my backpack, full of my lockpicking gadgets. Mimicking my earlier movements with the van, the latches inside the lock of the front door caught. The door swung open and a split second of silence followed. The moment I closed the front door, the alarm rang. My heart raced as I opened the front of Matty's alarm. My gloves fingers moved quickly as I typed in his four-digit code.

1975.

It was typical. Even if I hadn't seen him type it in the night we kissed, I probably would have been able to guess it on my first try.

My eyes rolled back into their sockets as I walked through his house. Cozy, just like I remember. Every corner of the house filled with bespoke gifts or his own personal touches. He left birthday cards on the shelf running around his living room, but his birthday was a few months ago. It was sentimental to keep them up, I wondered if that would be their place until his next birthday.

I walked through his house to his bedroom. Again. Can I say again?

Everything was in in the same place, except there was less clutter on his floor now. He must have done laundry. Sitting on stands in the corner of his room were three guitars. One acoustic, and two electric. I ran my fingers over the teal and black enamel on the two electrics.

I breathed a heavy sigh and slipped the guitars into their respective cases. I skimmed through his closet and grabbed anything with a heft label. Gucci. Burberry. Dior. I stuffed dress shirts, trousers and as many boots as I could carry into my bag. More luggage was needed, and I stole the large suitcase I found at the foot of his closet.

He probably takes this with him when he goes on a North American tour.

I shoved as much as I could into the valise, then shot my eyes around the room. Drugs. He's probably got drugs around, right? I scoured the rest of his closet and then searched his desk but it wasn't until I searched his bedside table when I found it.

The holy grail of marijuana. For a small drawer, he packed as much as he could into this night stand. I took handfuls, smelling some of the individual bags before I popped them into my new bag.

Arms full and ready to go, I texted Isaac. Within a moment, he was outside the front door. Quickly and quietly, we filled the car and emptied Matty's house. The van was only a thirty second run from his front door, but when you've got stolen goods and drugs in your possession, it feels like an eternity.

We only made two trips each. The name of the game was "as fast as you can, but if you ding this guitar, we lose fifty percent profit." After Isaac gave me a thumbs up from the passenger side, I pressed his dumb code into the alarm again and re-locked his front door. We were never there.

The guitars and suitcase were laid flat in the across the back seats, but Isaac held onto my backpack. His hand gripped the fabric of Matty's shirts, mumbling things about how he has good taste.

The drive back felt painful, as we got closer to the Den, I became antsy. To lighten my mood, I jokingly suggested we get milkshakes, but Isaac's stern face told me that milkshakes were not on our agenda.

I did it, step one of the ultimate heist... but as what cost?

Ron let us in at the front when we told him the pass.

"Guilty and slimy and all types of fun. Snakes in the bushes means we've just begun." Isaac said.

We floated off to bed, under a grey concrete ceiling. I felt like the dust from the walls were finally choking me to death. Was I breathing? I held a hand to my nose and felt a cool shot of air.

Too bad.