Spider's Web: A Collection of All-Action Short Stories Read Online Free Page A

it. They’re old. We don’t hurt them.’ He scratched the rash of old acne scars across his cheek. Jacko had the sort of face only a mother could love; a weak chin, a pig-like nose and the blank eyes of a teenager who had spent too may hours on his PlayStation.
    ‘It’s not about not hurting,’ said Dobbsy. ‘That’s the thing. Most of them are so old you can bruise them just by blowing at them. If they fall over they break a hip, if you grab their wrist you can snap their arm. Most of them are confused, you just have to talk to them like they’re simple and they’ll do as they’re told. If they do turn belligerent, there’s nothing they can do, remember that. They can’t force you to do anything, and if you keep their phone away from them they can’t phone for help. The cops take forever to answer 999 calls anyway these days. And when they do answer it takes them forever to get anyone out.’
    Jacko rolled his eyes. ‘Dobbsy, I’m not stupid. I’ve robbed houses before.’
    ‘This isn’t robbing,’ said Dobbsy. ‘This is conning.’ He leaned over, popped the glovebox open, and pulled out two laminated ID cars on blue lanyards. He gave one to Jacko and put the other around his neck. ‘This says we work for the council and we’re police-approved. I made them myself and they look the dog’s bollocks but most of them are almost blind anyway. But if they look worried you just smile and show them the ID and tell them we work for the council.’
    ‘And they believe it? It’s as easy as that?’
    ‘They’re old, mate. This guy is over eighty. He’s one step away from being in a home. The trick is just to keep smiling and tell them not to worry.’
    Jacko nodded. ‘Got it.’
    They were sitting in Dobbsy’s black Golf GTI in a road lined with shabby terraced houses. There were three sorts of households – the elderly, families on benefits and recently arrived immigrants. The house that Dobbsy was intereste fowd in was Number 27. There was only one occupant, a man in his eighties by the name of Duns. Duns rarely left the house. Twice a week he would walk slowly down the road to the Tesco Express store between a bookmaker’s and a charity shop, and would return half an hour later with a carrier bag full of food. He never went near an ATM, and so Dobbsy assumed there was cash in the house. Old people didn’t trust banks and preferred cash wherever possible. They tended to have jewellery, too. In one house he’d found a dozen sovereigns in a red velvet pouch tucked away in a sock drawer.
    Dobbsy had just turned twenty years old. As a teenager he’d been a prolific burglar and over a six-year career had broken into more than a thousand houses. Two or three a week, on average. He’d been caught several times but only as a juvenile, and always got off with a caution.
    It was when he turned twenty that Dobbsy had an epiphany. Instead of breaking into houses at random, usually chosen because a window had been left open or a door unlocked, he decided to choose his targets more carefully. And instead of breaking in, he began to simply walk in through the front door. The idea had come to him when his mother had called in a locksmith to fit a peephole viewer and a security chain. Dobbsy had watched, fascinated, as the man had worked, and had asked a few questions. Later, as he lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling, he realised that old folk would probably jump at the chance of having the extra security fitted. The next day he’d gone around to a hardware store, bought himself a toolbox, drill and a selection of viewers and chains, and had started knocking on doors.
    His original idea had been to charge the old folk a tenner for a peephole and a tenner for a chain, but it soon became obvious that it was going to be a struggle getting them to part with their money. But what he realised was that a simple knock on the door got him into the house. That was when he’d had his second brainwave. If he could find