Considering what I do for a living, you might call me either a shadow or a smuggler. Both fit me to some extent, I think. Really. For example, a definition of a shadow is someone who passes through an area without leaving a trace of their presence. I do that. I leave no evidence. Nothing was left the time I was caught, either…I was just in the wrong places at the wrong times that night. As for a ‘smuggler’, well, I’ve gotten out of the country with stolen products before, so that seems to work out in my mind. Some have called me a ‘rogue’ as well, but I just don’t agree with that. I don’t think Robin Hood was one, either.

-

-

“No, no, uh-uh…stop it, just stop…shut up!” All I wanted was for those two to shut up so I could hear myself think. So far, that wasn’t happening. “What is wrong with you guys, huh?” Before either could answer, I changed my mind. “You know what, never mind. I don’t wanna know. I really, really do not want to know. Why don’t you just sit right down, shut your mouths, and stay like that? Okay? Think you can do that—now remember before you do anything, I asked you to shut up. In other words, don’t say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Nod or shake your head. Good, you’re nodding. Nod and agree, nod ‘n agree…right, that’s enough. You can stop now. Stop. Stop it!”

-

-

In case you can’t tell, I wasn’t exactly enjoying myself. But for now, let’s not go into why. I should probably start from the beginning on this, and for that we’ll have to go back a few months for you to get the entire picture. Let’s see. It’s about November now. Therefore I should start this story in early June.

I had been robbing houses for about three years already, having worked my way up from small stuff to the things you only find in expensive shops and the houses of whoever can afford to buy them. My next target was a mansion-owner—those were always sure to have at least some good merchandise that I could carry out without much difficulty. The man was pretty wealthy. He had almost 1.5 million dollars. That fact alone put a smile on my face long before I went to work.

I set the date, the time…and the place was already a sure thing as you know…so everything was set. I had ‘alibis’ who were, of course, a couple of buddies I agreed to give a cut for their word that I was with them that night. The third of June. Ten o’clock. Ten o’clock was rock ‘n roll time in the mother of all my schedules. I had to have everything ready—everything perfect for that time, that night. All the preparations were made well ahead of time, but it just wasn’t enough.

Date, time, place…equipment. That’s next on the list of must-have-set-up’s. Get it, got, go…only I didn’t have everything I needed yet, so I had to take care of that before the job. I had enough to pay for the necessities, I was sure of that. But what about extra backup? Always good. Not always needed, but always good.

Anyway, by the time I had acquired all the needed items, it was nearly go-time. I had everything I’d thought I could use and the day was less than a week away. What next? Even more fucking preparation. Oh, yeah! Verify alibis. Check the equipment (and make sure it works). Check the grounds. Make sure there aren’t any unwelcome guests. Iron-clad the whole damn thing inside and out, so no one will suspect. Always smart. Not the easiest things to do, but always smart.

-

-

Okay…it’s okay. I’m calm…LIKE BLOODY HELL I’M CALM, WHY CAN’T THESE TWO JUST SHUT UP? Relax. Relax now. You’re losing patience. Humph, who’m I tryin’ to kid? I have lost my patience. I have no patience!

“Uh…sir?”

Oh, great…

“Yes, person with no gun who I’d have no problem using mine on?” Well…that’s what I wanted to say, at least. But as it turned out, I went with something else. “’Sir’? What am I, old? Call me…call me…” I couldn’t think what they should call me. What’m I gonna do? “Call me Gus.” I added as an aside to myself, and as I might add—through clenched teeth, “Why not?!”

Even as I turned my back on the pair, I could hear them talking, shifting, arguing. Why these two? I’m not that fucked up, am I, God? More fighting. It got louder and louder though I tried to ignore their voices altogether. I’ll take that as a ‘Yeah.’ Great, as long as we’ve got an understanding here on that. I sighed for about the trillionth time that night. Even God fuckin’ hates me. I’m in big doo doo, aren’t I? Yeah. Well ain’t that just peachy?

Donna and Thomas aka Tom just couldn’t keep their big traps shut. Those were their names, see. Mr. and Mrs. Atkinson. The hell kind of people would you expect to share the name of a famous diet plan? Nice people, I’d think. You know in ads, everyone’s always all cheery and smilin’ their fuckin’ faces off? ABSOLUTELY NO RELATION TO THIS PAIR! This was not the ‘low-carbohydrates’ TV coupla representatives. Oh, no! The brace I wound up with was its own damn circus. The freak show section, right? I can just see the headlines: World’s Most Argumentative Mother-Fucking Couple EVER. O’ course, I don’t think they’re permitted to use swears in their captions. I dunno; maybe I’ll do some research. Hell, maybe I’ll even stick around long enough to stick the effing Atkinsons into a circus an’ just watch the ringleader deal with it. Now that would be a show!