Read Online Stranded by Val McDermid - Free Book Online Page B

the cases, chances are it’s still only got a wooden frame. Smack that on the corner with a three-pound club hammer and the whole thing falls to bits and you’re in.
    Mostly, we were off the estate and miles away before the local bizzies even rolled up. Nobody ever got hurt, except in the pocket.
    They were the best years of my life. Better than sex, that moment when you’re in, you do the business and you’re out again. The rush is purer than you’ll ever get from any drug. Not that I know about that from personal experience, because I’ve never done drugs and I never will. I hate drug dealers more than I hate coppers. I’ve removed my fair share of them from my patch over the years. Now they know not to come peddling their shit on my streets. But a couple of the guys I work with, they like their Charlie or whizz when they’re not working, and they swear that they’ve never had a high like they get when they’re doing the business.
    We did some crackers. A museum in France where they’d spent two million quid on their state-of-the-art security system. They had a grand opening do where they were shouting their mouths off about how their museum was burglarproof. We did it that very night. We rigged up pulleys from the building across the street, wound ourselves across like we were the SAS and went straight in through the skylight. They said we got away with stuff worth half a million quid. Not that we made anything like that off it. I think I cleared fifteen-K that night, after expenses. Still, who dares wins, eh?
    We only ever took stuff we already knew we had a market for. Well, mostly. One time, I fell in love with this Rembrandt. I just loved that picture. It was a selfportrait, and just looking at it, you knew the geezer like he was one of your mates. It was hanging on this Duke’s wall, right next to the cases of silver we’d earmarked. On the night, on the spur of the moment, I lifted the Rembrandt an’ all.
    Tommy went fucking ape. He said we’d never shift that, that we’d never find a buyer. I told him I didn’t give a shit, it wasn’t for sale anyway. He thought I’d completely lost the plot when I said I was taking it home.
    I had it on the bedroom wall for six months. But it wasn’t right. A council house in Wythenshawe just doesn’t go with a Rembrandt. So one night, I wrapped it up in a tarpaulin and left it in a field next to the Duke’s gaff. I rang the local radio station phone-in from a call box and told them where they could find the Rembrandt. I hated giving it up, mind you, and I wouldn’t have done if I’d have had a nicer house.
    But that’s not the sort of tale you can tell a personnel manager, is it?
    â€˜And why are you seeking a change of employment, Mr Finnieston?’
    Well, it’s down to Kim, innit?
    I’ve known Kimmy since we were at school together. She was a looker then, and time hasn’t taken that away from her. I always fancied her, but never got round to asking her out. By the time I was back in circulation after my first stretch, she’d taken up with Danny McGann, and before I worked up the bottle to make a move, bingo, they were married.
    I ran into her again about a year ago. She was on a girls’ night out in Rothwell’s, a gaggle of daft women acting like they were still teenagers. Just seeing her made me feel like a teenager an’ all. I sent a bottle of champagne over to their table, and of course Kimmy came over to thank me for it. She always had good manners.
    Any road, it turned out her and Danny weren’t exactly happy families any more. He was working away a lot, leaving her with the two girls, which wasn’t exactly a piece of cake. Mind you, she’s done well for herself. She’s got a really good job, managing a travel agency. A lot of responsibility and a lot of respect from her bosses. We started seeing each other, and I felt like