At The Back Of The Garages
by Ken Head © 2008
Should've paid for the car park. Safer.
The sight of a nearly new Toyota and a smart little Honda Jazz parked side by side on the bit of rough ground behind the empty garages was just too good to be true.
Not a soul about either.
Baz wondered who'd be stupid enough to leave two such smart motors in a manky old spot like that and not make sure of coming back before it got dark.
More money than sense some people.
All it needed was a couple of bricks and he'd be in business. There were plenty of them lying about, as well. He giggled at the prospect of doing some serious damage.
Right laugh! Nothing like it.
He checked his pockets to make sure he had his tools with him and walked to where the cars were parked against the bricked-up doors. Too dangerous to use the Council reckoned.
Not that he cared what they thought.
Anyone bothered him, he'd be over the wall, up on the roofs and gone. No probs. They'd never catch him. He swivelled round quickly. Just to make sure there was nobody about.
Always watch your back. Too right.
Then he got started on the paintwork. Nice quiet bit of the job this was. He'd get round to the noisy stuff later. It always amazed him how easy it was to ruin a car's paintwork.
Easier than peeling apples. No alarms either!
Not that Baz liked apples. A few bricks and some hefty lumps of concrete would do for the windows, the windscreens and the lights. It'd be a Grade A mess. Beautiful!
Even if it did make him sweat a bit.
His blade was open in his hand and just about to get to work when he heard three or four women's voices coming his way. He crouched down behind the Toyota's wing.
It looked like he might have to scarper, after all.
They were almost up with him before he ducked out from behind the car, clambered astride the wall, hauled himself up the rusty iron drainpipe and onto the roof.
Just when he was beginning to enjoy himself.
With his hood up and in the dark he knew they couldn't see his face, so he stood there grinning while they shouted at him and tried to find their mobiles to ring the law.
Waste of time. They never come round here.
They were standing there effing and blinding at him something wicked. Not that he minded. They didn't look the types to worry a smart young Jack the Lad like him.
He didn't give a toss.
Bunch of sad old dears with their shopping. Didn't know whether to have a go at him, worry about their cars or call 999. He jogged up and down so they could see he wasn't scared.
Thick as planks, all of them.
Then he got bored with it and decided to clear out. No point in pushing his luck. He gave them the finger one last time and trotted away towards the other side of the block.
He'd like to see them climb that wall.
The thought was still in his mind as the roof gave under him and he fell through, into one of the bricked-up garages. When he came round, he couldn't see much …
… which was probably just as well.
One of his legs was badly broken and ripped open, by a rusty nail most likely, on the way down. He tried to sit up, but the pain soon stopped him.
It was a cold, dark night and nobody came by who might've heard him yelling, even though he shouted himself sick. Why would they, after all? The Council planned to demolish the whole place next year. There were warning notices everywhere. Unmissable.
No one came the next day either, except the rats, who found Baz, still just about conscious, lying on the concrete floor. Near the remains of a cat they'd killed. He'd lost a lot of blood overnight and could hardly move, not enough, at any rate, to frighten off their nibbling curiosity.