“Cheap bastard,” he’d thought. Could afford the bogus signs but not the actual system, he would pay for that greedy decision.
He’d gazed into the interior of the home, marble floors, expensive furnishings, and limited edition paintings hanging on the walls. He could not help but wonder what it would be like to have such wealth and power. Soon though, he’d have it all! The house, the car, the hot women, finish this job and he’d be set.
His initial impulse was to drive by the home and see if any lights were on, however, 10:45 p.m. was really too early to do the kind of work that needed to be done here. He could just see the police, going door to door, after they discovered his crime, “Did you see any suspicious vehicles in the area? Any that looked like they didn’t belong?”
“Officer, there was an ugly, gray van that slowly rolled down the street before the break in,” some woman with curlers in her hair and a scarf wrapped around her head would say, standing at her front door, dressed in a bathrobe. Not a good idea after all.
He drove the ugly, gray van down Bemiss Road trying to remember where he’d seen a small church that would act as a shield for the van. He passed several streets that looked familiar, then as he approached Lori Street, he could see some floodlights to the left that he was sure were at the church site. He pulled to a complete stop at the light, being careful to obey all traffic laws. Getting pulled over tonight would be more than inconvenient. A few blocks down on the left was a country church. The parking lot and front of the chapel were flooded in light, but no cars were present. He drove past the church to see if anyone was out walking their dog, or any other activity, none was evident. A mile past the church he flipped around and returned to the chapel, pulling to the rear of the building where it was dark and a small shed stood. It was probably used to store the yard care equipment and would block the van from the street if a patrol car were to cruise by. He sat his backpack, full of the tools of his trade, on the seat next to him, inspected each pocket to make sure everything was in its place, including the black face paint that he would need to apply when he was closer to the house. There was no sense alarming someone that may see him walking down the street.
For now he was a college student that had missed the bus and was walking home. Leaving the back of the church, he cut through an empty field full of knee high weeds and found a road that would cut across Bemiss Road, and into the vicinity of the target. He’d seen the couple that lived there a few times, as he’d prepared to rob them before. Didn’t think they’d be any trouble if he was confronted, but as a precaution he still had the pepper spray, and had thrown a seven-inch hunting knife into the bag in case his life was threatened. The burglar knew how to use a gun. He was quite proficient with the semi automatic Beretta his father had bought him on his 18th birthday, but it could get him many more years in prison if he were ever caught in the act and had the pistol on him.
He lay in a ditch paralleling the main road, waited for a lone pickup truck to roar by before kneeling, then scampering across the road, in a low crouch. The black paint, now covered his face, and his dark clothing helped to hide his location even though there were dim lights from homes and streetlights not far off. The moon was in his favor, with only a sliver emitting light over the expanse before him. Alternating walking hunched over, and crawling, he found the orchard that the homes of the upper end sub division backed onto. The pecan trees rustled very gently in the wind as he moved from trunk to trunk, concealing himself and his movements, the best he could. The Stalker reached the back of the home he had in mind, recognized the area where he’d waited before, in his first attempt. No lights were visible, including the porch light. His watch read 11:45, still earlier than he’d like. Some of the houses down the row had numerous lights on casting beams and shadows into the yards and orchard. ‘Rob’ concluded to wait an hour before proceeding. He needed more of the neighbors to get shut down for the night to reduce his risk.
The minutes sluggishly ticked off, 60 seconds at a time, providing him an opportunity to contemplate his situation and what he must do. “Don’t get overconfident, don’t screw up,” he reminded himself. The job that lay before him had too much uncertainty; the first two had been a breeze; keys, single women, a set of instructions, but not this time. He had done some prep, but that was months ago, and there were variables he had no control over. Something felt wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He expected no 'gimmies' here; only luck would provide an unlocked door or an empty house. His employers would be pissed, if he screwed up this early in the plot, and they were out of an experienced ‘night crawler’. A sudden flash of light from his right brought all of his senses to full alert. He slowly rotated his head in the direction of the random light. Three houses down, someone had turned on the back porch light, he waited, listening, squinting his eyes to make out any movement, and then as quickly as it was switched on it was extinguished.
“Must have put the dog out to crap,” he postulated. The watch on his wrist now read 12:39, there had been no lights or any change in the house in front of him. “It’s go time,” he whispered.
He crept to the fence, keeping a low profile, lifted the backpack over the fence and hung it from the top, dangling on the other side. Carefully and quietly, he overcame his first obstacle, pulled the backpack from the fence and moved to a black, shadowed area of the yard. He waited and listened; his best defense now would be his keen senses. Nothing. He moved to the back door. No screen, but a dead bolt. A decorative glass inset occupied the top one third of the door; he brought his eye as close as he could to the glass, finding a place where the inside could be viewed with the least amount of distortion. No movement, no lights, no people, so far so good. He sat for a moment on the raised cement landing, adjacent to the door, removed his newly altered Nike’s and opened a zippered compartment in his backpack that held the glass cutter.
Returning to the door, he began etching the glass in a small rectangle that would be big enough for his hand and arm to pass through. He ran the diamond bit over the same spot repeatedly, until he felt he was almost there, took a small suction cup from his pocket and applied it to the center of the rectangle. The pro continued to cut, holding the suction device with his left and etching the glass with his right. He suddenly felt the slightest degree of give with his left hand. He stopped cutting, and gently, very gently, moved the suction cup right and left, back and forth, seeing the tiny slivers of glass give way as the opening was created. Finally, the piece lifted out and he sat it aside on the concrete far enough away that he wouldn’t step on it if he were in a hurry to get out. He returned the cup and cutter to the backpack but did not immediately extend his hand into the freshly cut opening. He waited for any indication of sound or movement, just in case he’d been wrong about the alarm.
Relieved that nothing happened, he cautiously inserted his gloved hand through the small opening until his elbow was at the door, bent his hand down and quietly spun the dead bolt. Once done, he reached to the handle and unlocked it as well.
“Obstacle two breached,” he thought.
The thief was in. It appeared the only light on in the entire two-story structure was the small hood lamp over the stove. His entry from the back door had placed him in the kitchen, with a sunken media room to his right. He removed a small LED light from his pocket and turned it onto the lowest setting. Light filled the room, much more than he’d expected, and he wrapped his hand around the end of the small device to mute the display. He held it in this fashion as he moved throughout the lower level. There was nothing unusual, only living space, with no bedrooms. Before he ventured up the stairs, he returned to the pack sitting near the back door and removed the pepper spray and hunting blade, snapping the latter to his belt just in case.