Light from the open door illuminated a portion of the interior and cast shadows on the rest. A cream colored Mercedes Sedan sat on the parking pad with a low-rise speedboat taking up the other half of the provided space. Life vests hung from the wood rafters of the unfinished garage and fishing poles extended between the 2x4’s that supported the roof. He quickly pulled the small light from his pack that now sat at his feet and shined it around the garage hoping to find something of enough value to preclude a break into the home. He had no such luck but instead could see how the wealthy lived and played. Lots of expensive toys and outdoor gear but nothing he could easily remove or sell. He thought about taking the car, but reconsidered, knowing that a police pursuit would almost be impossible to elude, the motorcycle would be much safer. Nothing else in the garage looked of interest to the burglar. He turned off the LED and reached for the doorknob. It was locked but no deadbolt in place. Within the quiet and safety of the garage he was not hesitant to use brute force to gain access. He considered trying to kick the door in, but the possibility of an injury was too great, something heavy would be more practical. Lester scanned the walls of the congested garage for a workable instrument.
Mounted on the wall between the door and a set of shelves, stocked with beer and assorted soft drinks, a red fire extinguisher hung, its black hose securely strapped to the round cylinder shaped body. Once he busted through the door there would be no turning back, whether there was someone home or not. He had still not heard anything coming from inside, but that didn't mean a homeowner was not taking a nap or just watching television somewhere in the house. After the experience of the last home, he opted to leave the Nike's on in case a quick getaway was needed. He lifted the extinguisher from the wall and held it in his hands. It was much heavier than he expected.
"Should do nicely on the door," he thought.
He cupped the bottom, cylindrical portion of the extinguisher in his left hand, leaving the flat striking surface free and clear to slam against the door, his right held the top to provide the direction and thrust needed to break through the obstacle. He tested it a couple of times, getting a feel for the weight as he rocked it back and forth in his grip.
"Here goes nothing!" he said, as he let the weight do the work. The bottom of the cylinder crashed against the wooden door just above the handle. Thwack! There was the faintest sound of wood cracking, but entrance was denied. He swung the extinguisher back again into its cradled position and rocketed it forward with even greater force. A degree of give was evident as a small gap appeared around the seam of the door where it had been snug. Before, what he thought would be the final thrust; he waited to see if anything stirred, nothing did. The thief was correct, on the third and final assault wood splintered and the door swung free from the jam, leaving wood bits from the frame scattered on the kitchen floor and counters. He placed the extinguisher back on the support and entered the home. The kitchen was very modern with stainless steel appliances, granite counter tops and an immaculate hardwood floor, which gleamed and reflected the other polished surfaces that were all around. A small kitchen table occupied a nook area, a stack of letters sat atop it with a cereal bowl and empty juice glass nearby. Milk sat stagnant in the bottom of the bowl, an indication that someone had been home not that long ago.
Lester unlocked the back door and sat the backpack just outside after removing the pepper spray, paint can, and.38 that he put in his pocket. He took a few minutes to clean up the evidence of the explosive entry, taking the splintered wood chips and tossing them into the garage. He closed the damaged door as best he could, allowing it to snug somewhat back into the door jam. On a quick cursory look perhaps someone would overlook the damage unless they examined it more closely. Stepping outside, he closed the back door and stood on the stoop, pointed the paint nozzle at the lower section of the door, and painted the words in bold strokes, R I C H P I G S, the paint thick enough that gravity stretched the letters downward.
Inside the home he surveyed the layout looking for items of value, eventually finding his way to the bedroom. There he found the usual items lying about on dresser tops and in the drawers. Nothing really surprised him anymore. Over the years he’d found just about everything imaginable hidden away in the personal hiding places of unsuspecting people. Today was no different. In what he believed to be the husband’s side of the bed, a small night table with drawer, gave up an adult novel, “The Lusty Librarian.” It looked pretty tame by today’s standards, but he placed it in the pillowcase anyway. Lester pictured the couple in their mid to late 50’s based on the clothing and items he was finding. He tried to leave the room as he found it, returning useless items to their original state and throwing the items of value into a stolen pillowcase as he’d done on previous occasions.
Somewhat disappointed in what he’d found he decided it was time to create some controversy. He returned to the back porch, deposited the half full pillowcase alongside his backpack, and walked through the house looking for an ideal wall to paint more graffiti. The house was a split with a main floor, a half flight of stairs going both up and down. He’d explored everywhere but the lower level that appeared to be only partially finished. The thought of a gun case pushed him lower into the home, thinking that some more handguns would be easy to sell or keep for his own amusement. A laundry area had been somewhat finished as he descended the stairs, located on the right hand side, with bi-fold doors hiding the washer and dryer that were in a stacked configuration. Another matching bi-fold covered an empty space to the right, with a couple of shelves upon which detergent and fabric softener sat, bits of clothing cut into squares filled a bucket, apparently to be used as rags. Some dirty clothing littered the bare floor, but no gun cabinet or safe. The intruder determined that there was nothing of significance in the basement and was about to return to the main floor when he heard a key in the front door deadbolt.
He considered running up the stairs and out the back door but the front entrance was so close to the stairs that a confrontation was bound to happen. Lester pulled the gun from his right pocket and the pepper spray from his left and armed each hand with a means of escape, if necessary. His stomach was doing flip-flops. In all the years of robbing people he had never had to deal with a victim face to face and he didn’t want to start now. Retreating to the laundry area, he opened the bi-fold quietly, hearing the key now enter the locked door handle. He stepped into the empty space below the shelves, and pulled the bi-folds closed, hiding himself and the washer and dryer. He knelt and waited, being able to see through the horizontal slats that made up the central portion of the sectional doors. His breathing increased and he realized there was a very real possibility that he would hyperventilate. The thief momentarily closed his eyes and tried to calm his fight or flight response that was screaming for him to fly. Movement could be heard on the floor just up the first few stairs.
“No speaking, just walking. Whoever it is they must be alone,” he thought.
The gun felt cold in his palm, but there was no doubt he knew how to use it, and the pepper spray, damn…, the pepper spray! He had meant to test it that morning before heading out, but had forgotten in the rush to get this job over with. Hopefully it would function normally. The gun really had to be a last resort, but he could not allow anyone to identify him regardless of the cost.
More movement, then the delicate sound of scraping on the hardwood floor above, followed by a dog whining. “Oh no, this can’t be happening!” he thought, trying desperately to keep from peeing his pants. He could hear the dog moving about, growling lowly, panting and letting out the occasional little bark. At least it didn’t sound like a big dog; perhaps he’d be able to handle it if it were pint sized.