Paul Dubois fails to be a Car Thief

Paul Dubois fails to be a Car Thief

Brian Morris, twenty six and has firmly settled with being a bit on the stupid side. A petty villain who also calls himself Paul Dubois. “Has a nice effect on women," he will say, which might be true of course. Certainly better than Brian Morris. He goes round nicking stuff mostly at random, whatever crops up. Sells it where he can, usually for not a lot. Not bad looking he is at least tidy and clean. Always dresses reasonable, in trousers, never jeans, thinks trousers are smart. Jeans are for cowboys. On their horses. His clothes pretty dull, does not like to be obvious. “Blending in” is the term he uses. Lives in a bedsit just around the corner from the Multi Storey Car Park with a frightening landlady who would scare the pants of Michael Myers, who drives him bonkers, makes him kippers each morning which he throws out the window. Hates kippers, has told her a million times but still they appear on the tray outside his door. The sharp rapping knock and a shouted “breakfast” the signal. Get up and get out the unwritten rule. All the local cats arrive howling at seven in the morning, waiting. Better than an alarm clock.

Today he has money. Well flush in fact. Has managed to get a good price for some gold jewellery that he had acquired via a small open window in a downstairs flat down the road in the posh part of town. Been to the cafe in the High Street for a full English. He is later than usual nearly eleven o’clock on Friday. Grinning at the reason. Now walking back to the car park where his two hundred and fifty pound pile of scrap is parked. Has his mobile phone in his hand texting last night’s little darling, arranging a return visit.

Last night he was Paul Dubois that is how she knows him and that is who she was expecting.  Upstairs waiting. Hannah is in the two bedroom flat over the rear section of shop premises  that she shares with her sister. Her sister out indulging whatever is her latest means of excitement that is sure to be exotic. That is her taste. It runs in the family. The taste of the exotic.

Hannah is tall, slim and dark haired. Has a bit of a Martha Hyer look. Sexy and sultry. But she has a weakness. She has a rapacious sexual appetite that she finds hard to satisfy. She is not sure how she feels about Paul Dubois. He is not unattractive in fact she does find him slightly desirable. But to put it bluntly she thinks, no she knows, he is really an extremely stupid idiot that has only one destination in life. Perennially locked up or resident at the bottom of the river. What he does have however, which is something she finds so irresistible, is the ability to make her squirm. Make her squirm like no other man has been able to. He just has this knack, fuelled by overwhelming enthusiasm, to give her the satisfaction that is so elusive. And has the stamina to do it all over again, several times, over a long period.

She came across him by accident a few months ago in a pub in the High Street. He was there trying to unload jewellery and a watch that he had relieved from an old lady by nipping in her back door as she went out to the bins. Straight upstairs, shifty through the draws of her dressing table, snatch up the bits and out the front door even before an eye could blink. She still probably does not realise what is missing. But he was being so stupidly obvious just approaching people at random “want to buy some stuff?” So she dragged him out and bought it all from him to add to her own personal stash. Rainy day insurance.

Paul went for both business and pleasure. He got to the top of the stairs and Hannah was waiting, her door open.

“We are alone, Eliana is out. Come in. What have you got?”
Paul empties the contents of a small bag onto the table. A gold watch, several gold bracelets, diamond rings, rings with precious or semi precious stones and some incidental baubles.
“This is a change. Much better than the usual. Must have done a decent place for once.”
“Naw, not really, just got lucky. Turned over a smallish flat. They are probably inherited. From her stuff the owner seemed young. This is all older ladies jewels.”
“Anyway worth a few bob. But we’ll sort that out later. If you are really good and clever tonight I might just be a bit more generous.”
She has her arm around his neck and is dragging him to the shower. Her large power shower with all the massage jets in all the right places. It’s where they always start. And finish.

Into the carpark and up to the second floor, third bay on the left and empty. He had parked only two hours before. He was sure it was the third bay on the left. His car was definitely absent. Who would nick a pile of junk? Easy to steal, no one would care is the answer. A quick ride home even if a bit substandard. Well, a lot substandard in this case.

Now he’s in a fix. He has to get to Croydon to see his little brother by one o’clock. His brother is in trouble and needs some cash. For once in his life he can help him out. The only time that wealth and need have coincided and he is stumped by someone’s liking for rusty, dented  and uninsured metal. He heads off down the ramp and out to the front entrance.

A BMW 5 series M class, a fast and furious number, has pulled up at the exit. Has fed in the pay ticket and the barrier rises. The car pulls up to the road looking to turn right. The boot lid is loose and flapping. The driver gets out, leaves the engine running, leaves the door open goes round the back and slams it shut. Brian, four feet away on the drivers side, jumps in, slams the door and drives off with tyres screeching in a cloud of blue smoke. Cars swerving and hooting but all missing as he heads towards the High Street. The driver sitting on his backside on the ground dumbfounded.

Brian not used to such a powerful beast has hit over seventy as he comes upon the High Street, way too fast and out of control. He misses all in the first line of traffic and slams into the rear side of a large panel van, spinning it round, the passenger side colliding with the rear corner of the flat back truck in front. Brian, with some speed absorbed, continues and crashes into a lamp post. Air bag explodes in his face and he is out for the count blood oozing from the side of his head that had smashed against the seat belt fixing. On the floor his mobile buzzing and playing Blue Moon.

This is an extract from a longer work - The Recreational Bandits. To read this leave a message in contact.