One Last Score

Another twinge in my spine; my knees lock on impact and I drop to the ground without hint of ceremony. I wince, thanking my lucky stars when I see Doreen is too busy shaking her wrists and fussing her hair to notice my state. Ahead, Robert and Mick force open the shutter doors.

It’s dark in the basement, the only light emitting from the headlamps I had my grandson purchase, so I jump when I feel a hand on my arm.

“Sorry,” Harry laughs. “Just checking…?”

I chuckle. “Only my knees,” I tell him and he nods.

“Yeah, my hips weren’t a fan of the elevator shaft, either!” He chortles, inclining his head to the others. “Come on, old boy, let’s give ‘em a hand.”

We get through the shutters without issue, and collectively sigh in relief when it’s clear Doreen’s niece was right when she said a 2G mobile phone jammer would successfully block the alarms. That’s when I pull out my heavy duty drill, kept from years of working on the rig.

A bead of sweat runs down my forehead and I puff air in and out of my cheeks but, finally, I break through to the safe.