Forced Entry

“Joan, hurry up!” called the man, as he let himself out of his house and got into the car. From across the road, two pairs of eyes watched as he reversed from the driveway onto the road.

His wife emerged from the house and heels tapping loudly, made her way to the waiting car. There was no traffic on the narrow road, and the vehicle moved off quickly, leaving a trail of white smoke hanging in the cold night air.

Barry got up and stretched himself out. “Time for us to move.” he said, looking around.

The man beside him, rake-thin and sweating despite the chill, licked his lips apprehensively. “Are you sure nobody is inside?” He looked at the house, troubled. “The lights are still on.”

Barry picked up his carry-all with a grunt. “To fool crooks like us into thinking someone’s home. Joey, I’ve watched Joan and Peter Costa for two weeks. Every Saturday night, they head for the club. They return by midnight.” His smile was generous. “We’ve got 3 hours to burgle the place.”

Joe gave the neighbourhood another searching look, trying to find a reason to abort the op, but saw nothing that could constitute a threat. Sighing, he followed his colleague across the road. Both men were careful to keep to the shadows, and Barry led the way through the shrubs to a window that opened into the sitting room.

Barry dropped his bag to the ground. “Screwdriver.”

Joe unzipped his hold-all, cursing softly when the zip stuck mid-way. He tugged furiously at it, aware that Barry was watching.

While Barry tackled the window grill, Joe busied himself with peering through the shrubbery. There wasn’t a soul out in the streets. Was the neighbourhood usually this quiet, or was it only – tonight? “Barry,” He turned back. His comrade was grunting out loud with the exertions. “I don’t feel too happy about this.” He looked past Barry, into the lighted interior.

The screw he was struggling with came loose. “Look, Joe – if I had a skinny Miss Universe figure like you and could fit through this bloody window, I wouldn’t have called you.” He began tugging the heavy grille out. “Now please shut up and get your sorry butt inside.”

What the hell, Joe thought, all I have to do is to get inside, walk to the front door and open it.

Barry turned. He was sweating. “Ready?” Intertwining his fingers to form a support, he bent forward. Joe raised a knee, and then cursed. “Wait!” He dived into his trousers pocket, and removed his wallet. “Hold onto this for me.” Barry made a weary sound, and pocketed the wallet.

Joe got his foot into the grip, and heaving, Barry propelled him onto the window-sill. Joe swung his legs over and dropped to the floor. The inside was lit, making him feel exposed and he hurried to the front door to let his accomplice in.

Barry closed the door and handed him his carry-all. “Let’s split up. I’ll check upstairs.” He patted Joe’s bag. “Fill it up.” Without waiting for a reply, he tramped through the sitting room, whistling. Relieved at how easy the going so far had been, Joe wandered up to the nearest cabinet. The racks were full of crockery and chinaware. Joe grimaced. Nothing they could take. There were drawers in the bureau, and he slid one open.

The whistling suddenly stopped. And then: “Arggghh!!”

Joe whirled, heart hammering.

“N-o-o-o-o!” The cry was cut off by a loud thud as something crashed heavily onto the floorboards. And then, there was only silence.

Joe’s mouth had gone completely dry. Something he didn’t know he possessed forced him to inch his way into the stairwell, and timidly, he peered upwards.

Something plopped, in quick succession, onto his shoulder, his naked arm – and then onto the floor at his feet.

Joe looked down and saw blood.

Without further thought, he spun around and burst out of the house, the front door slamming locked behind him, as if soundly rejecting him.

It was only when he reached the end of the street that he remembered.

His wallet. The thought brought him to an abrupt halt. His wallet was in Barry’s pocket. And when the police found his body, they would also discover Joe’s wallet…

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Barry waited till Joe crossed the road before letting the drape of the master bedroom window drop. Wonderful. The results had been expected but it was still nice to see things go the way he’d planned. The only reason he’d called Joe was because he couldn’t get into the house on his own. And once inside there was no reason to share the booty. After all, he’d done everything himself – the planning, selection, spying on the couple. Rightfully, the spoils should all be his. All he’d had to do was figure out how to force Joe’s exit once his role was completed. Joe’s nervousness had given him the clue.

Chuckling, he tossed the dead chicken and the bloodied knife aside. Let the cops figure it out. Joe of course, would think he was dead. And it would come as a great shock when he ran into Barry in the future. By then, he’d realise what had happened, but there was nothing he had to fear from shy, meek little Joe.

##########################

Joe made his way back to the house, hands shaking. He was scared. Scared that the police might find his wallet, and scared of whatever had killed Barry. The fact that he was heading back to the bungalow meant that he hadn’t lost his nerve completely.

He peered up at the upper floor windows of the house. The sound of an approaching car alerted him, and he quickly darted into the bushes. The taxi stopped outside the house and a young lady got out. The taxi moved off, and Joe watched as she walked to the door, unlocked it and went in.

Joe frowned. She was not a servant, too glamorous. A relative, perhaps a relative? The confident way she’d strode to the house, the fact that she had a key…

Another taxi pulled up alongside, and Joe saw Peter Costa hurriedly get out. He looked about quickly, then rushed to the front door and let himself in.

Joe stared at the bungalow, bewildered. What the devil was going on? Peter was supposed to be at the club with his wife. Not at home with-

Abruptly, a grin broke out across Joe’s face. Of course, he thought delightedly. Costa was cheating on his wife!

A light went on in the bedroom upstairs. That was quick, thought Joe wickedly, and then remembered something: Barry was up there. Dead, bloodied – and with his wallet in his pocket. He began to tremble all over again.

What was he going to do? What could he do? Any chance he might have had of creeping in and out was dashed by the arrival of Costa and company. Did he dare attempt to slink back inside to search for his wallet? He hadn’t heard any screams. Maybe they hadn’t discovered the body yet. Maybe there was still hope…

He moved stealthily across the empty road.

#########################

“Darrrrr-ling!” cooed Susan, throwing her arms around Peter Costa. They tumbled into bed.

Underneath the bed, Barry winced as the springs sagged and cursed his luck.

“You’re sure Joan suspects nothing?”

“Absolutely.” he assured her, trying to reach for one of those anatomical parts which so bewitch men. “I told her I wasn’t feeling well. I persuaded her to stay. There are so many friends at her table she’ll probably be there till midnight.”

“Oh, good!” She winked at him. “I’ve been absolutely dying, Petey-sweetie.” She began unbuttoning her shirt. “You have no idea how I’ve missed repulsing your loving advances…”

Barry thrust a fist into his mouth and willed himself to be strong.

######################

Joe reached the front door.

“Hey!” The shout came from behind him.

Joe jumped around, already pale.

Joan Costa was in the driveway, and looking warily at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Joe stared at her, stricken. I knew I shouldn’t have returned, he thought. “Uh – I’m, well- I’m actually-” Not renowned for quick thinking, the idea that struck Joe was so unexpected that he almost grinned. “- a private investigator. An interested party retained my services.” He suddenly had a brainwave. “Mrs. Costa, this will come as a shock.” He took a deep breath. “Your husband is having an affair.”

Joan looked at him strangely, then pushed open the door and stalked past him into her house, with Joe on her heels.

##########################

The bedroom door was opened and as they entered, Peter suddenly leaped off the bed, grabbing a towel to cover himself. “Joan?” He croaked, clearly disbelieving.

Joan stared at her husband and looked around. Susan was nowhere in sight. She turned to Joe questioningly.

Joe had been standing with his arms crossed. He shrugged. “I’ll search-” He offered, and thought, perfect. Now all he had to do was recover his wallet and then he was out of here. The first place Barry would have begun his search for valuables would have been the master bedroom. Right here. Joe got on his knees, and bending, looked under the bed.

His cheek to the cold tiles, Barry stared out at him, sheepish and apologetic and very downcast.

Joe stared back, not comprehending at first. Barry…. Barry? Not possible! Barry was dead… His eyes suddenly bulged and he went puce. The bloody beggar had tricked him!

He reached out a hand, grabbed a disbelieving Barry by the leg and dragged him out from under the bed. “Here he is!” He told Joan, pointing. “Here’s the man Peter is having an affair with.”

Joan looked at Barry, suddenly faint, and promptly sank into a chair.

Peter looked at Barry and looked even more staggered.

Joe crossed his arms, looking pleased with himself.

“A man!” Joan started to sob. “Oh, what will my parents say? What will the neighbours think-” She dropped her head into her hands. “How will I ever be able to live this down?”

“Joan, no!” Her husband leapt to her side. “You’ve got it all wrong!” He glared at Barry. “Come on – tell her we’ve never seen each other before.”

Barry had been doing some rapid thinking. Slow on his feet and with his hands he might have been, but he was a smart thinker, and right then, rapid thinking was the order of the day. If things continued in this vein, Mrs. Costa would probably throw him out – a move he strongly welcomed. But if he denied that fool Joe’s allegation, everyone would start wondering what he’d been doing there in the first place.

Barry looked at Peter, hurt. “But, dearest, how can you say such things? After all we’ve been through together. Especially after all the sweet promises you whispered in my ear as you held my hands in both of yours.”

Peter drew the towel closer and moaned.

Joe guessed what Barry was up to. “It’s been two months now, hasn’t it?”

“Three, actually.” said Barry, giving Peter a loving look.

Peter moaned some more.

Joan shook her head.

“Joan, let me explain-”

“No, Peter. Explanations won’t help.” She sighed. “What an awkward situation!” She passed a hand over her face then got up. “I need to think. Why don’t you take your friend and get out. I need to be alone.”

“Joan-” said Peter, in despair. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, I do.” said Barry, scurrying to the doorway. “Come along, Petey-sweetie.”

Peter began to tremble. “Joan! You’re not going to leave me alone with him…”

“Why not – you’ve spent the last two months together.”

“Three!!” floated Barry’s voice, already midway down the staircase.

Joan pushed her husband out.

Joe waited till they had all disappeared before turning his attention to the bedroom drawers. The thought had occurred to him moments ago: if he was left in the room by himself for only a few minutes, he could pocket some jewellery. Quickly, he slid open the top drawer. There was money inside, along with a bracelet and earrings. He found Barry’s bag, and began stuffing it.

There was a click from behind him, and shirt still unbuttoned, Susan stepped out of the wardrobe, where she had prudently hidden herself. Both of them stared at each other. Joe was shocked: he had completely forgotten about her. Susan was aghast. “You – you’re a thief!”

Joe zipped the bag shut, telling himself to stay calm, but finding that difficult because of the way her shirt was open. “True – but I can explain my presence here. Can you?” He saw the dazed look on her face, and knew that he had caught her. Quickly, to throw her still further off balance, he pointed at her shirt and said: “Better button up.” As he expected, she went red, and whirled, hands flying to undo the damage.

Joe heard a noise. “She’s coming up. Quick, get back in the cupboard.” He pushed her inside and tossed the bag at her feet. “I won’t say a word if you don’t.” She looked at him, her hand on his arm as if making a protest, but she must have realised the dangers of the situation she was in, because then she nodded and taking her hand way, she let him shut the door.

Striking a pose, Joe stood in the center of the room, ready to receive a hero’s welcome, when Joan’s voice came up, sounding worried. “One of the window grilles is missing.”

Joe’s arms fell to his side and he sighed. All that hard work. Ah, well. As she entered, he pulled open the wardrobe door. “Aha!” he declared, looking at a shocked Susan. “Here’s your burglar, Mrs. Costa! And,” He looked down. “I think you had better take a look at that bag.”

Joan did. She saw the money and took out a ring, which she clearly recognised, because she gasped, then looked up at Susan. “You – you thief!”

Susan began to shake her head, visibly scared. “No, no – that’s not true-“

“The police, madam.” suggested Joe gravely.

Joan shook her head slowly. She seemed to be thinking. “No – there’s no need to bring the police into this.” She regarded Susan and her face seemed to soften. “Look – you’re a young girl. I don’t know why you had to steal, but since I’ve got my things back – I’m willing to overlook what you tried to do tonight. So – no police.” Almost instantly, her eyes turned flint-like. “But if I ever see you in this neighbourhood again-“

Susan backed out of the bedroom hurriedly. “You won’t.” She promised. “Ever.”

“Good. We’ll escort you out.” Together, the three of them went downstairs. When they got to the front door, Susan almost ran out. Joan watched her go and shook her head. “What a night.” She turned to Joe, smiling. “You know, I don’t even know your name.”

Joe’s smile reached his ears. “Barry Jacob.”

She shook his hand briefly. “Well, Mr. Jacob, I must confess – I owe you much gratitude for what you’ve done for me tonight.” She found her rocker and sat back in it, looking at the ceiling as if remembering. “I returned from my club tonight, full of despair and grief, thinking that I was coming home to confront my husband with his mistress and ruin my marriage. Instead, you came along and worked out matters so adeptly that not only has his mistress left, fervently eager never to return – thinking that I think her guilty of trying to steal my gems – but my husband is so shaken thinking that I think he had something going with that man from under your bed – your partner-in-crime, I presume – that he was swearing all the way to the front door that if I gave him another chance and kept my silence, he would never wander off the path again.” She looked forlorn. “And you know what? I think he means it.” She smiled at him. “You’ve not only saved my marriage, you’ve also gotten rid of the one thing that threatened it. For this, I thank you.” She got up. “Good night.”

Joe stared at her for several moments then unsurely, said: “You’ve got the picture wrong-”

She crooked a finger at him. “Come.” She said and led him to the corner cabinet.

She opened the door of the glass cabinet, and the small man inside almost fell out.

The man glared at Joan, stretched out his legs and handed over a digital camera. On the screen was an image of Joe entering through the window.

“Mr. Jacob, meet my cousin Walter.” said Joan Costa, beaming. “A real private investigator.”

__END__