Dead Like You

of cereal and some toast. The television was on and a couple of the residents were watching a replay of a football match on its slightly fuzzy screen.
    Football, yeah. Brighton and Hove Albion was his home team. He remembered that magical day, when he was a teenager, they’d played at Wembley in the FA Cup Final and drawn. Half the homeowners of Brighton and Hove had gone up there to watch the game, while the other half were in their sitting rooms, glued to their tellies. It had been one of the best day’s burgling of his whole career.
    Yesterday he’d actually been along to the Withdean Sports Stadium for a game. He liked football, not that he was much of an Albion supporter. He preferred Manchester United and Chelsea, but he had his reasons yesterday. He needed to score some charlie – as cocaine was known on the street – and the best way was to show his face. His dealer was there, in his usual seat. Nothing had changed there, apart from the price, which had gone up, and the quality, which had gone down.
    After the game he’d acquired himself an eight ball for £140, dipping deep into his meagre savings. He’d washed down two of the three and a half grams with a couple of pints and a few whisky chasers almost straight away. The last gram and a half he’d saved to see himself through the tedium of today.
    He pulled his donkey jacket on and his baseball cap. Most of the rest of his fellow residents were lazing around, talking in groups or lost in their thoughts or watching the TV. Like himself, none of them had anywhere to go, particularly on a Sunday, when the libraries were shut – the only warm places where they could hang out for hours for free without being hassled. But he had plans.
    The round clock on the wall above the now closed food hatch said 8.23. Seven minutes to go.
    It was at times like this that he missed being in prison. Life was easy in there. You were warm and dry. You had routine and companionship. You had no worries. But you had dreams.
    He reminded himself of that now. His dreams. The promise he had made himself. To make himself some kind of a future. Get a stash and then go straight.
    Lingering in the dry for those last few minutes, Spicer read some of the posters stuck to the walls:
    MOVING ON?
    FREE CONFIDENCE BUILDING COURSE FOR MEN
    FREE FOOD SAFETY COURSE
    FREE NEW COURSE–
FEELING SAFER AT HOME AND IN THE COMMUNITY
    INJECTING INTO MUSCLE? PLEASE BE AWARE
    DO YOU THINK YOU MIGHT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH COCAINE OR OTHER DRUGS?
    He sniffed. Yeah, he did have a problem with cocaine. Not enough of it, that was the problem right now. He didn’t have cash spare for any more and that was going to be a real problem. That’s what he needed, he realized. Yeah. The coke he’d scored yesterday had made him fly, had put him in a great mood, made him horny, dangerously so. But what the hell?
    Now he was down with a bang this morning. A deep trough. He’d get himself a few drinks, take the rest of his charlie and then he wouldn’t care about the crap weather – he’d set off around a few parts of the city he’d decided to target.
    Sunday was a dangerous day to break into houses. Too many people were at home. Even if someone was out, their neighbours might not be. He would spend today on research, casing. He had a list of properties from contacts in insurance companies that he’d been steadily building up while in prison so as not to squander his precious time there. A whole list of houses and flats where the owners had quality jewellery and silverware. In some cases, he had the complete list of their valuables. Some very rich pickings to be had. If he was careful, enough to set him up for his new life.
    ‘Darren?’
    He turned, startled to hear his name. It was one of the volunteer workers here, a man of about thirty in a blue shirt and jeans, with short hair and long sideburns. His name was Simon.
    Spicer looked at him, wondering what was wrong. Had someone reported him last night? Seen his enlarged pupils? If they caught you taking drugs or you were even just high on them in here, you could be thrown straight out.
    ‘There are two gentlemen to see you outside.’
    The words were like a sudden sideways pull of gravity deep inside him. As if all his innards had turned to jelly. It was the same feeling he always had when he realized the game was up and he was being arrested.
    ‘Oh, right,’ he said, trying to sound nonchalant and uninterested.
    Two gentlemen could only mean one