Stephen Leather - Once bitten

"The windows are too difficult," he said. "We'd have to cut our way in. That in itself isn't a problem, a good pair of bolt-cutters will do the job, but we don't have a good pair of bolt-cutters.

And there's a chance that they're wired, though I wasn't able to see anything. The door would be easier, but as I said if you want them picked it'll take time. In a perfect world I'd drill them out but that'll make noise, even with a muffled drill. And again…"

"We don't have a drill," I finished for him. "Or a muffler."

"Ain't that the truth," he laughed.

"OK, so you saw the door to the garage, one of those up-and-over jobs it was?"

I nodded.

"That I can have open in two minutes. It's operated by remote control but there's a lock too, and I can pick that with no trouble at all. The one snag is, it's pretty exposed. Street lights, cars going by."

"Dave, I don't want you taking any risks, OK? It's just not worth it."

He put a hand on my shoulder. "If it wasn't important, you wouldn't have asked, I know that.

It'll be OK, but I'm going to need you to keep a lookout for me. We'll walk back, and when we get to the building you hang back thirty feet or so, and start whistling as soon as I reach the door. I'll make it look as if I'm using a key, if I don't get it open in a minute or so I'll leave it and we'll try later. If you see anything that might give us problems, you stop whistling. That's all. No shouting, no waving, just stop whistling. We'll move on and try later. Clear?"

"Clear," I said, though I was far from happy about what he planned to do.

He picked up his bottle of lager and clinked it against mine. "Jamie, we'll make a criminal out of you yet," he laughed.

"What do we do when the door's open?" I asked.

"I guess there'll be another door inside leading to the basement itself. I'll have to pick that for you, too."

"Dave, I don't want you inside that house. You get me in, and then you get the hell away."

He shook his head. "Just getting you into the garage won't be enough. I'll have to go inside and deal with the rest of the locks before you can get into the house. And what will you do if there's an alarm inside?" He saw that I was about to argue and he held up his hand to silence me. "Jamie, no arguments. Besides, as soon as we're in the garage we'll close the door. We'll be safer there than in the alley."

"I suppose you're right," I agreed reluctantly. I think the urge to see inside Terry's mysterious basement had got the better of my judgment.

We finished our lagers and went back to the house. As we'd agreed I held back and whistled as best I could as Dave knelt down by the lock and inserted one of the metal picks from the wallet. He tried a second, and a third, then a fourth, then he straightened his back and lifted the door with a grating sound that set my teeth on edge. He slipped inside and I followed him. As I shut the door a pick-up truck drove by but I doubt that the driver would have seen anything.

A fluorescent light had flickered on as soon as he'd swung the door open and it bathed the concrete floor in a stark white light that was almost blinding after the soft yellow streetlights outside. It was musty-smelling as if it hadn't been used though there was a small patch of oil on one side of the garage as if a car had been there recently. Terry's Porsche maybe? There were metal racks against one of the walls and a selection of tools but they were dust-covered and festooned with cobwebs so she obviously wasn't much of a mechanic. Or, more probably, the Porsche never needed any work doing on it, Teutonic engineering and all that. "Jamie, you can stop whistling now," said Dave, with a grin.

To the left was a white-painted wooden door with a brass lock. Dave carefully ran his fingers around the door frame, peered through the cracks at either side and at the top and bottom, then went to work with his picks. It took him three minutes and the I heard a metallic click and the door slowly opened inwards. Dave made as if to go through the door but I stepped forward and pulled him back.

"No," I hissed. "I'm on my own from here on in. Thanks for everything, Dave, but you must go now."

He looked as if he was about to refuse but he could see that I was serious. "OK," he said.

"Close the door after me."

He told me to switch off the light and as I did he swung the door halfway up, ducked under it and was away. I closed it behind him and stood in the dark waiting for my eyes to get accustomed to the dark. They didn't. I waited for a full five minutes but I still couldn't see my hand when I held it in front of my eyes. The garage was completely lightproof. I couldn't even remember where the light switch was in relation to where I was standing. I groped against the wall but couldn't find it, then took a step to the left and banged against something wooden. Had there been a crate there before? Or a box? I couldn't remember. I felt a cold breeze on my left cheek and I turned my head that way but couldn't see anything. Was that the direction of the door leading inside the house? I squinted a little and it seemed as if there was a grey rectangle in the blackness but it could have been my eyes playing tricks.

I remembered I had a miniature Mag flashlight on my keyring, a present from Deborah in the days when she used to buy me presents. Way back when. I pulled it out of my pocket, the keys jangling like a wind chime, and twisted the light on. I ran the circle of light around the walls of the garage and allowed it to settle on the white door. There was a cool breeze coming from that direction, but I couldn't understand how that could be because all the windows Dave and I had seen had been shuttered and locked.

I decided against switching on the light and walked carefully across the garage floor to the door.

It made no sound when I pushed it and I stepped over the threshold, holding my breath. Beyond the doorway was a red-carpeted hallway. There was a rough mat on the floor and I wiped my feet on it and then stepped onto the plush pile. It made a quiet brushing noise as I walked, the sound of a cat being stroked. As I swung the flashlight around I saw another beam of light and a figure in the shadows and I jumped back, my heart thudding, and it jumped back simultaneously and I realised I'd been frightened by a mirror.

"Calm down, Jamie," I muttered to myself. The mirror was old, very old, obviously an expensive antique. It was as tall as a man and the frame was gold-painted. I looked at it closely.

No, gold leaf more likely. Real gold. It must have been worth a fortune. The door from the garage had opened into the middle of the hall, facing the mirror, and it stretched out to the right and left.

There were two doors leading off the hall, one at either end, and I decided to head for the right, hoping that there weren't any more locks and wondering what I'd do if there were. I worried too about alarms and thought that maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to send Dave away. It would also have made me feel a lot better wandering around in the dark if I'd had someone with me, but I knew that was childish. There was nothing to be frightened of in the dark. That's what I told myself, anyway.

There was a brass knob on the door and I turned it slowly and pushed. It opened and there was no sound from the hinges, just the swishing of the bottom of the door against the thick carpet.

Beyond was another hall off which led at least eight doors. There were probably more but the thin beam of light couldn't penetrate any further through the darkness. I was starting to feel like I was in a game of Dungeons and Dragons, the fantasy game I used to play at university, where you go through a maze fighting imaginary demons and monsters, but you've no idea of where you're going or where the monsters are – the only one who knows is the guy controlling the game, the Dungeon Master. All you are told about is the tiny bit you're in, be it a cave or a room or a corridor with a thick red carpet.