Buried Treasure

This was as good as it got. Like taking candy from the proverbial baby. Dug liked that bit. What he didn’t like was that he’d had two newbies foisted upon him. That wasn’t how he rolled, even with a rep like his. At least guys knew why he’d ended up with his name. Dick had known the story and been suitably impressed right up until Spike had laughed and asked what the story behind Dick’s name was. He’d then mimed lewdly with his hand and a tongue probing his cheek in sync. Dug almost called it off until Dick shook his head disdainfully at Spike and said, “it’s because I always seem to be landed with dicks like you.” Spike had scowled at that but had the sense to leave it at that. There something in the way Dick spoke. It contained a warning. It told them both that Dick too no nonsense and he could handle himself when needed. Spike however. Dug’s jury was out on Spike. He’d keep an eye on that one.

Money talked, but there was an initial reticence when the three of them got together. Easy to confirm that they’d received texts from the same mobile number outlining a sweet deal. Break into a house and take the painting in the loft. For their trouble there was an advance payment that was dropped through their letterboxes unseen. Spike’s dog had almost eaten the money. Almost. Dug suspected he’d hit that poor dog for its troubles. As well as the advance payment they were told of further bounty within the house. They were to take what they wanted as long as they were in and out like a virgin with an actress. There was likely to be a pile of cash in one of the kitchen drawers. They were even told which one to look in.

“How much did you get?” Dug asked Spike. He went for Spike first to get a further bead on the man. As he suspected, there was no straight answer.

“Enough,” said Spike.

“Let me make this easy for you,” said Dug, “I’m the big dog here, OK?”

“Yeah, the big Dug!” Spike grinned a grin that Dug wanted to wipe from his face. The man had no class and no manners. Dug stared him down. Letting Spike know that he’d just made a big mistake and life could only get awkward from hereon in.

“I got ten grand,” interjected Dick, “if that’s more than you guys I’m happy to split the difference and make it as fair as it needs to be.” He nodded at Dug and Dug returned the gesture. Appreciated the lad all the more for that. Dick understood how it had to be. That was worth its weight in gold.

“I got ten Gs too,” Dug replied, “ and that’s more than fine with me.

Spike looked from Dug to Dick, “I only got eight.”

“Good,” said Dug, “that sounds about right. Besides, Fido probably taxed you two k for being a dick,” now he was grinning and the grin was all threat. Putting Spike in his place. Validating Dick’s earlier words so there was a clear pecking order.

Against his better judgement, he got Spike to drive the stolen people carrier. The vehicle was anonymous and with the rear seats laid flat there was plenty of room for anything they lifted from the house they were visiting that night.

They’d looked up the address and worked out timings. Dick had swapped the plates on the car and taken it to a fuel station to brim the tank. Dug had sent Spike to another fuel station to fill his own car and canister of fuel with petrol. This they’d use to torch the stolen wheels once they were done. Of course, Spike complained about this. As he should. Dug already had petrol in his shed, but he wanted to mug Spike off before they set off for this job. He’d feel more comfortable having one up on the man. With pieces of shit like this there needed to be a score kept.

Spike’s driving didn’t accord with the empty bravado of the man. Behind the wheel he was quiet and conscientious. Dug didn’t know whether to accept this as one of life’s bonuses or question the sanity of the character driving them to the job. He’d expected fast and haphazard driving and a diatribe that would make their ears bleed. Instead they were treated to an oasis of peace and quiet accompanied by low volume classic FM. Dug exchanged a look with Dick before relaxing into the trip and watching the world go by.

The world that went by morphed from the dirt and bustle of the inner city to an expanse of greenery via the suburbs that boarded the city. Modest houses that had been invaded by well paid professionals. House prices soaring and evicting locals in a gentle mass exodus fifty miles or more from the city. Cheap labour was provided in the city by transitory migrants. Without them, everything would collapse.

They were heading well beyond the commuter belt to an area of the country where the rich and well-heeled spent weekends and their supposed working from home time. Country houses that had mostly been excommunicated from their farming roots. Country estates made simple by selling off the land to larger and larger farms. Squeezing out families who had farmed the land for generations. The quiet virus of capitalism erasing history and connection.

Dug wasn’t sure what he hated more. This sanitised countryside or the rat-eat-rat world he’d found himself in by right of birth. He’d been tricked into making and escape that was only ever a trap. If there’d been a legit exit route, he’d never seen it. Even his legend was a part of what trapped him. And it wasn’t true to the truth of the matter.

He’d come by the moniker Dug because he’d dug his own grave, but at the point he was about to occupy it, he’d swung the shovel and broken the arm of the gang member who was about to shoot him. Turned the tables in the final knockings. It was a good story. Almost an alibi as well as a legend. He’d done none of the digging though. He’d been the one holding the gun. He’d always been the one holding the gun. That was how he’d made his way in the world he found himself in. Kill or be killed. He glanced at the back of the driver’s seat and entertained a happy ending for Spike. He would be happier and that bit richer. After all, money talked. Dead men didn’t. He felt Dick’s eyes upon him and felt for a moment like Dick knew what he was thinking. Perhaps he did. Better if he didn’t. Less dangerous for all concerned.

“Lights,” Dug whispered.

Spike didn’t respond.

“Spike, turn the fucking lights off!” Dug hissed. They had turned into the long drive that was the only approach to the house. They’d been told it would be unoccupied, but Dug wasn’t going to rely upon that intel. In his experience, the info provided never lived up to scrutiny on the day.

“But I won’t be able to see!” wailed Spike. And Dug was almost relieved to have the wanker back in the game.

“Just do as you’re told.”

Spike turned the lights off grudgingly. Dug imagined him tutting.

“And slow the fuck down!”

Spike complied and Dug heard Dick sigh. There was tension in the vehicles cabin now. Things were about to get real. Dug felt it the most. He’d been here and done it so often. Knew what could go wrong. More importantly, knew who could go wrong. He looked at Spike in the driver’s seat and suddenly wondered why he’d allowed the man along. He was a liability and there was no need for more than two of them. Only now did he ask himself whether there were more invitees to this gig. Just as easy to take the money and run. Or stay separate, sit back and pick the mugs off after they’d done the heavy lifting. His hand went into the pocket of his hoody and felt the cold metal of his gun. Sod fidget spinners, the feel of that cool surface grounded him. Reminded him of what he was about.

Spike stopped the car out front. Leaving it in plain sight was less conspicuous. Act suspicious and you invariably stuck out like Pinocchio’s nose as he whispered sweetly in your ear and told you, you wouldn’t get splinters.

The imposing country pile was in darkness. Dick shuddered as he eyed it.

“You alright?” Dug asked him.

Dick’s face creased up as he replied, “cat walked over my grave.”

Dug knew what he meant. He felt something off about the place. Couldn’t put his finger on it. It was like the house had been waiting for them. There was an expectant quality to the way it sat there before them. And Dug didn’t spook easily.

“Unfortunate turn of phrase that Dick!” Spike had undone his seatbelt and turned round towards the two of them.

Dug shook his head, “I preferred it when you were driving. Why didn’t you tell us you’d had a previous life as an undertaker?”

Now it was Spike’s turn to crease his face up, “eh?”

People would never cease to annoy and disappoint Dug. He’d done his fair share of the same. Or so his ex-missus reminded him constantly. Letting down his two kids by virtue of his very existence. He’d told her she’d missed her calling as an inspirational life coach. She’d told him to fuck off. Their dynamic hadn’t altered one iota since they’d split.

“Let’s get to it,” Dug nodded towards the house as he opened his door and slipped out of the car. Dick followed suit. It didn’t surprise Dug that they had to wait for Spike. Dick busied himself by removing the canvas bag from the back of the car and removing a crowbar.

“I thought…” began Spike.

“Back up,” replied Dick as he handed the iron bar to Spike.

In the dark, Dug afforded himself a smile. Dick was proving himself to at least be OK. He watched as the man pulled out a small wallet and unzipped it. The picks inside were the tools of his trade. Having a back-up plan were these not to work was a nice touch. Dug reckoned the crowbar was seldom, if ever needed. And he was right, the door swung wide open after only a moment’s foreplay.

Spike reached for the light switch.

“Don’t,” barked Dug. The effect on Spike was the same as if he’d had his hand slapped away.

They proceeded down the wide hallway slowly, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dark. Dick had a pencil torch out, scanning the way forward and the prospect of a payday on the walls. Dug suspected that he had a keen eye and in another life may have made a good living as an antiques dealer. May still do so when the time came to go legit.

“Why don’t you head up and find the painting,” Dug said to Dick. He was rewarded with a nod. Dick peeled off and headed up the stairs.

“Upstairs,” he pointed upwards for Spike’s benefits, and added, “there’s likely to be jewellery in the bedrooms.” Spike lingered. Looking along the hallway towards where the kitchen undoubtedly was. Trust was always in short supply in these situations. It was an occupational hazard. Showing mistrust was a big no-no though. Spike managed to go down further in Dug’s reckoning. Dug thought there was probably still more to come. Was readying himself for a confrontation that were it not to occur right now, would likely boil over before the night was out. He watched the man reluctantly head for the stairs. Taking his time to signal his dissatisfaction. Using up precious time and distracting Dug from the job in hand.

In the kitchen, Dug used his own pencil torch to seek out the drawer which contained the cash they had been promised. He paused with his gloved hand on the handle. A treacherous thought came to him, this is all too easy. Even with an idiot in tow it was panning out far too well. He tried not to think of the potential of this being a trap as he carefully pulled the drawer open. Half expecting an explosion as he set off a booby trap. As he peered into the drawer, he realised that was exactly what was awaiting him.

As he withdrew the handwritten note he heard a muffled gasp and thud. He was running before he had processed the sounds or considered what it was he should do in response to them. Training from another life kicking in. Running towards the danger when many would run away, or worse still freeze and in their inaction condemn themselves and others to the worst possible outcome.

By the time he got to the head of the stairs there was only one source of sound and that was rapid footsteps from the floor above. He saw a thin beam of light swinging to and fro from the other end of the landing and decided to turn away from it to establish whether the source of the commotion was further along the landing.

He stopped just a few yards further. Now was his time to freeze. He stood stock still. Mirroring the scene before him.

“Wha…” began an out of breath Dick. He’d seen what Dug was staring at and joined him in silence. Standing just a step back from Dug he too ceased to move.

Spike would no longer annoy anyone. For all Dug had disliked the man, he hadn’t deserved this. No one deserved this. Whatever this was.

“What the fuck?!” Dick had found some semblance of his voice. There was a hoarse tremor to it. He sounded how Dug felt.

They were both training their torches on Spike’s face. His features were frozen in an expression of abject horror. Foam in the corners of a mouth pulled back in a silent scream. His eyes were milky white. Skin grey.

“He looks like a statue,” Dick whispered.

Dug reached out and touched the back of Spike’s hand, “cold.”

“How’s he still standing?” asked Dick.

Dug shook his head and turned away, “did you get the painting?”

“Not yet,” Dick answered, “the money?”

Dug shook his head again, “not yet.” Deciding not to mention the note he’d crumpled up in his left hand and slipped in his pocket. A note that said simply, This isn’t what you signed up for!

“Get the painting and I’ll meet you downstairs,” Dug said in barely more than a whisper. He didn’t need to tell Dick to be quick about it. They both needed to be out of here, but the prospect of leaving empty handed wasn’t one either would entertain.

Dug had a hold of his gun. Pulled it out once Dick had left. Mobile in his other hand, he called the number of the person who had contracted them out for this job. Further along the landing he heard a phone ringing. Somehow, that figured.

He checked every room along the landing but came up empty. Didn’t even find the phone. Part of him glad of that. He was asking himself what he was still doing here in this damned house as he stood at the head of the stairs and considered going down and searching for whoever had done this. The person who had written the note. Had a person done that to Spike? He’d never seen anything like it nor heard stories that came close. Except one and that was a myth from another age.

The thud that came from the loft made his blood run cold. He wasn’t as quick to react this time. But still he went towards the source of the ominous sound. Didn’t have any other option. You faced the danger now or you ran and when it found you, you were fucked and you were fucked from the moment you showed cowardice.

Gun first, he slowed as he reached the top steps of the loft. Scanned around. Saw enough. Saw too much. But not whoever it was who had lured the three of them here.

Dick had found the painting and uncovered it, “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Dug whispered to himself. The canvas depicted a person so old they were virtually decomposing. There was no way there was an ever young version of this man in the house. That would be beyond a joke. Besides, it didn’t explain Spike and it didn’t explain the contorted figure of Dick laying on his back like a dead fly. Arms and legs in the air. Hands clawing at an invisible assailant. The same sightless eyes in the midst of a face that had witnessed a horror beyond imagining.

“Sorry mate,” Dug whispered as he recovered the painting and picked it up. It was heavier than he’d anticipated. He pocketed his gun and walked quickly back down the stairs. Time to get the hell out of dodge.

She was waiting in the hallway for him. In the moonlight her tight curls seemed to move independently of each other as she reached out for him. He tried to shield himself with the painting, but it slipped from fingers gone numb as she stared into his very soul with eyes that burnt. He felt a detached fascination as his body convulsed violently in the shock of her gaze. Convulsing to a shuddering stop as his screaming soul fled his now dead and frozen body.

When Dorian returned from his trip to the city he found three new statues in the grounds. He never had to ask where they’d come from. He knew his sister far too well.