Thursday, 30 March 2017

The Grave Robbers

For audio click here 
Do not read this if you are of a fragile disposition. 

“Hey Dar, I knows how we can make some money.” 
Darren looked at Gwyn with his mouth open. 
“My dad tells me they buried Mrs. Evans last week. And she had more jewellery on her than Ratners.”
It took a moment for the penny to drop. “You wanna dig up Mrs. Evans?” Darren said. 
“Dig her up like, nick the rings, sell ‘em down Cardiff, innit?.” 
“You’re sick,” Darren said, pulling up his keks, the elastic had gone in his blue Adidas tracksuit bottoms.  
“Think of the fags we could buy. Better than nicking them from your mum.”
“I dunno though. She was ugly enough when she was alive, Christ knows what she’ll look like now.”
“Don't be such a wuss. I’m doing it, you in?” Gwyn said.  
Darren nodded his mouth open. “Yeah, why not “I fucking hated the old bag.”

Black clouds hung over the cemetery as the two boys chucked their tool bags over the wall and clambered down after them.
“It’s over there,” said Gwyn, striding towards the grave. “My dad said they don't bury them too deep; we’ll hit the jackpot in an hour. Here we are, let’s dig.” Gwyn kicked the flowers off the grave and put his shovel in the ground.  
Sweat ran down Darren's back as he dug. He could hear Gwyn panting beside him.
“You ever seen a dead body?” Darren said.
“Yeah, loads.” Darren wasn’t sure whether to believe his mate or not.
 They’d only gone about two foot down when the hit something wooden. 
“Now what?” Darren asked. 
Gwyn smiled took out an axe from his bag. 
“We smashes the fucking doors in.” 
Splinters flew everywhere as Gwyn swung the axe.
“Shines the torch on it, like,” Gwyn said.
Darren directed the light onto the coffin and saw the bloated greeny-black face of his former primary school teacher, just as the smell hit his nostrils. What remained of the burger, beans and chips he’d had for his tea flew through the air and landed on Mrs. Evans’s face. 
“Fuck Dar, what you doing? That nearly hit me. Quick get in and help me get the stuff. Dar! Dar!” 
Darren was standing zombie-like on the edge of the grave. 
Gwyn dropped the axe and started digging around for jewels. He stuffed what he could find into his pockets and jumped out of the hole and wiped his hands on Darren’s coat.
“Come on, soft lad,” he said to Darren and dragged his stunned friend away. 

“Five quid? They’ve got to be worth more than that.” 
“Sorry boys, I’m sure your gran loved them, but they’re tat.” 
“No way, thatsa diamond, that is,” Gwyn said. Darren stood with his mouth open next to him. He was still as white as a sheet.
“All that glitters isn’t gold, as they say. It’s a piece of glass,” the jeweller replied. “Now five quid, take it or leave it.”
“Come on Dar, let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

“Fuck, a fiver? A poxy fiver. I’ve been having nightmares for two pounds fifty?” Darren said. “You’re a fucking idiot you are.”

But Gwyn wasn’t listening, he was watching the two policemen coming towards them as they waited for their bus home.
“Run,” he said.
“What?” But Gwyn was already gone, and by the time Darren realised what he mate had meant, he was being handcuffed by one of the coppers and watching the other one tackling Gwyn to the floor.

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