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                                             The Day Job
Jacob wasn’t happy with the sunshine. It brought too many people onto the streets. His long beard wasn’t helping either; he brushed away sweat from the back of his neck and cursed the Traffic Warden’s suit. It was too hot for this attire and more than once he’d had drivers give him a hard stare of defiance. The look of defiance was of little significance, it was the stare that worried him. He checked the parking metres, like he gave a shit. The busy London thoroughfare appeared to bustle as he steadied his breath and prepared. 
At approximately seven minutes after ten the G5 van pulled up outside the building society and one guard stepped from the van, calmly opening the back door. He appeared groggy, tired and lazy – but Jacob knew this already. Nonchalantly he unloaded two canvass bags and walked towards the bank. Jacob had timed the run. It took this fat, jaded, clown eight seconds to walk a matter of centimetres whilst it took Jacob four seconds to lift the lid off the wheelie-bin and remove the pump-action shotgun.

 ‘Put the bags on the ground and take two steps backwards,’ he bellowed.
The adrenaline coursed through his veins as the scene slowed to a crawl. In this particular moment he was calm…so calm.
Jacob knows how people react: most civilians meander through their day in a neutral state that neither perceives, nor conceives of vulnerability, but when danger presents itself, adrenaline hits…hard. The heart races, the mouth becomes dry and the superhuman kick you need to survive is so surreal that it inadvertently cripples those not use to it. During a robbery, most people subconsciously recognise they aren’t in danger; the property is not theirs to be defended or rescued; then there are the dumb fuckers who believe in civic duty that will try to intervene.
The impulse to do something which is of no benefit to them starts with a jolt of adrenaline, and usually ends with their life being snatched. A career criminal deals with naturally concocted chemicals on a regular basis and for a beginner to step into their path is tantamount to suicide. The biggest pain in the ass to a criminal is a misguided civilian with a hero complex.
The guard does as instructed without missing a beat. Two onlookers edge forward as Jacob smiles widely, showing the gaping hole where his front teeth had been. The demented smile doesn’t work; he blasts a shot over their heads - this time they stop. Vehicles grind to a halt watching the robbery unfold; it leaves ample room for a smaller vehicle to manoeuvre itself around the cavalcade. The Ducati roars into life as Jacob scoops up the bags and vaults onto the back of the bike as they hit speed.

London is a maze of CCTV; Jacob counted twenty two cameras on this particular route. Methodically, he had disabled every one of them the night before the job. His methods were crass but effective.
The getaway route consisted of five laneways, two narrow streets and an abandoned industrial eventually leading to a dirty river bank camouflaged by ancient arches and overgrown weeds. In less than seven minutes they are two miles from the crime scene. They set the Ducati ablaze along with their disguises before changing into bright running gear and heading their separate ways.
Jacob jogs slowly as the sun bounces from the glass structures of Canary Wharf. It wasn’t long before he found a popular jogging route along the Thames River. With his back-pack stuffed with cash he stays alert.
His earphones were playing the audio to scanners monitoring police activity in the area. As he ran Jacob drank a bottle of water to wash away the charcoal in his mouth. At thirty years of age, he’d a full set of white teeth; he liked to leave clues where none could be found.