Jake “The Snake” Serpentini had assured Harry “The Runt” Runtilio that the tall tower projecting from the roofline just ahead of them would make a perfect hideout after the heist.
As he gingerly followed him across a particularly slippery, steeply sloped stretch of the elderly, run down English mansion’s roof, Harry prayed his partner knew what he was talking about. Jake had contended he had discovered the place last summer while working as a roofer when the owner of the sprawling old structure had come across enough cash to spring for some needed repairwork. Due to sealed-off chambers and no-exit passageways, according to Jake, the only way in or out of the hidden room nowadays was by way of these treacherous rooftops.
Harry wondered a bit about the story; he just could not picture street-smart Jake as much of a carpenter. The only hammer Jake had mastered, so far as Harry knew, formed an important component of the revolver that now bulged Serpentini’s jacket pocket. He had to admit to Jake’s expertise as a shooter, however, though he hoped Jake wouldn’t need to use it on their current caper except to display it for its intimidating effect.
They had staked out a small local bank and observed closely the ebb and flow of traffic in and out of the building. Early tomorrow they would walk into the bank and make a small “withdrawal.”
Jake swore this time their efforts would pay off, unlike the last excursion when they had gotten themselves wedged into a chimney that went nowhere and had to wait soot-covered and foul smelling until a rescue crew extracated them the following day. Fortunately, they had managed to escape into the crowd that had gathered, the thick, cloying layer of soot concealing their easily identified mugs.
But before they tackled the bank, Jake wanted to reconoiter the hideout and leave a small stash of food and water and a blanket to ward off the evening chill. Harry now carried these items in a black plastic bag that added to the difficulty of traversing the slant of the roof. He took another cautious step forward.
Just then Jake’s foot went out from under him. Flailing for balance, he grabbed for the plastic bag.
A second later two bodies tobogganed noisily off the roof and hurtled over the startled heads of visitors strolling along a narrow balcony. The visitors crowded to the balustrade to observe the cartwheeling figures plunge earthward accompanied by water bottles, sandwiches, wrapped chunks of cheese, blankets and a big plastic bag. Some of the ladies held hands over their ears as a gun went off with a resounding bang.
As he lay stunned atop the prone body of Jake, Harry peered down at his aching right foot through which a bullet had forced its way. One of Jake’s feet also showed signs of damage. Apparently, Jake had managed to shoot not just himself but both of them through the foot.
Dimly, Harry now heard a possibly enlightening remark from the crowd just over their heads.
“Hmmmph!” one of the gentlemen said to his female companion, as he kicked aside several shingles that had showered down around them. “It’s positively disgraceful, the kind of laborer you find available today, and the quality of their workmanship. It is no wonder our estates are falling apart before our very eyes.”
Perhaps I’m wrong, Harry thought. Maybe Jake did do some carpentrywork here after all.