Chapter Sixteen – The Storm

In the months that followed Jeremy and Bill went out housebreaking at least once a week; it seemed Fagin had a wealth of suitable houses at his disposal. As the weeks drew on the jobs became increasingly easy and yet continued to get more risky at the same time. They could break and enter without difficulty now but, more often than not, faced all sorts of menaces in their acquisition of worthy items.

At first the rest of the gang were curious as to why Bill and Jeremy never came pick pocketing with them anymore; Norman and Frankie especially seemed upset at having no backup when it came to taunting Morris. When Fagin informed them that Bill and Jeremy had moved onto 'bigger and better things' they were looked up to with new respect. But, since Fagin hadn't told them what bigger and better things were, they were curious. Curious enough to pester Fagin until he was finally worn down and told them.

Bill and Jeremy were housebreakers, at eighteen and seventeen years of age respectively.

Housebreakers.

Even Morris was awed at the prospect and railed and ranted for ages, complaining that he wanted to be a housebreaker too (if only for the glory he thought the job would bring him). Fagin gave him a smack about the head, called him a twit, and told him to get out and earn his keep, which he did, albeit sullenly.

Tonight Bill and Jeremy were to go out housebreaking again; this time with Bulls-Eye in tow. Jeremy had brought the dog on a couple of occasions; he proved himself useful when dealing with guard dogs or alerting them when coppers were on their tail. Bill, Jeremy and Bulls-Eye were known to the police (how could they not be with all the houses they robbed?) but they had never been caught are even properly identified. They always got away unscathed, with all the goods they could carry for Fagin crammed in their pockets.

They'd turned out just as Fagin hoped they would. And tonight's house, a large upper class residence on the well respected Romulus Avenue, would be a perfect test to see just how brilliant Bill and Jeremy had become.

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It was a darker night than usual, and colder, London, as it was, being in the heart of the winter months. Frost sparkled on the pavements as the pair of them hurried towards their destination, their breath coming in ragged clouds before their faces. Bulls-Eye trotted at Jeremy's heels, panting slightly as he kept pace with the two men.

The house was larger than they'd both expected, but this did not deter them. They scaled the iron fence surrounding it with practiced ease, Jeremy running to open the garden gate to let Bulls-Eye in, the dog immediately running off to scan the grounds for any of its fellows lurking unnoticed.

As Bill prized open the larder window and Jeremy prepared to clamber through, the sky above them split and the rain began to lash down in torrents. It was typical of London's winter weather to be unpredictable, but a thunderstorm was definitely not anticipated, or appreciated, by the two robbers.

Bill cursed as he hurried to the front door, attempting in vain to shield himself from the rain. He wasn't against it ordinarily, but it would be most inconvenient for the job he and Jeremy had to do.

The front door was soon unlocked and the men went about their business as usual. Even the main hallway was crammed with all sorts of expensive items (which soon found their way into Bill and Jeremy's various pockets). The pounding rain outside turned out to be a blessing in disguise; it was so loud and furious that the two men were certain the owner of the house couldn't hear them.

The first floor pillaged to their satisfaction, the pair of them proceeded as usual to the upper floors of the house, swiping all they could find of value as they always did. Despite the bad weather which wasn't that much of a problem at present, both Bill and Jeremy were surprised with how well the burglary was going.

As Jeremy was picking a figurine off a window ledge, however, he spotted something, even through the film of water on the pane, which made his blood run cold. Bulls-Eye was advancing on a pair of dogs, both twice his size, but clearly the guardians of the house. He and the other dogs were barking and growling at each other fit to burst when, without warning, one of them leapt at Bulls-Eye, pinning him to the ground. Naturally Bulls-Eye began to fight back and soon the dog's yelps and howls had reached fever pitch, loud enough for even Jeremy, inside the house, to hear!

He backed out of the room as quickly as he could, but it was too late. The owner of the house was awake, and spotted him just as he cleared the doorway. The man ducked beneath the bed for a moment, re-emerging with a pistol in one hand before giving chase.

Jeremy, looking over his shoulder as he sprinted for the staircase, noticed the man immediately. Cursing, he leapt down the stairs three at a time, fumbling in his pocket for his own gun.

Bill, hearing the commotion, dashed from the second bedroom he'd been looting and drew his pistol from his coat pocket, aiming a shot at the man chasing Jeremy. His aim was off by inches and the bullet hit a painting instead.

Jeremy gave a yell of surprise at the sound of the bullet and stumbled over his own feet in his haste to get to the door. The home owner turned and spotted Bill as he too began to run down the stairs; without pausing to think Bill struck the man across the face with the pistol in his hand, the man crumpled to the floor with a shriek of pain.

Bill and Jeremy at last reached the door and fled the house, the storm still raging as if it never thought to stop. So concerned were the two men with quitting the place that they didn't look once over their shoulders again to see the man in the doorway, supporting himself against the frame, his pistol at the ready.

A bang, the stench of gunpowder, a yell, the frenzied howls of the dogs, the smell of blood…

Jeremy lay curled in the grass, crimson liquid blossoming over his black overcoat, his eyes glazed. The hand that had seconds before gripped his pistol was limp, and what little breath he had left came in ragged, wretched gasps.

"Bill…get out of 'ere…take the b***** dog an' run!"

Bill couldn't run, he couldn't just leave Jeremy here…he moved as if to help his friend to his feet, but Jeremy could barely lift his head, his breathing becoming even more strained.

"'S too late Bill…"

"I can't just leave you 'ere to die; are ya crazy?"

Jeremy would have laughed, but he was in too much pain to even attempt a smile. Of course he was crazy, this whole idea was madness…and it was an insane old man who'd drove them to it.

As the rain lashed down and the dogs continued to growl, Jeremy drew his last shaking breath.