Lecher on the Sly

THE LECHER ON THE SLY

Accursed ATM machines ! Card retained !
Goddamned card retained !
Damned embarrassing when that VDU flashes and a dozen goggley-eyed
cretins sandwiching forward , like they's so filthy rich it ain't never
happened to them.

No funds. --- Fundless !

They never cleans those screens anyway so you always gotta peer real
hard just to figure if you go any money to take out .
Bloody things are a Take-on .
Then the crazy hole in the wall starts wailing like some moonstruck
banshee . . .
Shit ! . . . Behind those big glassy Building Society doors they just
sits raking in all your money -- you try gettin' it back -- they don't
wanna know -- spits in your face almost , ain't that the truth ?

A few measly sheets for a couple of Chevis Regals an' that goddamned
machine screeches -- blasting the airwaves like there was in-coming
thermonuclear missiles or sumthin' , but nobodys' searching the skies
-- no -- they is all gaping at me .

Nuthin' else for it -- I snapped my visor down Launcelot style -- ready
to do battle with them swanky business jerks in their shiny Mercs an'
headed for my Honda 50.
Then I gotta push thro' a giggling queue of sexy micro-skirted
part-time trolley pushers from the next door supermarket .
Bunch of candy stripe kids playing at high finance -- and me who knows
all about big money an' how to spend it -- all red faced --
horning it fast outta there .

I can tell you it was pretty awful -- an' some of them girls were
terribly cute .
I mean it . Like if I'd got some dough outta that slot I might even
have invited one of them to share a Chevis Regal with me.

Most girls fancy me sumthin' rotten but they're all younger than me --
I ain't no father figure nor nuthin' -- I come across more a sorta big
brother -- a good guy -- somebody they trusts a lot -- somebody they
can confide in with no complicated explanations or anythin' .
I don't mind -- mostly .
I mean it's OK until I wined and dined the phoney bitch with a couple
of jumbo hamburgers and I'm expectin' a heavy snog --all she wants to
do is to go into this long harangue . . .
Hey ! I tells her there ain't nuthin' wrong with my morals --- I ain't
got any .
Besides it ain't too easy snogging no Gorganzola doll on the back of a
Honda 50.
I has to contort right round to get to her fiddly bits. Pointless
spewing poetry into the sweaty face-mask of a steamed-up helmet , stuck
halfway up a muddy lane , wi' the full moon arising an' other things
risin' too .

These dumb girls think if you haven't started some sorta bit fondlin'
after ten minutes into their lousy storeday complaining then you gotta
be too strange .
Reciting Walter-De-La-Mares' SILVER from memory don't impress them none
-- too sophisticated for their menial mentality.
They don't want no intellectual conversation --
Honest . They is only into squeezing an' hearing how peachy they look .
Rubbishy stuff

But casually mention a roll on the grass and they goes on an' on about
dampness and gettin' their candy uniforms creased an' the grass is
green -- for gawdsake am I responsible for the entire Earths' ecology
?
They nearly drive me crazy .
I'd be better off doing it with a sheep , except I'm allergic to wool
-- I get this red blotchiness an' I never met a sheep that smelled good
-- an' the noise they make -- brings half the farmers in the country
running .

The world is fulla noises I don't need to hear .

I like girls Ok -- that way -- this way -- any way in fact an' it pays
to advertise.
I learned that from the Lonely Hearts advert when I returned the
magazine form :
Dead witty it was > " Robert Redford look-a-like seeks shortsighted
curvaceous blonde who don't wear her specs " Nobody replied -- guess curvaceous blondes don't appreciate humour
.

Some girls even when they fancy me like mad are too shy to come right
up to me and beg for a date .
So I painted my name ' NICK ' , an' my phone number in big bold black
letters across the front of my sunshine yellow crash helmet .

My phone must have been in one of its' disconnected modes , 'cos nobody
called

Mostly I watched stacks of late night TV movies -- you know the old
black an' white ones -- they kill me they do -- old Jimmy Cagney an'
old Humphrey Bogart.
Those good old boys knew how to knock over a bank or two. This TV droll
said Humphrey was so short he had to stand on a chair to kiss Lauren
Bacall .
I don't think that was true -- reckon the droll was jealous .
If I had to kiss Lauren Bacall I'd made her bend her knees -- no
problem .

The more I watched how those guys did a Bank Job the more tempting the
big glassy doors of the Building Society became .
I cased the joint for a whole week .
I mean you gotta do this personally if you're gonna be personally
involved in the heist -- right ?

Even sauntered up to the counter once -- all casual -- nonchalant
.
" Please could you change this pile of pennies into a note , please ?
"
real professional I was checking where the tiny cyclop spies scanned
the counter.
I figured there wern't no way I was getting in and outta that place
without being spotted , , but with my visor down I'd be unrecogniseable
-- I can hardly see outta the lousy thing an' sure as hell no goddamn
camera could see in .

I didn't have no gun nor nuthin' -- the thickest banana from the
supermarket --
sprayed black made a brilliant substitute -- reckoned in the heat of
the moment nobody would even notice .
First Wednesday of the month I picked as Heist Day .
Banking Societies never expect they'll be turned-over midweek 'cos
Friday is always their big deposit day. Them phonies is mostly stupid
.

Early Wednesday morning I bumps thro' the swing doors an' heads for the
furtherest service hatch where the sexy blonde had wedged herself -- I
like blondes -- honest .
The name pinned on her frilly V-necked blouse says ' Phoebe ' -- nobody
ever calls hatch-girls by their name -- they always calls them Miss or
if it's a dead old person they calls them Dearie or sumthin' .

Phoebe smiles all friendly -- breathes attar of roses in my direction
.
" What can I do for you sir ? "
-- I forget why I'm there . --
" Huh , , HUh " . . . I pulls my banana out an' points it at her
.
Phoebe was real blase -- then this great metal screen came crashing
down on the counter -- squashing my extended banana all to bits.
I left Phoebe to clean up her own Formica and hared it outta
there.

An hour later I'm in the apartment contemplating a scrambled egg when
the cops bust the door -- a dozen of 'em --
no kiddin' -- they're all over me like roaches at a sugar spill party
.
This ape in a raincoat slams the crash helmet against my nose -- he
leers .
" Yor're nicked Nick ! You is starrin' in a video Ncky . . . we got it
downtown ."

Before I got time to compose a witty retort the sonuvabitch is
sardining me into the back of a black an' white .

Nobody ever calls me Nicky -- not even my mother .

Somedays I got real bad Karma !

* * END * *

2003