How to Steal Large Objects

Odd to be on the ground. Unable to see the rooftops and the bird's feathers makes Mackey feel dizzy, the reverse of vertigo. Those clouds look painted on the canvas sky. The perspective's wrong. The people look ugly too from down here. An office worker, twisted with premonitions. A girl slouching from the bus. A cashier/salesman/manager - long faced iPod stares all, never looking up, none of them ever looking up. Up. Above streets, houses, up, where he should be, in his perspex bubble that rocked on the stillest day.

He should be clambering up his ladder, whispering "keep me safe old girl, there's a gale on the way. He should be negotiating the tricky top rung, squeezing into the cabin and wiping grime from the Operator Certificate (Distinction) behind his chair. He should be hearing Clem's instructions cracking in his headphones, "down a bit, bit more, keep going, keep going, stop. Stop! Bloody stop! He should be singing with the radio while he swung the gantry over the snakes and ladders board of buildings, telling the old girl his dreams, thinking about his future.

Today, however, his ascent is not required. Indeed, his ascent is impossible because the tons of matt blue steel crane that had towered over the development like a hangman's noose was gone.

"Like Pacman, Mackey calls back to Clem. "Like them ghosts, running around after Game Over. They just don't know.
"Oh. Aye.
Clem's settled in a makeshift armchair he's made from roofing tiles and tarpaulin. Reading the paper, tea cosy of a hat poking over the top, big fingers roughing up the pages, steel capped boots up on an oil drum. He doesn't lookup when Mackey comes back. "They don't know what's going on. They can't work out how they did it.
Clem grunts, pulls a cigarette packet from his overalls.
"Let us have one, Clem.
"Thought you were giv'in up.
"It's not been going too well.
He rolls a cable reel next to Clem, turns it over and sits down. Takes a cigarette from Clem's outstretched packet and lights up with the lighter he hasn't binned yet. "Bin thinking about going to doing that engineering course.
"You do too much thought.
"Ah, come on Clem, don't you want to know how they do all of this? he gestures round the site. Building skeletons rise from the earth as if the dinosaurs never left. Steel, cement, bricks and timber wrought together in unnatural designs, resembling the formulae that allowed their existence.
Clem sags his paper so Mackey can see his face. A life lived under the sun. "What good does that do anyone, understanding all that stuff? You've seen Barnes and the supers. They haven't got any more idea about your crane than you have.
"Oh right, Mackey bristles, "and what's your big idea then?
"That's what they get for putting you in charge of it, sniffs Clem. He pushed his hat down to hide his enjoyment. "Look out 'ere comes another.

Ant-like columns of anxious looking men in ill-fitting shirts march between the management port-a-cabin and the unmarked pitch where clocking-off time yesterday the crane had rested. They all know this is impossible. The structure had taken several days to erect when work had first started and, now the foundations for the superstore were in place, disassembly would require a precisely planned operation.

The site manager, Barnes, ambles over to them. Looks paler than normal, hair thinner, jacket more dishevelled. "Hello lads. Any luck then?
"No, Mr Barnes, we still haven't seen it, says Clem.
"Well, thanks all the same. He removes his helmet and dabs at his brow with the corner of his jacket. He sits down next to Mackey. "Look, I know how you lads like a joke. Like that time Mackey dropped all those paving slabs on my car?
"That was only 'cos Clem got his left mixed up with his right.
"That's right Mr Barnes, we just got mixed up.
"Yes, yes. It's ok. No harm done. I got out eventually, Barnes mops his head again, "The thing is I know I can trust you lads. If any funny business was going on with this crane, I know you'd let me know. No names or anything, just where it's got to.
"Oh yes Mr Barnes, course we would. We come right up and tell you quick as anything.
"But we haven't heard anything.
"Well now Mr Barnes, I did see some blue girders as I was coming in this morning now you come to mention it, down behind the multi-story.
"You did? Well spotted Clem, you could be on to something there. Barnes pats Clem's shoulder. "Thanks lads, I won't forget this.

As soon as he's out of earshot Clem erupts in laughter and Mackey shakes his head.
"You never saw those girders, did you Clem?
Clem opens his lunch box and selects a sandwich. He takes a bite to leave a grin shaped hole.
"You're rotten to old Barnesy. Poor old bloke never did anyone any harm.
Clem stops laughing and shakes his sandwich right at Mackey.
"Never did anyone any harm? Never did anyone any harm Mackey? I'll tell you who never did any harm. What about all them graves Barnes got us to dig up, all them trees we had to chop down?
"Mr Barnes's only doing his job Clem. If it wasn't for him, they wouldn't need me to operate the crane, and I wouldn't need you to tell me where to move it to.
"Oh right, now I see. Now I see it perfect. First you get that operator's licence, then you're sticking up for Barnes. I know you game. I've got your number.
"That's not fair Clem, I'm just trying to make something of me life. You should be more supportive. Maybe you should try that test too.
"I know where these feet belong and that's not perched on top of a ladder. Besides not much need for a crane operator any more, is there? Crack open your thermos, Barnes will be ages yet.
"Can I have one of your sarnies Clem?

The extensive search of the multi-story failed to conjure up a single stray bolt. Barnes took shelter in the prefab office, closed the door and dialled the long number for Project Manager Grey.

Project Manager Grey was a hard, blunt, instrument of construction. Forty years ago, Grey started in the business mixing concrete. He'd built his own career path, bulldozing opposition all the way to current position. He knew every prank, every scheme and scam that a gang could pull. He's pulled most of them himself. He knows about cranes, knows about the cost and manpower involved.

When Barnes calls, Grey is lining up a tricky shot for par one on the forth green. His initial assessment of the situation is that Barnes is an worthless, incompetent, fool of a foreman and if he can't keep tabs on several hundred tons of steel, he shouldn't be responsible for any number of men. He asserts this so loudly down his mobile that a fellow golfer on a neighbouring tee misses the ball entirely. Barnes leaves the office a broken man.

The vein that creeps across Grey's forehead is ready to erupt by the time his BMW clears security and shudders to a halt by Clem and Mackey. Grey leaps from the car, hard-hat in hand, spiked golf shoes marching towards the crane. Then he stops, as if he'd bounced off a glass window. His helmet drops into a puddle, mouth prised open by the vacuum left by the absent crane.

He's still staring into the vacated space when Barnes shuffles over.
"The crane's gone sir.
Grey is rarely lost for words, but he continues to stare silently, golf shoes slowly filling with mud.
"The lads have been looking round all morning.
"How can anyone possibly¦ Gray's whisper is lost as falls from his lips. He looks from the space to Barnes, then from Barnes to the silent space. The silence. No mixers. No excavators. No grinders, welders, clatter of bricks. The half-finished floors of the multi-story car park are filled with statuesque workers, parked on their respective floors.
"Why are those men not working? Get them back to it. There's nothing for them to be staring at. Grey is back in action. "Right let's get this sorted out. Foremen signal. Gangers bang their hands. The crowd turn their backs, and try to look busy. Mackey and Clem pack up their impromptu picnic and light up again.

The management team huddle to discuss the situation. One of the Supervisors suspects subsidence although he admits, "It would be a very big hole. The Senior Architect leans towards a freak tornado and suggests a reconnaissance effort to retrieve it. The security guard is assure everyone that the site was patrolled last night and is checking for tyre tracks.

Grey starts to fume. "This is ridiculous. All you give me is earth tremors and hurricanes. I want every man on the site searched. I don't know how they did it but ¦ what the hell is that?

His index finger extends towards a slab of stone resting against the door of his car.
"Who put that there?
"Oh no, not again, mutters the Barnes.
"What are you talking about Barnes? Why has someone put a paving stone on my car? Who put that there? It better not be scratched. This is coming out of your wages, do you understand? Do you have no control over your people?
"It's the protesters Mr Grey, they keep doing this.
"Protesters? Protesters! What are you talking about man? What protesters? What are they doing with paving slabs?
Barnes struggles to keep up with Grey's strides to his car. They stand together inspecting the damage. It looks as if the slab has been forced up from below, tearing a hole in the contoured bodywork.
"Will you please have this slab removed? hisses Grey. Barnes jerks his head at Clem.

Clem sighs, slowly folds his paper, smooths the pages, puts it down, adjusts his hat, and ambles over.
"It's not a slab, is it? says Clem, and sniffs.
"What did that man just say?
"I said, Mr Grey, that ain't no paving slab.
"Not now Clem, Barnes flutters.
"It ain't no paving slab. It's a gravestone. Just like all them other ones we 'ad to move.
Grey looks at Barnes.
"There were some old headstones we had to redistribute to other sites.
"And we keep finding new ones every couple of days, calls Mackey helpfully.
"That's the protesters, sir. They don't want the place disturbed. They keep putting them back.
Grey shakes his head. "I don't care if this is a gravestone, a paving slab, or Nelson's bloody column. I want it extracted from my car. Now.
"Now wait a minute. We can't just go moving people's headstones about Mr Grey. This is consecrated ground. That means we have to have a priest.
"Well, agrees Barnes, "Clem's got a point there. I'll phone the priest.
Grey's eyes roll around their sockets. He speaks slowly and deliberately. "Barnes, I don't care if this is consecrated ground. I don't care if the whole site is situated on a plague pit or a pet cemetery. This gets shifted now.
Clem draws a deep breath across his teeth and plants his hands firmly in his overalls.
"Now.
Mackey moves towards the stone but a minute shake of Clem's head stops him where he is. He looks at Grey, looks at Barnes and looks the stone. Under the dirt, letters and numbers are engraved. He looks at Clem, straightens up and puts his hands in his pockets.

"Right, says Grey. "Health and safety. This man is not wearing a hard hat. Instant dismissal.
"Now come on, you can't do that. I've got a doctor's sick note to exempt me from hard hats. They bring me out in a rash so me missus knits me these. Clem pats his head. "Good and warm they are too.
"No exceptions, dismissed.
"Hey you can't do that Mr Grey. Clem's a good worker, he's just got principles.
"Are you going to move this thing, lad?
"Well no Mr Grey, I don't think I am until it's been properly dealt with.
"Right. You're dismissed too. Barnes, call security and have these two escorted off the site.
"But sir, these two lads are¦
"And get someone to move this.

"I'm sorry lads, says Barnes in the security hut as they had over their passes.
"Tell you what, come back next week when all of this has blown over and I'll see what I can do. The makeshift gate in the fencing is pulled back to allow Clem and Mackey to walk to freedom.

When Barnes arrives back at the site Grey is supervising two men struggling with the stone.
"Yes, put it over there in the skip. You there, phone my garage. Right let's get this crane sorted out. Barnes, there you are. Finally got rid of those two wasters then? Grey moves towards the office but there is another slab sticking up right in front of his legs and he trips and sprawls face-first into the mud.
The foreman tries to help him up, but Grey pushes him away, rising from the ground dripping in mud. "Where the hell did that come from? He squelches a filthy hand into Barnes' arm and shakes him vigorously.
"It wasn't there a minute ago, is all Barnes can offer.
"I know it wasn't there man. You think this is clever do you? What are you trying to pull Barnes? Well I've had enough of this. He marches to the tool store, and comes back carrying an enormous pickaxe over his shoulder. "You're fired Barnes. You'll never work for me again.

He raises the blade above his head with both arms and brings it down with the full force of his weight. There is a slight crack as iron makes contact with stone. The sound echoes around the site, a site which has become unnaturally still again. The sound rumbles like thunder in the distance, only it doesn't die away. The noise grows as if an underground train is approaching, the sound a ship makes progressing unstoppably through ice, the sound of a dam breaking. The vibration turns into a tremor that cannot be ignored. Workers hold onto girders for support but the girders are shaking themselves apart. Vision becomes impossible. Bonds between atoms start to weaken, solids blur into gases and a breeze blows them away.

The high street is deafened by a cacophony of alarms from shops and cars. The police turn up on an automated call out expecting a power-cut but finding confusion. Shoppers are wandering shaking their heads, looking dazed. Nobody seems to know what's going on, but nothing seems wrong. The alarms start shutting down and the people melt away until the place is deserted, except for a couple of early drinkers outside the pub. The younger constable goes for a look round, while his older colleague sits in the squad car and observes the odd looking pair. One young with keen eyes, the other middle-aged, plump, sporting a ridiculous knitted hat. They are both dressed in builder's gear, which was strange. He could not think of any building sites nearby.

The constable gets into the passenger seat.
"Anything?
"No, nothing. Everything's quiet, very quiet. Peaceful in fact.
"That's always a bad sign.
"Well I had a good look round. I even found a graveyard I never noticed before, over there, behind that steel fence. Big too.
"Funny, most empty spaces in the city have been built on.
"Yeah, looked like that one missed the developer's eye. Oh well, I'm sure some supermarket is lined up to buy it. Can we nick those blokes for anything?
"Not unless you count an wearing an offensive hat built up area.
"Ok. Charlie-Oscar-Romeo this Bravo-Two-Four reporting all quiet on the high street.