Guidelines For Home Invasions

Guidelines For Home Invasions
by ethan doherty
The first rule in becoming a successful thief is being aware that daylight is your best friend. Most will disagree but they are probably predicate felons. The majority of people are terrified that a burglar is going to knock their door down or climb through the downstairs window late at night, tie up the family and the dog and rob the house blind. This makes people cautious at night. This is the point. We will rob your house when you are at work. We do not like confrontation. So robbing a house at witching hour would be a pretty shitty idea. And also I don’t want to deal with your smart ass wife bitching at me or your over protective fathers’ with baseball bats and shotguns.
My name is Alekos Sinclair. I am an ardent believer in good morals as they pertain to me and me alone. It’s a long road and I-dont-feel-like-talking-about-it of how I got to be and I quote “The most hard-boiled, well to do, house belonging borrower of the greater north-east-north-west and surrounding Gulf Coast areas for around the past decade”. No applause is necessary foreseeing you might be applauding the person who made of with your grandmother’s broach.
Now, it is imperative to work alone, but if you must work in a pair, at all circumstances, no matter what you do, never work with a fat fuck. They are extremely slow, usually dim witted and can rarely fit through windows. I made this mistake in the past. Diller was a good friend and showed me these guidelines…barring this one for obvious reasons.
Daylight is vital because noone is cautious during the day. You see someone walking around and nooone thinks twice. You see any moron walking down the street at night and people get suspicious. Now when approaching a house at daylight your first surge of paranoia will hit. Realize it, take it into effect but just use it to become more aware. A uniform is a good idea at times, but it’s expensive and then you have François from next door coming over and asking you to fix his fucking fridge. So, I do not encourage it. Your best bet will be a canine. Now this dog can not be any mutt from off the road. It can’t bark, ever. It has to be loyal but willing to be left alone. Now the dog can’t be too flashy, you can’t be walking down the road with a fucking Pedigree: Gold Medal Winning whatever; Dueshhizer if that’s even a dog name, and people coming up to congratulate you and pet it. Get one from the pound, ugly but not remember me ugly. Just as plain as day. Suspects are rarely the shmuck who was walking the dog. Case the house for a week and get schedules, two car families with no pets or kids are better. Kids suck. I had to punch an 8 year old with chicken pox in the face once. How the fuck was I suppose to know he was gonna be home watching Price is Right. Of course I feel bad bad, but he’ll get over it. The shit through his soup at me. Well, I always hated kids and sick days are unavoidable. Approach when time is right…
This is now. And now I can’t stand sitting in this dreary motel anymore. We’ve been shacked up for about a week, I have slipped on my guidelines and recruited a partner, not my idea it sort of fell on me. Planning a heist in Delaware my shithead, pathetically moronic cousin had somehow tracked me down. It’s my mother’s, sister’s son so I kind of have to have a soft spot for him. Even though I don’t even think I like him. Maddox is your typical good for nothing, lazy, fuck up, but noone really expected him to accomplish anything anyway so you can’t really blame him for sucking at everything. He won’t even tell me how he found me and I don’t wanna know what he got himself into. Maddox has dabbled in the house-belonging business as well. We started off together sometime back, but when I found out he was such an idiot, almost on par with the Wet Bandits I ditched him in Cleveland. He’d been caught on countless occasions and his wrap sheet is something to be weary of, but like an idiot I agreed to work with him. So Maddox had this idea that we try a major score on a Macy’s in Delaware that his buddy that works security had set up. Unbeknownst to me however, that his mall security friend is a bigger fuckin moron than he is. He had worked there, totally, for 6 days.. Maddox’s mistake of a friend was a male cross dressing, almost completely transformed transvestite, kind of passing for women if you looked really quickly, but was supposedly straight all the same… I don’t know, but the plan in a nutshell was simple… It would turn off the tapes and switch them with ones from the previous night when all things ran smoothly. Maddox was to get jewelry and designer clothes while I was to clean out the safes. Well, the sad excuse for my family member and his colorful acquaintance failed to realize that more than one person works a nightly shift at a Macy’s department store and the long story short, is that we got no money or minks, barely made it out alive, failed our code of no violence, had to invest in digging and cutting tools, and Macy’s will be will be hiring shortly for the positions of two inept security guards…
…Now when your courage reaches a maximum this is the time to make our move. It must be smooth, without a hint of hesitation. Your plan is to be a dog walking shmuck, and go up and ring the bell like you are ‘RSVP’ing to a catered brunch from a respected coleuge. ‘Geez no one has answered. I had better go check out back with my pal Lucky and hope everything is OK’. You will tie the dog to the fence post or back deck. You can break the window but it’s usually pointless because in the areas you should be casing all windows should be unlocked. When you first get into the home head for the upstairs. Don’t go for the TV. Everyone wants to go for the TV. It’s a fucking TV. If you don’t break it, getting it off the stand and carrying it out the back door, your gonna look pretty stupid walking down the street with a big screen TV, waddling back in forth with your ugly ass dog following you. Just walk upstairs. Everything is upstairs. Money, jewewls, laptops, safes. Master bedrooms carry the most weight, and most of the time the valuable shit is just lying around. Like noone even suspected for someone else to be in here just taking whatever the fuck they wanted. Most people make it so easy. Cash in the underwear drawer, blank checks in the computer desk, necklaces and watches strewn out on the bed side tables. Now the closets hide the safes and these break so easily, no matter what they told you at Sears. The Air-tight ones even easier. And when those are opened its a goldmine. I consider myself sort of a Renaissance man. I adapt with the times. I am going to steal your social security cards and your identity as well. Driver’s liscences, passports, even high school diplomas. ‘Fuck you who knows when you could use that shit’. When you make it back down to the living room, there are few things that are even worth taking. Unless you don’t get much upstairs and there’s a DVD player or an iPod in there. The best part of this room, and its only on really special occasions for real egotistical families, the ones that hold their noses up to everyone, and you can always tell when they have those family portraits. With the whole family with their arms crossed on each others shoulders, with the kids on the ground with their legs crossed, probably on some illustrious white bear fur rug or something and they’re just hanging up there starring at you. I prefer to to take those down, lay them on the floor and take a shit right on your whole families face. Kind of some symbolism guess, I am quite profound. But this area is open for interpretation. Some discourage it but as far as I know they can’t trace DNA in your shit so I’ll keep dropping logs until there’s a breakthrough in science…
We’ve been here for 2 weeks and I suggest we start moving. Fuckin’ West Virginia is always the worst. I’m either running into drag queens on Clinton St. or getting kicked outta the watering hole by a fuckin’ professional glass pourer at 2 AM. My mind is made up; I’m going to leave Maddox to fend for himself without making him aware to my decision until I have already left.. I think he’ll get the point after I don’t return tonight and I’m not there in the morning, and then I don’t show up in the mid afternoon and then I ‘m not asking him to join me for dinner that evening…Phoenix is always a good place to lay low from my experiences. As long as you don’t dabble with the crystal methanphedimine addicts its kind of a breeze…in saying this obviously dealing with them, for even the briefest encounters, can lead you toward uncalculated risks, madcap games of Roulette, tractor chicken, various amusing,illegal, and perverted games involving roadkill and not to mention just the risk of company with well far beyond rational normal thinking human beings…
…Now, always make sure you have brought a backpack with you, or better yet one of those bags you sling over your chest. They look really lame, like something Indiana Jones wears, but they hold a lot and they look like you’re headed somewhere smart, like a BookFair or something. Stuff it with newspapers before you go in, if someone was watching you for some reason it looks like your bags the same size. Its going to fit everything you take from that house. And don’t be a fuckin’ moron and try climbing back outside through the window. Use some slight common sense, despite the fact you are a burglar and resorted to this profession after likely an entire lifeftime of moronic thinking, failed report cards, and burger flipping. Go out the back door, you know since you can just unlock it from the inside and walk out it…
A well timed escape needs around three, separate, but vitally connected steps to work smoothly. You must first have a doofus too pin everything on. Family members or close friends included, I don’t want to go to prison. As a criminal you can never get too attached. It comes with the fucking job description. I swear I’d sell my mother out if it came down to it. I’m still pissed at her for bringing me into the world so I think that would pretty much square us. Second, you must never stay in a first floor hotel room, or higher than the 5th for that matter. Finally, you must never go on a drug binge immediately after an invasion…(Well, to throw a fucking bonus in there I would say never to put any faith into a fuckin’ transvestite ever again). If all these things run smoothly, you still barely have a shot. Now, when I have only done two of these things, I calculate the odds severely against me. Arizona is very far away, and a four story jump can’t really be any better than a leap-of-faith from the fucking fifth floor. At this exact point I really and truly consider myself ‘fucked’. The other main reason may be the large group of SWAT officers congregating in this sub-par Super 8 parking lot. I wish Maddox bought guns that actually worked, then at least I could pretend he was a hostage and get a car out of it or something. But, negotiators are notorious piss-heads. They always try to do something smooth, like sending you a fucking pizza. I don’t understand why saying that people are hungry in a stand-off ever worked. Like if people haven’t eaten in six hours they’re suddenly going to keel over and die from starvation… I guess it’s in the: ‘Handbook for Hostage Annoyance’s: Bank-Robbers Shooting Guns With Actual Ammunition’.
Now, Diller always told me that in life the possibility of a movie scene happens every minute. Except that noone ever notices it. People are too hell-bent on complaing about how terrible they have it. People love being miserable, they love winning arguments about who has it shittier. I don’t get it. Life is pretty much written for the sucker. There are always exceptions, but the moment you realize you have a split second chance to change that, and write yourself as something different, hesitate for a millisecond and it’s already too late. You could be a hero at heart, but still be coward in action. And the decision you ultimately make will fucking perpetually label your destiny forever; arbitrary or wholly resolute…
…When you make your exit through the back door keep it short and sweet. Dilly-dallying and theatrics are resigned for drama geeks. One last glance, unhook your buddy, check your treasures, smile, fuck the world, and on to the next sucker…

0 thoughts on “Guidelines For Home Invasions

  1. I like this, but I think it needs more work. Love the part about punching the 8 year old with chicken pox. That was hilarious. The ending isn’t bad, but a bit predictable.
    Note: to have the narrator shit on pictures doesn’t make sense, because even if there wasn’t such a thing as DNA testing, it’s still a unnecessary risk, and is therefore inconsistent with the narrator’s character. The narrator is telling us to avoid theatrics and to keep it “short and sweet.” To take a shit in such a way is a bit elaborate.
    The second problem I have with this is this: If I were to rob a place, I would make sure to take a shit BEFORE the mission. Why go through all the trouble to case a target, plan the heist, and then get caught on the toilet? Or in this case, squatting over family pictures?

  2. Joe- you must have never been somewhere you aren’t suppose to be. There is an internal animal urge that arises. Try it. Next time you see a “Carnival Personnel Only” sign, pass through and note how that bowel wants to move.

  3. oh wow that’s funny, i read this whole thing at my store and was planning on commenting when i got out and there are several comments. this (hello, air quotes) ‘piece’ needs no work at all if you ask me…geez someone reworked a huge story just for us and you’re still not satisfied. i wasn’t planning on reading it at all because i’m a lazy ass with an inferior attention span but once i started i was hooked. i’ve never plotted a robbery, only hypothesised how i would go about it and…thanks for the food for thought, author. i was laffing out loud when i read this to the point where my coworker came by glanced at me like i was weird and went back to his spot. so good! yum!
    misener that’s horribly stupid of yr perp twerp. musn’t he know forensics? even if i was on drugs or stock raving mad i would still not underestimate. …or, i guess anything is possible

  4. Halifax: you have no idea who I am, the things I have done, or the life I have lived, so please don’t make assumptions. In my youth, I’ve transgressed the law several times, including trespassing. Nothing serious really. I was a kid who grew up on welfare, and was always hungry. I knew for a fact that my ex-friend’s parents never locked their door, so every once and a while I’d go and snag some poptarts or crackers or something like that. I was even pissed at this guy, but I wasn’t there to get revenge. I had a mission: to get food. I was in and I was out. And that’s the way I handled all my transgressions. That’s why I was never caught.
    The narrator has a mission: to steal stuff and not get caught. The narrator is presenting himself as a professional. Shitting on pictures of strangers is a lot of things, but it isn’t professional. This is, therefore, an inconsistency that doesn’t make much sense. Now if the narrator’s fuck-up of a cousin did it, that would make sense. If the narrator were an amateur, that would make sense. If the narrator were stupid, that would make sense. If the narrator was a reckless druggie, that would make sense. Note: he doesn’t even go on a drug bender AFTER the robbery. That tells me that he’s extremely careful and even somewhat paranoid.
    So that part didn’t work for me, because if he takes a shit on family pictures, that’s likely to go in the police report, and if that’s documented, then it’s likely that someone will suspect that robberies A, B, and C are related. And guess what? If the narrator is captured as he’s leaving the scene of robbery D and there’s a steamy shit on a picture of the Jonese, he will not only be a suspect for robbery D, but for robberies A, B, and C as well. This means a more severe sentence when the narrator is convicted. Now this can simply mean that we have a unreliable narrator, but I think that if I can figure out that it’s best not to leave a calling card, that it must have occured to the narrator, who is extremely careful about his profession and anxious about being caught because of his profession.

  5. Joe Cloyd don’t take everything so fucking literal. It was 2 lines in the story and it was related to struggling people constantly getting shit on by the system. And don’t relate your cracker stealing stories to my character.

  6. Joe- assumption is all I have. You can deny. I can be wrong. But I have to make assumptions.
    It is really hard to take a shit when you’re starving. Next time you transgress- do it after one of those grand-slam breakfasts. You’ll be crowning a crispy kitkat within ten minutes of stepping on the rug.
    Can we be like Welfare-buddies? Ten years of Public housing, welfare, and all the free cheese we could eat. Man, that was the life. Yay Social Services! Changing lives, saving families.
    …always with the strings attached. In 1974, my mom faced an ultimatum. Have me in California and loose her tubes or move to Oklahoma and keep them…I love the next three sisters every bit as much as my older one. I think my mom made the right decision.

  7. Halifax: Sure, we can be welfare buddies.
    Everyone else: if there’s anyone who thinks that I was being too critical, feel free to check out a couple of my short stories and criticize, disparage, and harangue to your heart’s delight: “Heidi’s Thesis” and “Capable of Standing but Would Rather Sit” posted on

Leave a Reply