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I've got this little black book of contacts. Some of the names and numbers are no good anymore. But some still come in handy.
There are two. The first is Tommy.
Tommy works at a warehouse. It stocks thousands of items for a well-known online retailer, naming no names.
He drives fork lifts and wears a high-vis vest over his expanding waistline. Eats crisps for breakfast and sausage sandwiches for dinner and tea. Back when he could still fit through windows, he used to break into rich people’s homes. Now he’s gone straight and does a respectable bit of pilfering instead.
For a few quid, he’ll lift you something off the stacks, then fiddle the paperwork. The warehouse is so big, you could see it from space, so no one notices.
Not when an item goes missing. And not when I park up in a
