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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic




It had taken weeks of planning.  The Wapping Mafia had just robbed the

Bank of England.  Big Brain - Brian Best was the worst criminal mastermind of the decade.  After all the effort the five crooks had gone through, he had forgotten something.  The gang could not count.  They had left one bar of gold of ten, behind.  No not in the bank vault.  That would be okay.  No they left it on the Tube.  Under a seat in a bag with all their names on a piece of paper.  Well, Big Brain did not want to lose it.  The bullion was for the ruthless Wapping Mafia boss, Tony Balonoy.  The five could end up in cement suits, at the bottom of the Thames, they had much less than 24 hours.  So this is what happened, in the hunt for -







Bill Benton chewed hard on his fingertips.  Almost bringing up blood from his cuticles.  The petty theif was pretty petrified.  This was the biggest job he had ever done.  Not as simple as pinching sweets from the local supermarket.  And leaving peppermint trails of tic tacs everwhere.  The Bill soon had the dim witted crook fined, for next to nothing crimes.  That was why most coppers had often called the scrawny ginger tom - Silly Billy Benton.


With Bill on the Overground train sat his shaking crack head chum, Chris Cross.  The wiry grey haired lout was the safe cracker.  But on his previous job he used dymamite.  It blew up the safe, the money and firework shop next door.  Then was caught red handed, because he had been sprayed by anti-theft paint.  The Bill soon had him bang up to rights for a month, at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.  His mates called him - Cross-eyed Chris.


Kneeling on the floor of the train, looking for the missing gold bar, was the vain corrupt bank clerk Steve Sinclair.  He was the handsome guy with dark brown wavy locks.  Slim, sixfoot and always dressed in a bankers suit.  Everything seemed great about Steve.  Alas he was so puffed up, that a mirror was his own worse enemy.  His long snout like nose did not put him off.  He dreamt of robbing a million to fix up his nose.  Sexy Steve - loved himself so much it made Brian and his crew physically sick, sometimes.


The last of the gang was also the smallest crook going.  Stolly Moly was the midget from hell.  The one time extra in Star Wars struggled to keep up with the others.  When angered he would bite and kick like a mad orc.  The gang often called him the Mad Orc when they need him to hurry up.  It usually worked too. 


The trouble with the gang was, they were not very clever.  They owed the Wapping Mafia bigtime and did not have a good gang name.  Tony Baloney often called them Numbskulls.  But Brian did not like that.  Mind you - he was one and he knew it.  He even laughed when he thought of it.  That just shows how thick he was.






The raid had gone really well.  The daring plan was all written down on Big Brain’s left hand.  In five easy to follow rules.  First was to drive the hired white van from Jim Jones the Car salesman.  The big man had gone away on holiday to Costa del Sol, Spain, so what he did not know would not hurt him.  Well, that was what Brian assumed.  The vehicle was parked down a side street of the Bank of England.  It was next to a fire door.  Cross-eyed Chris had already checked that it could be used as an escape route.


The second rule was to confront the bank staff and demand to see the safe.  A stink and mist bomb was thrown into the bank.  It rebounded off the teller bombproof screen and back into the face of Silly Billy.  It knocked him out cold for a whole second, just before the Mad Orc bit his ass and reminded him of the bank job, with a growl.  The crazy dwarf frightened the stupified staff so much, they obeyed his order to lead them to the safe.


The mist was thin enough to see the scenario.  It was early openning time so not many customers were there.  The two housewives had fainted at the sight of the scary dwarf, barking at their legs.  The third rule was followed.  Chris Cross used his hands and ears to open the six foot round safe door.  Actually thanks to the access code given by the inside man, Steve Sinclair. 


Not before long, the five theives followed plan four.  They placed ten gold bars in ten Fazdo shopping bags, the thicker ones with a longer life than most, and probably that of the Numbskulls.  The men then raced out of the bank and into the van.  Brain then drove into a nearby street, where the five prepared to follow plan five.  This was when the kebab really hit the fan, thought Brian, later on.






The Numbskulls all changed their clothes, inside the white van.  The black garments were buried inside black bin liners.  Then stashed and forgotten in the van.  The five had on underneath England football tops.  The Mad Orc had his inside out.  The dim film extra hated England.  His dreams were of Holywood.  Not sunny Cricklewood. 


The fivesome carried two shopping bags that held empty lager boxes.  These were now holding gold blocks, each worth £25,000.  When the small gang of England fans showed on the Overground train, other commuters assumed it to be a normal group of lager louts.  Yet the growling little man with his shirt on wrong, might cause some tuts, from better classed travellers.


The bank job seemed to go really fast.  The gang sprang off the train at Wapping London Overground station.  Then vanished inside a block of flats called, Fool’s End.  It was there that the Wapping Mafia turned up later that day.  After counting only nine bags.  Tony Baloney stared hard at the face of Brian Best. 


The idiot had left one of his bags on the train, it had to be found.  The criminals gave him 24 hours.  Or Fool’s End would be the very last end for the Numbskulls.  The gang that had lost the last gold bar.



The news headlines was the football game and the bank robbery.  While Tony Maloney was counting his nine gold bars, the Numbskulls drank and drugged up before they went in search for the gold ingot.  There was only one hope that Big Brain could try.  The train pickpocket, Piston Pete.  The Mad Orc had his number.  So Brian set up a meeting for 10pm in Shadwell DLR station.  The game was afoot.





Five shifty looking men stood at the entrance of the overhead, Dockland Light Railway, of Shedwell Station.  A scrawny looking ginger man sucked down the long cigarette.  The denim adorned theif stamped his feet, whilst looking down at his black shiny monkey boots.  The strange summer night was a cold one.  His icy breath spoke to his chum, Brian Best.  ‘Well, where is he?’


Close to them huddled Chris Cross, his wonky vision trying to see the station sign, to him it read, ‘Shoddy Hell.’  He chuckled to himself.  ‘Sounds about right too.’


A step away remained the rest of the odd gang.  Posh dude Steve Sinclair checked his pretty face, reflecting from a car wing mirror.  A grinding tone snarled from his leg side.  It was Stolly Moly, pointing out that the car was a parked up, Patrol Car.  Normally used by traffic police, checking on the neighbourhood railway for vandals.  The bank man coughed in understanding.  Then joined eyesight with the rest of the Numbskulls.



A low whistle from the doorway of the station was heard from the awaiting Train Theif.  The shadowy voice waved the gang to follow him.  The weird dude wore a dirty anorak and trainers.  With a camera at hand.  To shoot any train or mind blowing new station signs.  Signal boxes were the thing for Piston Pete.  A slow leg showed that he may have come across a trainspotters nightmare, to be caught in the Commuter Rush Hour.  It was like a stampede scene.  The dope had flashbacks, assumed Brian Best, as Pete kept stammering.


The gang were lead onto the last train to the depot.  Where they could look for that missing item.  Brian just told Pete it was for a missing cellphone.  The train was automatic.  Only a few passengers remained for the last few stops.  The final station would be Breckton, then they would hide, as the machine would be moved into a dormant shed with other trains.


The gang checked under the seats, along the whole train.  It looked the same as the one with the gold bar.  The odd wary passenger frowned at the antics of the Saturday night ride.  The Mad Orc barked at a woman returning home from a night out.  She hit him with her handbag.  The small thug, backed off.  His bark was worse than his bite really.  The guy wimpered away.  No sign of the shopping bag could be found.




Pistol Pete pulled Brian to one side.  ‘Don’t you know there are many units like this one.  They just have different numbers.  You could be looking all night.  Your best bet is the Lost Property.’

‘I hope you are right,’ insisted Big Brain.

‘Yeah, sit down and chill out.  The ride is for at least ten minutes yet.  Did you get the train number at all?’

‘No I did not,’ hissed Brian, ‘I am not in the habit of saying to my gang, “Oh lads, look at that, it is number 21.  Yippee.”’

Pete quibbed, ‘Was it 21?’

‘Er, oh, I don’t know, do I.  It is just a blinkin train.’  The mental sight of the Numbskulls being thrown under the number 21train, sent Brian into a panic.  He shook his head and punched and gave Stolly a dead-arm.

‘What the heck was that for?’

‘Oh go and play, Ewok!’


The Mad Orc moved to front of the train.  Joining the rest of the gang.  ‘This must be the Road to Hell,’ wondered Brian to himself.  All for that Last Gold Bar.  It was then that Pete pointed out that the end of the line was coming up.  Then the night would be theirs for the taking.  Brian sucked on some magic drug filled dust.  Then focused.






It was after Midnight when the lone electric train motioned into the coaching shed for the Dockland Light Railway.  Noises rattled around the interior of the multiple unit.  The duel coached train automatically passed through several junctions.  Only two men observed the situation.  The depot night manager and the on-hand security guard.


At half past the hour, the men packed up and moved to the security hut.  The manager drove off for a cuppa back at home.  As he had hours to kill.  The guard sat back and put his feet up.  Then proceeded to listen music, while he dozed off.  The ticking over of the over forty trains outside the shed, were the only sounds.  The large shed remained locked for the night.  Peace seemed to be all around.  Nobody was aware that all hell was about to break loose.


The massive shed hummed.  Over forty trains were housed.  The lights were dimmed and some train doors opened.  It was easy as pie for Piston Pete.  He cowered low inside and gave directions to Brian Best, as how to find the Lost Property.  Any lost items of the last daylight hours, would be stored there.  Awaiting a security van to take it to the London Transport head office for warehoused things found among the Capital boundary.


Five dark bodies clummbered out of a static machine.  The last one looked around for any sign of trouble.  No alarms were heard.  No lights flashed except for the trains undercarriage, as it wound down after a busy day.  Big Brain trekked along concrete to a door left open.  It lead to the control centre for the DLR.  It was the crafty of Crosseyed Chris that unlocked the timelocked door.  It was much easier than a safe.  Brian laughed in his head, ‘he could really do it with his eyes crossed.’


The control room was all computerized.  A large map on the wall and some monitors, showed the routes for all the trains.  The five sneeked past all the screens.  ‘Piston Pete would shoot himself, if he saw all this.  It was trainspotters heaven.’  Brian forgot his thoughts and stared at a room with a notice on the door.  Lost Property.



After a few minutes, the five were inside.  They all rumaged through bags and boxes.  They sought a large green Fazdo shopping bag.  Inside was the empty box for lager.  Inside that should be the bar of gold, in snug fitting money bag.  It was £25,000 or die.  That was what Brian warned his gang.  It had to be here.  Or they would all end up in concrete overcoats.  The men searched everywhere.


It was the little guy that barked, when he came across a green shopping bag.  Brian almost dove into the carrier.  His face was pink with delight, when he uncovered the glowing yellow brick.  Dim lighting sent a cascade of gold all around.  The Mad Orc could also smell meat.  ‘What the heck is that?’ he snarled at Brian.


‘Oh it must be my packed lunch,’ revealed the dumb leader.  ‘It was incase we got hungry.  I forgot it was there, after I done some shopping.’


The stench, not only attracted the men, but two very hungry guard dogs.  Blood red eyes stared and slobbered at the five fools and the dripping bag.  Billy Benton cursed in a panic, ‘Oh shish kabab…’






Terror was what went through the mind of Brian Best.  He dropped the bag at the feet of the pair of Rottweilers.  Putrid gravy from the pickled ham sandwiches leaked from the jaw of the nearest beast.  It forgot the intruding humans.  Then pounded away with its mate, to gobble all the tasty gew.  It was a change from boring dog food.  With the meat was with the yellow brick.  If the five did not get it back, they, would be - dead meat.


Amidst all the fiasco, Billy Benton was sent reeling back, he stepped on the posh shoes and toes of Steve Sinclair.  The banking dude fell onto a keyboard, near to the Lost Property door.  The five all noticed lights popping up, in the room and out in the shed interior.  Brian Best glared in shock.  ‘Good God,’ spooned the Banker, in a smooth voice, ‘I have pressed a big red button.  The trains are coming to life.  What do we do now?’


‘Get that gold!’ ordered Big Brain, ‘spread out and find that dog.’


The five theives filed out of the Control Room.  The animals had ran into an open train.  The Mad Orc and Steve Sinclair went in after.  Fists clenched.  Just as the side doors closed, locking them in.  The train unit shunted towards the shed door.  But remained shut.  Something had gone wrong.  Yet, the shutter openned in the nick of time.  The Overground machine manouvered outside toward a junction.


The three other men chased after the train.  Sprinting down a very oily platform, this was next to another train.  This time, Crosseyed Chris took control.  By pressing a button, the red transporter went after the first train.  Billy Benton pulled out a small crowbar, from his jacket.  The petty theif was in too deep now.  He swung the bar, just as the train jolted. 


Stolly Moly was hit in the face.  His white face growled and bit the hand of Silly Billy.  The dope reacted by pushing his face into the window.As his eyes bulged, he saw lights in another train, there two men were being cornered by savage dogs.  This train was now heading back into the shed, as others were moving out.  Brian Best did his best to stay calm.  ‘Stop fighting and follow that train.’


Just as the trains seemed to all stop, back inside the shed.  The many coaches lined up and doors openned.  The dogs bolted out and into another coach.  The shed had ten tracks parralel, with ten rows of units. These were all in pairs.  With four units in a row.  It was too confusing for the five desperate men. 


The scared dudes Steve Sinclair and the Mad Orc joined the others in chase.  The dogs had run, with the bag into an empty train.  This was sounding like it was about to move off.  So the five dove into the far end.  The male dog dropped the bar of gold.  The meaty mess remained in the bag.  The dogs pulled away and scoffed the meal.


The five could see the moneybag that had the gold bar inside.  It was half way down the train, on the floor.  The Mad Orc ran to retrieve it, at the same time the train, pulled out of the shed.  The dogs had finished licking their chops, they now looked at the little man.  He had the small money bag in his hands, then snarled back at the black canines.  All his madness did not work now.  The guard dogs now just wanted to stop the theives.





It was an hour past Midnight, when the Italian Stallion, Rocky Tutti-frutti checked his wrist watch for the umteenth time.  He had been waiting that long just outside the Breckton Train Depot.  Along with his cousin Vincent.  The pair of slim dark suited Mafia types toyed with their silencer pistols.  They had kept vigil on the antics of the gang known as the Numbskulls.  It was orders from the boss, Tony Baloney. 


If the idiot gang messed up again, the killers were allowed to use any methods to get that gold bar or just to shoot the thickest gang in London.  It was all becoming an embarassment to the known crime lords of the city.  It had only been a day and half a night, but the news was spreading of the daring heist.  Newsnight had a special report on the crime, but nobody knew of the theives or anyone so stupid, to rob the Bank of England.  Even Vinnie Jones would not touch that job, with a barge pole.


Anyway as Rocky pulled down his car window to flick away his cig, a buzzing sound echoed from the Train Shed.  A light flickered on in the Security Hut.  The hitmen hid low inside the black BMW, both swearing, ‘What the pidgeonhole was that.’  They clicked on the silencers fully.  Then silently sneeked out of the car.  Then quickly got back in.



An unscheduled train was trundling out of the shed.  It was trundling towards the car, as it had been parked on a level crossing.  The posh car reacted like an old banger.  The men had milliseconds to move or die.  Tony would really pissed off if, his, car got a scratch.  If Rocky and Vincent died, they would never hear the end of it.  These Italians were a superstitious lot.


It was 1am and the security guard was beside himself.  This had never happened before.  The trains normally come to life at 5am.  That was when the big fat controller came in to work.  Now a Dockland passenger train was moving to its first stop, Breckton Station.  There it would pause usually, then go on its merry automated way to Bank.


The alarm was raised.  It had to be.  The day was Sunday.  The morning of the London Marathon.  People had been busy setting up for the annual event.  They would not expect what was to come, not so early.  The announcement was made, the Dockland Light Railway, had a RUNAWAY TRAIN…  Even Boris Johnson could not stop it.




The train enthusiast Piston Pete, stirred from his slumber.  After stretching out on the seats of a DLR carraige.  In his vast mind of transport paraphernalia he enjoyed his time on the Class B07 2-section units.  It was actually built between 2007-2010 by Bombardiar Transportation, Bautzen, Germany.  He sensed that the train was moving at top speed of 50 m.p.h..  Its rheostatic braking system was not making any noise.  In his head and ears he could hear the Scharfenberg couplers clashing. 


The brain of Piston Pete told him that the 37 ton train could easily derail over the points any where on the line.  The anarak nerd did not want to die.  He sat up in the centre of the carraige.  The lights were on and the sound of growling came from behind him.  In his vision, standing and quaking in their bovver boots were five known men.  The nearest man, Brian Best blinked at him, ‘Don’t move an inch.  Or your dead!’



Slavering droops of goo flopped to the floor of the mostly red train.  The gnashing jaws of rage moved to cause more carnage.  The two beasts had been accidently locked inside a sealed container with windows and seats.  The dark night outside was cold and mild at the same time.  The interior was about to become messy.  The blood red walls would match the scared men of doom.  As the machine raced on, unimpressed.  Brian passed the bagged gold bar to the person at the back of the six.


At the sight of something being thrown, one dog pounded over the ducking heads.  Crosseyed Chris really was crosseyed now.  Teeth and a bony snout had found his inner thigh.  The bag was sent flying into the door way of the front part of the train.  It had slid just at the door lip.  A draft found the gold.  A jolt of the speeding mass of metal caused fear to surge in Brian Best’s mind.  He rugby tackled the female dog.


On seeing its mate being attacked, the male dropped the nose of Piston Pete.  Fragments of bone and blood splattering onto the seat that he had been peacefully sleeping.  His dream had become a painful nightmare.  The other men dove down the sides of the seats.  This was all happening in the front coach compartment of the Dockland Light train. 


The dogs were mobbed by the now angry men.  Fear had turned to white rage.  Billy Benton pulled out his trusty small crowbar.  With a rapping crunch it took out the locked jaw of the female Rottwieller.  Then Big Brain kicked the shocked male.  It fell upon the locked door of the unmanned cab. 


After bloody ten minutes the train had gone halfway down the line, to Poplar.  Brian picked up the gold, before it had any chance of falling out off the train.  It was then that the train began to screech to a long halt.  It was driving fast over a junction.  Then bounced, sending the gang flying into the door of the cab.  Brian found that it was unlocked. 


Big Brain wanted Pete to drive the train to Shadwell, so they could flee into safety.  But the adventure was not over.  A little devil inside his head laughed, ‘Oh your not done with yet, my man.  Ho no…’



Rocky and Vincent lay on top of each other on the back seat of the BMW.  The hard men thought they saw red flashing before their eyes.  They thanked god they were saved.  The pair exhaled and said, ‘Thank you!’

Then when the blue and red light of the ambulance came clear, the joy turned to terror.  The sound of metal being crushed was made more clear when they saw the lights flashing for go and keep going.  They were in a scrap yard being punished for scratching the car.  The last thing on their minds was not the train crashing into the BMW.  No it was the jolt of the gear stick penetrating their brains, simultaneously…





Self controlling train had lost control of its commands.  Something did not compute back at the control room.  The whole system ordered this train to Bank so it could reboot.  So the more Pete pushed button or moved any levers, the more impatient the machine became.  The automatic door openned and closed like jaws chewing a bone.  The lights flashed like a horizontal sea beacon.  It caused people outside to take notice.  Something was wrong.


The Mad Orc had his head in his hands.  Steve Sinclair was sweating in his designer suit.  Chris Cross was rigid with pain.  Silly Billy Benton flapped his arms in panic.  And Brian Best urged Piston Pete to stop the bloody train.  Pete explained the best he could.  His bloody hands directed at his groin.  He was doing his best.  But the train will not stop until it reaches Bank. 



The ride was over in a flash.  Well before the Marathon could start, the train journey was at an end.  The five theives and one shaken trainspotter stood to open the door at the station.  The button did not work.  The emergency doors would not budge.  Only one thing came to the mind of the Big Brain.


The gold bar was really quite heavy.  It was also very strong.  Still in the small white hessien bank money bag, Brian smashed it into the door window.  The glass shattered but remained for a few seconds.  The bar and half the gang fell to the train floor, as the bar went flying.  Stolly Moly smashed the window fully with his Orc like head.  Then jumped through the door frame, onto the platform.


The whole gang assembled on the station exit.  Looking for the white getaway van.  It should still be where they left it.  But before they could move again, a mob of people rushed at them.  Cameras clicked, men with brooms and marshalling badges joined in the mayhem.  Among the group were several Police.  The five men were surrounded.  A Sky news reporter pushed a long stick with a microphone taped to the end.  Then spoke, ‘are you the Bank of England, bank robbers?’



It was all too much for Brian Best.  His heart was not in it anymore.  His weary face was the same as the other four men.  One of defeat.  This night was a real nightmare for the Nummbskulls.  The criminal said to the growing onlookers, ‘Yes, we are the Numbskulls.  We robbed the Bank of England.  We give up.  We took ten bars of gold for our boss, the Wapping Mafia leader.’


‘Where is the gold now?’ insisted a female reporter.

‘Erm, we took nine gold bars to our boss.  And lost the last gold bar.’

‘And where is that bar now?’ ordered the Police Inspector, here.

Big Brain searched his pockets and inside his denim jacket.  Then revealed a white bag.  He handed it to the copper.  A serious look came from the man in blue.  As the bag was empty.


The Numbskulls looked at each other, dim as they were.  Billy Benton explained to all, ‘we were never very good at counting.  Not even that last gold bar.’





The time was 2am and getting closer to the start of the London Marathon.  Yet the big news was not of the annual event, but of the bungling burglars of Britain.  As the cops did not find the gold on the five, they could not do much but arrest them for wasting police time.  The gang were being lead to an awaiting police van.


Brian Best then looked back at the Bank train station and wailed, ‘Oh no!’

‘What is wrong?’ insisted the Inspector and the ears of the gang.

‘The train, the bloody train.  That last gold bar, its still on the bloody train.  Look!’


The police heard a clicking sound and the rev of a train engine.  There at the broken doorway, stood Piston Pete, waving at the Police, the Sky news cameras and at the five Numbskulls.  In his arms he cradled £25,000.  The brick was moving away with the train.  The dumbstruck faces watched the disappearance of the last gold bar.




Later on the Police or the Wapping Mafia, did not find the gold.  Or any trace of Piston Pete.  He had vanished along with the bar.  The gang were let out on probation after a month.  All the gold had gone.  The gang regrouped a month after that, in a bar in Wapping.  They sat around a table drinking lager.  Then in walked a man in an anorak. 


Piston Pete sat down facing Brian Best.  The Big Brain glared, ‘What are you doing here?  Where is our gold?’

‘That’s why I am here now, Bri.  After I left you.  I sold all my belongings and bought a ticket to Brazil.  I stowed the gold away with me.  But I lost it.  It must have slipped out of my jacket pocket.’

‘What?’ they all interjected.

‘So where is it now?’ urged Brian.


‘Erm, erm, I think its on an out flight to Brazil.  But I do not know which plane.  What can we do?’


Big Brain had a good think.  The gang all listened intently.  Then Billy Benton said to himself and his friends, ‘Oh sugar, here we go again.  For the last gold bar.  Oh great.  I bet Richard Branson never gets this much trouble…’


* * *


















Submitted: April 01, 2016

© Copyright 2021 bloodman. All rights reserved.

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Sharief Hendricks

What a heist and than what an exciting adventure that followed Bloodman.

I loved the fast pace and I certainly enjoyed each unique character with a complimentary name to go with it, not to mention the comedy of errors, that kept me on the edge...Tony Baloney hahahaha ...classic !

Loved it !

Fri, September 18th, 2020 9:57am



Fri, September 18th, 2020 3:10am

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