Lance opened up the back of his van and began buzzing around for all of our burglarizing instruments. Maverick and I stood by as he did so.

Lance carefully pulled disposable gloves from a cardboard box and then tossed the box into the front.

I slipped a pair onto my cold hands and then passed the box over to Maverick who said; “Nah I’m good.”

“What do you mean ‘you’re allgood’.” I replied, shoving the box towards him.

“I filed off my fingerprints a long time ago.” Maverick answered, breathing heavily.

I looked into his eyes, his pupils were large and pulsing, “Are you alright?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I’m tripping sack.” replied Maverick, Patting his chest.

Lance slammed the back door of his van and walked around to Mavericks window side, “C’mon dickheads, I’m not giving you a ride for nothing.”

Maverick thumped his chest and breathed heavier, “Have you got any water?” he asked Lance.

Lance frowned, “No. Now get a move on and help me get this earn!”

Maverick pulled himself out of the van and dropped his soaked shoes onto the gravel below. I followed after him.

All three of us walked towards the old farmhouse's metal garage door. The door looked thin and weak, it was no surprise that Lance easily managed to shimmy the door open with his bare hands.

As we did so a dog began to bark in the back, I couldn’t see the thing but it made its presence well known.

Maverick pulled a set of pliers from the bucket that Lance was holding and began to scatter around in a daze attempting to fend off the non visible canine.

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Lance scoffed and pried the pliers from Mavericks mits, “it’s tied up in the back ya nimrod, calm the fuck down!”

Maverick began to sway, patted his chest once more and continued towards the garage fridge, his saturated sneakers quaking as he strolled.

Lance wiped his brow, then tapped me on the shoulder; “If you want him to come with you’ve gotta sort him out. He’s making me feel unfavourable.”

I looked across at Maverick, who was now decapping a beer with his bare teeth; “Oi! C’mon man we got shit to do!” I told Maverick, rolling my head towards the hallway door.

Maverick flogged back half the bottle then went to place it on top of the fridge. But the beer fell on its side and rolled off and shattered into a dozen pieces on the concrete floor. “Alright, I’m in.” Maverick said, walking towards the hallway door.

“For fuck sakes!” Lance cursed, watching beer suds spill across the floor.

I followed Maverick down the hall while Lance led from behind. Despite being a walking syringe, Maverick managed to sniff out the hot water cylinder as it was secured inside the laundry linen cupboard.

Lance elbowed Maverick out of the way and pulled a large hunting knife out of his bucket. Maverick bounced to the corner of the laundry, his eyes flickering along the large bloodied blade.

Lance drove the knife’s tip into the bottom end of the hot water cylinder, quickly side stepping as to dodge the steaming hot water that began to spill out. Lance did this several times and then stood back to admire his work.

“Keep in mind lads, this is what happens when you don’t pay the labour.” Lance said, folding his arms as water began to fill the orange tiles beneath our feet.

Maverick became entranced by the flowing water. Lost in the way it filled the grid and began to spill into the plywood hallway. From noticing the hickory plywood floor my attention was brought to the mismatching wallpaper along the laundry walls. Spillage of laundry powder caked to a solid below the washing machine.

If there was ever a house that Jack built this would surely be it.

Lance began his extraction method by pulling a red tin snipper from his bucket and snipping around the circumference of the cylinder. Top and bottom. He then dropped the tin snips back into the bucket and pulled a large rusted crowbar from it and began to free the cylinder from any remaining snags.

Unluckily, Lance cut the tip of his index finger on a nasty prick of copper as he did so. Enough to cause a few droplets of blood to spill into the hot water soaked floor.

“You two, grab that and put it in the back of my truck.” Lance ordered, packing away his crowbar and taking his bucket back towards the garage.

I looked at Maverick who looked at me with a slack jaw. I felt the copper cylinder with the back of my palm and found it to be cool enough to grip.

Maverick held the back while I held the front and we carried it all the way down the flooded hall to the beer soaked garage and along the gravel driveway towards the back of Lance's van.

I walked my end inside of Lances vehicle while Maverick tried to shimmy his side in place.

In the end we slammed Lances van door shut and began to make way towards the passenger door. Meanwhile Lance twisted his keys, floored the accelerator and left us in the dust.

My heart began to pound as I realised that we had been stranded with our hearts bleeding. Yet somehow Mav thought it was a good idea to throw a hefty stone at the back of Lance's van and damn near shatter the back.

“Why’d you do that for you idiot!” I yelled at Maverick.

“That guy stole my lighter, I want it back.” replied Maverick.