Needs better lighting!

I’m sitting in the passenger seat, dressed in black of course. Desperate, yes that’s how I would describe myself… I’m desperate. I must be, as this is a seriously bad idea.

I’ve been here before, just once. Had a look around when we first moved to the area six years ago. It looked nice enough, small and local. Classes looked fun too, I quite fancied trying cross-fit. Never joined though, no time… or money.

As Pete pulls up outside, I hop out and hide behind a row of bins, imagining I’m in a heist movie with Brad Pitt; it sounds more exotic than Pete Winkle, the local Sparky.

Pete swipes the security card and a moment later there is a beep and a clunk as the door disengages. We make our way through reception and along the corridor to the main gym, eyeballing photos of smiling women who look like they’ve eaten a body builder whole and then smeared shoe polish all over themselves. The logic is lost on me.

Inside, Pete points towards the weights section.
‘Grab as many as you can!’ He barks and wanders off.
I pick up a barbell and groan at the weight, this is ridiculous! Instead, I start filling up my hessian sack with dumbbells and exercise bands, and am in the middle of a fresh string of curses when the walls start flashing blue.

Police… shit…

It’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, but I pull off my jumper and run towards the nearest treadmill. Pressing the start button, I increase the speed until I am running.

A moment later, police burst into the room shouting. I jump off the treadmill and lower myself to my knees with my hands behind my head. The nearest officer walks over and cuffs me, before guiding me towards the staff office. Once in a chair, the cuff digging uncomfortably into my wrists, I look out of the open door at two officers walking my way, wondering what possessed me to jump on a treadmill rather than run out the exit I can now see brightly illuminated in big red letters. I’m having a seriously bad day!

Two of them pull up chairs opposite me whilst the final officer remains standing by the door.
   ‘What were you doing here at this time?’ The more senior officer asks me. He has thick set eyebrows and a tash which instantly makes me think of an 80’s porn star. I stifle a giggle.
   ‘I was desperate.’ I mumble, stuttering over my words, my hands now shaking so violently I look like I’m having a seizure. I think about telling them my sob story, about how my ex left me with huge debts I can’t pay off, and a sick son whose medication I cannot afford… But then I am handed an olive leaf.
   ‘Funny time to work out!’ Chuckles the officer standing. ‘She was on the treadmill Sarge!’
Sarge looks at me like I’m a nutter. But if there is one thing I’m good at, it’s lying, and I totally nail it…
   ‘I work 60 hours a week, so if not now, when?’ I reply, ‘this gym is 24 hours isn’t it? Although they do need better lighting!’

I’m let off half an hour later with a caution and the officers give me a lift home. I wipe the sweat from my brow as I wave goodbye and go inside to neck a bottle of whiskey. That was too close!

But the next day, on my way home from work, I can’t help taking a quick peek into the jewellers on Bridge Street. I tell myself I’ve learnt my lesson, but a nice diamond necklace slips into my pocket when the assistant turns her back. Well…wouldn’t you?

This piece was inspired by the above photo prompt at Creative Writing Ink

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