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Paul was not proud of what he was planning to do, but he had no other choice. He was barely managing to make ends meet and he needed some extra funding before his rent is due. He thought to himself as he packed a rope, a knife, and other tools into a rucksack. He did not intend to hurt anyone he just packed it as an incentive in case he met resistance from the shopkeeper.
Paul was planning to rob Mr. Fell’s bookshop.
He was the perfect target. He thought while being rather ashamed of himself. He had known the bookshop owner to be generous, kind, and trusting to a fault. It was no secret that Mr. Fell was rather well off. In fact, he lived comfortably in Soho running a bookshop which probably yielded him losses. He also seemed rather defenseless, which made him the perfect fool to rob.
Paul winced at himself as he called the bookshop keeper a fool. He normally was good at compartmentalization. That was how he could rob sweet old lady Craig’s antique boutique. He thought of himself as a professional at this point, the people he steals from become nameless entities once his ski mask comes on.
He is very good at what he does, although it makes him feel dirty. He thinks it’s a cruel twist of fate to be talented at something so harmful. He is having trouble seeing Mr. Fell as a faceless entity. He rarely interacts with the man and could probably count the number of words he’s spoken to him on both hands. However, Mr. Fell strikes him as one of those people who are too good for this world. The exceedingly optimistic kind, who sees the good in everyone.
“He’s got another thing comin’.” The burglar mutters grimly to himself. He jams a pocket knife into his jeans pocket and pulls on his ski mask and a pair of cheap gloves. He takes a deep breath before making his way out of his flat. It is nearly three in the morning. There are people around in Soho, but the night wanderers turn a blind eye to each other. Lest their actions be exposed in turn. Paul trusted that a man of Mr. Fell's demeanor and age should be fast asleep at this time. He hoped he would not be met with any resistance. The thought of threatening or god forbid hurting the man made his stomach churn.
Paul did his research. It was not easy to get into the bookshop unnoticed. Which is what he was hoping for. Breaking, entering, and threatening people was not his style. He felt that form of burglary was brutish and unsophisticated. He was the type to sneak in through the back ransack the place and disappear into the night without a trace. The next morning he would be back in his low-paying office job at the Newspapers, being the most unassuming mouse-like character there.
Paul knew he had to be creative to get into A.Z Fell and Co. He thought the best way was to enter through a side window. He chose the alleyway between the coffee shop and his target. The coffee shop would be most definitely empty, with no witnesses. He knew the windows could not be opened from the outside, he dreaded the fact that he would most likely have to damage it.
Occasionally he thought about the disappointed and sad face of the bookkeeper. He had never seen him with anything but a smile on his face. Paul was terrified of the possibility that his impending action might make dear Mr. Fell lose his faith in people. “If he knew how desperately I need this he’d forgive me.” He said to himself in an attempt to absolve himself from the wrongdoing. He took solace in the fact that he was not using the money to buy recreational drugs. It was going towards his rent and his ailing mother’s groceries. He was not wrong. Aziraphale would forgive him and even send him home with a blessing of two. The Angel would probably tell him to ask him for help next time he falls on hard times.
In his research of the shop, Paul heard plenty of strange rumors about the place. It almost felt like a legend or a fairy tale. He heard of strange and presumably dangerous people in suits intimidating the bookseller and of massive free-roaming snakes. He took these accounts with a grain of salt. He knows that a man as odd as Mr. Fell will have rumors spread about him.
Paul gets to work trying to wedge a crowbar between the window and its sill. The least he could do is to at least try to minimize the damage. He was not very successful which was rather disappointing as he wanted to do as little damage as possible. He planned to break into the shop and make his way up to the flat, where he suspects Mr. Fell kept his private valuables. He did not think there would be much to plunder in the cash register, as he had never heard of anybody successfully purchasing a book from Mr. Fell.
Paul broke into a shop after breaking the window. He hoped the noise of the shattering glass could be mistaken to have come from the pub. He carefully climbed through the window and found himself in a dark, and empty bookshop. He sighed with relief about being unnoticed. He quickly and quietly walked over to the cash register. It was worth a look at least. It was an antique and he knew that they were rather noisy when opening them. He did not want to risk this operation for a likely empty till. He made his way up the stairs to where he figured Mr. Fell’s flat was. He was on high alert. He was surprised to find that the bookshop and the Flat were completely empty. Where could someone like Mr. Fell be at three o’clock in the morning? He wondered. He had to fight the urge to call out if anybody was home. Paul looked through the flat but found nothing of value. At least not of monetary value to him. He should have known. Wealthy people like Mr. Fell have got their wits about them. Paul was strangely relieved that he could not find anything to rob Mr. Fell of.
He made his way back down the stairs. “ Since the flat is empty I might have another go at the cash register.” He whispered to himself. He still felt that he should at least make an effort to rob Mr. Fell, especially after breaking his window. In Paul's mind, the thought of Mr. Fell thinking he was vandalized was more hurtful than if he had been robbed. “ Vandalism is personal” He whispered. A rationalization designed to soothe his guilty conscience.
Paul approached the antique cash register. He knows that there is usually a combination of buttons that have to be pressed down simultaneously to make the till fly open. He tries a few obvious ones, then moves to some other combinations, without much success. Just as he was about to give up two massive beams of headlights shone into the window of the bookshop. “shit, shit, shit.” He exclaimed as he tried to think of what to do next.
Paul mistook the headlights of Crowley’s Bentley to be those of a police car. “ Someone at the pub must’ve seen me and called the coppers” he cursed at himself. He contemplated just surrendering but opted to duck behind a bookshelf, instead. He took cover behind some high stacks of books. “I’m just going to wait it out here and run back out the window when I get the chance.” He thought to himself, desperately trying to keep his cool. He could swear his heartbeat was loud enough to give him away.
The door to the bookshop swung open. Paul squeezed his eyes shut bracing for the coming moments.
“ I’ll try anything once, but if you ever sign us up for a midnight walk and lecture on vernacular architecture ever again there will be hell to pay Angel!” A man's displeased voice rang out. “not the coppers then” Paul thought relieved. He peers above the books to catch a glimpse of the owner of the voice. He recognizes the tall thin redheaded man. He is that shady character who drives his Bentley at breakneck speeds around town. “ That’s the twat who nearly mowed me down last week,” Paul whispered into his collar.
“It was a very interesting lecture.” Mr. Fell replies indignantly. “Besides, I did make it up to you right after.” He says cheekily. Paul could not help but raise his eyebrows at that. He had always thought of the bookkeeper as a lonely awkward middle-aged man. He did not strike him as the type who had a romantic relationship let alone a sexual one. It seems that Mr. Fell had a thing for bad boys. Paul thought allowing himself to smirk at that. He hoped however that Mr. Fell and his partner would soon retire upstairs so that he could make a run for it.
Crowley gave a grunt at Aziraphales saucy last sentence. “ Glass of wine Angel?” he countered. “In the Kitchen dear,” Aziraphale answered. Crowley went to fetch the wine. On his way around the corner, he sees the shattered window facing the narrow side street. “ Angel, you better come and take a look at this.” He called out into the shop. “ Oh?” Aziraphale says as he takes deliberate steps towards the back room. “Oh my!” He exclaims in shock and proceeds to stutter. “But why…who.. Who would do such a thing” Paul winces at the distress in Aziraphales voice. “I dunno Angel. This is bad, this is really, really bad.” the other man’s voice called out.
Karma. That is what Paul figured this was. He goes and robs an old lady, then a single mother’s bridal shop, and now the nicest man ever to have ever lived. Now he is stuck at his crime scene, on the verge of being caught by the nicest man’s lunatic lover. “Serves you right, you twat!” Paul cursed himself out. He is starting to sound like his ailing mother. Escaping out of the window was no longer an option. Paul decided to stay put for now as he tried to come up with a new plan.
“ It could be a burglar?” The Angel says to Crowley. “ There’s nothing to steal here Angel!” Crowley exclaimed frustrated. “ I think this is a message or a warning.” He carries on. “ You don’t suppose…” Aziraphale started heartbroken “ I do, we’ve gotten too comfortable. I knew they wouldn’t leave us alone for long. We have to figure out if it was your people or mine?” Paul did not like the sound of that. Who the hell were these two men? He feared that he misjudged Mr. Fell's innocence. He seems to be involved in something rather dangerous. He started to worry for the bookkeeper and also for the situation he potentially just caused.
Paul had almost resigned himself to his fate of being caught and his impending arrest when he heard the bookseller and his partner discuss the next steps. “OK Angel, you go get the broom and clean this mess up and I check the flat and the bookshop for any more damage.” With that, the demon made his way up the stairs to the flat and the Angel to the back room to retrieve a broom. The shop was basically empty again and Paul took this opportunity to run out the front doors. He ran all the way to his flat not daring to look back at all. He did not sleep that night.
Paul got no work done at the office. He was still in disbelief at his escape the night before. He also could not shake the conversation he overheard. “What are you playin’ at Mr. Fell?” He quietly says as he blankly stares at his computer screen. He had tried to think of ways someone like Mr. Fell could have possibly gotten involved with organized crime. “Some people are born into it, they can’t help it. Or maybe he got tricked into it somehow?” He thought. What he did next he had never done before. He Typed in big bold letters “ Sorry broke your window, was piss drunk.” He printed it out. He thought he would slip it through the letter slot of the bookshop. It’s the least he could do. Maybe he should attach a tenner to it. It’s all he could afford. He knows it will take a few days to fix the window and it will cost more than a tenner but it is the least he could do.
Crowley and Aziraphale spent the night brainstorming. They could not pinpoint whether this was an act of Heaven or Hell. They found characteristics that pointed to either and neither. No notes left, no mess other than the broken window. They had decided that they would face whoever was after them together. They will not revert to secret hiding places and stolen touches. Aziraphale is sitting at his desk attempting to read but failing. He is worried and deep in thought. He hears something slip through the mail slot. He frowns at the front door and makes his way over cautiously. He calls for Crowley before picking up the piece of paper. He was afraid of what was written on it. “ Just pick it up Angel, whatever it is we’ll face it together.” With coaxing from his demon Aziraphale opened up the paper. “ Sorry broke your window. was pi…” Aziraphale stopped himself from reading the rest of the sentence. Crowley, who had been reading along over the angel's shoulder, burst into laughter. He gave his angel a peck on the cheek “ How about that glass of wine Angel?” He says relief notably present in his voice. “ Please.” The angel replied. He needed a drink after all that.