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Thursday, Jun. 30, 2005 - 18:30 Crime Doesn't Pay: A Bad Dream Hello gentle Reader. Yesterday I woke from quite a curious dream, and had intended to write it down. But as I was kind of vague and disorganised, I just didn’t get around to it, and forgot about the dream while spending the better part of the afternoon with Louloubelle. But then as we walked along Balaclava Road, heading towards home, I saw something that brought the dream back in startling clarity. Parallel parked by the pavement was an Armaguard truck, the type of vehicle used by banks and large institutions for the transport of significant amounts of cash. Ironically, the van seemed to be there not to drop off or pick up money from the nearby National Australia Bank, but because one of the Armagaurd guys wanted to stop at an ATM. You’d think he’d just reach into the back and grab a fistful of bills from one of the bags, eh…? As I said, seeing the truck reminded me of the dream, which I immediately hared with Louloubelle, thus freaking her out a tad, which wasn’t the intention at all. But in the dream I was a part of a team of people, mainly guys, who stormed a large warehouse that was being used as a mailing centre for a huge multi-national company. The mailroom centre was predominantly the workplace of perhaps 2 dozen people of Asian background. All of them were very busy and focused on their tasks – the place seemed remarkably streamlined and organised, with lots of free, unused space and minimal clutter. The employees were taken by surprise by our arrival. The troupe I was a part of – probably 8 or 10 people, including a couple of females – were all dressed in black, with balaclavas, gloves and very sophisticated looking, start-of-the-art machine guns slung over our shoulders, or being carried in our hands. Someone started shooting and killed 3 or 4 of the staff, grabbing the survivors’ attention pretty quickly. Orders were barked and snapped – the employees raised their hands, moaned with terror and were being rounded up. The bodies of the dead were left on the floor. A short time passed, mere minutes, I suppose. We were waiting expectantly for someone or something to arrive at the warehouse. And sure enough, a large sliding door opened on an exterior wall and in rolled an Armaguard van. One of the guards got out of the truck while myself and the others were hiding in various spots… and then there was another firefight; machine guns went off, the guard was cut to pieces, as if thrown into a paper shredder – it was horrific, and I can remember feeling repulsed by what I was a part of. Yet, still I went along with my role in the crime. We approached the truck when there was no further resistance… but as we did, the air was suddenly filled with the shrill sound of police sirens. Cop cars by the dozens descended onto the warehouse, pulling up at the still opened roller-door. Cops in flack jackets, helmets etc., leapt from their vehicles aiming their weapons onto the interior of the warehouse. Another firefight ensued, but this one was more brutal and terrifying, for the police weren’t just using standard issue handguns; they were armed with high-powered rifles and machine guns with armor piercing shells. I recall that I’d taken cover behind the Armagaurd van, pinned down by the persistent gunfire. But the shells that the cops were firing off were cutting through the truck as if it were made of aluminum foil, sending fragments of metal flying through the air. It was clear that my colleagues and I were doomed; I looked around helplessly, seeing my comrades fall, cut to pieces by the gunfire. The last thing I recall was the pain of taking a spray of bullets and metal fragments (from the truck, which now looked like Swiss cheese) to my abdomen and hip on the left side of my body… At which point, I then woke up…
Copyright Jay Kerin 
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