The Curse of the Callers
Angus Fletcher was often described as a common thief, but he was so much more than that; he was an expert thief… a genius in the art of stealing. He was almost like the skeleton of a child, short, pale and skinny; his empty brown eyes were sunken deep into their sockets. He wore a dirty brown coat and a green hat which hid a shiny bald head.
Not being a very social person, Angus usually travelled alone. On this occasion, however, he had a young man of about twenty one with him. Thomas Taylor was nothing more and nothing less than a common thief, although he was not often described as one. Tommy had an innocent look about him; he was blonde, brown eyed and very good-looking.
They walked in silence. Tommy, staring at his feet and nervously biting his nails, and Angus with his head down and his shoulders hunched. Nosy passers-by were beginning to give them strange looks and whispering amongst themselves. Despite how good Angus was at his job he had still earned himself a bad reputation and had become very unpopular. Why would Tommy Taylor be associating with a man like him? When Angus slipped into a narrow cut between two shops Tommy got the hint and pretended not to notice. At the next opportunity, however, he also slipped into a narrow cut and side-stepped his way into a back alley where Angus was waiting for him. It had been an attempt to conceal that they knew each other. Any inkling that the two were related in some way could be vital evidence.
The back alley was surprisingly dark. The only part of Angus Tommy could make out was his white face and hands. One of the white hands disappeared as he reached into his pockets and took out a folded piece of paper which he pressed into Tommy’s palm.
For the first time Tommy heard him speak, “Come here at nine o’clock tonight stand outside the cut I came through and cough three times. I will cough once in reply, then we walk all the way up, you on the street side and I’ll be in the alley. You’ve got three hours to work this out,” he pointed to the folded paper, “Got any questions?” Tommy shook his head, “Don’t shake your head kid. Answer me!” He was somehow managing to shout in a whisper, he had a harsh, intimidating voice that seemed to be much too big for his body.
“No,” Tommy replied, his voice shaking.
The man who leaned against the wall and coughed three times barely even resembled Tommy Taylor, he looked pale and frightened and was shaking from head to foot. Beads of sweat where forming on his brow and he had hardly any nails left to bite. His one-cough reply came a few seconds later and he began to walk. It seemed like a long walk and Tommy had almost completely calmed down when he spotted the farm. It was exactly like the drawing on the paper that he had been instructed to burn. It had an empty field at the back and a barn that looked as if it could crash down at any moment. It looked as if it had been abandoned for a long, long time.
Tom took a deep breath. His nerves were coming back to him; with shaking fingers he opened the door a tiny crack and slid inside sideways. The barn was dimly lit and had six men cramped into one small section. They were all laughing and joking and drinking beer and whiskey, Angus wasn’t there.
“Oh, so you must be Tommy,” Said a middle-aged man who seemed to be at the centre of attention “You’ve earned yourself one point for a good entrance, any thief should enter any door like that,” Tommy laughed and started to relax, “so you’re a local then Tom,” he enquired.
“Yeah I live about a mile down the road,” Tommy answered.
“Minus one point,” Another younger man chipped in, “Never reveal where you live.”
“Anyway Tom I’ll introduce you to the boys, I’m John and this is my son little John,” The older man ruffled the younger mans hair, “Just call him Johnny, and that’s Simon, Dennis and Mathew, and that,” he paused and looked at Tommy, “Well, that’s Gilbert.”
The man he was pointing at was enormously fat, he wore ripped pants and a scruffy white vest that only managed to stretch half way over his enormous belly. He had wispy brown hair and droopy eyes; his head was round and bright red like a ripe tomato.
Tommy grinned at John, “I’ve never met a Gilbert,” Gilbert burped loudly in reply.
I'm joking around, I'm not mad, but please go back and add it. It's important.
I didn't notice it in your other stories I read. This was the first time you never had any periods, at all, at the ends of dialogue sentences. I was shocked! 
I can't really give you any feedback on the story, because you don't have very much so far. But you have piqued my interest, so hopefully you'll have more. 
