Ryan backed out and grabbed a couple of rulers off the desktop. He used the rulers like chopsticks, getting behind the package and flicking it forwards. He almost had it in his grasp when he heard a gentle sound on the carpet, and noticed a shift in the light.
‘MUM,’ a girl shouted urgently.
Clutching the package with one hand, Ryan pushed himself out from under the bed as he saw the spokes of a wheelchair coming towards him.
‘There’s a burglar in the boys’ room,’ the girl shouted.
Ryan was furious with himself. How could he have watched the flat all evening and not seen that Ash had a wheelchair-bound sister?
As he tried to get out from under the covers, the front wheels of the wheelchair hit Ryan’s legs, pinning them to a bedside cabinet. As he bucked and twisted, the girl raised a metal crutch up above her head and sank the rubber tip into Ryan’s stomach.
He moaned in pain, as he managed to twist around enough to get a proper look at the girl. She was only about twelve, but while her legs ended at the knee, her upper body was well muscled from playing sport.
Ryan braced his legs against the bedside cabinet as he took another whack from the crutch. He was trying to push the wheelchair back, but the brake was on and he only got free by hooking his foot inside the cabinet and violently kicking it over.
As Ash’s mum came into the room, Ryan had got all of his limbs free, but was still cornered by the wheelchair.
‘Sophia, be careful, he could have a knife,’ Ash’s mum warned.
But Ryan was on the wrong end of the crutch twice more before her mother wheeled a reluctant Sophia out of the way.
‘Go call the cops, sweetie. I’ll take charge of him.’
Ash’s mum grabbed the crutch off her daughter and held it up high over Ryan as he sat up.
‘You move a muscle and I’ll knock you for six,’ she warned.
Out in the hallway, Sophia was talking to the 999 operator. Her mother was a bulky lady, and Ryan hoped that would make her slow as he sprang up and scrambled on to Ash’s bunk. As he’d hoped, the swinging crutch hit the bed rather than him.
As a clonk rang through the metal bed frame, Ryan crawled up to the end of the bed. He threw a couple of pillows back at the woman and clutched the package to his chest with one hand as he slid off the end of the bed and stumbled out into the hallway.
Ryan went for the front door, but grabbing the handle didn’t help because it had been deadlocked. Sophia dropped the cordless phone in her lap and wheeled fearlessly towards Ryan. The chair’s front wheel skinned Ryan’s ankle, but the twelve-year-old made a much less formidable opponent without the crutch and Ryan managed to squeeze past and charge for the living-room.
Ryan ducked as Ash’s mum swung the crutch, but it caught the back of his leg, knocking him off balance and sending him stumbling towards a couch. The big woman swung again, but Ryan rolled across the couch as the crutch hit the sofa cushions with a whump that could have knocked him cold.
‘The cops are two minutes away,’ Sophia shouted from the hall.
Ryan’s leg buckled as he stumbled forward and somehow launched himself through the open window, going out the way he’d come in. Much to his own surprise, Ryan realised that he still had the package as he stumbled across a little patio and stepped over a low wall and on to the street.
At the same time, Sophia had got the front door open and began wheeling herself speedily towards the front gate. Ryan was hobbling, and Sophia was gaining on him as he set off down the street. He was relieved when Sophia’s mother yelled from the doorstep.
‘Sweetie, it’s not worth the risk. You get back here right now.’
Sophia looked dejected as she stopped pushing her chair and freewheeled to a gradual halt. Ryan felt relieved for about ten seconds, but just as he’d slowed down to a more comfortable jog his ears picked up the wail of police sirens.
36. DRIVE
Fay was a fast learner. She’d studied Ning and watched a bunch of YouTube videos about learning to drive, but getting the balance of clutch and accelerator pedals right was way harder than she’d imagined.
Frustration had whipped Fay into a fury when she finally got the right amount of pressure on the gas pedal and let the clutch up gently enough not to stall the engine. The van juddered, before setting off on the rutted gravel path between allotments.
As the engine raced, Fay pushed the clutch down and went for second gear. She hadn’t got a feel for the gearbox and by the time she’d found second, a bump had knocked the van off course and she was heading towards a greenhouse.
She slammed the brake, but had yet to work out that the engine would stall if you didn’t press the clutch pedal before stopping. The van came to a clattering halt, with a front wheel that had carved a rut through a line of cauliflowers.
‘Shit!’ Fay cursed.
An hour later she was doing better. Tyres crunched gravel as Fay switched deftly from second to third and corrected her steering when a bump threw her off course. The main paths through the allotment formed an uneven rectangle and she slowed for a tight corner, dipped the clutch and dropped back to second before accelerating away.
A bump she’d not previously encountered gave Fay a little jolt, but she smiled as she accelerated to twenty miles an hour and confidently selected third gear.
Two hours of intense concentration left Fay numb and groggy. She parked up by the shed, found a can of Red Bull inside and sucked it down as she squatted on her mattress playing with the maps app on her phone.
It was four miles from the allotments to an address in Finchley. Hagar tried to keep his living arrangements secret, but Fay had met a guy on the street who’d put her in touch with a heroin addict who claimed that she’d babysat Hagar’s sons. Fay had paid three hundred pounds for the address, and knew she hadn’t been ripped off, because Google Street View showed a black Mercedes she’d seen Craig driving parked out front.
Fay hadn’t wanted anyone to see her practising with the van, so she put the headlights on for the first time as she stopped at the allotment’s main gate, directly opposite the vast mound of three-pound-a-sack manure.
She had a key for the lock on the gate, but it had been in the shed for so long it had rusted badly and Fay had to fight to undo the lock and get the gate open. Once the van was on the outside, Fay closed the gate and felt queasy with nerves as she got back behind the wheel and pulled out on to the road.
She got into second gear OK, but then she accidentally selected first instead of third, making the engine race and the van lurch. A BMW coming up behind blasted its horn as the driver swung into the opposite carriageway.
The sat-nav spoke: ‘Three hundred metres, straight ahead at roundabout, second exit.’
Fay didn’t like the idea of a roundabout, and she stopped at a red light, directly behind the BMW that had sped past a minute earlier. Two more cars rolled up behind and Fay was alarmed to find that the van started rolling backwards when she took her foot off the brake.
An alarmed driver behind blasted his horn as the van almost rolled back into him. Fay frantically braked, which stalled the engine, and she got moving just as the light went back to red. She didn’t like the idea of starting on the hill again, so she jumped the light and clipped the middle of the roundabout before taking the second exit.
The rest of the journey was a similar mixture of anxious driving and near misses, but somehow she made four miles without crashing or getting stopped by the cops. Hagar’s road sloped steeply downwards and Fay had to keep squeezing the brake as the van skimmed past, clearing the cars parked on either side by less than thirty centimetres.
‘You have reached your destination.’
Fay sighed with relief as she stopped the van in front of number fifty-seven. Hagar’s house was a grand Edwardian job, built in honey-coloured Bath stone wi
th massive sash windows. The left side had a modern extension. This mirror-glass box rose two storeys, with a steeply sloped driveway leading down to a quadruple garage at its base.
There was no way of knowing who was home, but it was likely Hagar had a permanent security guard, so Fay moved quickly. After turning out the headlights, Fay walked around the van and opened the sliding side door.
The black bags of marijuana plants gave off a pungent smell as she reached inside and grabbed a metal can filled with petrol. After unscrewing the cap, Fay sploshed petrol about until all the bags were coated.
She gasped for air as she stepped back into the street and left the sliding door open as she got behind the wheel for one last ride. After picking up her phone, which she’d been using for navigation, from the passenger seat, and patting a denim pocket to locate a letter and a lighter, Fay let out the handbrake and started the engine.
The road’s natural slope meant the van sped rapidly as it turned into Hagar’s driveway. Fay lined up the vehicle at the top of the ramp, which led down a steep slope towards two broad garage doors. Leaving the engine running and the handbrake off, Fay lit a piece of rag stuffed into a petrol-filled Coke bottle as she jumped out of the cab.
The van picked up speed as Fay ran around the side. Once she was a few metres clear, she lobbed the petrol bomb through the van’s open side and ducked instinctively. After a few anticlimactic seconds, a huge ball of fire erupted inside the van with enough force to throw open the back doors.
Fay wasn’t happy to see the van veering slightly off course, but there was nothing she could do to correct it. As the freewheeling vehicle gathered speed, she crouched low and posted a letter through the front door. It contained a single sheet of paper with the words:
Get out of the Marijuana business.
Going for your cars is a final warning.
Next time, it’ll be your kids.
Fay began a brisk walk out of the driveway, but couldn’t resist looking back to see the van hitting the garage. It had veered off course more than she would have liked, but although the van smashed into the brick post between the two big garage doors – rather than punching through a metal door like she’d planned – it actually had enough momentum to smash through the bricks.
The garage doors squealed and crumpled as the van tore through. Flames lit up the garage interior and Fay briefly glimpsed the silhouette of an expensive-looking sports car. Over in the house, two dogs started barking and a light came on.
Fay cracked a wary smile as she swivelled on the balls of her feet and set off down the hill at full pelt.
*
The cops got to Ash’s house three minutes after Ryan had scrambled out of the window. Luckily he’d been able to limp off into a housing estate full of alleys and elevated walkways and the cops showed no appetite to try and find him.
Ryan’s guts ached where he’d been jabbed with the crutch and the heel of his right sock was soaked in blood. He got a night bus home and James dabbled with the idea of sending him to hospital to see if he’d cracked a rib, before deciding that his bruising was too low down.
After a shower, Ryan went to bed with gauze taped over a stomach wound and heavy strapping around his ankle. He was relieved that he no longer had to think about getting the package from Ash, but it was an uncomfortably warm night and aches and grazes meant that he only managed bursts of sleep between fights with duvet and pillows.
In the early hours of the morning, Ryan reached for a glass and found it empty. His torso glistened with sweat as he refilled and dropped in a couple of ice cubes. He was about to get back in bed when he noticed a light flashing on the little Nokia that Craig had given him.
Ryan picked up the phone and saw that he’d slept through a message from an unrecognised number. It was written in capitals: ALL HANDS ON DECK. GET TO THE HANGOUT ASAP.
He jumped back out of bed. The window in the hallway gave him a view towards The Hangout. A man in a body warmer was running out of the door and there were several cars parked illegally on the grass behind the building.
‘James,’ Ryan yelled.
James didn’t stir until Ryan jabbed his shoulder.
‘Kerry, I’m too tired,’ James moaned, as he rolled on to his back.
‘Hey, lover boy,’ Ryan said sharply.
‘What?’ James asked, sounding half dead as he sat up rubbing his eyes.
Ryan held up the Nokia. ‘Message came through about half an hour ago. There’s a whole bunch of cars and people up there.’
‘What for?’ James asked groggily.
‘How should I know?’
‘Have you spoken to Ning? She might know something.’
Ryan shook his head. ‘I thought I’d speak to you first. Do you reckon I should go up there?’
‘Probably,’ James said. ‘We need to know what’s going on. You go put some clothes on. I’ll give Ning a call.’
As Ryan scrambled into jeans and a hoodie, over at Nebraska House, Ning woke up and grabbed her mobile out of its charging stand.
‘I’ve no idea what’s happened,’ Ning said, looking around her room as James explained. She flicked on a bedside lamp when she realised there was nobody asleep on the floor. ‘Fay’s gone. She’s taken her shoes and phone. So Christ knows what she’s up to, but I’ll bet she’s got something to do with it . . .’
37. BOSS
Ryan had dressed for trouble, wearing black boots, a stab vest plus an extendable baton clipped to his belt. As he strode through the courtyard towards The Hangout, keeping a wary eye out for dog turds, James’ voice was coming through the com unit buried in his ear.
‘I’ve logged into the London 999 dispatch system,’ James said. ‘Just under two hours ago, a major incident was reported in Finchley. Flaming van deliberately rammed into garage at 57 Hartwood Road, N3. That’s Hagar’s place.’
‘The van Fay and Ning stole?’ Ryan asked quietly.
‘It doesn’t say, but it’s got to be,’ James said. ‘Five cars destroyed. Fire under control after significant damage to extension. No fatalities, one child taken to hospital as a precaution after smoke inhalation. Hartwood Road remains closed to through traffic.’
‘Hagar’s gonna be pissed,’ Ryan said. ‘I’d better shut up now, I’m going inside.’
Ryan was used to The Hangout being filled with people his own age, but now it was mostly men in their late teens and twenties. He recognised Warren and Craig. Some of Hagar’s most senior lieutenants were at the back and Ryan felt a tingle down his back as he saw Hagar.
‘Where you going, boy?’ a big ginger-haired guy with an eye patch said, blocking Ryan in the doorway.
‘I got Craig’s message,’ Ryan said.
The ginger dude looked suspicious until a guy Ryan had seen at the car-wash a few times shouted, ‘Ryan’s legit. Get over here, kid.’
Ryan walked over to the guy, who was called Max.
‘What’s up?’ Ryan asked.
‘Big-time shit hitting fan,’ Max told Ryan. ‘Eli’s boys rammed Hagar’s house. Hagar wasn’t home, but his boy’s in casualty.’
‘Shit,’ Ryan said.
At the other side of the room, Hagar and Craig stood between two pool tables. Craig was the bigger man and had a hand on Hagar’s shoulder.
‘Why rush into this?’ Craig said soothingly. ‘We know the girls stole that van.’
‘My boy’s in the hospital,’ Hagar shouted angrily.
‘As a precaution. He just breathed a little smoke. Judy said he’s running around the emergency room, happy as Larry.’
‘We know Eli bought the gear from the stash house from Fay Hoyt,’ Hagar said. ‘He must have an insider. He must have found my grow house and got the girls to rob it.’
Craig shook his head, and his tone got tetchy. ‘We don’t know that for sur
e. We don’t know anything.’
‘Are you telling me that my security is so lax that a fifteen-year-old girl managed to find my grow house and my home address with no outside help? Who’s supposed to be my chief of security?’
‘I am,’ Craig admitted.
Ryan knew that Warren had helped the girls find the grow house, and glanced over at a thoroughly uncomfortable expression on his face.
‘Plenty of people don’t like you, Hagar,’ Craig said. ‘We have sources. I’m just saying we should get a better picture of what really happened before doing anything rash.’
Hagar took a step back. ‘I’ve made up my mind, Craig. Now are you with me or not?’
Hagar pointed towards the door, showing Craig where to go if he didn’t snap into line.
Craig made a subservient nod. ‘You’re the boss,’ he said, a touch reluctantly.
‘OK, people. Get in close, listen up,’ Hagar shouted.
Everyone had backed up to the edges of the room while Hagar and Craig were fighting. Now they peeled away, moving between and resting butts on the edge of pool tables.
‘We’ve been attacked,’ Hagar shouted. ‘My home and family is where I draw the line. Eli has provoked us, so he’ll be expecting us to come out on the street and hit his dealers. But that ponce isn’t the only person with inside information. I’ve got a list of Eli’s other assets. We’re gonna hit the streets hard, but not in the places where he’s expecting us.’
A few nervous laughs and a couple of whoops went through the assembled thugs.
‘Four or five to a car,’ Hagar ordered. ‘There’s a plentiful supply of tools and implements in the playgroup room. Each team gets three targets. And don’t come back to me with excuses why you didn’t take all of ’em out.’
*
Ning was desperate to know what Fay had been up to, but she couldn’t mention any of the stuff she’d found out from James when she got through to her mobile.
Lone Wolf Page 19
