‘And get off with some nice fit bloke,’ Georgia giggled.
‘Trust you,’ Hannah said, as all three girls broke into fits of giggles. ‘At least I’ve got James, he’s lovely.’
James slipped his arm around Hannah’s back, glad that she wasn’t holding a grudge from earlier.
‘Sounds like you’re all having fun,’ a deep voice said.
James turned to find that two of the thugs from the other estate had come up behind them. The taller one had a wispy teenage beard. Both had the broad shoulders and muscular arms of the kind of people who are better not messed with.
‘You know what? I’m parched,’ the bearded one rasped, rubbing his hand over his hairy throat to emphasise his point. ‘I couldn’t help noticing that you’ve got some cans on you and I thought you might like to share.’
‘Just a couple of tins,’ his mate added.
Max scowled at them. ‘Why don’t you buy your own, instead of poncing?’
The bearded kid looked at his mate and shook his head. ‘Was that very nice, calling us ponces?’
‘I’m wounded,’ his mate grinned, as he pointed at Max. ‘You know who this one is? His dad’s that fat blob who owns the King Of Russia.’
‘A whole pub full of booze and he won’t spare us a couple of tins. Come on, hand ’em across.’
Max backed up as the shorter thug lunged at his carrier bag.
‘Leave off,’ Max juddered. The fear in his voice was obvious.
‘Aren’t you a brave boy?’ the beard giggled.
Hannah tugged at James’ arm and whispered in his ear. ‘They’re massive. It’s not worth getting done over for a few cans of beer.’
After wrecking his life with the last punch he’d thrown, James felt inclined to swallow his pride. He reached into the bag and snapped two cans away from the plastic binding strip.
‘Take ’em,’ James said sourly. ‘On me.’
‘How about the whole sixer?’ The big dude grinned ungratefully. ‘I’ve worked up a thirst and I really didn’t like your chum calling me a ponce.’
‘Or maybe you’ll be wanting a slap,’ the shorter one added, as he stepped forward so that his chest almost touched James’ nose.
‘Give it up, James,’ Hannah said desperately, as she backed away.
But the sudden change in terms gave James a nasty feeling that the two lads now required more than beer. Max had offended them and James suspected the thugs wanted to humiliate them in front of the girls.
If he offered more beer they’d probably ask for something else, like his money. And once he gave that up, they’d probably still give him a slap for his trouble. James reckoned he was going to have to stand his ground sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner.
‘You know what?’ James said, trying to sound cool. ‘I tried the peace offering, but now you’re getting zip.’
The thug in James’ face stepped back to take a punch, but as soon as he kicked off, James grabbed his T-shirt with both hands, tugged him forward and nutted him. The thug stumbled backwards, then crumpled up in the grass clutching a bloody nose.
The one with the beard dived in and tried grabbing James around the waist. James intercepted the arm and wrung his adversary’s elbow into an excruciating lock.
James had no idea if the other two boys from the Grosvenor Estate were about to join in. He couldn’t risk a four against one situation, which meant he had to take at least one opponent out of the equation. He yanked the thug’s arm straight, then thrust a palm into the back of his elbow, tearing the tendons and splintering the bone.
James had practised the move hundreds of times, but the difference between deliberately missing in training and the crunch of real flesh and bone was sickening.
As the bearded teenager screamed in agony, James felt weird: a mixture of nausea and awe at the extraordinary power he’d attained through hundreds of hours of combat training. He’d shot and killed a man ten months earlier, but anyone could have done that. The sensation of effortlessly breaking a human limb with his bare hands actually felt more horrifying, even though the consequences were nothing like as serious.
The other two thugs were closing on James, with their girls egging them on. James didn’t want to fight them and decided that mega-confidence was the best strategy for keeping them at bay.
He pointed at the guy clutching his nose on the grass. ‘Anyone want some of that?’ James sneered. ‘Come near me and you’ll get it.’
All the other kids in the field were looking at James, struggling to see what was happening in the moonlight. James was massively relieved when the yobs stopped a few metres shy. One of the girls crouched over the dude with the busted arm.
‘You’d better call an ambulance,’ James said, with a hint of sympathy creeping into his defiant voice.
The mention of adult presence turned the mood of the twenty-strong crowd from tense to panicked. What if the cops show up with the ambulance? What if the thugs go back to get their mates? Every chain of thought hurtled to the same conclusion: Got to get out of here.
As his audience began to scatter, James felt Hannah tugging at his arm.
‘Come on, James,’ she begged.
Max, James and the three girls set off, chasing the shadows of other kids jogging downhill towards the exit gates on the Palm Hill side of the reservoir. Hannah gave James a tissue to wipe his face, while Max had suddenly found his tongue and taken the chair of the James appreciation society.
‘Where’d you learn to do that, James? It was awesome, like … Like The Terminator or something. That crunch when his arm smashed sounded a bit … Oh, man! You know when you get a chicken out of the oven and rip off the leg?’
James didn’t like being reminded and he was frustrated at how slowly his new pals were moving. The mixture of CHERUB training and frequent punishment laps meant James was fit enough run five kilometres without getting seriously out of breath. His companions were gasping after a tenth of that distance.
‘Where’d you learn it, James?’ Max repeated, wide-eyed and grinning in awe.
‘One of my foster parents was a Karate instructor,’ he lied.
‘Can you show me some moves?’
‘It takes months,’ James said irritably, as he looked back over his shoulder to find that the girls had fallen even further behind.
The first siren didn’t worry anyone: they assumed it was an ambulance. But the symphony that broke out half a minute later wasn’t good. There should only be one ambulance, which meant the other four or five sirens belonged to police cars.
James spotted torchlight when a group of kids running a couple of hundred metres ahead of him reached the exit gate.
‘Cops,’ Liza said anxiously.
James felt a shot of fear. He considered hiding out in the trees, or doubling back and going over a wall, but he didn’t know the neighbourhood and reckoned they could bluff their way through.
‘Stop running,’ he said. ‘Act normal.’
Max looked anxiously at James. ‘We’d better dump the booze.’
James sighed as he lobbed the carrier bag containing twelve quid’s worth of vodka and lager into a bush.
He looked back at the girls. ‘Is there another place where kids hang out in here?’
Georgia nodded. ‘There’s a playground.’
‘That’s good,’ James said. ‘If the cops ask, we were in the playground.’
Hannah closed in on James. ‘Let me look at your face.’
James stopped walking for a second. Hannah licked a tissue and used it to wipe the last few traces of blood off his forehead. He felt edgy as they approached the cops, but the previous bunch of kids had been waved through after less than a minute of questioning.
‘Hello,’ a female officer said politely, stepping out in front of the kids and switching on her torch. ‘Do you mind if I ask a few questions?’
‘Has something happened?’ Hannah asked innocently, as they all stopped walking.
The second
officer, an Asian man, stepped out and lit up his torch. Max recognised him immediately. ‘Hello, Sergeant Patel.’
‘Hey, Max,’ the officer said, nodding half-heartedly. ‘Keeping out of trouble I hope. Not broken any more windows?’
‘Nah,’ Max grinned guiltily.
‘Where have you kids been?’ the female officer asked.
Georgia and Liza spoke in unison. ‘Over the playground.’
‘Not up top, by the brook?’
The girls both shook their heads.
‘We’ve had reports that some lads from the Grosvenor Estate got ambushed and beaten up. One of them’s ended up with a broken arm. You could get yourselves in serious trouble by lying to me, so I’m going to give you another chance. Are you sure you weren’t really up by the brook?’
James was relieved when all the girls shook their heads. ‘No, miss.’
‘Like I say, there’s been a serious incident. So I’m going to have to ask all of you for your names and addresses and we might be in touch later.’
Hannah was at the end of the line and she faithfully read her name and address to the policewoman. James was next.
‘James Robert Holmes. Flat sixteen, block six, Palm Hill estate.’
The policewoman smiled. ‘And your postcode?’
James fumbled. ‘E, something?’
The policewoman clearly thought she’d caught James out. ‘Don’t you know your own postcode? How long have you lived here?’
‘We just moved in this morning.’
‘Did you indeed,’ the policewoman said suspiciously.
‘It’s true,’ Max said. ‘He’s four doors down from me. I can vouch for him.’
But she didn’t sound convinced. ‘What’s your home phone number?’
‘We’re not hooked up yet,’ James said.
‘Well what about your parents? Do they have mobiles so that I can ring up and speak to one of them?’
‘My parents are both dead,’ James explained. ‘My older brother looks after me, but he’ll be out.’
‘So you moved in today to live with your brother, who just happens to be out,’ the policewoman said incredulously. ‘How old is this brother?’
‘He’s seventeen, technically I’m still in foster care, but I’m allowed to live with Dave …’
The policewoman clearly thought James’ story was bull. She moved her torch beam upwards and shone it in James’ face. It took a second for a look of revelation to blossom.
‘What’s that under your chin?’
‘Where?’ James asked.
James touched his chin with his index finger and felt the tip drag through something that could only be a drop of blood.
‘And how did that get there?’
James realised he was in trouble, but Hannah nailed down the coffin.
‘Miss, it’s not James’ fault,’ she yelled. ‘It wasn’t an ambush. They started on us.’
‘Yeah,’ Georgia added. ‘They were miles bigger than him.’
‘OK, one at a time,’ the policewoman shouted, hardly able to contain her grin. She looked over her shoulder at the other officer. ‘Michael, get James here in handcuffs and call another car, we’ll have to take all of this lot in for questioning.’
‘He’s a bit on the small side,’ Patel observed.
James was angry at getting himself caught. He should have remembered something as obvious as his postcode. And now he thought about it, Hannah had said hers thirty seconds earlier and it was probably identical.
‘Get over here,’ Patel said wearily, as he pulled a set of handcuffs off his belt. ‘And you’d better not start mouthing me. I’m not in the mood.’
James stepped forward and held out his wrists. Patel snapped on the cuffs and read James his rights in a monotone as they walked to a police car parked on the double yellow lines outside the gate.
‘You do not have to answer any questions, but anything you do say will be taken down and used in evidence …’
James had been arrested before and knew the words off by heart, but this particular reading had a surprise ending. As he ducked down to get in the back of the car, Patel grabbed James’ head and thumped it hard against the edge of the car roof.
James was seeing stars as he collapsed across the rear seat.
‘We’ll sort you out,’ Patel snarled, as he slammed the car door. ‘You’ve got no idea how sick I get of nicking dumb little brats like you.’
17. COPS
James woke up on a bare vinyl mattress and shuffled across to the cell toilet in his socked feet. While he peed, his fingers explored the small cut on the side of his head where Sergeant Patel had assaulted him.
After zipping up, James stepped over to the door of the graffiti-etched cell and rang the buzzer. It took a minute for the custody officer to open the flap.
‘Can you flush my toilet?’ James asked.
The beanpole officer, with stained teeth and scruffy red hair, was in a jovial mood. ‘Are you up for some breakfast, sonny?’
James felt queasy and wasn’t sure if eating would help or hinder the situation. ‘What have you got?’
‘It’s a full English, with bacon or sausage, eggs any style and granary toast with a selection of fresh fruit preserves and whipped butter.’
James was well off-form at this time of the morning. It took him longer than it should have to realise he was having his leg pulled.
‘I am a bit hungry, I suppose.’
‘Well it comes wrapped in cellophane and I’m told it’s highly nutritious. Do you want it or not?’
James shrugged. ‘I guess.’
The cop came back and slotted a grey plastic tray through the flap, followed by a plastic mug filled with milky tea.
‘Do you know what’s going on?’ James asked. ‘I’ve been stuck down here all night.’
‘You’re under-age, so we can’t question you, release you, or do anything else until your parent or guardian turns up,’ the custody officer explained.
James had named Zara as his social worker and given the police a local phone number that would automatically re-route to the twenty-four-hour situation room on campus. Having ascertained that James wasn’t in any danger, it looked like nobody on campus was in any great rush to get out of bed in the early hours of Sunday morning and drive to his rescue.
James ate the cereal and nibbled at a rubbery waffle-type thingy with cubes of pink and orange fruit in the middle. He couldn’t help wondering what Lauren would say when she found out he’d got into another fight. He’d planned to stay out of trouble, but that’s not always easy when you’re on a mission.
There was the tantalising sound of a key in the cell door as he drained his mug.
‘Looks like you’re headin’ home,’ the custody sergeant said, as the door swung open.
He flung a box containing James’ belongings on to the bed.
‘Aren’t they gonna question me or nothing?’ James asked, as he slid his feet in his trainers and began shoving his keys, mobile and stuff back into his pockets.
‘I believe they questioned quite a few of your pals,’ the sergeant explained. ‘But that lot like settling their own scores. The two lads in the hospital refused to give the police any statement, which leaves you in the clear.’
‘Thank god for that,’ James said.
‘Don’t get too full of yourself,’ the cop warned, as he led James out of the cell towards the reception area. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if they catch up with you.’
John Jones had landed the task of driving down from CHERUB campus at five on a Sunday morning. John was a dome-headed ex-police, ex-MI5 agent, who’d joined CHERUB as a mission controller less than a year earlier. He’d worked with James on his two biggest missions.
John showed the custody sergeant a fake ID that said, London Borough of Tower Hamlets, Social Services.
‘How come you’re here?’ James asked, as they walked out of the police station into a drizzly Sunday morning.
�
��Zara’s got two kids,’ John explained. ‘She sees little enough of them, without her having to make fake IDs and drive to London in the middle of the night. Besides, she’s a senior mission controller and this job is strictly small-time.’
‘Are you taking over as mission controller now?’ James asked, as they started walking towards the car.
John nodded, ‘For my sins.’
‘Sorry I got you out of bed in the middle of the night.’
‘I expect I’ll live,’ John replied. ‘I’ve been working undercover since before you were born, James. It’s not the first night’s sleep I’ve missed and I’d have a few quid on it not being the last.’
John had driven down in one of the CHERUB pool cars, a black Vauxhall Omega. James spotted Millie Kentner hunched over in the back as he got in the front passenger seat.
‘Morning,’ James said.
Millie looked at John. ‘Can we shift out of here pronto, before someone from inside the station recognises me?’
The police station was only a few minutes’ drive from Palm Hill estate. John pulled up in a side street, and the three of them had a conversation while the rain pelted the roof of the car.
‘What happened, James?’ Millie asked tersely.
James looked back over his shoulder, surprised at her tone. ‘Two nutters tried to start on us. I did what I could to keep them happy, but they wanted trouble and they got it.’
Millie tutted. ‘I have enough problems with the lunatics around here, without you trying to set off World War Three between Palm Hill and the Grosvenor Estate.’
‘I didn’t start anything,’ James said irritably. ‘You were a cherub, you know how it works. You don’t get to make friends with villains by sitting indoors and being a good little boy.’
‘Point taken,’ Millie nodded. ‘But please try to remember that you’re here to help me get rid of Tarasov and make Palm Hill a better place to live.’
James huffed. ‘And who was that Asian guy who arrested me?’
‘Michael Patel,’ Millie said. ‘What about him?’
‘He’s a psycho, that’s what,’ James answered. ‘He smacked my head against the car as I was getting in. My head’s killing me.’
The Killing Page 10
