CHERUB: Mad Dogs

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘Coming where?’ James said.

  Junior pointed towards a row of terraced houses at the far side of the playing fields. ‘I might as well go over to Sasha’s house and get warm.’

  James looked eagerly at Wheels. ‘Were you serious about putting some money my way?’

  ‘If you’re up for it,’ Wheels grinned. ‘But there’s no rush. You go over to Sasha’s with the spoiled brat and I’ll catch up later.’

  James was slightly mystified. ‘Does everyone go over there?’

  Wheels nodded. ‘Sasha’s got a big ol’ basement and the crew always hangs out there after football.’

  ‘Right,’ James said. ‘Guess I’ll see you over there.’

  But as he started walking towards Junior he heard Sasha shout Bruce’s name.

  ‘Jesus Harold Christ,’ Sasha yelled. ‘Will you look at that little fella run?’

  James turned towards the pitch, where a practice game had started between the under-fifteens and under-seventeens. Bruce was the smallest kid on the pitch and wore boots two sizes too big for him, but he was running on goal with a beanpole defender and the keeper to beat.

  On campus Bruce rarely played football, but the speed and co-ordination he showed fighting in the dojo translated beautifully on to the floodlit pitch. The ball seemed glued to his foot as he spun around and delicately chipped the ball into the air, then vaulted the defender’s clumsy tackle.

  The keeper closed down the angle, but Bruce kept his cool. He tapped the ball on to his knee and then volleyed into the right-hand corner of the net.

  Junior had seen the whole thing and came running back to James on the touchline. ‘Holy shit,’ Junior yelled. ‘Did you see that? Your cousin walked the entire defence.’

  James had heard kids on campus begging Bruce to join their team, but it was only now that he actually saw why. Bruce stopped running and gave a casual shrug as his muddy team-mates steamed down the pitch to hug him.

  ‘Genius,’ Sasha was yelling, as he jumped in the air. ‘That kid is pure genius.’

  25. HOUSE

  Most members of the Mad Dogs Football Club were regular guys who showered in the clubhouse after training and went home to their families. But the club was also the core of Sasha’s criminal gang, and the crew that went on to his basement consisted of a dozen hardcore criminals aged from their late twenties up to around fifty and a similar number of hangers-on: youngsters like Wheels and Junior who saw the gang as a way of having fun and making easy money.

  Sasha had lived in the same row of four-storey houses his whole life. His elderly mother owned number forty-three, while Sasha lived next door with his wife and daughter. The basements of the two houses had been knocked together to make a gloomy hang-out with a nicotine-stained ceiling.

  Whilst Junior and the younger lads held pool cues and drank supermarket-brand lager, Sasha, Wheels and the older gang members downed spirits and battled over the green felt of a poker table. To begin with it was low stakes, with the players coming and going and everyone talking, puffing cigars and telling stories as bottles of spirits drained away. But by eleven the casual players had drifted home and things started getting serious.

  Sasha lost a couple of hundred pounds when Wheels beat him with three queens and he yelled at the kids around the pool tables to shut up and stop distracting him. Most of the youngsters took this as a cue to leave, including Junior.

  ‘You don’t wanna be here when one of those guys starts losing big,’ Junior explained. ‘I’ve seen Sasha stick a guy’s head through a wall just for looking at him funny.’

  Bruce was tired and wanted to go back to the Zoo, but James couldn’t leave until he’d spoken to Wheels.

  ‘Scuse me,’ James said nervously, as he approached the big shots at the table and crouched down beside Wheels. ‘I’m gonna get going, but you said about putting some business my way; so maybe I could give you my mobile number or something?’

  Wheels was a pup compared to the others around the table, but he had the biggest pile of cash. ‘I’m out,’ Wheels said dramatically as he pushed back his chair, stood up and began gathering his money.

  ‘Yeah, best to quit while you’re ahead,’ Sasha said. ‘Go back to playing with the little kiddies.’

  Wheels smiled as he straightened his pile of money so that it would fit in his pocket. ‘I’ll be back on Friday,’ he said casually. ‘I want to win all your money a bit at a time, ’cos I know how upset you gents would get if I won it all in one go.’

  James smiled as the men around the table laughed. But Sasha looked at Wheels seriously. ‘Are you taking James out for a ride?’

  Wheels nodded. ‘If that’s OK with you, boss.’

  ‘He worked for Keith so I guess we can trust him,’ Sasha shrugged; then he pointed at Junior and Bruce. ‘But you’re not planning on bringing these two along, are you?’

  The way Sasha said are you made it clear that he meant don’t even think about it. James knew that Sasha was looking out for Junior, but he couldn’t understand the concern for Bruce.

  ‘Here,’ Sasha said, grabbing a £20 note off the poker table and waving it at Junior. ‘It’s late, so grab a car from the mini-cab office on the corner, and you can drop my man Bruce off at the Zoo along the way.’

  Bruce looked towards Wheels. ‘Can’t I go with them?’

  Sasha shook his head. ‘You’re the new star of Mad Dogs’ under-fifteens. I want those nimble feet tucked up in bed and fit for the match on Thursday night.’

  Bruce was pissed off. He’d put on a show on the football pitch to attract Sasha’s attention, but he was supposed to get involved in the criminal side of the gang and it seemed footballing talent was no help on that score.

  ‘Here,’ Sasha said, reaching out to hand Bruce three tenners. ‘I expect you could do with a bit of pocket money.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Bruce smiled.

  Junior and Bruce said their goodbyes and James followed Wheels up the basement steps a few minutes later. At the top they passed Sasha’s sixteen-year-old daughter Lois, her curvy figure clad in a towelling gown.

  ‘Hey, Wheels,’ Lois said warmly, before turning towards James. ‘I haven’t seen you before.’

  ‘This is James Beckett,’ Wheels said uneasily. ‘He’s a mate of Junior’s.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ Lois asked.

  ‘Not bad,’ James said, as he studied her freshly painted nails and unfeasibly perfect teeth. It seemed Sasha had forked out for some expensive dental work.

  ‘We’ve really gotta split, Lois,’ Wheels said. ‘See you around, yeah?’

  Wheels sighed with relief as they stepped out on to the front doorstep.

  ‘You got a problem with her?’ James asked.

  ‘Let’s just say that a psychotic gangster and a hot teenage daughter is a dangerous combination.’

  ‘She’s got a great rack though,’ James smirked, as they headed towards Wheels’ car.

  ‘Don’t even think about her,’ Wheels said, shaking his head. ‘She’s been around with a few guys from sixth-form college, but Sasha’s made it clear that she’s not for the likes of us.’

  James was disappointed as Wheels stopped walking beside an anonymous Vauxhall hatchback. He’d been expecting a hot rod.

  ‘Flash cars attract attention,’ Wheels explained as they climbed inside. ‘Besides, it’s what you do behind the wheel that counts. So where do you want to go?’

  James was confused. ‘I thought you had a plan or something.’

  Wheels looked over his shoulder into the oncoming traffic before pulling away from the kerb. It was less than thirty metres to the junction with a main road.

  ‘I was about your age when Sasha took me under his wing,’ Wheels explained, as they cruised past a line of shops. It was midnight and everywhere except the convenience stores and take-aways had their shutters down. ‘Sasha taught me that the streets are paved with money.’

  James smiled.

  ‘It’s true,’ Wheels grinned, as
he pointed at a shopfront. ‘Fried chicken joint, even on a Monday you can bet that there’s two hundred quid sitting behind the counter. Maybe three times that on a Friday or Saturday … That’s a nice BMW over there, roll it on to a low-loader and drive off and you can sell it to a used-parts dealer for a couple of grand. What’s more, if you dress up like a wheel clamper you can haul it away in broad daylight and nobody will bat an eyelid.

  ‘British Telecom,’ Wheels smiled, pointing at a grey van as they turned another corner. ‘If you try robbing a van, never go for some anonymous white number. Chances are the owner’s self-employed and he takes all of his gear out at night. But the guys who work for telephone, electric and gas companies are employees. Nothing belongs to them so they don’t care what gets nicked: copper pipe, electrical equipment, tools, even laptops sometimes.’

  ‘So that’s all you do,’ James said, obviously disappointed. ‘You rob gear out of vans?’

  Wheels tutted. ‘No you dickhead, I’m trying to make a point, which is that money is lying around everywhere if you look for it.’

  James shrugged. ‘Point taken.’

  Wheels continued, ‘The second thing Sasha taught me is that you have to mix it up. You know on the TV news when you read about a spate of robberies, or a spate of muggings?’

  James nodded.

  ‘No smart criminal ever gets involved in a spate of anything. Cops can’t catch everyone, so they go for the crooks who make their lives easy. When you do the same thing ten times, chances are the civilians are gonna be behind their net curtains looking for you and the police will be on your tail.’

  ‘So you pull lots of different scams?’ James asked.

  ‘Exactly,’ Wheels said. ‘That’s why Sasha Thompson’s been so good for so long. One week he’s selling cocaine, the next week he’s robbing a bank or stealing air-conditioning units off a building site and shipping them to Dubai.

  ‘And Sasha’s third golden rule is to never get too big for your boots. You know in the movies how crooks always talk about doing one big score and then retiring?’

  ‘Yeah, always,’ James nodded.

  ‘That’s the last thing you should ever do. If you steal a hundred grand, it’ll get in the local paper and you’ll have the local CID on your back for a day or two. But if you steal ten million, you’re gonna be in the papers, on the TV news and they’ll put the best cops in the country on your back.’

  ‘What about drugs?’ James asked. ‘Sasha’s an old mate of Junior’s dad so I assumed he was mainly into dealing.’

  ‘Sure he’s into drugs,’ Wheels nodded. ‘Making ’em, selling ’em or ripping off dealers. No crook can ignore drugs because that’s where all the money is. But first and foremost, Sasha and the whole Mad Dogs crew are old-school thieves.

  ‘Your chum Keith Moore’s the classic example of someone who got too big for his boots. In the end he had everyone from the local cops to M15 and the FBI on his back. When you’re drawing that much heat, sooner or later you’re going to slip up and get nailed.’

  James nodded. He’d read the police files on Sasha Thompson and the thing that stood out over a thirty-year criminal career was his ability to stay out of trouble while those around him got busted. When Keith Moore was sent to prison, many had expected Sasha to step into his shoes and take control of the drug trade. Now James understood why he hadn’t.

  But James knew Sasha had two weaknesses. Firstly, staying small makes it hard to stop ambitious upstarts like Major Dee from taking away your business. Second, Wheels’ delight in showing how clever he was would surely be a big help with the mission.

  ‘So are we just gonna drive around all night?’ James asked.

  Wheels smiled. ‘I’ve had a little scam on the cards for a few weeks now, but I need an extra body to pull it off. Take a look in the glove box.’

  James flipped it open and looked suitably impressed when he saw a large Glock handgun. ‘Nice piece.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Wheels said, ‘but I was actually talking about the plastic card.’

  James picked the card out of the glove box. It was silver, with a picture of a revolving door and the words Ambassador Suites written at the top.

  ‘Hotel room key,’ James said, as he turned it over in his hands. ‘So what?’

  ‘It’s a brand-new hotel down in the city,’ Wheels explained. ‘The cheapest rooms are four hundred a night and the suites are nearer to two grand. That card you’re holding is a duplicate of the hotel manager’s key. It lets you into every single room.’

  ‘Cool,’ James said, glancing at his watch. ‘But won’t everyone be in their rooms at this time of night?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Wheels smiled. ‘That’s the whole point.’

  26. CONCIERGE

  The traffic was light but it still took an hour to drive from Bedfordshire to the Ambassador Hotel, built amidst the office towers in the City of London.

  ‘Just be confident,’ Wheels said, as they headed towards the revolving doors with baseball caps pulled over their heads. ‘Place like this is gonna have security cameras everywhere, so move fast and keep your head pointing towards your feet.’

  A blast of warm air hit the pair as they passed into the lobby. An elderly couple stood around a mound of designer luggage waiting for a car to pick them up. The gent wore a Rolex and the lady had diamonds the size of marbles over her wrinkled fingers.

  ‘You can smell the money in this joint,’ Wheels said happily as they waited for the lift.

  The reception was at ground level, but most of the tower block was office space and the hotel rooms didn’t start until the 33rd floor. Wheels pressed the button marked Suites 38, but the light wouldn’t come on and the doors stayed open.

  James felt edgy as a hotel employee in a black suit walked towards them. ‘Can I help you gentlemen?’ he asked.

  ‘I need the thirty-eighth floor,’ Wheels said.

  The employee nodded. ‘May I see your room key?’

  Wheels handed the plastic card over and the hotel employee pushed it into a slot above the lift buttons.

  ‘There you go, sir.’

  ‘Ahh,’ Wheels said innocently. ‘I didn’t realise. The bell boy must have done that when we went up with our luggage earlier.’

  ‘Not a problem sir,’ the employee replied politely. ‘I hope you have a relaxing night.’

  The high-speed lift made James queasy as it belted up to the thirty-eighth floor. He felt a bit scared as he saw the Glock bulging beneath the waistband of Wheels’ jeans. His own gun was back in his room at the Zoo.

  They stepped out of the lift and Wheels handed James disposable gloves as they moved briskly over deep carpet. It was more than ten paces between each door, meaning the suites behind them had to be huge. But Wheels had an even grander ambition and kept going until they came to some double doors at the end of the hallway. The brass plaque on the door said Room 38020: Winston Churchill Suite.

  ‘Rich scum, here I come,’ Wheels chanted, as he pushed the plastic card inside the lock. It took a couple of seconds for the mechanism to work and Wheels ripped the gun out of his waistband as he stormed into the huge suite. But the bed was pristine and there was no sign of any luggage or personal items spread about.

  ‘Empty room,’ James said.

  Wheels swore under his breath as he tucked the gun back inside his jeans and almost trod on James’ foot as spun around. ‘Look where you’re going, kid.’

  James didn’t fuss over getting blamed as Wheels stepped back into the hallway and slotted the key card into the door of the nearest suite. This time he pushed the door and got hit by green light from a TV screen. As James stepped in, he noticed a woman standing in the bathroom wearing only knickers and a woolly mammoth on the bed in polka-dot boxers.

  ‘Where are you going, honey?’ the man asked, in an American accent; clearly thinking that the sound of the door was caused by his wife leaving. But he knew something was wrong when she screamed.

  ‘Get on the bed,’ Wh
eels ordered, as he pointed the gun in the woman’s face. ‘Now.’

  ‘Keep cool, boys,’ the man said, raising both hands in surrender as Wheels bundled the woman across the bed. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Nor do we,’ Wheels said as he opened up a large mirrored door and spotted the small electronic safe in the bottom of the wardrobe. ‘What’s the code?’ he demanded.

  As Wheels unlocked the safe and retrieved a laptop and the lady’s diamond necklace, James walked around to the bedside table where he found a mobile phone, a wallet and the keys to a Lexus. James flipped the wallet open and showed Wheels the rack of bank cards inside.

  ‘He’s loaded,’ James said, as Wheels crammed the laptop and jewellery inside a Nike backpack, then aimed the gun at the lady.

  ‘I don’t see your purse,’ Wheels yelled. ‘Where is it?’

  The woman sat with a luxurious satin pillow in her lap to shield her breasts. ‘Find it yourself,’ she spat, her body language indicating that she wasn’t too impressed by her husband’s meek surrender.

  ‘This says Patek Philippe,’ James said, as he picked up the man’s watch. ‘Never heard of it.’

  Wheels laughed. ‘That’s because you can’t afford it. They’re dearer and more exclusive than a Rolex. Trouble is that makes ’em buggers to fence.’

  James reached over and dropped the watch into a backpack as Wheels searched around for the purse. Finally, he lost patience and smashed the barrel of his gun into the woman’s face.

  As she howled and sobbed, her husband pointed towards a yellow handbag resting in the gap between the mattress and the bedside table.

  ‘No,’ the woman gasped. ‘My grandmother’s brooch is in there. Please don’t take it.’

  ‘Your granny’s brooch,’ Wheels sneered. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn.’

  The woman sniffled as Wheels ripped her purse from the bag and began inspecting her collection of plastic cards.

  ‘Very impressive,’ Wheels snorted. ‘Do you know, this card comes with a twenty-four-hour concierge service? That’s gonna come in handy for replacing all this stuff we’re stealing.’