Cherub Series: Class A Part 17

'What makes you say that?'

'You heard what the skinhead said when he took your trainers. That hairball was paying them by letting them keep our stuff. That's hardly the modus of a big shot.'

'OK,' James said. 'He's small-time, but he's still got a gun.'

'He won't kill us in a million years,' Kerry said. 'He's been paid a few hundred quid to scare us, grab the drugs and send a message to Keith Moore. There's a huge difference between that and murdering two kids.'

'Supposing you're right,' James said. 'How do we find this guy?'

'I think there's only one road in and out of this chunk of paradise and we haven't seen him leave. We're looking for a tall, fat drug dealer with tons of curly hair and a beard. I bet one of the sc.u.mbags hanging around here will be able to put a name to a description like that.'

'And we just walk up and they'll tell us?'

Kerry shrugged. 'We'll make some excuse why we need to find him.'

'The thing is,' James said, 'if you've just ripped off KMG for three hundred grand, you won't be hanging around here for long.'

'I know,' Kerry said. 'But he doesn't think KMG will know what's happened until we get into town. He'll be off his guard for the next hour or so.'

'You're serious, aren't you?' James smiled. 'I'm really gonna go chasing after some gun-toting drug dealer in my socks?'

'I think it's worth the risk, but I'm not forcing you. If you're not up for it, we'll head home.'

James thought for a second as he dabbed his b.l.o.o.d.y lip on the bottom of his T-shirt. He didn't fancy their chances. If it had been anyone but Kerry, he would have said no.

'Let's go and get shot,' he said, climbing to his feet and taking his first painful steps since the beating.

They cut around the back of the shops, dodging the snooker club in case anyone inside spotted them. They found a couple of skinny women at the bottom of a staircase and got blank stares when they described the hairball. They got lucky on their second attempt, when Kerry described him to a group of teenagers.

'Was it some kind of heavy metal T-shirt?'

'Yeah,' Kerry said. 'Do you know where we could find him? He dropped his keys outside the snooker club and we picked them up.'

'Sounds like Crazy Joe,' one kid said. 'He lives in Alhambra House. You want to be careful, he's a serious lunatic and he's drugged-up half the time.'

'You know where exactly?' James asked.

'What do I look like?' the kid laughed. 'Directory enquiries? Try the second or third floor.'

'Cheers,' James said.

'Nice socks,' the kid replied.

Alhambra House was the furthermost block. There were twenty flats on each floor, but finding the right one was easier than they expected. Loads were boarded up and most of the others didn't look the part: old-person-style wallpaper in the hallways, or ethnic names written under the doorbells. Joe's flat turned out to be a giveaway: the front door was painted black with a devil's-head knocker and underneath the word Joe's was written in Tippex. They peered through the gla.s.s. There was an Aerosmith poster pinned to the kitchen wall and all the lights were on.

James and Kerry didn't have their lock guns or anything with them. They couldn't get in, so they had to lure Crazy Joe out.

'Check he's at home first,' Kerry said. 'Ring the bell and run.'

James pressed the buzzer and they sprinted to the end of the balcony and hid in the stairwell. Crazy Joe waddled on to his doorstep in his T-shirt and boxers and looked down the balcony. He swore about b.l.o.o.d.y kids and went back inside.

'So now what?' James asked. 'If he's half undressed, he's probably home alone.'

'There might be a girlfriend in there as well.'

'I don't reckon any woman lives in that house,' James said.

'Based on what?' Kerry asked.

'Did you see the filthy sink and cutlery piled up on the draining board?' James asked. 'That's a single man's kitchen if ever I saw one.'

'There's something messed-up about this,' Kerry said. 'You'd think he'd be running or driving some place in a hurry, not sitting around in his underwear.'

'None of this makes any sense,' James said. 'Everything else I've done for KMG has run like clockwork.'

'Joe might have friends nearby,' Kerry said. 'We need to take him down quickly and without making a noise.'

Five minutes later, Crazy Joe emerged from his flat a second time to find James grinning at him.

'I warned you,' Joe sneered.

As Joe lunged for James, Kerry landed her hardest punch into the side of his head. It hit the sweet spot above the eye socket where the skull is thinnest, giving Joe's brain a good rattling. All his muscles went limp and James had to dodge out of the way as he slumped across the balcony.

'Get moving,' Kerry said anxiously, looking at James. 'He'll start coming around in no time and I don't want to have to knock him out twice.'

James stepped over Joe and ran into the flat, checking inside every room to make sure n.o.body else was home. There were pizza boxes and rubbish everywhere. The smell of stale cigarette smoke made his eyes water. Once he knew the flat was empty, he helped Kerry drag the semi-conscious Joe through to the living-room.

'Find something to tie him up with,' Kerry shouted.

James ripped the electric cables out of the back of the video and the satellite box. Joe struggled a bit, but they managed to knot the flex tightly around his wrists and ankles.

'Where's our drugs, Joe?' Kerry asked, bunching her fist in the air above him.

'How old are you guys?' Joe grinned. 'Thirteen, fourteen?'

'Nearly thirteen,' James said.

'I've seen it all now,' Joe said. 'You guys were supposed to get scared and run home to Mummy.'

'Shut it,' Kerry said in a firm voice. 'From now on, you talk when I say so and you better make sure I like the answer. So, for the second time, Joe, where are our drugs?'

'Found 'em,' James said, spotting the two backpacks beside the couch.

He unzipped them, making sure the stuff was still inside.

'Look for the gun, and anything else you don't want him coming after us with,' Kerry said. She kept Joe under control while James searched the flat. The shotgun was inside Joe's leather jacket, hanging up by the front door. James found a pistol and more drugs under the bed. It was cocaine in one-gram bags, identical to what James delivered most nights.

He'd been trained where to look for hidden stuff and an uneven piece of skirting was a dead giveaway. James pulled it off and found two supermarket carrier bags stuffed with more cocaine, and a few thousand pounds in scrunched-up cash. James stuffed the drugs into the carrier bags on top of the money and carried the lot into the living-room.

'Shall we take all this?' James asked.

'Why not?' Kerry said, smiling. 'He made us suffer.'

'We better not hang around here,' James said.

'You kids are in way over your heads,' Joe gasped.

Kerry bunched up her fist. 'Did I ask for your opinion?'

She grabbed a wad of serviettes out of a greasy pizza box and forced them into Joe's mouth.

'Are we gonna call a cab, or what?' James asked.

Kerry pointed at a picture on the wall. 'Is that parked around here somewhere?'

James looked over his shoulder at a framed photo of a slimmer, younger Joe, standing in front of an American car. It was a fancy two-seater, with mad-looking air scoops on the bonnet and a two-tone orange paint job. James read the little gold plaque stuck on the frame: 1971 Ford Mustang Mach 1. Tuned to 496 Horsepower.

'They look like car keys on the coffee table,' Kerry said.

Joe wriggled his arms and furiously tried to shout something through the serviettes plugging his mouth.

James grinned as he picked up the keys. 'Sure beats hanging around for a mini-cab to turn up. Where's it parked?'

'You wouldn't leave that on the street around here. It must be in one of the garages out the back.' Kerry pulled the soggy wad of tissue out of Joe's mouth. 'What's your garage number?'

'If you touch my car,' Joe gasped, spitting bits of white fluff off his tongue, 'you're both dead.'

Kerry smashed her trainer into Joe's guts.

'Next time it'll be your b.a.l.l.s ...' Kerry shouted, as Joe groaned in agony. 'What's your garage number?'

'No way,' Joe grunted.

'James,' Kerry said sweetly, 'hand me the gun, please.'

James pa.s.sed it across. Kerry pulled down on the stock to load it and pointed the sawn-off barrel at Joe's knees.

'The next word out of your mouth had better be a garage number,' Kerry snarled. 'Or it's gonna take a miracle to get the bloodstain out of this carpet.'

James knew Kerry wouldn't pull the trigger, but she put on a good act and Joe wasn't so confident.

'Forty-two,' Joe said.

'How hard was that?' Kerry said. 'And if you're lying, I'll come back here in a minute and blow off your foot before I ask again.'

'OK, OK,' Joe gasped. 'I lied ... It's in number eighteen. Why don't you call a cab? It's a very powerful car. Do you kids even know how to drive?'

'Don't you worry yourself about that,' James said.

All CHERUB agents are taught to drive. It's essential to be able to escape on wheels if things turn nasty.

'Why don't you take a pair of Joe's trainers?' Kerry asked.

'Too big,' James said. 'They'll be like clown shoes on me.'

'We better rip the phones out,' Kerry said. 'We don't want him calling his pals before we're well on our way.'

She pulled the phone out and kicked the socket off the wall with her heel. James pocketed Joe's mobile and demolished the extension in the bedroom.

Kerry grabbed both backpacks.

'Ready to go?' she asked.

James got the carrier bags with the money, pistol and Joe's drugs. They went out of the front door and walked briskly along the balcony, down the stairs and around to the garages at the back. Kerry's head was spinning so fast, she never noticed that she still had the shotgun in her hand.

The padlock sprang open and James noisily rolled up the metal door of garage number eighteen. The Mustang looked better than the day it had come out of the showroom, thirty-five years earlier. Crazy Joe had spent serious money on it.

'Bags I'm driving,' James said, unlocking the driver's door and lowering himself into the leather seat. Kerry didn't care, she wasn't into cars.

James moved the seat as far forward as it would go so he could reach the pedals. He'd learned on the private roads around campus in a little car with an engine the size of a thimble. He wasn't prepared for the thunderstorm when the tuned V8 blasted to life, juddering through the pedals into his socked feet.

'Hooooooly mother,' James grinned, searching for the headlight control.

The road ahead lit up and the dials on the dashboard turned electric blue. James put the automatic gearbox in drive and rolled the gargling beast out of its pen.

The first couple of kilometres were dodgy. The car had big acceleration, but the brakes had much less bite than on a modern car. It caught James out when he nearly went into the back of someone at the first set of traffic lights. Once they were a few kilometres clear, he parked. Kerry found a road atlas under her seat and worked out the route home. By the time they got on to the motorway, James was feeling confident. When the road ahead was clear, he couldn't resist slamming the accelerator and taking it up to 110mph.

The trim inside the car started to shake and Kerry started going bananas.

'Really sensible, James,' she shouted. 'Two kids in a stolen car carrying guns and drugs. I tell you what: why don't we attract lots of attention by slaughtering the speed limit?'

After seeing the way she'd dealt with Joe, James decided it might be best if he slowed down.

They parked the stolen Mustang at the back of a DIY store about a kilometre from Thornton. It was gone eleven o'clock and, now the adrenalin rush had worn off, James and Kerry felt like they could sleep for twenty hours.

'We could leave the keys in the door and someone will nick it,' James said.

'It's got our fingerprints all over,' Kerry said. 'Joyriders usually burn cars out. If we don't want it to look suspicious, that's what we'll have to do.'

James gave the car an admiring glance. 'Seems a shame to kill it.'

Kerry leaned inside and flipped open the glove box. She found Joe's cigarettes and lighter, then tore pages out of the road atlas and screwed them up into loose b.a.l.l.s. When there was a mound of paper on the pa.s.senger seat, she flicked the lighter and set the edges alight. They left the pa.s.senger door open so the fire could breathe, then ducked into some trees and waited until they were sure the flames had taken hold.

The front seats were quickly ablaze. Once the roof lining caught, the flames flashed into the back. The whole interior glowed orange and smoke started curling out from under the hood.

'Better run,' James said. 'There's bound to be a security guard round here somewhere.'