Edge. Part 7

"Uh"

"You think he's staring at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s?"

"Of course he is. But you can't tell Broomhall to hire an investigator."

"He's rich, so he can afford it."

"But"

"And after I've talked to him he'll be pleased to have thought of the idea for himself. Because that's what he'll think has happened."

"You're marvellous." Suzanne squeezed Carol's upper arm. "Thank you."

"It's still early."

"And you've a blonde guy to seduce, which you won't while I'm hanging around."

"There's another nice-looking man over there. We could double d"

"Good night, Carol."

"'Night, sweetie. We'll catch up tomorrow."

"Catch yourself a good one tonight."

"Count on it."

Suzanne watched as Carol moved among the spectators, exuding charisma and s.e.x, gaze fastened on her prey.

"Be good."

She turned and crossed the cobblestones, heading for the Tube.

[ EIGHT ].

The first night was awful. Then things got worse.

The world was cold, that was the obvious thing. During the sweltering daytime, Richard's white shirt had been enough; but evening had been a warning, and when darkness fell, he was in trouble. Plus, a white shirt stands out in shadows. Why hadn't anyone told him that?

Because it never mattered before.

In the real world, where fear came from Father shouting and the stink of whisky on his breath, or being alone in a house with eight or ten people, depending on which staff were on duty... in that world, the colour of your clothes didn't mark you out, transform you into a target. Now he was alone in a city of five million people, all of them bigger and more violent than him; but the thing was, he could go anywhere, not trapped inside school boundaries with a maniac like Zajac intending to kill him.

A year ago, he was trailing his father into Selfridges and found his gaze hooked by a dirty blanket on the ground. On it, a young girl-woman slumped, a stained medical dressing on her hand, her features delicate beneath grime, and redness in her eyes that spoke of recent tears. Father had not stopped, so neither did he; but inside, riding up on the escalator, he'd said: "Did you see that girl?"

"What girl?"

"Outside by the doorway. Begging, I guess."

"No, nothing worth noticing."

Later, at home over dinner, he'd tried to ask about her again, explaining about the blanket and the gauze bandage. Father had explained that he hadn't seen a girl as such, but he might have glimpsed a beggar, an example of a generic type; and that her kind were an infestation, and would Richard pa.s.s the chocolate sauce, and how were the crepes tonight?

Today, a few people had asked if Richard had any spare change. Mostly he'd walked past. But now, a youth of his own age with weeping sores on neck and forearm was standing in front of him, asking the same thing: Spare any change? Spare any change? Richard reached into his pocket, thinking he could pay phone-to-phone, maybe get to an ATM... but the only thing he found was a used tissue. No phone meant no bank account, meant everything was gone. b.u.mping through the crowds in Leicester Square, that was when it must have happened. Richard reached into his pocket, thinking he could pay phone-to-phone, maybe get to an ATM... but the only thing he found was a used tissue. No phone meant no bank account, meant everything was gone. b.u.mping through the crowds in Leicester Square, that was when it must have happened.

"I'm sorry. I've got... nothing."

"Christ, mate." The youth wiped away snot-dribble with his sleeve. "You one of us?"

"I... think so. You mean beg... uh... homeless."

Runaway. That's what I am.It was a frightening word, conjuring up stone-faced police officers chasing him down with dogs and stunguns. But it was hard to maintain the fright, because the hunger that had begun as deepening stomach pains had slowly metamorphosed into listlessness, a feeling of sleepiness despite the cold. Standing in front of the youth, he began to sway.

"I'm Jayce. Who are you?"

"Huh?"

"Jayce. What's your name?"

"Rich, er, Richie. Hall."

"No surnames, mate, not round here. You ain't eaten today, huh?"

"Not since... No."

His mouth began to salivate.

"Well, Richie, you'll get used to it."

His stomach felt like a stone.

"Jee-zus," added Jayce after a moment. "All right, come with me."

He struggled to his feet, slung his blanket over his shoulder, and emptied a few coins out of a plastic cup. "f.u.c.kin' poor day today. You'd think they'd have a heart."

As Jayce moved closer to Richard, a wave of sweet stink came from his mouth the teeth were tinged with greyish green, speckled with black. His clothes smelled ripe.

"Who would?" Richard took a step back. "Who'd have a heart?"

"The rich ones with the money, who else?"

Father said that no one gave anything for nothing, and without money there'd be savagery. All you had to do was earn your living; and what else was life for?

"Come on," added Jayce. "You can do me a favour later."

"Favour?"

"Like I'm doing you. What, you want to eat, don't you?"

"Er... Yeah. Please.""Well, ain't you polite. Come on, we're going to see Greaser Khan."

"Who's that?"

"Someone who'll like you for a messenger-boy, 'cause you still look clean. Won't last, mind."

"Being a messenger?" Richard trembled, not knowing why.

"Looking clean. You're respectable, see. So you'll be able to go inside, like, department stores and things, with no one noticing. Drop off little deliveries for old Greaser."

"Deliveries."

"Little ones. Not heavy."

"But" Richard stopped.

"You want to eat or not?"

"Well, yeah."

"So this way. Oh, yeah... f.u.c.k's sake, don't go calling him Greaser."

"I wouldn't"

"Or if he asks if you'd like to go with him into the stockroom round back," said Jayce, "tell him no thanks, Mr Khan, I'd prefer to wait out here if that's OK. Trust me on this one."

They were walking along broken pavement, beneath a streetlamp that was fizzing dull scarlet instead of orange. Up ahead was the brightness of an all-night store. Several people slouched outside.

"Out where?" said Richard.

"Huh?"

"You said, wait out here. Where?"

"In the shop, where else? And here's me thinking you weren't a t.o.s.s.e.r."

"I"

Better to keep his mouth shut. Blabbermouths at school suffered; and this world was even harder. When Jayce removed his cap outside the shop, Richard did the same. Jayce nodded: "He don't like it, not seeing faces, like."

When they went in, a plump Asian lady smiled at them from behind the counter. From the rear of the shop, two men watched, hard-faced.

"Is Mr Khan in?" Jayce bobbed up and down, almost on tiptoe. "Got someone to meet him, like."

The lady remained smiling. One of the men turned and went through a bead curtain.

"Let's look at the mags," said Jayce.

"IRight."

There was food and it was calling to him. He still had a little change; perhaps he could buy a Twix bar. But Jayce was tugging his sleeve, so he followed. A youth with dreadlocks and a steel chain spiralling around one arm was flicking through Blade Warriors Blade Warriors, then holding open a double spread: two fighters clad in trunks, streaked with scarlet, blades wet and b.l.o.o.d.y.

Richard squeezed his eyes shut.

"So who's this?"

"This is Richie, Mr Khan."

Khan had high, square shoulders and a trimmed beard. The woman was no longer in sight. Behind Richard, the guy with dreadlocks placed the magazine back on the shelf and scurried out of the shop. Meanwhile music started playing: something old and fast, about Illuminati.

"You're not local, are you, Richie?"

"Er, no, sir."

"You know your way around?"

"I could help him, Mr Khan."

"Why would you do that, Jayce?"

"Look after a mate, like.""Uh-huh." Khan rubbed his knuckles against his beard. "Since you ask, there's a little something needs to go to the Adult Education College. Bit of extra study material. So, you're in?"

"He's in, Mr Khan."

"All right." Khan fished a small red box from his pocket. "Mr Maxwell, teaching Chinese, cla.s.s starts at eight. Be there ten minutes early."

Richard swallowed salty saliva maybe tears? as the world blurred.

I have to do this.

He didn't know what his reward was going to be, but there was a commitment now.

"You like the music, Richie?"

"Uh, sir?"