Authors: Robert Muchamore
As he stepped into the passenger seat, Michael had his gun strapped around his waist and ten grand’s worth of nanotube-reinforced fabric sewn into the lining of his grey top.
‘What’s occurring?’ Michael asked, as he slammed the door and pulled a seatbelt across his chest.
‘We tracked down a Runt,’ Major Dee grinned. ‘I thought you’d like to ride along after what they did to your girl.’
Over the past two weeks, the Slasher Boys had been devoted to finding Runts; but the Runts knew Dee’s crew was after them and they’d stuck to their home turf on the opposite side of town.
‘Which one?’ Michael asked.
‘Aaron Reid,’ Colin said, as he cracked his knuckles.
‘Sweet as,’ Michael said, but he felt queasy as he remembered the noise Aaron’s head made when he’d pushed him into a concrete post.
‘My girl went out to buy some stuff for the garden,’ Colin explained. ‘Recognised him straight away. Apparently he’s still got a bandage round his head.’
Michael joined Dee and Colin’s laughter, but he was worried. If Major Dee did get his hands on Aaron Reid, it wasn’t going to be for a friendly chat.
‘We knew you’d want to come,’ Dee grinned.
‘Definitely,’ Michael said, faking enthusiasm. ‘I want those pricks to suffer.’
‘How’s Gabrielle doing, anyway?’ Colin asked.
‘Not too bad,’ Michael said. ‘I want to go up and see her, but her aunt won’t let me near.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ Dee purred. ‘There’s real fire in her belly.’
Michael thought about Gabrielle as they turned on to a stretch of dual carriageway. He missed her every second she wasn’t around.
*
James spent most of Tuesday in bed and a quiet Wednesday hanging around the Zoo and going to the multiplex with Bruce and Junior in the evening. Wheels called James on Thursday morning and offered him sixty quid to help sort out a problem with a money-lending racket run by the Mad Dogs.
Wheels’ Vauxhall pulled up in a parking bay outside a little supermarket. James sat in the passenger seat next to him.
‘Traffic wardens round here are psychos,’ Wheels said, as he pointed to a stack of twenty-pence pieces in a compartment on top of the dashboard. ‘Stick some money in the pay-and-display; we shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.’
The first pay-and-display machine James came to was busted, so he had to jog fifty metres to the next one as Wheels pulled up the hood of his tracksuit top and walked into the supermarket. A teenager dressed in a veil stood behind the counter and Wheels told her to get her father.
‘All right Mr Patel?’ Wheels said brashly. The bell over the door jangled as James stepped in with his hoodie covering his face.
‘My name’s not Patel,’ the man said angrily. ‘Do I look like a Hindu to you?’
‘You look brown,’ Wheels shrugged. ‘You owe us three weeks’ money, now open the register or there’s gonna be some shit.’
The shopkeeper furiously shook his bald head. ‘I borrowed five hundred pounds from you people. I’ve paid that back ten times over.’
‘You owe three weeks at one-twenty-five a week. That makes three hundred and seventy-five pounds.’
The shopkeeper pounded his fist on his counter. ‘I’ve paid enough,’ he insisted. ‘You won’t get another penny from me.’
Wheels turned and winked at James, who swept his arm along a shelf sending tins of baby food and hotdogs clattering to the floor.
‘Oh
dear
me,’ Wheels grinned. ‘Accidents will happen.’
The shopkeeper’s jowls swelled as he pointed towards the door. ‘Leave my shop or I’ll call the police.’
James grabbed a carousel stacked with greetings cards and upended it into a freezer stacked with frozen veg as an elderly woman stepped into the doorway.
‘We’re closed,’ Wheels snarled.
To make sure no more customers came in, James slid a bolt across the door.
‘I
will
call the police,’ the shopkeeper shouted as he grabbed a phone from behind the counter.
Wheels flipped open a spring-loaded cosh and smashed the handset out of the shopkeeper’s hand.
‘Bad things
will
happen, Mr Patel,’ Wheels warned. ‘Your shop could burn to the ground. Two big men could come in here, drag you out on to the street and beat you senseless. Or maybe we could pick up one of your pretty little daughters.’
The shopkeeper scowled at Wheels as he clutched his agonised knuckles to his chest.
‘How much is in the till?’ Wheels asked.
‘I can give you two hundred,’ the shopkeeper said reluctantly, as he pressed the button to open the cash drawer under the register.
James noticed a sudden change in the light as the door from the stock room burst open. The shopkeeper’s daughter charged out, brandishing a cricket bat.
‘Don’t give in to ’em, Dad,’ the teenager cried, as she swung at Wheels’ head.
The blow missed Wheels’ skull, but cracked viciously on the elbow he raised to defend himself. He screamed in pain as his cosh clattered to the ground.
James was impressed by the girl’s courage, but he had to stick by Wheels if he was going to win Sasha Thompson’s trust. He grabbed the girl under her armpit and snatched the bat out of her hands as he dragged her over a counter top covered in newspapers.
‘Smash that bitch’s skull,’ Wheels ordered.
But there was no way James was going to do that. He threw the bat down and twisted the girl’s arm up behind her back, then glowered at the shopkeeper.
‘Put the paper money out of that cash drawer into a bag or I’ll break her arm.’
The shopkeeper gritted his teeth as he ripped a carrier bag from a hook and began stuffing it with notes. James was too tense to count, but it looked close to the three-seventy-five they’d come looking for.
James snatched the bag, shoved the girl back across the counter and looked at Wheels. ‘You OK?’
‘Do I look OK, you
dick
?’ Wheels snapped, as he grasped his elbow. ‘I can barely move my arm. There’s no way I can drive.’
‘You’d better give us the keys then,’ James said, as he took the bolt off the door and stepped out into the street.
Unfortunately, the old dear Wheels brushed off had gone into the launderette next door and told everyone who’d listen that the supermarket was being robbed. A nervous crowd gathered in the launderette doorway. Someone must have called the cops and a couple of people looked as if they were thinking about wading in. Meanwhile, Wheels still had the car keys.
‘For god’s sake,’ James yelled, watching in horror as Wheels struggled to pull the keys out of his jeans with a dead arm.
James pushed Wheels’ hand aside and grabbed the keys himself, then pressed the button to unlock the doors and walked into the road to take the driver’s seat.
Wheels couldn’t do anything fast because of his arm. By the time he was in the passenger seat, James had the engine running and the clutch poised. Once the passenger door slammed he took a quick look behind before pulling out and working quickly through the gearbox.
‘You drive well,’ Wheels said admiringly, pulling down his hood as James squealed around a corner.
‘I try my best,’ James grinned.
But once he’d got over James’ proficiency, Wheels turned angry. ‘This is such
shit
,’ he moaned. ‘My elbow’s in agony, I’m gonna have to ditch this car and Sasha’s gonna go mental when he hears that half the street watched us leave. Why didn’t you lock the shop door?’
James knew he should have locked the door, but he didn’t appreciate Wheels trying to lay all the blame on him. ‘It was my first time,’ he said bitterly. ‘If you wanted something done you should have told me.’
‘Christ,’ Wheels screamed, as he kicked down hard in the footwell. ‘That shopkeeper’s gonna pay for this.’
*
For every rich and clever criminal like Sasha Thompson, there are armies of poor, stupid criminals like Aaron Reid. Not only had Sasha arranged for the Runts to rob Major Dee’s cocaine store, he’d also set up some of his associates to buy the cocaine off them at rock-bottom prices.
Aaron was twenty-two and his role in the murder of Owen Campbell-Moore might land him with a life sentence if someone talked; but all it had earned him was three nights in hospital, twenty hours in a police cell and a four-hundred-pound share from selling the cocaine. He would have earned more if he’d spent the last two weeks stacking shelves in a supermarket.
But with his card marked by the Slasher Boys, Aaron couldn’t ply his usual trade selling ecstasy and marijuana in pubs and he’d been forced into a straight job. He could have got work in a burger joint or the cinema in town, but he’d picked the garden centre because he didn’t think he’d encounter too many Jamaican gangsters on the prowl for potting compost and spider plants. He hadn’t counted upon Colin Wragg having a green-fingered girlfriend who’d been in the year below him at secondary school.
‘
Aaron to reception please. Aaron to reception please
.’
Aaron wasn’t surprised to hear his name over the tannoy. The manageress was always on his back, complaining about everything from over-watering plants to spilling soil in the car park. He sauntered out of the open-air section, but picked up speed when he got inside the store where his boss might have an eye on him.
As he came towards the counter, Aaron saw a large black man standing at the customer service desk with a police badge in his hand. The manageress looked annoyed and Aaron seethed: it was out of order for the police to come after him at work, although it was exactly the kind of sly stunt they liked to pull when they were trying to break you.
‘George Peck, Bedfordshire CID,’ Colin Wragg lied, as he flashed the badge again.
If this had been on the street, Aaron would have told the cop to either arrest him or piss off, but he’d lied about his criminal record on his job application and he didn’t want his new boss seeing him act cocky with the police.
‘I’ve got work to do,’ Aaron said. ‘Is this gonna take long?’
‘Ten minutes,’ Colin smiled. ‘Fifteen max.’
‘Make sure you clock out,’ the manageress said firmly.
Colin led Aaron past the checkouts and through the two sets of automatic doors into the car park.
‘I’m just parked up over there.’
But Colin didn’t put as much work into covering his Jamaican accent as he’d done in store and Aaron’s heart vaulted into his mouth. He glanced around and considered running, but Colin realised Aaron was suspicious and he ripped a pistol out of his jacket.
‘One move and I’ll blow a hole in your back.’
Aaron was terrified when he saw the gun, but more terrified to realise that he’d fallen into the hands of a gang that used machetes and electric shocks to get the truth.
‘What is it you want?’ Aaron asked.
‘Just shut your mouth. We’re going for a little ride.’
James parked up in a quiet road leading to an industrial estate. Wheels was fond of his Vauxhall and he’d already spoken to a mate who’d give it a respray and fit another set of false plates.
It took twenty minutes for James to get back to the Zoo and he worried as he walked. Sasha had a violent temper. He wouldn’t be impressed that the cops had been called during the collection of a loan payment and Wheels struck him as the type who’d try passing off as much blame as he could.
*
Aaron Reid felt sick. Sweat patches grew on his
Discount Garden Centre
polo shirt as Major Dee, Colin Wragg and Michael stared at the passing streets, giving him the silent treatment. He could handle the idea of dying – so long as he blocked out the prospect of never seeing his girlfriend and eight-month-old daughter again – but Major Dee had a reputation for making his enemies suffer. Aaron’s train of thought kept arriving at the same question:
how bad will the pain get?
After a few miles of A-roads and roundabouts, they pulled on to the driveway of a detached house. With the gun at his back, Aaron was led down the hallway into a living room. It was a standard deal, with sofas, nested tables and a TV, but everything was covered in heavy-duty plastic sheets.
‘Have a seat,’ Major Dee said, as Colin shoved Aaron towards the sofa.
Michael wasn’t facing death, but he was still scared as he sank on to a plastic-covered armchair. He’d decided that he couldn’t watch Aaron die; but even with a gun strapped around his waist, taking out Major Dee and Colin would be tricky. He’d probably have to kill them both and he wasn’t certain he’d be able to pull the trigger.
‘As you can see, Aaron, we’re all set up to make you talk without spoiling the carpets.’ Dee smiled, as he reached under a plastic sheet and took a hammer drill from a cocktail cabinet. He pulled the trigger, sending the bit into a high-pitched spin.
‘I find the cordless model gives me enough freedom to work,’ Dee explained. ‘Top of the range. Eighteen-volt, variable speed, sixty-nine ninety-nine from the Argos catalogue.’
Aaron flinched as Dee sat next to him on the sofa. ‘I know what you thinking, Aaron,’ Dee continued. ‘You’re wondering if there’s any way you can get out of this room alive.’
Aaron was too scared to respond. The tendons in his hand stood out as his fingers clutched the arm of the sofa.
‘You
can
get out of here,’ Dee said soothingly. ‘As a matter of fact you can get out without a scratch by telling me everything I want to know. And you might as well tell me, because you’ll talk one way or another.’
Dee gave the drill another spin to make his point.
‘What is it you want to know?’ Aaron asked, managing a timid smile.
Dee placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. ‘I’ve never had a beef with the Runts before,’ he said. ‘You’re street dealers, muggers, hustlers, small-timers. But now you’re suddenly organised: you’ve got information, you know where all my dealers are and you’re smart enough to uncover my stash. Who’s the traitor in my organisation?’
Michael was surprised that Dee thought the Runts had learned about the cocaine from one of his own men; but actually it
was
the most logical explanation.
‘Listen,’ Aaron said, so scared that his whole head twitched when he moved his jaw. ‘I don’t mean you no disrespect Major Dee, but I’m not exactly on the top rung of the ladder. I can only tell you what I know.’