Authors: Robert Muchamore
‘What you doing?’ Hagar asked.
‘I did a first aid course,’ Ryan explained, as he inspected a long gash in the man’s head.
Fortunately Frank had a good length of hair and Ryan knew exactly what to do. He whimpered as Ryan used his finger to find the end of the cut.
‘This is gonna hurt, but it’ll stop the bleeding,’ Ryan said, before turning back to Warren. ‘We passed a shopping trolley stuck in the bushes back there. Go pull it out and see if it rolls.’
As Warren backed away, Ryan twisted a bundle of hairs from each side of the cut and knotted them together, sealing it up. He repeated this several times at two-centimetre intervals, his patient clenching with pain each time.
‘I never would have thought of doing that,’ Hagar said admiringly.
Ryan nodded. ‘It’s stronger than stitches. You know how hard it is when you try to pull a hair out?’
By the time Ryan had finished, Warren had pulled out the abandoned trolley and was running across the car park with it.
‘Why don’t you try making some more noise?’ Hagar said furiously.
‘Is it OK?’ Ryan asked.
‘Front wheels are kinda weird, but it’s pushable.’
‘I’ve sealed the cut as best I could,’ Ryan explained. ‘But he’s lost a shitload of blood and he might not make it if he doesn’t get proper care.’
Hagar nodded. ‘The three of us should be able to lift him into the trolley. One of you boys will have to wheel him back over to the ambulance people.’
Warren didn’t say a word, so Ryan stepped up. ‘I guess that’s down to me then,’ he said.
Hagar gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. ‘Good lad. If the cops nab you, keep your trap shut and my legal people will be there before you know it.’
39. CASUALTY
There were two ambulance crews and at least four injuries. Amidst the chaos, nobody asked Ryan any questions and he rode to casualty in the back of an ambulance, keeping Frank calm while the professionals dealt with the unconscious getaway driver.
Ryan wasn’t especially squeamish, but the getaway driver’s arm was shattered, and something sharp had hit him in the face, leaving a gruesome wound around his eye socket.
Just driving past a hospital always reminded Ryan of his mum dying of cancer. Going inside one, seeing the signs pointing to X-ray and Chemotherapy and the familiar uniforms worn by nurses and porters stirred uncomfortable memories.
Ryan followed Frank’s hospital trolley to a cubicle, while the driver got rushed to an intensive care bed. After a few minutes waiting around, a nurse suggested he go to the waiting area. Three of Hagar’s heavies stood by vending machines, while Craig spoke frantically into a cellphone.
‘Hey,’ Ryan said.
Craig gave orders as soon as he hung up. ‘At least two of Eli’s casualties have been brought in here, and some of his people are around. I’m heading off to take care of some business. I need you four to stay here and make sure they don’t try to attack our wounded.’
Ryan fought sleep as he sat in a plastic chair for more than two hours. Tensions rose when a couple of Eli’s boys came by and bought bottles of Lucozade from the vending machine, but they looked as tired as Ryan felt and it never escalated beyond a staring contest.
Ryan was gazing down at gum trodden into the floor tiles when Craig came back and slapped him on the knee.
‘Rise and shine, kiddo,’ Craig said, as Ryan rubbed his right eye. ‘Walk with me.’
Ryan followed Craig through a hundred metres of corridors, eventually reaching the hospital’s minor injuries unit. Hagar was there in a cubicle, sat in a wheelchair with his leg strapped up and a crutch resting across his lap.
‘Guess who just called me?’ Hagar asked.
‘Eli,’ Craig said.
Hagar looked surprised. ‘How’d you know that? Did you speak to Eli first?’
‘I know how the man’s mind works,’ Craig said. ‘What did he have to say?’
‘Says he didn’t start no war and doesn’t want this to escalate. He says Fay and that other girl are the ones who wrecked my garage, and that I should watch my CCTV footage if I don’t believe him.’
‘Have you checked the CCTV?’
‘System’s in a cupboard at the back of my garage. If the flames didn’t melt it, the fire hoses won’t have done it much good.’
‘A techie might be able to get something out of it by remounting the hard drive in another unit,’ Craig suggested.
Hagar shrugged. ‘Eli doesn’t know shit about my CCTV system, but he must know it wasn’t one of his people for him to say that. It’s possible he put them girls up to it. But why would Eli burn up the stolen crop, when he could make a mint putting it on the street?’
Craig nodded. ‘There’s no business sense in what happened tonight. Ramming your house is the action of someone who wants to piss you off on a personal level.’
‘Fay Hoyt, the teen terror,’ Hagar said dramatically. ‘I should have known it’s her. She knows I’ve got a short fuse and it’s the kind of stunt her aunt or mother would have pulled.’
Craig looked uncomfortable. ‘So where does this leave you and Eli? He must be pretty pissed that you burned his apartment up, and it won’t take much for it to kick off over in casualty.’
Hagar smiled. ‘Eli says he’ll forgive me his interior decoration bill, if I forgive him for buying the stolen cocaine from Fay.’
Craig looked relieved. ‘I haven’t done the sums, but that sounds fair. A war will cost us ten times that and the law will be all over us if things turn violent.’
‘Eli and I are gonna hug it out on Friday,’ Hagar said. ‘In the meantime, he’s promised to do everything in his power to track down Fay Hoyt.’
‘Any leads?’
Hagar shrugged. ‘We need to find those girls fast. Spread word that there’s a price on their heads. Ten grand for Fay. Three for her accomplice.’
‘Fay’s always out sniffing for info on the street,’ Craig said. ‘With ten grand on her head, she’ll be putting her neck in a noose every time she surfaces.’
Ryan realised he’d lucked out getting to hear this conversation and he was itching to get away and warn Ning.
‘Why’d you bring the kid over?’ Hagar asked.
‘You said he was OK, and our regular guy’s over in casualty with his eyeball hanging out,’ Craig explained.
‘Ahh, the pick-up,’ Hagar said.
Craig laughed. ‘Business doesn’t stop, just because you throw a hissy fit and declare war.’
Although Craig was his subordinate, there was no indication that Hagar minded Craig’s bluntness as he turned to Ryan.
‘You up for a trip, boy?’ he asked. ‘Or is it past your bedtime?
*
It was a bright morning as Ning walked across the allotment holding a brown paper McDonald’s bag.
‘Bacon and egg McMuffin, orange juice,’ she told Fay, as she stepped into the shed and passed it over.
Fay looked happy as she peered into the bag. ‘Nothing for you?’
‘Scoffed it on the way,’ Ning said. ‘So what happened last night? Why’d you sneak off?’
Ning knew from James and Ryan, but she’d blow her cover if she let on. Fay gave a rundown about the van, and watching the posse leave The Hangout.
‘What happened after that?’
Fay shrugged. ‘They all went off in cars. I had no way to follow them, but they must have been going after Eli’s crew.’
‘And why’d you sneak off?’ Ning asked, sounding a little harsh.
‘I’m sorry,’ Fay said. ‘You and Warren weren’t comfortable, so I acted alone.’
‘The three of us worked together to rob the grow house,’ Ning said. ‘What gives you the right to go and burn the proceeds?’
‘I don’t care about money,’ Fay said. ‘You and Warren can split my share of the money we made on the cocaine.’
Ning shook her head. ‘It’s not about the money. It’s about us being a team.’
‘We’re not really a team, are we?’ Fay said. ‘I’m doing all this stuff because Hagar killed
my
aunt and
my
mother.’
Ning didn’t say anything, but gave a sympathetic shrug as she settled in a folding chair. Fay took the top off her McMuffin and started eating the bacon.
‘So what now?’ Ning asked.
‘Stay out of the way for a bit,’ Fay said. ‘Hopefully Eli and Hagar will be at each other’s throats for a while. Maybe Eli will even save me the bother of bumping Hagar off.’
Ning had had a text from Ryan telling her that the war was off, but she couldn’t tell Fay.
‘How can you be so sure?’ Ning asked.
‘I can’t,’ Fay admitted. ‘But my mum and my aunt both used to say Hagar’s unpredictable, but the one thing you can rely on is his temper.’
Ning was tempted to remind Fay that her aunt and mother had both ultimately lost their battle with Hagar. But it would just upset Fay and put her on the defensive, so Ning went for a different tack.
‘Have you spoken to Warren?’
‘He was part of the posse that left The Hangout. I sent him a couple of texts but he hasn’t replied.’
‘School’s out, we’ve got money,’ Ning said. ‘I reckon we should put some distance between ourselves and this neighbourhood until things calm down.’
Fay nodded. ‘Nobody seems too bothered that I ran away from my foster-home. I called my social worker a couple of times, just so they don’t think I’m dead and start a big investigation. And I don’t suppose it’d be national news if you vanished either.’
‘I could go back to Nebraska House and pick up my stuff. Meet you at King’s Cross in a couple of hours and take the first train going north.’
Fay shook her head. ‘I’m not leaving town. Warren can’t come with us. He’s tight with his mum and his brother, so he can’t just disappear.’
‘Why would Warren want to come?’ Ning asked. ‘Hagar’s crew can’t suspect that he’s involved with us. He was part of the posse, for Jesus’ sake!’
Fay smiled and looked embarrassed. ‘It’s not Warren, it’s me. I don’t want to move away from him.’
Ning’s lower jaw dropped. ‘You mean you
really
like him?’
Fay laughed noisily and put a hand over her mouth. ‘Yes of course I really like him. What do you think’s been going on?’
Ning felt a touch awkward. ‘Warren’s our best source of information. He’s a decent guy, but I thought it was more a friends-with-benefits kind of deal.’
Fay looked disappointed. ‘Is that how you saw it? I thought there was a real spark between us.’
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ Ning said, losing her train of thought. ‘Now I think about it. Just . . . I dunno.’
‘So do you think Warren likes me?’ Fay asked anxiously.
‘I’m not exactly a world authority on blokes, but he does seem genuine.’
The two girls smiled at each other as Fay pushed hair off her face and went a bit red.
‘If you’re gonna stay in town, you’ve got to lie low,’ Ning said.
Fay nodded. ‘They’ll be looking for us, as a pair. We probably shouldn’t hang out.’
Ning felt a twinge of angst, because her mission was to stay close to Fay. ‘I think we’ll be OK,’ Ning said. ‘But we should only meet up in central London, not around here.’
‘Makes sense,’ Fay said. ‘There’s like ten million people in London. We just need to steer clear of Hagar’s territory.’
40. CHATHAM
Ryan wound up at St Pancras Station at 6:15 in the morning, waiting for the first train to Chatham, thirty miles east of London. He was scared he’d fall asleep and miss his stop, so he looked up his arrival time on his phone and set an alarm.
At Chatham, commuters in work clothes crammed the opposite platform as Ryan crossed a footbridge and found Clark waiting in the ticket hall.
‘Feeling strong?’ Clark asked.
‘I’m knackered,’ Ryan admitted, as he began following Clark across the station car park to a high-sided truck painted with the logo of a removals firm –
Call us today for a quote. No job too large or small.
‘This’ll give you some pep,’ Clark said, handing over a dented steel flask as the pair settled into the cab.
Ryan unscrewed the lid and smelled strong black coffee. He filled two tatty plastic mugs that Clark had rested on the dashboard.
‘You like it sweet!’ Ryan said, as the heavily sugared coffee hit his tongue. It wasn’t to his taste, but he’d missed a night’s sleep, so he hoped that a caffeine and sugar rush would blow off the cobwebs.
Clark swigged his coffee in two gulps, then reversed expertly out of a cramped space.
‘Sounds like I missed all the fun and games in town last night,’ Clark said, as he turned out of the station.
They started down a semi-rural road, with station traffic queuing in the opposite direction. Ryan kept yawning as he gave Clark a rundown of the previous night’s events. He had to think carefully and leave out stuff that he’d picked up second-hand via James and Ning.
‘Hagar’s bloody temper!’ Clark laughed. ‘It’ll be the death of him.’
‘If he’s so volatile, how did he get to become top dog?’ Ryan asked.
Clark considered this for a couple of seconds. ‘Hagar’s temper means people fear him, but unlike most bosses, he hasn’t got much of an ego. He’s got a good crew around him, and he usually listens to what they say.’
‘So what are we up to?’ Ryan asked.
‘Cleaning up shit,’ was all Clark gave up. ‘In broad bloody daylight.’
‘Were we supposed to move the drugs last night?’ Ryan asked.
Clark snorted and shook his head. ‘Drugs, huh?’
Clark reached for the centre console and turned on local radio. Ryan began another question, but he got shushed.
‘Traffic report’s coming up on the hour.’
Ryan was annoyed that he’d given up all the gossip and got nothing out of Clark in return.
Twenty minutes after leaving the station, the truck pulled off-road. Everything in the cab juddered as they moved down a rutted path towards a large aluminium-sided shed. Although it looked shabby, Ryan noticed that some parts of the roof had been recently repaired.
Clark turned the truck back towards the main road, then reversed up to the building’s main door.
‘The countryside stinks,’ Clark moaned, as he flung his door open.
Ryan had his best trainers on, and was grateful that the ground was baked hard, as he walked towards the shed. Clark opened up, and Ryan stepped in and looked curiously at metal stalls, linked up with perished rubber pipes, and the odd remnant of dried-out cow shit.
‘Is this for milking?’ Ryan asked.
Clark shrugged. ‘There’s not been a cow milked here in a decade.’
Further inside, the milking stalls had been ripped out, though perished rubber tubes still dangled from the ceiling. There was an acrid burnt smell, and scorch marks across the floor. To the left and right huge mounds of black bags were lined up against the wall.
‘My eyes are watering,’ Ryan croaked.
‘You don’t want to breathe too much of this in,’ Clark said, as he pointed at the black bags. ‘All that lot needs to go in the back of the van.’
The first bag felt heavy, and as Ryan picked it up the bottom split and the contents spewed over the floor. He was surprised to see hundreds of shrivelled pieces of white plastic insulation, which had been cut in lengths of between one and two metres and the wire inside stripped out.
‘It’d make my life a lot easier if they bought decent quality bags,’ Clark explained. ‘You’ve gotta support ’em from underneath or that’ll happen every time.’
Clark showed Ryan the knack, taking three bags off the pile, cradling them in his arms and then waddling to the truck. Ryan’s arms were shorter, so he could only manage two, and he wished he had something more than a T-shirt to wear as sharp ends of plastic strips dug into his arms.
As he walked back and forth to the truck, Ryan tried to understand what he was looking at. None of the bags were knotted, so whenever Clark faced the other way, he’d peek inside for some kind of clue.
But it was all just plastic insulation. Ryan guessed the insulated wire was being imported in bulk, but that some reels had drugs rather than wire encased within the plastic. The scorch marks on the floor and the smell must have been made when the plastic had melted off to release the drugs and metal inside.
Ryan’s arm was bleeding by the time the sacks along one wall had diminished by a half. He noticed a powdery handprint around the top of one bag, and after a furtive glance to make sure Clark was still lugging a load up to the truck, he tore out the section of the bag with the handprint and tucked it into his pocket.
That was as exciting as it got, as Ryan made more than fifty trips, dealing with stench, cuts and his grazed ankle. When they’d moved a couple of hundred bags, Clark clambered in the back of the truck and started stacking the bags they’d thrown inside.
Beneath the last bags were large cardboard reels on which the wire had been coiled. Two reels fitted into a bin liner, but mostly they had just been stacked against the wall. There were two kinds of reel, one with a red label marked
Sonata X Loudspeaker Cable
, and a second with a blue label marked
Sonata Supreme Audiophile Cable
. Both products claimed to have been made in China.
Ryan was starting to realise that he had a few things to remember, such as his location, the names on the reels, the number plate of the removal van and one or two things Clark had said.
Clark was never more than twenty metres away, so Ryan couldn’t risk snapping a picture. But his phone had a voice-activated recorder app, so he set it running and made some verbal notes.
It was past nine in the morning when Ryan and Clark each took a final armful of bags, lobbing them into the truck’s crammed rear in a haze of triumph and exhaustion. Ryan’s shirt and jeans were glued on with sweat and his arms speckled with small cuts as he found a standpipe on the outside of the shed and splashed himself with cool, slightly discoloured water.
Clark did an inspection of the former milking shed, and came out shaking his head. ‘That’s as clean as I can make it,’ he told Ryan. ‘But scorching the bloody floor like that, all for a few hundred quid’s worth of metal . . .’
They stopped at a snack van in a lay-by and bought sausage and egg baps and weak tea in polystyrene cups. Then Clark drove on to a waste processing plant. The air around it had an evil-smelling haze, and clouds of seagulls fluttered around the back of rubbish trucks as they dumped loads at the base of a huge mound.
Clark’s cargo was strictly off the books, so he drove in through an exit meant for staff parking, and handed two hundred in cash to the man who unlocked the gate.
‘It’s not good coming here at this time of day,’ the tip worker complained. ‘There’s too many eyes.’
Clark shrugged as if to say,
what can you do
, before driving through the gate.
While dustcarts could tip their load, Clark and Ryan had to open up the rear of the removal van and throw out all the reels and bags of plastic insulation. Each time the mound got to fifty or so bags, a bulldozer would sweep across and push the whole lot into the main debris pile.
Ryan was conscious that one of his best pairs of trainers was squelching in juices spilled from a thousand rubbish bags, and just to make things absolutely perfect, Clark roared with laughter as a huge splat of seagull shit hit the back of his head.
‘You’re a good lad,’ Clark told Ryan, when he dropped him back off at Chatham Station. ‘I’ll tell Craig you’re worth whatever they’re paying you.’
Ryan realised that nobody had offered to pay him anything as he waited for the train home. It was past rush hour when he settled into a seat, short of a night’s sleep and stinking of burnt plastic, BO and refuse.
He pushed a blackened hand down his jeans and pulled out a smartphone down to 9% battery.
‘I can’t fit all the strands together,’ he told James. ‘But I think we’re close to working out how Hagar’s crew brings drugs into the country.’