The Dealer

by Robert Muchamore

  “No. Why would anyone suspect Kyle’s gay?”

  “Well, dingus,” Kerry said. “He’s always clean and neatly dressed. Unlike most of you guys, his room isn’t covered in disgusting pictures of half-naked women and nobody has ever seen him within five kilometers of a girl. I mean, short of walking around with a plaque on his forehead saying ‘Gay Boy,’ how obvious do you want it to be?”

  “But I share a room with him,” James gasped. “He sees me naked.”

  “So what?” Kerry said. “I’ve seen you naked.”

  “Well, he’s gay.”

  “You think he fancies you?” Kerry giggled. “I wouldn’t flatter yourself.”

  Nicole turned away from the frying pan with a big smile on her face. “Come to think of it, I’ve seen him eyeing you up, James.”

  “Shut up,” James said. “It’s not funny. It’s disgusting.”

  “You think being gay is disgusting?” Kerry tutted. “I thought Kyle was your friend.”

  “He is,” James said. “But . . . I’m not comfortable with the whole gay thing.”

  “Do us some bread, Kerry,” Nicole said. “Bacon doesn’t take long.”

  Kerry got the loaf off the cabinet and started buttering.

  “You know, James,” she said, “it must have been hard for Kyle to admit something like that to you. Especially when you’re always calling people faggots and queers.”

  Nicole moved the pan off the heat and helped Kerry make up the sandwiches.

  “I heard that one person in ten is gay,” Nicole said. “So it’s not that unusual. If you think about it, every football team probably has one gay player on it.”

  Kerry giggled. “I wonder who the gay one at Arsenal is? Actually, the big clubs have loads of players and reserve teams. There’s probably at least four or five.”

  James stood up from the table and boiled over. “That’s not funny,” he shouted. “There’s no such thing as a gay Arsenal player.”

  Kerry slammed James’s plate on the table in front of him. “Sit down and eat that,” she said angrily. “Kyle’s your friend, so you better be supportive. If you say anything that upsets him, I’ll show you the meaning of uncomfortable.”

  Chapter 12

  SUBURBAN

  It was Wednesday evening, and James was on his third night making deliveries. His phone went off a couple of times a night; always the same calm female voice on the other end. James had no idea who or where she was, only that she seemed motherly, was happy to give directions, and always signed off with the same words: “You be careful out there, young man.”

  The deliveries were never more than a few kilometers’ ride. The job would be nasty in the winter, but on sunny early autumn evenings it was no hardship. James had imagined his customers would be scraggy-haired women in night clothes holding screaming babies, or wild-eyed men with beards and motorbikes, but it was nothing like that.

  • • •

  James was breathless by the time he found the housing estate. The houses were brand new. There was a developer’s signpost over the entrance: LAST FEW HOMES REMAINING—PRICES FROM £245,000. The houses were neat, with newly planted trees and recent-plate Fords and Toyotas parked on the driveways. There was no traffic and little kids played outside on skateboards and microscooters.

  As James freewheeled down a gentle slope, he noticed the streets were named after musical instruments: Trumpet Close, Cornet Avenue, Bassoon Road.

  He turned into Trombone Villas, the most exclusive street in the development. The gray tarmac became red and the cars on the driveways changed to Range Rovers and Mercedes. He was looking for Stonehaus, and like millions of delivery people before him, James had learned to hate house names. With numbers, you knew that 56 was after 48, and 21 was on the other side of the road. Stonehaus could be anywhere. He found it after a search, the signpost hidden behind a BMWX5 and a Grand Voyager. He wheeled up the driveway and pressed the bell, which sounded off in a tinny version of “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

  A boy ran down the hallway and opened the door. He was eight or nine, wearing the long gray socks and fancy uniform of a fee-paying school. At this time of day, the kid was in a state, with his bare chest showing under his unbuttoned gray shirt.

  “Daddy!” the kid shouted.

  A man holding a whiskey tumbler hurried down the stairs, while the kid ran back to the TV.

  “HEYYYYY there,” the man said, trying to sound cooler than the fat balding man he really was. “Four grams, wasn’t it?”

  James nodded. “Two hundred and forty quid.” He went into his backpack and got the four bags of cocaine. The man peeled five fifties off a roll of notes.

  “I don’t have change,” James said.

  Del had taught James to pretend never to have change. If the customer kicked up a fuss, you miraculously remembered you had money from a previous delivery in your backpack; but you were hoping the average middle-class coke snorter didn’t want to keep a drug dealer hanging about on his doorstep and simply said:

  “No worries, son, keep the change for yourself.”

  James smiled and tucked the money in his pocket. “Thanks, mate,” he said. “Enjoy yourself.”

  The man closed the door. James couldn’t help smiling. He’d just earned thirty-six pounds commission, plus a ten-pound tip, for a half-hour bike ride.

  • • •

  It was gone nine when James got home. Everyone was waiting for him in the living room. Two weeks into the mission, Ewart and Zara wanted a conference to see what everyone was doing and to work out the best way forward.

  “Sorry I kept you waiting,” James said. “But I’ve got to deliver when I get a call.”

  Zara had rearranged the sofas in the living room and brought in kitchen chairs, so everyone could sit facing each other. James squeezed on to a sofa between Kyle and Nicole.

  “OK,” Ewart said. “I want each of you to say what you think you’ve achieved so far. Keep it short, you’ve all got to get up for school tomorrow.”

  “Nicole,” Zara said, “why don’t you start?”

  Nicole cleared her throat. “You pretty much know. I’ve been getting on OK with April. She knows what her dad does for a living, but keeps out of it. I’ve been to Keith Moore’s house a few times doing homework and stuff and I’ve met him; just exchanging hellos and that.”

  “That’s a good start,” Ewart nodded. “Do you think you can carry on getting regular access to the house?”

  “Sure,” Nicole said. “April likes having the girls round and showing off her giant bedroom. She likes to think of herself as the leader of our group. I’m going to a sleepover there this Saturday.”

  “Have you had much chance to nose around the house?” Zara asked.

  “I thought I’d play it safe to start with,” Nicole said. “You’ve got all the notes and stuff I copied from the cork board in the kitchen.”

  “Do you think you could place minicameras and listening devices around the house?”

  “Easily,” Nicole nodded. “The house is big, so if anyone asks what I’m doing, I can pretend I got lost and wandered into the wrong room.”

  “Excellent,” Ewart said. “Could you get a nose inside Keith’s office?”

  “I doubt it, he’s usually in there. The one time he was out, I tried and the door was locked. I suppose I could take my lock gun.”

  “No way,” Ewart said. “If someone sees you with a lock gun, it will put you in serious danger and blow this whole operation.”

  “The next best target would be Keith’s bedroom,” Zara said. “He’s the kind of guy who gets phone calls at all hours, so you can be sure he takes important calls in bed. Have a good snoop and put in a listening device.”

  “Why can’t you tap the phones from out in the street?” James asked.

  “They’ve been tapped for years and Keith knows it,” Ewart said. “A serious villain like Keith Moore uses mobiles or face-to-face meetings. He’ll pick up a pay-as-you-go mobile and use
it for a day or two, then switch to another one before we know he’s got it. He also speaks using code words, and uses something to disguise the sound of his voice, so you could never go into court and prove it was him saying what he said. Our only chance of getting useful information is to have a microphone in the actual room where Keith is talking.”

  “So, Nicole,” Zara said. “That’s your target. Get a microphone in Keith’s bedroom and maybe a few others around the house. The risks are low, because nobody is going to suspect that a twelve-year-old girl is planting a microphone, but you should still be careful.”

  “OK,” Ewart said. “Good work, Nicole, keep it up. Do you want to go next, James?”

  James nodded. “Me and Junior are top mates, bunking off and going to boxing and stuff.”

  “How much do you think Junior knows about his dad’s business?”

  “He comes out with stuff,” James said. “He’s curious about what his dad does. If any one of Keith’s kids knows anything worth knowing, I’d bet on Junior.”

  “And the deliveries,” Zara said. “How are they going?”

  “Good,” James said. “It’s mostly nice houses and offices I’m going to. I was worried at first, but it’s like having a newspaper round, only with decent wages.”

  Ewart spoke. “The mission briefing mentioned that kids around here aren’t just delivering small amounts of drugs to individuals, but are getting deeper into the organization and delivering in bulk to dealers from other parts of the country. Have you seen any sign of that?”

  James shrugged. “Some kids are making serious money, so it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Your number one job is to find out how they’re making that money,” Zara said. “Make friends, ask questions, and keep pestering until you get an answer. Remember to keep safe when you’re out on deliveries. If you think a situation is dangerous, pull out and we’ll clean up the mess afterwards. We’d rather abandon the whole mission than risk one of you guys getting hurt.”

  “Kyle,” Ewart said. “Your turn.”

  “Ring’s a bust if you ask me,” Kyle said. “He’s a straight-up guy, though he smokes a fair bit of cannabis. I’m getting in with his crowd. There are drug dealers at their parties and plenty of kids using all kinds of drugs. I might get some information from one of them, but I’m not hopeful.”

  Ewart and Zara looked at each other.

  “Just keep trying, Kyle,” Zara said. “That’s all you can do until we think of something else.”

  “So,” Ewart said. “Last but not least, Kerry.”

  “Me and Erin can’t stand each other,” Kerry said. “She’s weird and immature and her friends sit in a group and don’t talk to anyone else.”

  “What did you do to try and get in with them?” Ewart asked.

  “We’re just so different,” Kerry explained. “I don’t think we’ll ever get on.”

  “The thing is, Kerry,” Ewart said, “you’ve been trained to work out what type of person your target is and then act in a way that makes them your friend. If Erin mucks about and upsets teachers, then that’s what you should do, even if you think it’s silly and immature. If Erin swears and bunks off, you should do that too. I know you can’t guarantee forming a friendship with a target, but I don’t ever expect to hear a cherub say they’re too different from someone to get along.”

  Kerry looked angry. “You’d need a world-class psychiatrist to work out Erin. She’s part of a weird little clique and they shut everyone else out.”

  Zara spoke. “If you haven’t hit it off with Erin by now, I doubt it’s ever going to happen. I can’t see much reason for you to stay on this mission. We can send you back to campus and say you’ve moved back to live with your real parents, or something.”

  Kerry looked close to crying. “I don’t want to be sent back. I’m trying to get involved with someone else, like it says in the briefing.”

  “I can’t see much point,” Ewart said. “If you were a boy, you might be recruited as a courier, but that’s all done through the boxing club, which is boys only.”

  Zara nodded, agreeing with her husband. “I’m sorry this mission didn’t work out, Kerry, but don’t be disappointed. Think of it as a learning experience.”

  “Let me stay,” Kerry begged. “There’s a boy in my class called Dinesh. I’m getting friendly with him and I think he knows something.”

  James put his wrist up to his lips and made a loud smooching noise.

  “Grow up, James,” Zara said wearily. “Kerry, what is it you think Dinesh might know?”

  “His dad runs a company that makes microwave meals for supermarkets. When I was talking to him about Erin, he mentioned that his father has dealings with Keith Moore.”

  Zara didn’t look too impressed. “Keith is a wealthy man, Kerry. He has business dealings with lots of people.”

  “But it’s the way Dinesh said it,” Kerry explained. “It’s like Dinesh had a bad taste in his mouth. It might be nothing, but I’d like a chance to dig deeper.”

  Ewart and Zara looked at each other.

  “Please don’t send me back to campus,” Kerry groveled. “Just give me a few more days.”

  “You’re fond of this boy Dinesh, aren’t you?” Zara said. “Is that the real reason you’re so keen to stay?”

  “I’m a professional,” Kerry stormed. “It’s not because I’ve fallen for some boy. I’ve got a hunch and I’m asking you guys to show faith in me.”

  “OK, Kerry,” Zara said gently. “There’s no need to get upset. Ewart and I will postpone our decision on sending you back to campus until next week. How does that sound?”

  Kerry nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Anything else, before we all go off to bed?” Ewart asked.

  “Yeah,” James said. “It’s Lauren’s birthday this weekend, is it still OK if she visits?”

  “No problem,” Zara said. “If she meets up with any of the local kids, you’ll have to tell them she’s your cousin. It’ll seem weird if you suddenly have a sister popping out of nowhere.”

  “If that’s everything,” Ewart said, “let’s all get some shut-eye.”

  With only one bathroom, there was a scrum over the toothbrushes. Kerry stayed on the couch sulking and James thought he’d give the others a few minutes to fight it out.

  “You’re really good at this,” Kerry said, looking at James.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Missions. You go into a room and everyone likes you. Good old James, even the baby likes you. I study hard and I get some of the best marks on campus, but I’m rubbish out on missions where it really counts.”

  “Come on, Kerry,” James said. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. This is your first important mission. Nobody expects you to be brilliant.”

  “And it’ll be my last big mission, after this disaster,” Kerry said. “I’ll probably spend the rest of my CHERUB career doing mundane security tests and recruitment work.”

  James moved across to the other couch, next to Kerry. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said.

  “Talk about what?”

  “We haven’t been getting on that well since this mission started,” James said. “But you still like me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I like you,” Kerry said, breaking into a smile. “You’re one of my best friends.”

  James decided to be bold and put his arm around Kerry’s back. She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder.

  “You’ve done all you can on this mission,” he said. “And there’s no way they’re not gonna give you another shot at a big mission. With your fighting skills and the five billion languages you speak, who’ll be able to turn you down?”

  Kerry smiled. “For someone who acts like a moron half the time, you can be a really nice guy sometimes.”

  “Thanks,” James grinned.

  He thought about starting the speech he had prepared in his head, telling Kerry how kissing Nicole was a one-off and how he liked h
er a hundred times more than any other girl and wanted to be her boyfriend. But Kerry still looked upset. It wasn’t the right moment.

  Chapter 13

  VISIT

  One of the CHERUB staff dropped Lauren off on Saturday morning. James was barely out of bed when he heard the doorbell.

  “Happy birthday,” he said, giving his sister a hug. “You made double figures, the big one zero.”

  Lauren smiled. “I missed you, James . . . for some strange reason.”

  They walked inside. Everyone was wandering between the kitchen and living room, munching on triangles of toast. Joshua was shuffling down the hallway on his bum. Lauren had never seen him before.

  “OOOH,” she said. “Aren’t you cute? What’s your name?”

  Joshua gave Lauren an odd look, as if to say, “Oh God, not another kid,” and started bawling for Zara.

  “Hey, Ewart,” James shouted, “there goes your theory that Joshua likes anyone with blond hair.”

  Lauren wandered into the living room, threw off her bomber jacket, and sat on the couch. Kerry and Kyle wished her happy birthday.

  “So,” Lauren asked, “where’s all my prezzies?”

  “Actually,” James said, “I haven’t got you one yet.”

  “Typical,” Lauren huffed.

  “Now I’m a bona fide drug delivery boy, I thought you might like to spend my ill-gotten gains.” James burrowed down his jeans, pulled out a fistful of scrunched-up bank notes and dumped them in Lauren’s lap.

  Lauren grinned. “How much is this?” She straightened out the notes and started counting. “Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, a hundred, and ten, fifteen. Wow . . . How long did it take you to make a hundred and fifteen pounds?”

  “Four nights,” James said. “The only thing is, if you want me to take you shopping you’ll have to pay my bus fare. I’ve only got sixty pence left.”

  “Is there a Gap near here?” Lauren asked eagerly. “I want some new jeans. And a Claire’s Accessories? If there is, I can get those cool black hair scrunchies like Bethany’s got.”

  “Can’t you just use an elastic band?” James asked.

  Lauren ignored her brother and glanced at her watch. “What time do the shops open?”