‘Bingo,’ Rob said.
A door swung open in his hand. Rob leaned in and took out a bag of tools. He put the bag down and unzipped it.
‘Feel like causing damage, James?’ Rob asked.
James reached in the bag and pulled out a hammer. The others all grabbed something.
James was nervous, but it was cool walking down the street in a gang carrying hammers and wrenches. A woman nearly got herself run over crossing the street to avoid them. James didn’t know what they were looking for. Vince stopped when they found a flash Mercedes. The two Pauls walked into the road.
‘Go,’ Rob shouted.
Rob smashed his hammer through the back window of the Merc. The alarm started screeching. The others all joined in. James hesitated, then took out a side window, knocked off the wing mirror and made two big dents in the door with his hammer. In twenty seconds every panel was dented, the lights and windows all smashed. Vince led off, running up the road and taking a couple more car windows out along the way.
They ran on to a council estate, down a narrow alley and into a concrete square surrounded by flats. James was out of breath but fear kept him moving. A few more turns, over a fence and they were in a playing field. James’ trainers slid in the mud. They all stopped, plumes of breath rising into the freezing air. James started laughing, even though he had a stitch burning down his side. Rob put his hand on James’ shoulder.
‘You’re OK, James,’ Rob said.
‘That was so cool.’ James laughed. The mix of fear, tiredness and excitement made his head spin. He couldn’t believe what they’d just done.
8. BIRTHDAY
James felt like he was floating through his life. Every day was the same. Get up, go to school, come back, play football or hang out with Rob Vaughn and his gang. James never got into bed before midnight: he knew if he was exhausted he wouldn’t lie awake feeling miserable about Lauren and his mum.
The only time he’d seen Lauren in the three weeks since his mum died had been at the funeral. The telephone number on the bit of paper Ron had given him didn’t work. Ron had told Jennifer Mitchum that James was a bad influence. He didn’t want him near his daughter.
*
‘You stink,’ Kyle said.
James sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes. He didn’t need to get dressed because all he’d done the night before was kick off his trainers and climb into bed wearing his football shirt and tracksuit bottoms.
‘You’ve had the same socks on for days,’ Kyle said.
‘You’re not my mum, Kyle.’
‘Your mum never had to sleep in a room that stinks of your BO.’
James looked down at the blackened bottoms of his socks. They reeked, but he’d got used to the smell.
‘I’ll have a shower,’ James said.
Kyle tossed a packet of Twix bars on to James’ bed.
‘Happy twelfth birthday,’ Kyle said. ‘Should have got you deodorant.’
James was pleased Kyle had remembered. It wasn’t much of a gift, but five Twix was quite expensive for someone on three quid a week.
‘You’d better clean yourself up, anyway. You’ve got to go to the police station today.’
James looked at Kyle. His hair was gelled down and his school uniform was immaculate, with the shirt tucked in and the tie done at the proper length, instead of ten centimetres long like most kids did it. James looked at the black under his nails, ran his hand through his gluey tangle of hair and couldn’t help laughing about the mess his life was in.
*
Rachel was in a mood. Her car was overheating, the traffic was awful and there was no space in the police station car park.
‘I can’t park, you’ll have to go in by yourself. Have you got the bus fare to come back?’
‘Yeah,’ James said.
He got out of the car and walked up the steps of the police station. He’d dressed in chinos and his best fleece, even combed his hair back after the shower. Everyone said getting a police caution was no big deal, but it didn’t feel that way as James walked up to the desk and said his name.
‘Sit,’ the policewoman said, pointing at a row of chairs.
James waited for an hour. People came in and filled forms, mostly reporting stolen cars or mobiles.
‘James Choke.’
James stood up. A fit-looking cop reached out and gave him a crunching handshake.
‘I’m Sergeant Peter Davies, juvenile liaison officer.’
They went upstairs to an interview room. The sergeant got an inkpad and a piece of card out of a filing cabinet.
‘Relax your hand, James. Let me do all the work.’
He dabbed the tips of James’ fingers in the ink, then rolled each tip firmly against the card. James wished they’d given him a copy because the fingerprints would look cool pinned on his bedroom wall.
‘OK, James, this is the caution. Any questions?’
James shrugged. Sergeant Davies began reading from a piece of paper:
‘The Metropolitan Police have received information that on October 9th, while attending Holloway Dale School, you seriously assaulted one of your classmates, Samantha Jennings. During the assault Miss Jennings received a severe cut to her cheek, resulting in the need for eight stitches. During the same incident you also assaulted the class teacher Cassandra Voolt, who received injuries to her back.
‘As this is the first criminal charge you have faced, the Metropolitan Police have decided to give you a formal caution if you admit to what you have done. Do you admit to the offences detailed above?’
‘Yes,’ James said.
‘If you are found guilty of another criminal act before you reach the age of eighteen years, details of this offence will be given to the Magistrate or Judge and it is likely to increase the severity of the sentence you receive.’
Sergeant Davies put the piece of paper down and tried to sound friendly. ‘You look like a decent kid, James.’
‘I never meant to cut her face. I just wanted to make her shut up.’
‘James, don’t kid yourself into thinking it’s not your fault Samantha got hurt. You can never predict what will happen in a fight. If you’re stupid enough to start one, you’re to blame for what happens whether you meant it or not.’
James nodded. ‘That’s true I suppose.’
‘I don’t want to see you here again, James. Will I?’
‘I hope not,’ James said.
‘You don’t sound sure. Do you know what sentence you would have got for what you did if you were an adult?’
‘No,’ James said.
‘A young girl with stitches in her face, you’d be looking at two years in prison. That’s not funny, is it?’
‘No,’ James said.
*
James was pleased the caution was out the way. Everyone was right; it was no worse than getting told off at school. He’d taken some money out of his locker and thought he’d buy himself a birthday present. He got a new game for the Playstation and a Nike tracksuit. Then he stuffed himself at the buffet in Pizza Hut. He made sure he didn’t get back to Nebraska House until it was too late to go to afternoon lessons.
*
James put his new game on and lost track of time. Kyle came in and sat on the edge of his bed, the same as he did every day. Kyle felt something under the covers. He pulled them back and found James’ Arsenal shirt.
‘Why’s your stinking football shirt in my bed?’
James knew he’d be furious. Kyle was a total girl when it came to cleanliness. When Kyle moved the shirt a new CD Walkman slid out on to the bed.
‘James man, did you steal it?’
‘I knew you’d say that,’ James replied. ‘Receipt’s in the box.’
‘This is mine?’ Kyle asked.
‘You’ve been whining about your old one since I got here.’
‘Where’d you get the money, James?’
James liked Kyle, but he didn’t trust him enough to say about the cash in his locker.
‘Tied an old lady to a tree, beat her mercilessly and stole her pension,’ James said.
‘Yeah right, James. Seriously, where did you get sixty quid?’
‘Do you want it? Or do you want to ask me stupid questions about it?’ James said.
‘This is sweet. I hope you didn’t get yourself in any trouble. When I get my pocket money on Friday I’ll buy you that deodorant you need.’
‘Thanks, I think,’ James said.
‘So you want to do something tonight for your birthday? We could go to the cinema or something?’
‘No,’ James said. ‘I said I’d go out with Rob and the gang tonight.’
‘I wish you’d stop hanging around with those freaks.’
James sounded annoyed, ‘You give me the same lecture every time.’
*
It was freezing cold sitting on the wall at the back of the industrial estate. After the first night all they’d done was hang around smoking. Big Paul had punched a public schoolboy’s tooth out and taken his mobile and wallet, but James hadn’t been with them.
The gang congratulated James on his first criminal offence. Vince said he’d been arrested fifteen times. He had half a dozen court cases coming up and was facing a year in a young offenders’ prison.
‘I don’t care,’ Vince said. ‘Brother’s in young offenders. Dad’s in prison. Granddad’s in prison.’
‘Nice family,’ James said.
Rob and Big Paul laughed. The look James got from Vince was scary.
‘You say anything about my family again, James, you’re dead.’
‘Sorry,’ James said. ‘I was out of order.’
‘Kiss the floor,’ Vince said.
‘What?’ James asked. ‘Come on, I said sorry.’
‘He said sorry,’ Rob said. ‘It was only a joke.’
‘Kiss the floor, James,’ Vince repeated. ‘I’m not saying it a third time.’
Fighting Vince would be suicide. James slid off the wall. He was worried Vince would jump on his back or kick him in the head when he crouched down. But what choice was there? James put his palms on the pavement and kissed the cold stone. He wiped his lips on his sleeve and stood up, hoping Vince was satisfied.
‘You know what keeps out the cold?’ Rob said. ‘Beer.’
‘Nobody will serve us round here,’ Little Paul said. ‘Got no cash either.’
‘That off-licence up the road keeps the trays of twenty-four cans stacked up in the middle of the shop,’ Rob said. ‘You could run in, grab one and be halfway up the street before the tub of lard got out from behind the counter.’
‘Who’s gonna do it?’ Little Paul asked.
‘The birthday boy,’ Vince said, laughing.
James realised he should have taken a beating; at least that way Vince would still respect him. Showing weakness to a guy like Vince was inviting him to tear you apart.
‘Come on, man. I just got a caution this morning,’ James said.
‘I’ve never seen you do anything,’ Vince said. ‘If you want to hang out with us, you’d better be prepared for some action.’
‘Fine, I’ll go home. This is boring anyway,’ James said.
Vince grabbed James and shoved him into the wall.
‘You’ll do it,’ Vince said.
‘Leave him, Vince,’ Rob said.
Vince let go. James gave Rob a nod of thanks.
‘You better do it though,’ Rob said. ‘I don’t like being called boring.’
James wished he’d listened to Kyle.
‘OK,’ he said, now he had no choice. ‘I can handle it.’
The gang walked to the off-licence. Big Paul gripped James’ shoulder, making sure he didn’t run.
‘Be really quick,’ Rob said. ‘In and out, they’ll never get you.’
James walked inside the shop, nervous as hell. The warm air was beautiful. He rubbed his freezing hands together and looked for courage.
‘Can I help you, son?’ the guy behind the counter asked.
James had no reason to be in an off-licence. The clerk knew something was up. James made a quick grab at the cans of beer. They were heavy and his frozen fingers didn’t have much grip.
‘Put those down, you little …’
James spun around and tore towards the door. He crashed into the glass. Vince and Big Paul were holding the door shut from outside.
‘Let me out,’ James shouted, hammering the glass.
The assistant lumbered around the counter.
‘Please, Vince,’ James begged.
Vince gave James an evil smile and flicked him off. James knew he was done for.
Little Paul was jumping for joy. ‘You’re busted, you’re busted.’
The clerk grabbed James’ hands and dragged him backwards. Vince and Big Paul let go of the door and walked off casually.
‘Nice night in the cells, faggot,’ Vince shouted.
James stopped wriggling. There was no point, the clerk was five times his size. He dragged James behind the counter and shoved him into a chair. Then he called the police.
*
They’d taken James’ shoes and everything out of his pockets. He’d been sitting here three hours. Back to the wall, arms wrapped round his knees. James had expected the hard rubber mattress and graffiti but he’d never realised how bad a cell smelled. It was a mixture of disinfectant and everything nasty a body could pump out.
Sergeant Davies came in. James had hoped it wouldn’t be him. He looked up nervously, expecting an explosion of rage, but the sergeant seemed to find it funny.
‘Hello, James. Did you have a problem grasping the meaning of our little chat this morning? Fancied a few beers to celebrate getting off easy?’
The sergeant took James to an interrogation room. Rachel was there, she looked angry. The sergeant was still smiling as he put a cassette into a recorder and spoke his and James’ names into the microphone.
‘James,’ the sergeant asked, ‘bearing in mind that the off-licence you were arrested in has three video cameras inside, do you admit trying to steal twenty-four cans of beer?’
‘Yes,’ James said.
‘On the video you can make out a couple of monkeys holding the door and not letting you out of the shop. Would you care to tell me who they were?’
‘No idea,’ James said. He knew he’d be dead if he grassed on four of the hardest kids in Nebraska House.
‘Why not tell me, James? You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them.’
‘Never seen them before in my life,’ James insisted.
‘They looked like Vincent St John and Paul Puffin to me. Do those names ring a bell?’
‘Never heard of them.’
‘OK, James. I’m ending the interview.’
Sergeant Davies turned off the cassette recorder.
‘Play with fire and you get burned, James. Hanging out with those two is more like playing with dynamite.’
‘I messed up,’ James said. ‘Whatever punishment I get I deserve it.’
‘Don’t worry about this one, James. You’ll go to juvenile court. The magistrate will probably give you a twenty quid fine. It’s the bigger picture you want to look at.’
‘What do you mean?’ James asked.
‘I’ve seen hundreds of kids like you, James. They all start where you are now. Cheeky little kids. They get a bit older. Spottier and hairier. Always in trouble, but still nothing serious. Then they do something really stupid. Stab someone, get caught selling drugs, armed robbery, something like that. Half the time they’re crying. Or so shocked they can hardly speak. They’re sixteen or seventeen and looking at seven years banged up. You might get off easy at your age, but if you don’t start making better choices you’ll be spending most of your life in a cell.’
9. STRANGE
This room was flashier than the one at Nebraska House. It was a single for starters. TV, kettle, telephone and miniature fridge. It was like the hotel when his mum took him and Lauren to Disney World. James d
idn’t have a clue where he was or how he’d got here. The last thing he remembered was Jennifer Mitchum asking him up to her office after he got back to Nebraska House.
James burrowed around under the duvet and realised he was naked. That was freaky. He sat up and looked out of the window. The room was up high overlooking an athletics track. There were kids in running spikes doing stretches. Some others were getting tennis coaching on clay courts off to the side. This was clearly a children’s home, and miles nicer than Nebraska House.
There was a set of clean clothes on the floor: white socks and boxers, pressed orange T-shirt, green military-style trousers with zipped pockets and a pair of boots. James picked the boots up and inspected them: rubbery smell and shiny black soles. They were new.
The military-style kit made James wonder if this was where kids ended up if they kept getting in trouble. He put on the underwear and studied the logo embroidered on the T-shirt. It was a winged baby sitting on a ball. On looking closer the ball was a globe and you could see the outlines of Europe and the Americas. Underneath was a set of initials: CHERUB. James spun the initials in his head, but they didn’t make any sense.
Out in the corridor the kids had the same boots and trousers as James, but their T-shirts were either black or grey, all with the CHERUB logo on them.
James spoke to a boy coming towards him.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ James said.
‘Can’t talk to orange,’ the boy said, without stopping.
James looked both ways. It was a row of doors in either direction. There were a couple of teenage girls down one end. Even they were wearing boots and green trousers.
‘Hey,’ James said. ‘Can you tell me where to go?’
‘Can’t talk to orange,’ one girl said.
The other one smiled, saying, ‘Can’t talk,’ but she pointed towards a lift and then made a downward motion with her hand.
‘Cheers,’ James said.
James waited for the lift. There were a few others inside including an adult who wore the regulation trousers and boots but with a white CHERUB T-shirt. James spoke to him.
CHERUB: The Recruit Page 5