Mad Dogs

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘You’ve got what you came for,’ the man said firmly. ‘Now why don’t you leave?’

  Wheels broke into a nasty laugh as he ripped the hotel telephone out of the wall socket. ‘I’m afraid that we’re only just starting. What’s the registration of your car?’

  ‘Why do you need it?’ he asked.

  Wheels looked at the woman. ‘Do you want me to smash her one?’

  ‘Seven one, D E F, two five nine.’

  ‘Right,’ Wheels said. ‘And is it parked down in the basement?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘Valet or self-park?’

  ‘Self-park, basement level three outside the elevator.’

  Wheels snapped the cord from the base of the handset and threw the length of telephone cord at James before pointing at the woman. ‘Tie her up.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ the man demanded.

  ‘It’s very simple,’ Wheels grinned. ‘You’re going to tell me the PIN numbers for all of your lovely cards. Once we’ve tied you up, I’m going downstairs to take your car. Then I’m gonna drive around London, stopping off at cash machines and drawing two-fifty or five hundred quid on every one of them. It should only take an hour or so, and my little pal will wait here pointing this gun at you. If you make a fuss or try to escape, or if it turns out that you told fibs when you gave me your PIN numbers, he’s gonna put bullets through both of your heads.’

  James felt bad about tying the woman’s wrists together as Wheels made the man write a list of his own and his wife’s PIN numbers on Ambassador Hotel stationery.

  ‘Turn on to your stomach,’ James ordered, as the woman sobbed desperately.

  James knotted flex around her ankles before trussing the wrists and ankles together and cramming one of her husband’s handkerchiefs in her mouth. The man scowled at James when he moved in to repeat the exercise, but gave in when Wheels squished the tip of his nose with the gun.

  ‘Any noise, any lies, any fuss and you’re both dead,’ Wheels grunted while James finished tying the couple up. Then he handed the gun to James. ‘You feeling OK?’

  The Glock was heavy and James felt awful about the sobbing woman. But he nodded.

  ‘Don’t sweat it, I’ll call in about an hour and meet you back where we parked,’ Wheels said.

  As Wheels walked out of the room James settled into an armchair and kept one eye on the couple as he tried to work out how much they’d stolen: the laptop was worth a few hundred, the watches, the woman’s jewellery, cufflinks plus the money Wheels was collecting from the cash machines and whatever the new Lexus was worth to a stolen car syndicate. All told it had to be the best part of ten grand and Wheels had promised James a share.

  But crime didn’t look so good from the perspective of the woman trussed up on the bed with tears streaking down her face. James grabbed the remote and flicked the television from 24-hour news to VH1, but even when he turned the sound up he couldn’t not think about the two desperate humans less than three metres away from him.

  Getting involved with Sasha’s crew was an essential part of the mission and there was no way to do that without getting involved in some bad stuff. But he did rummage through the backpack and drop the antique brooch on to the carpet.

  *

  James drove the Vauxhall to the outskirts of London and met up with Wheels, who’d dumped the Lexus in a side street. Apparently a friend in the motor trade was already on his way to collect it and it would be resprayed and shipped off to Eastern Europe within days.

  Wheels had taken over two grand out of the cash machines and he gave James half, with a promise of more money when he’d been paid for the car and fenced the stolen gear.

  ‘You did good,’ Wheels said.

  ‘So can we do some more jobs together?’

  Wheels nodded. ‘But not straight away. You’re only fifteen and I reckon that grand is going to burn a hole on your pocket. The Zoo is full of snitches, so take your time spending it and don’t go mouthing off.’

  ‘I’m not a complete idiot,’ James said.

  ‘Sasha’s short of bodies right now, so I’ll put in a word and see if he can find something more permanent for you.’

  ‘Cheers, and goodnight,’ James said as he popped the door of the car. But when he looked up at the sky he could see the sun coming up behind a line of houses. ‘Or maybe that’s good morning.’

  James had left all the stolen stuff with Wheels for him to sell, but he patted the back pocket of his jeans to make sure that he had his wedge of money. It might have been half five in the morning, but the care worker stationed on the entrance didn’t bat an eye as James sauntered in. A couple who looked about thirteen were making out in the non-smoking lounge and a bunch of kids were watching a DVD and smoking in the other one.

  But most people were asleep and James crept into the room to avoid waking Bruce. Unfortunately, his trainers made a racket as they crackled on the filthy vinyl floor.

  ‘What happened?’ Bruce whispered, as James pulled his shirt over his head.

  ‘Hotel robbery,’ James said, pulling the money out of his jeans and fanning it.

  Bruce grinned. ‘I might just know why Wheels was so keen to take you out, even though he barely knows you.’

  ‘You reckon?’ James said.

  ‘I was speaking to Junior and there’s a rumour going around that Wheels isn’t exactly what you’d call a ladies’ man.’

  ‘You mean he’s gay?’

  Bruce nodded. ‘It would certainly explain why he took a shine to your pretty blond head within about five minutes of meeting you.’

  The idea that Wheels was attracted to him made James uneasy. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘If it’s true it’s kind of worked to our advantage, but he’d better not try anything. And speaking of people who keep things under their hat, what was going on out on that football pitch?’

  ‘I’ve always been good at football, but I’m not really into it.’

  James shook his head in disbelief. Most boys would give anything to be that good at football. ‘You never practise or anything,’ he said. ‘If you did you’d be awesome.’

  ‘I’m a talented guy,’ Bruce said immodestly. ‘By the way, you might want to be careful when you climb into bed; there’s a couple of teeth around somewhere.’

  James raised an eyebrow. ‘Teeth?’

  ‘Mark and Kurt came by again,’ Bruce explained. ‘They must have realised you were out and thought they’d stand a better chance if it was two against one. They were wrong, obviously …’

  27. EXTORTION

  It was now Thursday, two weeks from the day Gabrielle had been stabbed. Michael Hendry sat in the Green Pepper café, his plate loaded with spiced chicken and macaroni. The place had been empty in the days after the murder of Owen Campbell-Moore, but custom had drifted back once the cops took down their cordons and stopped hassling everyone who came within a hundred metres.

  The customers shot pool, dealt drugs and fattened the owner’s bank balance by stuffing coins into the fruit machines, while the radio was tuned to an internet station bringing news and music out of Kingston, Jamaica.

  Michael might have had the same colour skin as the rest of the customers, but he was a middle-class English boy and he’d never have been able to infiltrate the Slasher Boys without Gabrielle’s authentic Jamaican heritage.

  Michael glanced at his watch – a gold-strapped Bulgari which he’d bought off one of the Slasher Boys for less than a tenth of its legitimate value. Major Dee was forty minutes late, but that was normal. Making people wait around was Dee’s way of showing that his time was more important than yours and you showed respect by not complaining about it.

  Michael was chewing the last piece of chicken off a drumstick when Dee finally pulled up outside in a Ford Mondeo. He had a mean-looking sidekick called Colin Wragg in the back. Dee owned some fancy cars, but the discreet wheels meant he was on serious business.

  As he stepped into the passenger seat, Michael had his gun strapped ar
ound 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 Maj
or 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.