Brigands M.C.

by Robert Muchamore

  ‘You OK, Dante?’ Lauren asked.

  ‘Memories,’ Dante shrugged. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘I think it’s best if you start calling him John all the time,’ Chloe said. ‘We can go back if it’s too much for you, mate.’

  Dante shook his head. ‘No way. I want to be here doing my job, not sitting around the house brooding.’

  What was once the entry gate to the Brigands compound was now a curved concrete ramp that led towards parking spaces behind and beneath the long two-storey development called Marina Heights on their right. At street level there was a paved promenade – no cyclists, no skateboarding – populated with people taking an evening stroll. A dozen upmarket shops sold things like yachting accessories, surf boards and designer walking gear.

  The last and largest shop was called Leather and Chrome. Its plate-glass frontage had a display of custom-built motorcycles. People with smaller budgets could go inside and buy items ranging from toy motorbikes to books and motorbike-themed jigsaw puzzles. A Brigands Motorcycle Club Supporter T-shirt could be purchased for twenty-five pounds, along with Brigands mugs, drink coasters, key fobs and leather-jacketed teddy bears.

  James had travelled ahead of the others on his bike. Once they’d parked up Lauren found him staring through glass at a £28,000 Arlen Ness custom bike, finished in green metallic paint with a padded seat barely half a metre off the ground and a set of custom-built front forks that made the bike four metres long.

  ‘Thought I’d find you here,’ Lauren said cheerfully. ‘Is it me, or is that bike not terribly practical?’

  James grinned. ‘It’d certainly be a bitch in a traffic jam.’

  ‘Didn’t mean to bite your head off earlier,’ Lauren said. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Meh,’ James shrugged. ‘You can’t expect tiny female brains like yours to stay rational all the time.’

  ‘Let me check my sides,’ Lauren replied, ‘they might have split. Chloe looked on the Internet and apparently the tapas bar upstairs is really good.’

  There were staircases at either end of the promenade of shops, which led up to a first-floor courtyard with a fountain in the centre and restaurants behind. The more upmarket places were at one end, with diners in suits and ties eating olives and watching the yachts. At the other end was a fifties-style American Diner and a row of kiosks including a juice bar and a donut shop.

  ‘Martin Donnington,’ Dante said quietly, as he recognised the Führer’s oldest son working behind the counter in a crêpe stand. ‘The last time I saw that face I beat the crap out of it in a boxing ring.’

  Lauren and James both nodded.

  While Chloe headed across to the tapas bar to try and get a table, the three teenagers studied the rest of the development. To their left was a six-storey luxury apartment block called Marina View. Its air-conditioned and balconied apartments were some of the most desirable residences in one of the country’s most expensive seaside towns.

  ‘You can see why the Führer wanted to build this,’ James said. ‘They must have made millions.’

  Dante found James’ comment slightly tactless, but couldn’t help thinking the same thing himself. Maybe if his dad hadn’t opposed the development, he’d still live here. His parents and siblings would all be alive and they’d probably be rich to boot.

  The three teens eventually reached the back of the courtyard, which had less appealing views over the car park and the rubbish bins behind the shops and restaurants. Beyond the cars was a bland two-storey brick box with a huge neon Brigands M.C. logo on it. Above the main entrance a plastic sign read: Whatever happens in this clubhouse, stays in this clubhouse.

  ‘Forty minutes for a table,’ Chloe said, as she found the kids again. ‘Do you want to wait? Or you can go down to the diner, or get donuts or something if you ate enough at lunchtime.’

  ‘There’s a whole bunch of kids down that end,’ Lauren noted, as her eyes fixed on a group of people her own age. Most of them wore beach shorts, either with surf shoes or barefoot and one of them had even lugged a surf board uphill from the beach.

  James saw a slightly older girl leaning on a railing; he couldn’t see her face but the wind was blowing against her long skirt and she had a nice figure. ‘It might be best,’ James said. ‘Show our faces. See who’s who.’

  ‘OK,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ll hang around, have a look in the shops for an hour or something. I might try the Italian place. It didn’t look as busy as the tapas bar.’

  Chloe started to walk, but James and Lauren followed her, coughing noisily. She turned around and saw all three kids holding out their palms.

  ‘You’re forgetting your motherly duty,’ James grinned.

  Chloe laughed as she gave each of them a twenty-pound note from her purse and told them to make it last. Lauren and Dante followed the surfer kids, who’d all headed into the diner, while James made a beeline for the girl with the long skirt and long hair.

  ‘Hey beautiful,’ he said. ‘Where have you been all my life?’

  The girl turned around and cracked a smile. Fortunately her face lived up to the rear view. ‘Nice pickup line,’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard that one before.’

  ‘Sorry,’ James said, smiling and shrugging. ‘It’s kind of awkward. My name’s James. I just moved here from London, so I don’t know anyone and you looked kind of lonely.’

  ‘Ashley,’ the girl said, as she held out a slender hand for James to shake. ‘I like your accent. You’re a proper cockney boy.’

  ‘Yeah,’ James nodded. ‘Salt of the earth, London geezer, my old man’s a dustman, gawd blimey guvnor and all that. So how come a pretty girl like you’s standing here all alone staring out to sea?’

  Ashley laughed. ‘I’m waiting for my boyfriend to park his car.’

  ‘Oh,’ James said awkwardly. ‘We could elope together before he gets here.’

  Ashley laughed again.

  ‘Sorry, I’m being dumb,’ James said. ‘Are you in the sixth form?’

  Ashley nodded.

  ‘Do you know Crossroads Sixth Form college? That’s where I’ve got to go and register for my courses tomorrow.’

  Ashley nodded again. ‘That’s where I go. It’s pretty much the only sixth form around here to be honest, apart from a couple of posh private schools.’

  ‘I thought everyone around here was posh.’

  ‘Not really,’ Ashley said. ‘Most of the houses on the harbour front and in the centre of town are second homes. But those people live in London, or wherever. We’ve got some rich people like anywhere else. Julian’s parents are pretty loaded. His dad is a judge, and he lives up there in Marina View.’

  ‘That’s your boyfriend?’

  Ashley nodded. ‘They’re coming up the stairs now.’

  James looked over the railing and was pleased to see that he wouldn’t be breaking up a couple: Julian was part of a group made up of five girls and three boys.

  ‘We’re gonna hang around in the diner,’ Ashley explained, as the friends gathered around her. ‘It’s pretty boring and the food isn’t great, but you can come with if you want.’

  James nodded as the tall and curly-haired Julian gave Ashley a kiss. He had a set of Fiat keys hooked over his finger. ‘Hi Ash,’ he said, in a plummy voice. ‘Took ages. Some dick took about ten minutes to get into his parking spot. Had a queue of cars a mile long.’

  ‘This is James,’ Ashley said. ‘He just moved here, he’s enrolling at Crossroads tomorrow. You’re coming into the diner with us, aren’t you?’

  ‘If that’s OK,’ James shrugged.

  James had clearly been hitting on Ashley, so Julian didn’t look impressed. ‘Hey James,’ he said curtly. ‘You’re always picking up refugees, aren’t you, Ash?’

  As James headed towards the diner, Julian put his arm around Ashley’s waist, making it clear who she belonged to.

  19. HEY

  Monday

  Salcombe had stirred a lot of old memories, but seeing Joe had made Dant
e catch his breath. They’d been best friends from toddling around in nappies until the night his family was murdered. He’d often wondered what Joe’s reaction had been when he found out that his father had killed his best friend’s family.

  In the early days after the murder Dante even fantasised that Joe would come out on his side and back up his story about being made to fight Martin in the boxing ring. But he’d never really expected it: Joe idolised his dad, and even if he hadn’t he’d have been insane to go to the police against the Führer’s will.

  The thirteen-year-old Joe was recognisably an older version of the boy Dante had known which made him paranoid that someone would see through his new identity, despite reassurance from the experts on CHERUB campus that four years, a new name, an accent and a change of hairstyle were sufficient.

  The school didn’t have uniform, so each clique had adopted its own. Joe hung with a crowd of cool boys in designer-brand polo shirts, baggy cargo shorts or jeans, complemented with Vans or Converse. Dante reckoned his old-skool Adidas T-shirt with Diesel Jeans would pass muster, but he hadn’t even been assigned to Joe’s class because despite Chloe’s best efforts, the school had a policy that siblings weren’t allowed in the same class.

  So while Dante stood alone in the Year Eight common room, trying not to make it obvious that he was watching the boys around Joe and hoping some of them would be in his class, Lauren could make a direct approach. She acted baffled, then walked up to one of the girls sitting cross-legged on a table top at the fringe of Joe’s group.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Lauren said, as she held out the timetable she’d been given in the Head of Year’s office fifteen minutes earlier. ‘I’m in class 8C and Mr Brankin said it was easiest if I tagged along with someone to find my form room.’

  ‘I’m 8C,’ the girl nodded, as she played with her hair. ‘I’m Anna. I like your shoes.’

  ‘Lauren,’ Lauren smiled. ‘There’s a cool shop in Covent Garden, they do all limited edition Nikes and stuff that you never see in the chains.’

  The boys around Joe were more interested in Lauren’s bare legs and tits, and while it felt creepy knowing that they were all checking her out, it was exactly what she’d intended when she’d put on short shorts and a tight vest.

  Everyone in the group seemed curious. A girl and two boys edged back, making room for Lauren to join the circle. A few kids including Joe told her their names, or made little welcome gestures like nods or wrist flicks.

  The boy standing next to Lauren was the tallest. He had a stooped posture and loomed over the edge of the group. He kept quiet, but laughed noisily at the cooler kids’ comments, making it obvious that he was a hanger-on rather than part of the core group. Sensing an opportunity to get a cheap laugh, he offered Lauren a handshake, which she took suspiciously.

  ‘My name’s Chris,’ the kid said, speaking loud so that you could tell he was building up to something. ‘Can I put my penis inside you?’

  The boys all started laughing hysterically, while a girl called Jane booted Chris’ ankle and called him a pig. Lauren’s first urge was to snatch her hand away and swear at Chris, but she was an experienced CHERUB agent and she’d been through the making friends with strange kids scenario enough times to recognise a golden opportunity.

  After freeing herself from the handshake, Lauren gave Chris a shove and snatched the Reebok backpack that had been standing on the ground between his feet. She glanced outside, making sure nobody was around, and then hurled the pack through an open window.

  ‘You’re a dog,’ Lauren grinned, as Chris caught his balance. ‘Go fetch.’

  Chris faced Lauren off with bulging eyes. ‘Bitch,’ he said furiously. ‘What did you do that for?’

  But the gang was now laughing at Chris rather than with him, and there was no way he could kick off against a girl in the middle of a crowded common room. His face turned red as he steamed towards the fire doors to retrieve his pack before anyone else got hold of it.

  ‘Nice move,’ Jane said triumphantly. Anna gave Lauren a big smile. ‘Chris has been asking for something like that all year.’

  When Chris came back in with his pack, Joe conveniently forgot that he’d laughed as loud as any of the other lads when Chris had first cracked the penis line.

  ‘Why don’t you go and annoy someone else?’ Joe asked acidly.

  Although Chris was the biggest in the group, Joe was clearly the alpha-male and everyone bunched up so that Chris had nowhere to stand.

  ‘Gotta go to the toilet before registration anyway,’ Chris said pathetically, and he walked away.

  Dante was still on his own and Lauren realised she could introduce him now that she’d won the group over.

  ‘John, come over here,’ Lauren shouted, before looking back at Anna and Jane. ‘This is my baby brother,’ she explained.

  Dante smiled as he sidled up to the table beside Anna.

  ‘So how come you’re Lauren’s baby brother if you’re both in Year Eight?’ Anna asked.

  ‘Twins,’ Dante explained. ‘I’m a whole sixteen minutes younger.’

  ‘Love the Irish accent,’ Jane said. ‘How come you’re different?’

  ‘Got expelled from my school in London,’ Dante explained. ‘So my dad booted my butt into some boarding school in Ireland for two and a half years.’

  Dante saw that the other boys were looking his way. Joe narrowed his eyes.

  ‘You look vaguely familiar,’ Joe said. ‘Have we met before?’

  Dante’s heart sped up, but he’d been told to expect this. ‘Have you ever lived in London?’ he asked.

  Joe shook his head. ‘Nah, you just look a bit like some kid I used to know. But he was a carrot head and he wouldn’t show his face in these parts.’

  The bell went for first lesson a few seconds later. Dante was pleased to find that Jane and a couple of the lads were in his class, but he hung back and whispered to Lauren before they split up.

  ‘Fast work, sister.’

  ‘Relax and be confident,’ Lauren nodded. ‘Don’t be pushy, make them want to be your friend, not the other way around.’

  Dante had done the same training as Lauren and was tempted to tell her that he could have done the same thing. But Lauren had done a textbook job, ingratiating herself with the coolest kids in Year Eight before they’d even heard the school bell.

  *

  James had to register for his courses at Crossroads Sixth Form Centre. To make life easy he picked maths and physics courses that he’d already passed. He sat a maths catch-up test to assess where he was in relation to his classmates and deliberately flunked several questions so that he didn’t appear overly smart.

  At lunchtime he found some of the kids he’d met at Marina Heights the night before. They all sat on the grass around a big tree with salads and sandwiches brought from home and took the mickey out of James because he was the only one who ate a dodgy burger and cold fries from the canteen.

  He made a point of sitting near Ashley and smiling a lot whenever her boyfriend Julian was around. James didn’t particularly fancy her, but he was a good looking guy and it amused him to piss Julian off. But for the purposes of the mission, Julian’s friend Nigel was more interesting.

  Although it was warm, Nigel wore boots and a black leather jacket. The sixth-form centre was in a remote location and kids who didn’t want to wait for buses or parental pick-ups needed their own wheels. Battered Citroens and Fords ruled the car park. A few kids lived near enough to ride push bikes and there was an area given over to motorbikes and scooters.

  James’ 250cc Honda might not impress outlaws like the Brigands, but in a sixth-form car park it looked full-on amidst 100cc mopeds and cheap Chinese and Indian scooters. After they’d eaten, James wandered amongst the bikes to show Nigel his Honda.

  Nigel introduced James to a boy called Ben who owned a 600cc Kawasaki. He was in the upper sixth. He kept a cigarette packet tucked in the sleeve of his T-shirt, sported a triangular beard and a wafer-thin
girlfriend called Daisy.

  ‘So how’d you get a six-hundred?’ Nigel asked. ‘That’s gotta be illegal.’

  Ben was cool, but nowhere near as cool as he liked to think he was and he acted like it was a big mystery. But James bought and read motorbike magazines all the time.

  ‘You’ve got a restrictor kit,’ James said. ‘But the price of insurance on a six-hundred must be horrendous.’

  ‘Restrictor kit?’ Nigel asked.

  ‘It limits the power of the bike,’ James explained. ‘Our licences say we can only ride a thirty-horsepower bike until we’re twenty-one, but you can buy a more powerful bike and have a restrictor kit fitted.’

  Nigel scowled at Ben’s bike. ‘So this thing is no faster than mine?’

  Ben burst out laughing. ‘The new kid is almost right, but I’ll race you for any money you like. I’ve had this bike up to a hundred and thirty on the motorway.’

  ‘What, did you break the laws of physics or something?’ Nigel asked disbelievingly.

  ‘You buy the bike,’ Ben explained. ‘Then get the dealer to fit the restrictor kit and get your power output certificate. Then you ask the dealer’s mechanic politely and he turns a couple of screws and deactivates the kit.’

  ‘Sweet,’ Nigel said.

  ‘Not if you get pulled over and the cops nail you it won’t be,’ James warned.

  Ben shrugged. ‘It’s a risk, but once you’ve ridden a proper machine like mine, those little two-fifties are like Lego bikes, or something.’

  Nigel started to laugh. ‘What dealer will do the dodgy modifications?’

  ‘Any second-hand bike dealer,’ Ben said. ‘Even some of the franchise dealers who sell new bikes. If you go in willing to spend a few grand and make it crystal that you’re only buying if they issue the power output certificate and then disable the restrictor.’

  ‘You bought your six-hundred from Leather and Chrome, didn’t you?’ Nigel asked.