CHERUB: Mad Dogs (32 page)

‘Sure, he’s a good laugh. But he’s wasted all the time and it’s pretty clear to anyone with a couple of brain cells that his career path is of the behind-bars variety.’

James made a throttling gesture with his hands. ‘I’d love to slap some sense into him.’

‘What did Chloe say when you told her?’ Bruce asked.

‘Nothing. I haven’t told her.’

‘Right, of course,’ Bruce nodded, ‘she would have been engaged ’cos she’s been on the phone to me.’

‘I haven’t
tried
to tell her, Bruce. I don’t plan to either.’

‘What?’ Bruce said, raising his eyebrows. ‘If it’s just a stick-up they can make it look like the cops happened to be walking by so that our cover doesn’t get blown.’

‘But I don’t want Junior to get sent down,’ James said, sitting on the edge of his bed and grinding his palms against his cheeks. ‘I know he’s a basket case, but I happen to like the guy and I don’t want to be responsible.’

‘And what if he loses his rag and shoots someone in the head?’ Bruce asked. ‘Do you want that one on your conscience?’

‘I …’ James mumbled, contorting his arms and hating the fact that he was in the wrong. ‘This is all my fault. It was me winding him up about the money that made him storm out of Sasha’s gaff the other night.’

‘Give over, James,’ Bruce said. ‘You didn’t help, but he was heading for trouble before you got anywhere near him.’

‘I really like Junior. He’s not, like, just someone on a mission.’

Bruce smiled. ‘You care because he’s
you
, James.’

‘What are you on about?’

‘Before you came to CHERUB your mum was a crook, just like Junior’s dad. You were spoiled and you’d been in trouble with the police, like Junior. You’re both bright but lazy. You’ve both got a quick temper. Junior is exactly what you would have become if you hadn’t joined CHERUB and been knocked into shape.’

James could see some truth in this, but he wasn’t going to admit that Bruce was right. ‘That’s so dumb,’ he sneered. ‘Why can’t I just like the guy?’

‘James, at least if he gets picked up tomorrow he’s still only fifteen. It’s armed robbery and he’s already on parole so they’ll hammer him, but he’ll only get five or six years because he’s not an adult. By the time he gets out he’ll be close to getting his trust-fund money and hopefully he’ll settle down.’

‘This is
such
crap,’ James moaned, screwing up his face as he reached into his tracksuit bottoms and grabbed his mobile to call Chloe. ‘I can’t believe I’ve got to grass him up …’

Junior got up at 7:30 a.m. and felt queasy as he showered in his en-suite bathroom. He put on his uniform because he wanted his mum to think that he was going to school, but he packed trainers, gloves and a blue Adidas tracksuit on top of the gun in his school bag.

Part of Junior wanted to back out, but that’s what everyone would expect and he was determined to prove he was his own man. Plus, he’d always dreamed of having his own crew and he reckoned James would come around to his way of thinking once he’d made some money.

Junior’s twin, April, sat at the dining table downstairs in her blue jumper and white school tights. She had her science books spread out and seemed to have brain ache as she stared at her chemistry textbook.

‘It’s a miracle,’ April grinned, glancing at her watch as her brother stepped into the kitchen. ‘Did you wet the bed or something?’

‘Nah,’ Junior shrugged. ‘I thought I might get in early and kick a ball around with the lads before class.’

In fact, the combo of a stretch in young offenders and major-league truancy meant that Junior hardly knew anyone at his school; but April didn’t know that.

‘I really hope you keep your promise to Mum this time,’ April said. ‘You’re no genius, but you’re not thick either. I know you’re behind with your GCSE work, but if you’re serious about going back to school, I could help you to catch up over the summer holidays. Or maybe Mum could pay for a tutor …’

‘Yeah maybe,’ Junior said, dreading the thought of a summer tutor as he pushed a couple of white slices into the toaster. ‘What are you swotting for?’

‘Chemistry mock,’ April said.

‘I wish you were more of a laugh like in the old days,’ Junior said. ‘Before Dad went to prison we went to youth club together and had all the same mates and everything. Now you hang with boffins.’

April laughed. ‘My mates are the normal ones, Junior. They go to school, they do their homework and have a laugh at the weekend. No snorting coke, no robbery and nobody getting locked up for six months …’

‘Stiffs,’ Junior snorted. Then he mocked his sister’s voice: ‘
Yeah, and Sharon only got sixty-two per cent in her French and it served her right ’cos she totally sucks up to Miss LeFromage. I really hope Matt’s at the party on Saturday because he makes my knickers wet every time he walks in the room. OOOOOOOH!
’

April tutted. ‘Can’t you shut up? I’m revising.’

‘It’s only a mock.’

April looked up from her books and eyed her brother closely. ‘What’s going on, Junior?’

He feigned innocence. ‘What makes you think I’m up to anything?’

‘Twin telepathy,’ April said. ‘You’re fidgeting, your head’s all sweaty and you’ve started on me for no reason. Tell us where you’re going.’

‘Nowhere … well, except school.’

‘You should stop hanging around with that idiot James Beckett,’ April said. ‘He’s bad news.’

‘He’s a mate,’ Junior shrugged.

‘He’s a
complete
tosser.’

‘You’re only saying that because you had a big thing for him and he dumped you.’

April shook her head. ‘That was three years ago. I had a crush, but I was twelve and now I’m totally over it. Can’t you settle down? Don’t you think that you’ve put Mum through enough already?’

Junior’s toast popped up and he sauntered off to butter it without answering the question.

‘I’ve gotta catch my bus,’ April said, checking her watch as she gathered her books into her backpack. ‘I wish you’d sort yourself out. You drive me up the pole, but you’re still my twin and I care about you.’

‘I care about you too,’ Junior said, as he bit the first corner off his toast. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll see you tonight.’

Junior watched as April went out the garden door and crunched across the gravel to the street. The twins were past the age where they needed help getting ready for school, and unless Julie Moore had an early tennis lesson she usually stayed in bed until they were out of the way.

After he’d finished his toast, Junior walked into the hall and checked that his mum was watching GMTV upstairs before cutting into the living-room. He didn’t want to risk bumping into his sister at the bus stop, so he called the mini-cab office at the end of the road and arranged to be picked up on the corner in ten minutes’ time. Then he ripped off his school tie and started changing into his tracksuit and trainers.

*

Indian Sun was a thriving business in a side street a couple of hundred metres from Luton’s main shopping area. The lettering in the windows offered package tours to Goa from £499, but the shop mainly served the area’s large Asian population, with everything from cheap calling cards to money transfers and airline tickets.

Junior thought Indian Sun was a good target because of two things he’d learned from the Mad Dogs. Firstly, places that exchange and transfer money usually have larger sums of cash on hand than banks, but are often family businesses with much lower levels of security. Secondly, for a variety of religious and cultural reasons people from Asian backgrounds are less likely to use credit cards and often purchase large items with cash. This trait means businesses with lots of Asian customers are targeted by armed robbers.

Junior didn’t want his driver to identify him after the robbery, so he got the cab to drop him a couple of kilometres from Indian Sun. He walked the rest of the way, heading down the high street in sunglasses and a baseball cap, keeping his head down to avoid being picked up by security cameras. It was still before nine and all the shops had their shutters down.

He was shaking as he turned into the side street, surprised that it was quite lively. Four women with too much make-up on stood huddled in the staff entrance of a department store. The newsagents had a stream of customers, as did the Bagel Basket directly opposite Indian Sun.

The travel agency was also open, its metal sign with a list of exchange rates standing on the pavement, but only one of its three white shutters had been opened. A shudder ripped through Junior as soon as he eyed the target. He patted his hand against his body for a reassuring feel of the gun strapped to his side.

Junior’s mind was going at warp speed and he kept thinking about April and his mum as he pulled on a pair of leather gloves; but he was confident about pulling the raid off. Sasha had always protected Junior from actually being involved in robberies committed by the Mad Dogs, but he’d heard Wheels and the rest of the crew talking about crimes they’d committed and their constant bickering over the best ways of doing stuff.

While opinions differed on the details, everyone agreed the basic: case the joint, use overwhelming force, be quick, don’t leave forensic evidence, wear bland clothes, cover your face so that you don’t get picked up on CCTV cameras and mix it up so that the police can never predict what you’ll do next.

There are no certainties when people go around with guns and almost everyone’s luck runs out, but when crooks stick to the rules, their chances of getting caught on any individual robbery are slim.

An electric chime startled Junior as he stepped through the agency door. As expected, the shop had been unlocked by Praful Patel, an elderly man who’d set up Indian Sun more than twenty years earlier. The giant bunch of keys was hooked to his belt loop with a spring-loaded clip.

The only trouble was, there were two tough-looking dudes sitting across the desk from him. The stocky men looked like they hailed from the Balkans and the dried-out mud on their boots suggested that they were builders. A small bunch of ten-and twenty-pound notes sat on the desk and Praful Patel was patiently filling out a three-part counterfoil with the brightly coloured logo of a wire transfer agency at the top.

‘The fee is five pounds plus two per cent,’ Praful explained, as he carefully tore the bottom sheet off the form. ‘Your wife must give the password to collect the money at the other end.’

The men looked thuggish, and with their wages piled up on the desk, Junior reckoned it best to let them go before pulling the gun. Waiting was tricky because there was always a chance someone else might walk in, but he felt that his only option was to head for the rack of brochures and pretend to browse.

It felt longer, but within two minutes the men were on their way out of the door, moving briskly to their cash-in-hand labouring jobs at a hotel under construction behind the department store.

‘Can I help you, young man?’ Praful said, acutely aware that people Junior’s age don’t have much call for travel agents.

‘Open the safe,’ Junior ordered, backing up to the door and sliding the latch across as he whipped out the gun.

Praful raised his hands warily. ‘I don’t keep large sums here,’ he warned. ‘I’ve been robbed too often.’

Junior unzipped his school bag and dumped it on the floor. ‘I didn’t ask for your bloody life story,’ he snarled, as he swept the cash on the desk into his bag. ‘Open the safe and give me what you’ve got.’

The elderly man had back trouble and groaned as he went down on one knee to put the key into the door of the safe. Junior was disappointed as it swung open: there was a whole bunch of aeroplane tickets in envelopes and the cash drawer from a till containing about £100 in British currency and small bundles of euros, US dollars and rupees.

Junior had been expecting more. ‘Where do you keep the rest?’ he asked bitterly.

‘There is no rest,’ Praful said, as he picked out the money and placed it in the bag.

‘Bullcrap. I’ve seen people come in here and change five hundred pounds at a time.’

‘Two-hour service,’ Praful said, pointing at a sign on the wall that said:
For security reasons, we now require two hours’ notice for all currency exchanges of more than £150. Please call ahead!

‘Give me a bloody break,’ Junior moaned. ‘Where’s the rest of the money?’

‘Off premises,’ Praful said. ‘This is the third robbery. The last two times I lost many thousands of pounds. Now I can’t get insurance.’

Junior tried to figure how the system might work. The money was probably stored at Praful’s home, or perhaps the safe was a red herring and the money was stored elsewhere on the premises.

Junior reckoned there might be a way of getting it, but he’d heard Wheels and the Mad Dogs say that hanging around a crime scene was the most dangerous thing you could do. And maybe he hadn’t made the thousands of pounds he’d hoped for, but he reckoned that the bundles of foreign currency would be into four figures when he exchanged them, which was enough to make the next couple of months bearable.

Junior grabbed his school bag off the carpet tiles and pushed the gun back inside his tracksuit as he stepped out of the door. He was appalled to see a silver BMW police cruiser parked directly across the narrow street, with two cops inside munching on breakfast bagels.

Junior choked as he heard Praful locking the shop door to stop him going back inside. As he began to walk, an alarm went off inside Indian Sun. He sped up, hoping that the cops wouldn’t link him to the bell, but the cop on the driver’s side yelled out and he started to run.

It was only a hundred metres to the pedestrianised high street, but the removable bollard that gave access to delivery vans was down and the cruiser went after him. Junior ran flat out past a couple of shops, looking for an alleyway, as a PA announcement ripped out of the tannoy on top of the car.

‘Stop running and raise your hands. Repeat, stop running and raise your hands.’

Junior couldn’t see the cops backing off unless he aimed the gun at them. He noticed a small seating area up ahead and sent a crowd of pigeons fluttering as he charged between two rows of benches, then ducked behind a tall concrete planter.