Class A (29 page)

‘Three rounds, lasting three minutes each,’ Junior said. ‘If you go down three times you’re out of the fight.’

James felt nervous as he pulled his second glove on with his teeth.

‘Go to your corner,’ Junior said.

When Junior’s stopwatch bleeped, the two boys charged forward and started throwing punches. With amateur gloves, even a full-force punch barely hurts, but Junior’s first barrage with the professional gloves connected hard. One punch knocked James off balance. He couldn’t catch his breath as he stumbled backwards. Junior sunk a blow below the elastic of James’ shorts, doubling him over. Junior’s next punch caught James in the side of the head. He splattered helplessly into the damp sand.

‘Low blow,’ James wheezed, clutching his abdomen.

The fight had only been going a few seconds, but it was a warm night and both boys were pouring sweat.

‘It wasn’t low,’ Junior said. ‘That counts as my first knockdown.’

James clambered to his feet. He usually loved the rush you got during a fight, but Junior was fast and strong. James had a nasty feeling he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

‘So we’re fighting dirty, are we?’ he said, holding back a burst of anger. ‘That’s fine by me.’

He threw a fast punch. Junior wasn’t ready and the thinly padded glove smashed into his nose. James’ next shot was an uppercut that snapped back Junior’s head.

‘Stop,’ Junior shouted, groaning in pain as he wrapped his arms over his face. ‘Jesus Christ … You idiot.’

‘What?’ James asked.

‘You’ve got sand on your gloves. It’s gone in my eye.’

Junior tore off a glove and started rubbing his eye.

‘Sorry,’ James said. ‘I never realised. Are you OK?’

Junior broke into an uneasy smile as he blinked out the sand.

‘You know what?’ he said. ‘I blame the idiot who thought up this stupid idea in the first place.’

James laughed. ‘That would be you.’

‘Call it a draw, eh, James?’

‘Fair enough,’ James said. ‘Now we know why they don’t have beach boxing.’

‘I’m going for a swim,’ Junior said, kicking off his trainers. ‘I need to wash all this sweat off.’

James thought he heard a banging sound as he pulled off his gloves.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘What?’ Junior asked.

‘I thought I heard something up in the house.’

Junior smiled. ‘Maybe George woke up and fell off the sofa.’

‘Yeah,’ James laughed. ‘Either that or they’ve set loose the axe-wielding maniac from that movie.’

Junior waded into the sea and dived forward, turning a somersault underwater. James pushed off backwards and let a wave wash him back towards the beach.

‘You ever had a nightmare after watching a scary movie?’ Junior asked.

‘You know the film
 
Seven
?’ James asked, as he bobbed in the surf.

‘I love that movie,’ Junior said. ‘It’s totally sick.’

‘When my mum was alive, I showed off until she let me watch the video. I woke up in a state and climbed in her bed. My sister, Lauren, heard about it and didn’t stop ribbing me for about a week.’

‘Your sister?’ Junior said, surprised.

‘I mean cousin,’ James said, nervously covering his mistake. ‘It was the summer holidays and Lauren was staying at our house.’

‘
Ringo
used to tease me when I was little,’ Junior said. ‘I’d ask him to put on my
 
Pingu
 
video and he’d stick on
 
The Terminator
to
scare me.’

‘We better go to bed,’ James said, as he picked his boxing gloves off the sand and slid his wet feet inside his trainers. ‘I’m looking forward to the air-boat ride tomorrow.’

‘We never usually do half the cool stuff we’ve done this week,’ Junior said. ‘My dad really likes you for some reason.’

James thought Keith was spoiling them because he was planning to disappear in a few days and would most likely never see Junior again. As they walked towards the house in their dripping shorts, Junior turned around and started walking backwards, staring at the moonlit sea.

‘Just think,’ he said, spreading his arms out wide. ‘If you count the time difference between here and London, in less than three days’ time we’ll be getting up for another miserable Monday at Grey Park school.’

‘Cheer us up, why don’t you?’ James said. ‘Is your eye OK now?’

‘Stings a bit,’ Junior said. ‘I wish we could have had a proper fight.’

James clambered on to the wooden decking at the back of the house and put his foot inside the sliding door. His trainer slipped in something wet. He rested his palm on the wall to steady himself. The light was on in the kitchen and George’s body had rolled off the sofa on the floor.

‘Something’s going on,’ James said edgily.

Junior grinned. ‘What is it, the axe murderer?’

‘I’m serious,’ James said, lifting his trainer out of the sticky liquid.

He felt like his head was going to explode when he realised it was blood.

‘Give over, James,’ Junior said. ‘You’re not scaring me.’

Junior stepped through the door and noticed George on the floor.

‘He really did fall off the sofa,’ Junior laughed.

James crouched down and clicked on a table lamp. Junior saw George was dead, realised his trainers were planted in a puddle of blood and let out a massive scream.

30. BODY

James was still haunted by the cold touch of his mother’s fingers the night he found her dead in front of the TV. George’s body didn’t affect him the same way, though the sight was more horrible. There was blood seeping from a bullet wound under his shirt. It was draining down a hanging arm and along the joins in the floor tiles, creating a grid of red lines leading to the pool of blood by the sliding doors.

James felt like everything was happening in slow motion. He could feel every vibration in Junior’s screams and watch the droplets of saliva spraying out of his mouth.

James had a theory: Keith had shot George for betraying him, then disappeared. But the theory sprang apart as he crept across the room and stared down the hallway through the half-open kitchen door. Three armed men had Keith Moore pinned on a stool at the breakfast bar. It looked like they’d roughed him up.

‘Leave the boys,’ Keith shouted when he heard Junior scream. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’

James knew he only had milliseconds before one of the men beating up Keith came out of the kitchen pointing a gun at him and Junior. He turned back to Junior, who stood rigid in the doorway, staring at George’s body.

‘Run,’ James shouted. ‘Get help.’

Junior snapped out of his panic long enough to hear the order. He jumped off the wooden decking and began sprinting down the beach. James hoped he’d have the sense to run to one of the neighbouring houses and call the police.

James planned to follow Junior, but a thuggish-looking guy emerged from the kitchen before he got the chance. James could see tattoos through the sweat-drenched vest clinging to his skin.

‘Get here, kid,’ he shouted, sliding out the pistol tucked into his jeans.

James burst through the nearest door, into the front living-room where Keith kept his hi-fi and record collection.

‘Hey,’ the man shouted furiously. ‘You
wanna
mess with me? I’ll kill you before you reach the door.’

He sounded Mexican or something. James didn’t know what the men wanted from Keith, but they’d shown they were prepared to kill and he didn’t fancy being their next victim. He thought about climbing out of the window, but the room only had a long narrow window up near the ceiling. He’d never get through before the man shot him.

There was a key inside the door. Turning the lock bought James a few seconds. He pushed an armchair against the door as the gunman rattled the handle on the outside. James desperately needed some kind of weapon.

‘Unlock this or I’ll shoot you to pieces,’ the man shouted, as he pounded the door with his fist.

James slid one of Keith’s LPs off its rack. He’d learned in weapons training that you can make a dagger by shattering any object made out of hard plastic. He leaned the record sleeve against the wall and stamped on it with his bloody trainer.

The gunman shoulder-charged the door.

One of his colleagues shouted after him from the kitchen. ‘You need a hand?’

The gunman didn’t sound worried. ‘It’s just some smartass kid who’s gonna be feeling a lot of pain real soon.’

Three deafening shots fired into the door, blasting away the lock. James tipped the pieces of the album out of its sleeve and grabbed the longest shard of what, until a few moments earlier, had been a valuable purple vinyl edition of Led Zeppelin IV.

The gunman kicked the door twice, barging the armchair out of the way. James backed up to the wall beside the door, with the shard of purple vinyl clutched tightly in his hand. His heart drummed like it was set to burst. If he got this wrong, he’d end up with a bullet through his head.

The second he saw the pistol coming through the door, James grabbed the muzzle with one hand while plunging the sharp piece of plastic into the gunman’s wrist. The man screamed out. His fingers sprang apart and James snatched the gun, before backing up to the opposite wall and turning it around so that his finger was on the trigger.

The man tugged the plastic out of his arm as he stumbled over the armchair. He faced James off with a self-assured grin.

‘Big gun for a little boy, eh?’ he said, showing off a rack of yellow teeth. ‘Are you really gonna shoot me?’

Some sort of commotion broke out in the kitchen. Keith Moore screamed in pain.

‘Get on your knees and put your hands on your head,’ James stuttered.

The man edged closer. James remembered his firearms training: from a safe position you can shoot to wound, but if you’re in mortal danger you can’t risk missing. You have to aim for the biggest target: the chest.

‘Don’t make me shoot you,’ James said desperately.

The gun weighed a billion tons in his trembling hands. The man ignored the threat and kept moving closer. James didn’t want to shoot, but what choice was there? He held his breath to steady the gun.

‘You
ain’t
gonna kill
 
noooooo
body
,’ the man sneered, as he lifted his shoe off the carpet, preparing to take a step that would bring James into reach.

A shockwave ripped through the room. The bullet slammed into the gunman’s chest from less than two metres. His feet lifted off the floor as his body crashed backwards into the upturned armchair. Stunned by the fact that he’d just fired a bullet into a real human being, James felt sick as he scrambled over his bleeding victim and out into the hallway.

James ran into the back living-room, planning to escape via the beach, but another gunman was frogmarching Junior across the sand towards the house. He ducked back into the hallway, hoping the man walking up the beach hadn’t spotted him. It could only be a matter of seconds before the men in the kitchen came out to investigate the gunshot. The only way out the front of the house was by walking past the kitchen door, which would be suicidal. That only left one option.

Still holding the pistol, James ran upstairs. He went into his room, grabbed his mobile phone off the bedside table and called John Jones. A woman answered.

‘Is John Jones there?’

‘I’m Beverly Shapiro,’ the woman said. ‘Is that James Beckett?’

‘Yeah,’ James said. ‘Where’s John?’

‘He’s in the restroom. You sound worried, James. You can talk to me. I’m the Drug Enforcement Agency officer working with John.’

James gasped with relief. ‘Thank god. Listen, I’m at Keith Moore’s house. There’s a whole bunch of gunmen downstairs. They’re beating Keith up, trying to get some kind of information out of him.’

‘I’ll call the local cops out,’ Beverly said. ‘Can you make it out of the house?’

‘They caught Junior running down the beach. I think they’ve got guys watching outside.’

‘I’m calling the cops right now,’ Beverly said. ‘You find yourself a good place to hide and keep this line open.’

James thought about hiding, but he didn’t think he’d be safe for more than a few minutes. The cops would take longer than that to arrive and even when they did, they’d be unlikely to come charging straight into the house and risk getting shot. James considered hiding out at the top of the stairs and shooting at anyone who tried to come up. It might have worked in a house with one staircase, but Keith’s Miami home had three. Four if you counted the metal walkway that led across to the garage.

The garage.

James realised that was his best chance. He leaned out into the corridor as Beverly said something into the phone.

‘What?’ James asked.

‘I said, the police are on their way. Have you found a safe place to hide?’

‘I don’t think it’s safe up here,’ James said. ‘Someone’s gonna come up looking for me any second.’