Thieves Like Us 01 - Thieves Like Us (3 page)

‘Don’t make a sound,’ said Motti. ‘Do anything to get the guards’ attention and I swear I’ll kill you.’

‘Go easy, Mot,’ muttered Patch.

The van pulled away. Thirty seconds later, when it came to a sudden halt, Jonah’s heart almost stopped with it.

A quiet hum: electric window winding down. Footsteps outside.

‘Dougie’s show over already, is it, love?’ A man’s voice, smug and knowing; you could almost hear the leer in it. ‘Didn’t take long.’

‘Do you imagine it
ever
takes long with Dougie?’ a girl’s voice replied, to guffaws of laughter. This had to be Tye. She had a nice voice – a touch rougher than Con’s, warmer, with just an edge of Caribbean accent.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ said a second guard suddenly. ‘Who’re you trying to kid?’

A pause. Tye acted innocent. ‘What d’you mean?’

Someone banged hard on the side of the van. Jonah held himself dead still, not even daring to breathe.

‘Got the poor sod tied up in the back, ain’tcha? Taking him off for a private performance, right?’

More laughter. Jonah blew out his breath, cradled his head in his hands.

‘He wishes,’ said Tye. ‘Well, so long, guys. Oh – here’s my agency’s card. If you want to see what you missed, give them a call. Ask me nice, I might come back …’

Amid wolf whistles and filthy laughter, the van pulled away. Jonah heard a whirring, grinding noise as the gate lifted up to let it pass. Then Tye stepped on the accelerator, turned hard on to the road.

‘We did it,’ breathed Motti. He whooped loudly. ‘We
did
it!’ He and Patch shifted forward and pulled down the partition. Suddenly Jonah was staring out at streetlights and shops and office blocks. At windows with blinds, not bars. At the wide, black night and the stars that shone over the sleeping city.

‘I’m out,’ he murmured. ‘Free.’

Con clambered up from the footwell of the passenger seat, grinning broadly, no trace of her earlier mood remaining. ‘Look what I was hiding under!’ She lifted up a big brown paper bag, spotted with grease. ‘The smell was driving me crazy!’

‘Mac attack!’ cheered Patch. ‘Gimme.’

‘I almost dug in there and then, and screw the guards!’ Con started flinging burgers and fries into the back. The van soon began to stink of fast food.

‘It’s all cold by now,’ said Tye. She didn’t turn around, her eyes fixed firmly on the road. All Jonah could see was the smooth, dark skin of the nape of her neck, the way her straightened black hair bounced with every bump.

‘Big Macs taste better cold,’ Patch informed her.
‘It’s official. How God intended.’

‘Nah, God’s a quarter-cheese man.’ Motti bit off a chunk. ‘’S why it tastes like heaven.’

‘Got you a beanburger, Jonah,’ said Tye. ‘Is that cool?’

Jonah was speechless. A few minutes ago these people had stormed a prison, calm as you like. And they’d actually got him out. It had been like something out of the movies. Now suddenly all that was forgotten, and they were just kids hanging out in a van, stuffing themselves with junk food.

Con passed him the burger. ‘Eat.’

‘Why not?’ he said, peeling off the shiny paper and taking a bite of cold stodge in breadcrumbs. ‘It’s three-fifteen in the morning, I’ve just been broken out of prison, I’ve no idea who you are or what you really want or what happens now –’

‘Did you get me a strawberry shake, Tye?’ wondered Patch. ‘You know I love a strawberry shake.’

‘They only had vanilla.’ She passed the drink over her shoulder.

‘Shouldn’t you be dumping this van?’ asked Jonah. ‘I mean, those phosphor caps just stun, you said.’

‘Pretty much. A bright flash and some smoke.’ Con had already all but devoured her chicken sandwich, and looked a lot less sophisticated with mayo round her mouth, giggling as she tried to snag a piece of lettuce from her lips with her little finger. ‘Still nasty at close range. Lucky for you, I don’t bear grudges.’

‘Unlucky for you, she don’t bare nothing else,’ sighed Patch. ‘Not even for money.’

‘So they’ll be up and after us any time,’ said Jonah through another mouthful of burger. ‘They’ll be looking for a white van, circulating my description. And Tye’s, and Con’s and –’

‘Gee, d’you think?’ said Motti.

‘They won’t find us.’ Con sounded utterly sure of herself. ‘Not a hope in hell.’

Jonah saw they were heading out of the city now, for the thin strips of countryside beyond. He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly tired. ‘Does Coldhardt live nearby, then?’

Knowing looks passed between them, some smiles. But they said nothing.

‘Fine. Have fun with your little in-joke,’ said Jonah. ‘S’pose I’ll find out soon enough.’

‘Sorry, mate.’ Patch dug an elbow in Jonah’s ribs. ‘But cheer up. You’ll soon be in on the joke too. Coldhardt thinks you should join up.’

‘Lucky us,’ drawled Motti. Con threw her last fry at him.

‘Why would he go to all this trouble for me? What does he want?’ Jonah dropped the half-eaten bean-burger in his lap. He felt sick now, as well as tired. ‘Who the hell
is
this Coldhardt, anyway?’

Con grinned at him. ‘The man who is going to change your life.’

Motti nodded. ‘Or maybe end it.’

‘You got a real chip on your shoulder today, man,’ Patch observed.

‘Con threw it there,’ he joked, and the two of them cracked up.

Jonah shook his head. ‘What did I do to get
mixed up in this?’

‘You got noticed,’ said Tye, quietly rejoining the conversation as she swung the van on to a minor road. ‘You stood out.’

‘I spent my whole life trying to avoid standing out.’ Jonah said. ‘Good to know that’s one more thing I can’t do.’ He knew he was sounding like a whining kid, but he didn’t care. He was angry, tired and feeling sicker than ever. ‘Listen … What if I don’t
want
to join up with you and your precious Coldhardt? Will … will you let me go?’

No one spoke.

‘Only … if I see where he lives and stuff, and I want out … I’m a threat to him, aren’t I? I could – I could lead the cops to him …’

‘Only if you sleepwalk,’ said Con, almost fondly. ‘You seem very tired, no? Too sleepy to move. No threat to anyone.’

‘Wanna bet? I can snore loud enough to make your ears bleed.’ Jonah shook his head, tried to clear it. ‘It’s late. I didn’t get any sleep …’

He jumped as Patch slipped an arm round him, leaned in with a confidential air. ‘It could also be to do with the way we spiked the chicken and tuna in your block last night.’

‘I never ate that stuff.’

‘True.’ He crumpled up a greasy plastic wrapper. ‘But y’know, it’s even easier to spike a single bean-burger.’

‘You …’ Jonah willed his eyes to focus, but it was no good. He felt he was falling into a dark, dark tunnel. ‘You load of –’

‘Oi, watch the language, mate,’ Patch’s echoing voice carried distantly through the blackness. ‘I’m just a kid. Remember?’

Jonah woke up in his boxers, with a headache, a backache and no idea where the hell he was. His bunk in prison had been more like a slab in the morgue, but now he was lying in the middle of a soft, springy double bed. Dark blue curtains stirred at the open window, letting golden sunlight spill over the spotless white walls.

He pushed off the enormous, squashy duvet and sat up, taking in the antiqued floorboards and the marble bathroom through the doorway. A chunky dark wooden chest of drawers was loaded with salon grooming products, while the open wardrobe was crammed with clothes for just about every occasion – suits and jeans and hoodies. He recognised some of the labels: as pricey as everything else seemed to be around here.

But then Jonah’s eyes fixed and lingered on a serious-looking media-centre PC, with a widescreen flat panel display and surround sound, dominating a desk in the corner. He recognised the make with a quake of surprise – a flash new breed, not meant to be hitting the high street for ages.

Jonah flexed his fingers, started to scramble out of
bed. He’d dreamed of owning a machine like this. And it was so long since he’d heard the comforting click of the keys as he –

He froze, remembering some old, old advice about sweets and strangers. This must be Coldhardt’s place.

Whose room was this?

A chair had been placed beside the bed. A glass of water sat on the arm with a note beside it in an extravagant scrawl: ‘
Drink me – I will refresh. PS I am not spiked
.’

‘Ha, ha,’ said Jonah darkly. But he drained the lot. Almost straight away his head seemed to clear a little.

He pulled aside one curtain, shielded his eyes from the bright blue sky. The view was as five-star as the rest of the room – a vineyard sloping away down a hillside, lawns that looked trimmed by nail scissors, and in the distance, a narrow, winding country road snaking between cornfields.

No clues as to where he was, or how long he’d been out. He couldn’t see a single person, a solitary car. It could be miles and miles to civilisation, so even if he could get out undetected, running away was hardly an option.

Jonah lay back in the bed, perspiring slightly. His abductors had planned things perfectly. But what now?

There was a noise outside the bedroom door. Someone coming. At once, he closed his eyes, curled up on his side, shammed sleep.

The door opened smoothly, silently. Opening his eyes a fraction, Jonah saw that Motti had come to call. Black was clearly the guy’s colour – like last
night, he wore black jeans and a T-shirt with an all-but-destroyed white logo on the front.

Motti just stood there, all Gothic and grungy in the doorway for a few moments. Then he advanced stealthily towards the bed.

Jonah tensed, kept up the pretence he was dead to the world. But as Motti reached out for his throat, Jonah lashed out with his foot, landing an evil blow to the guy’s family jewels. Motti bellowed in pain, doubled up. But Jonah wasn’t finished yet. He sprang out of bed, wrestled Motti to the floor.

‘OK, go easy, geek,’ Motti gasped, trying to twist free.

‘The name is Jonah.’ He straddled Motti’s chest, pinning him to the floor. ‘What d’you want from me? Why’d you sneak in here?’

‘To wake you up, asswipe.’ Motti grimaced, stopped struggling and went limp. ‘We were gonna show you around. Answer your questions and stuff.’

Jonah looked at him warily. ‘How can I trust you?’

Motti smiled. ‘You can’t.’

Suddenly he bucked his whole body. Jonah wasn’t prepared, overbalanced. In a second, Motti was on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

‘You two are getting to know each other better, huh?’ Jonah looked across to see Con smirking in the doorway, in jeans and a tight red top. ‘I should shut the door, hang a Do Not Disturb sign, no? Give you boys some privacy?’

‘Funny,’ Motti muttered. He looked down at Jonah. ‘Are we through here?’

‘Whatever,’ said Jonah.

Con nodded approvingly. ‘See you downstairs.’

Motti got up, pushed his glasses back on his nose. ‘Nice move there,’ he said grudgingly, rubbing his balls ruefully. Then, to Jonah’s surprise, he offered his hand.

Jonah grimaced. ‘I’ll take the clean one, thanks.’

Motti half-smiled, swapped hands and helped him up. ‘Learned to take care of yourself in the slammer, huh?’

‘Used to get visits from guys whose idea of fun was to load a sock full of batteries and cosh the crap out of you. If you don’t get in first …’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry. I s’pose.’

‘’S OK. I know how it is.’

‘You’ve been inside?’

‘Few times.’ Motti paused. ‘But you know, man, you gotta learn a whole new way of fighting now. Coldhardt’s taught us some real moves.’

‘Didn’t notice you using them.’

‘Not allowed to kill you on the first day.’ Motti smiled wryly and gestured at the wardrobe. ‘Look, there’s clothes in there – Con chose ’em for you, so bitch at her if they don’t fit. You want to shower first, that’s cool.’ He headed for the door. ‘Meet us downstairs in twenty, ’K?’

Jonah stared after him. ‘Con chose this stuff for
me
?’

‘And the curtains and shit. All of it. You wanna redecorate, it’s down to you. It’s your room, geek.’

‘My room?’ Jonah stared round bewildered. ‘So, is this place where you live?’

‘Live. Plan. Play. One of the perks of the job.’ Motti
was looking impatient, still rubbing at his tender parts. ‘Come downstairs, shut your mouth and open your ears – in twenty. You’ll find out all you wanna know.’

The shower was hot and powerful, the scented gels and foams light years away from the stuff he’d had inside. Engulfed in a thick white towel, Jonah chose a pair of dark boot-cut jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt. They were a perfect fit. His old trainers had been dumped in the bin and he could understand why. They hardly measured up to the Nikes and New Balances crowding the polished floor of the wardrobe.

He looked in the mirror on his chest of drawers, grimaced at how pale and pasty he looked. Then he noticed a tub of hair gel sitting open beneath it. A note had been placed inside the lid, in the same flamboyant pen –
For bed head
.

‘Looks like Con thinks of everything,’ he murmured, and felt once again that familiar sense of unease. He looked at the PC. A bribe? Or just a tool for him to do whatever it was he was here for?

Cautiously, Jonah opened his door, and felt a cooling breeze. Two enormous fans turned silently in the high ceiling, which was studded with spotlights. He saw now that his room gave on to a wide swathe of polished mahogany, a kind of gallery area extending from the landing. Incongruously, a retro tabletop Scramble arcade game stood beside the intricately carved balustrade.

To his left was a wide wooden spiral staircase. A strip of deep white carpet snaked down its length,
bolted into the well-crafted angles with chrome stair rods. ‘Where do you lead, I wonder?’ murmured Jonah, as he crossed to the gallery and looked down on to a huge space that was more like a common room or a club than the expected grand entrance hall. The floor, painted black, was littered with fat brown cracked-leather sofas, arranged around a full-sized snooker table that dominated the room. Drinks and snacks dispensers flanked fruit machines, a wall of flickering neon to the right of the room.