CHERUB: Shadow Wave (2 page)

John laughed. ‘Expect it’ll be your last time if this goes down right.’

‘Better go, they’ll be here soon,’ James said, feeling stunned as he dropped the Samsung into his jeans.

Your last time.

The three words made James feel like someone had smashed a brick around his head. He thought about his missions: Help Earth, KMG, Arizona Max, Leon Tarasov, the Survivors, the AFA, Denis Obidin, Mad Dogs, Street Action Group. Was the Führer his last target? Was today the final act of his CHERUB career?

The idea sent a sad ache through James, and remembering what he’d seen in the mirror upstairs made him sadder still. CHERUB agents were kids. They were effective because they were small and innocent and adults didn’t suspect them. But James was no child. He was seventeen years old. He had the kind of imposing physique that people crossed the road to avoid and his stubbly face and bent nose looked about as innocent as a Russian battle tank.

A tear welled, but the adrenaline kick nixed it when he heard the Führer’s Mercedes. It rumbled into his cul-de-sac, skimming past fancy houses before crunching up the gravel drive. The E-class saloon was a brute. Top of the line AMG sports model, with a V8, blacked-out windows, fat tyres and fancy alloys.

James recognised the three men inside as he grabbed a rear door on the passenger side. The Führer was in the driving seat, short and poisonous with his miniature Hitler-style moustache. The front passenger was Rhino, a biker and long-time Brigands associate who’d never actually joined the gang. In the back was Dirty Dave. Bald and with a thick moustache, he owned half of the strip clubs and massage parlours in South Devon.

‘Morning all,’ James said, as he lowered himself on to the tan leather.

He was surprised to get shoved back out by Dirty Dave. ‘What’s on your back?’ he barked angrily.

James panicked as he realised he was still wearing his biker jacket. It bore the patch of the Monster Bunch, marking James out as a member of this feeder gang to the Brigands.

‘Wear your patch in a car,’ the Führer growled, shaking his head contemptuously as he reached under the dashboard and pulled the lever to open the boot. ‘Shit for brains.’

For outlaw bikers the coloured insignia on the back of their jackets was sacred. They often travelled in cars, but it was against the rules to wear your club patch while travelling on more than two wheels.

James backed up and jogged to the rear of the car. The interior of the boot was huge. There was a pink golf bag belonging to the Führer’s wife and two leather Brigands jackets folded lovingly so that the patches were on display. More significantly James saw two baseball bats, a pair of crowbars and a cricket bag bulging with guns and ammunition boxes.

‘Let’s go make money!’ Rhino said cheerfully, as James slammed his door and the eighteen-inch alloys spun in the gravel.

*

Their destination was Kam’s Surf Club, a dozen miles east of Salcombe. Two storeys high, the restaurant hung precariously close to a cliffs edge, its blue planks weathered by salt spray off the sea below. Kam’s food was a mix of noodles and burgers, with a fifties-style counter, vintage jukebox and surf memorabilia hanging off the walls.

The joint would be packed out come tourist season, but that was a couple of months off and the only customers at two on a Tuesday afternoon were German backpackers, cocooned in a romantic bubble as they shared a calamari platter and watched waves crashing in the rocky cove below.

‘Service!’ the Führer boomed, as he came through the door. ‘Mr Kam, stop frying them rats and get your dirty yellow can out here.’

The Germans were unnerved by the presence of four aggressive looking bikers. James was last through the swinging doors, eyeing the tanned legs emerging from the female backpacker’s cut-off jeans as he recognised Johnny Cash playing
Ring of Fire
on the jukebox.

The chef and owner came out of his kitchen. Kam was stocky, with his straight black hair tied in a ponytail and a striped apron around his waist. He smiled at the Führer, but body language made it clear he was the last person Kam wanted to see.

The Führer turned to James. ‘Get the VHS.’

As James headed towards the service counter, Dirty Dave stepped up to the two backpackers. The girl looked at her boyfriend. He was chunky, going for the lumberjack look in his plaid shirt and Aran sweater, but he’d never thrown a punch in his life.

‘I don’t want trouble,’ the German said in stilted English as he raised his hands.

Dirty Dave stopped half a step shy of the table. The Germans recoiled as he reached over and rammed a piece of battered calamari in his mouth.

‘Tasty,’ he said, nodding as he chewed. ‘Dirty Dave likes a bit of the old octopus.’

The female backpacker glanced anxiously at her man. James spoke no German, but it didn’t take a genius to translate
let’s get the hell out of here.

Dirty Dave reached towards his trousers. The German flinched, thinking he was going for a weapon, but instead Dave hooked his thumbs around his belt loops and yanked down his jeans. The woman caught the briefest glance of Dirty Dave’s flopping penis before shooting back from the table and screaming.

‘How’s about some English sausage?’ Dirty Dave sneered. ‘Let me show you the real reason we won the war.’

The male backpacker took a twenty from his wallet and threw it at the table, before grabbing his girlfriend and the backpacks and hurrying towards the exit.

‘Aww, come on baby,’ Dirty Dave shouted, as he waddled after them with his filthy jeans around his knees. ‘Why play so hard to get?’

Rhino and the Führer howled with laughter as James stepped behind the counter. Amidst the dishwashers and beer kegs was a dilapidated security recorder. James ejected the VHS and held it in the air.

‘Got the tape, boss,’ he called.

‘Don’t leave it behind,’ the Führer ordered, then turned towards Kam wearing a sarcastic grin. ‘Why the sour face?’ he teased.

‘How can I pay you when you throw out my customers?’ Kam shouted furiously.

The Führer laughed. ‘Two customers makes a difference? You had this place
heaving
all last summer. You owe me three weeks. That’s seven hundred nicker.’

‘Four fifty,’ Kam corrected.

‘Price shoots up when you don’t pay me,’ the Führer snarled menacingly, before grabbing Kam’s apron and pulling him close. ‘Don’t think that I’m letting things slip, just because a couple of my men are behind bars.’

‘I can’t pay so much in winter,’ Kam squirmed. ‘You see how many customers I have.’

‘These old wooden buildings burn easy,’ the Führer threatened, as his hands made the shape of an explosion. ‘Poof.’

‘Who else is home?’ Rhino asked.

‘Just my wife and the translator you asked for,’ Kam answered. ‘Back in the kitchen.’

‘Get ‘em out here in plain sight,’ Rhino shouted to James.

As James forced the VHS tape into his leather jacket, he stepped through an archway into a spacious and impeccably clean kitchen. The first woman he saw was Kam’s wife, Alison. She was dressed to wait on tables in white pumps and a pale blue mini-dress. The other woman was Kerry Chang. Kerry was a sixteen-year-old CHERUB agent and James’ current girlfriend, but he couldn’t let on that he knew her and they avoided eye contact.

‘You two bitches get out here,’ James said forcefully.

Alison stepped out of the kitchen as James checked around to make sure nobody was hiding. As Kerry walked by, she gave James a tiny smile and silently mouthed, ‘All good.’

‘Aww, look at this little piece!’ Dirty Dave leered, admiring Kerry as she emerged from the kitchen. ‘Mag-bloody-nificent, though a boob job wouldn’t go amiss.’

Kerry was self-conscious about her small chest and James felt like punching Dirty Dave’s face in as the moustachioed biker sidled up to his girlfriend.

‘So you’re our little ching-chong Chinese translator?’ Dave asked, placing one hand on Kerry’s shoulder and sliding it down her back. ‘You want my number baby? Me dig Asian girls.’

Dirty Dave made Kerry’s stomach churn. He not only had cigar breath and BO, but she’d read police reports about girls who’d been abused inside his clubs, but were too scared to give evidence against a member of the Brigands. Kerry had the skills to flip Dirty Dave like a pancake, but she was on a mission and had to play her part by backing off and looking suitably repulsed.

‘She’s a bit young,’ Rhino commented, as he looked at Kam. ‘You sure she’s up to translating?’

‘Why can’t you do it?’ Dirty Dave added.

Kam spoke furiously. ‘Because I don’t speak bloody Chinese. I grew up in Exeter, you understand? And my bloody mother was from the Philippines, not China.’

Kerry took a half step back as Dirty Dave’s hand reached her bum. He jerked her back and made like he was about to kiss her. Fortunately the Führer stepped in before she had to push him away.

‘Hands off, Dave,’ the Führer warned. ‘You’ve got enough pussy. We need this one for the meeting upstairs.’

Dirty Dave was put out by the rebuke. He couldn’t take it out on the Führer, so he strode briskly across the floor and slugged Kam in the stomach.

‘Nice shot!’ Rhino laughed, as Kam doubled up in pain.

‘Where’s our money?’ the Führer demanded. ‘Little yellow bastard. I bet you’ve got a hundred grand under the bed, ain’t you?’

‘I’ll pay as soon as I can,’ Kam gasped.

‘You see this boy here, Mr Kam?’ the Führer shouted, pointing at James.

Kam nodded as he straightened up. James had no idea why the Führer was pointing at him.

‘James is my up-and-comer,’ the Führer explained, as he eyeballed Kam. ‘He’s young, but he’s hard as nails and I’m putting him on your case. He’ll be coming round here regular to collect your payments. If you don’t pay, expect pain.’

‘Why don’t you leave him alone?’ Alison shouted as the Führer shoved her husband towards James.

‘Show our man what you can do,’ the Führer told James.

Two factors had enabled James to infiltrate the Führer’s inner circle over the previous months: his advanced combat skills made him the ideal person to have on your side during a war between biker gangs, while his youth made the Führer think he was too young to be an undercover cop.

James had no problem when it came to thumping a member of another biker gang, but a hard-working civilian like Kam was entirely different.

‘What shall I do?’ James said awkwardly.

‘Mess him up,’ Dirty Dave urged. ‘Your choice. Smash his fingers or something.’

James had to think fast. Most young bikers would do anything to impress the Führer. He didn’t want to hurt Kam badly, but he couldn’t back off without destroying his credibility.

‘Can’t break his fingers, can I?’ James said casually, trying to buy time. ‘Chef can’t earn money with a broken hand.’

The solution came to James in a flash. He grabbed Kam around the back of the neck and gripped his right arm. Kam was stocky and almost as strong as James, but with no combat experience Kam had no idea how to defend himself as James expertly wrenched his arm behind his back.

From this position the easiest thing would have been for James to snap the arm, but instead he gripped Kam’s bicep and violently twisted his upper arm, causing a crunching sound as his shoulder joint dislocated.

James had suffered this injury during combat training a couple of years earlier. A dislocated shoulder looked dramatic and was extremely painful, but was much less serious than a broken bone. A doctor could relocate Kam’s joint. He’d be stiff for a few days, but fully recovered within a week.

Not that Kam appreciated James’ consideration as he crumpled to the floor.

Alison charged towards James and screamed, as Rhino, Dirty Dave and the Führer laughed appreciatively. James didn’t want to hurt Alison, so he intercepted her painted nails as she tried to claw his cheek and gave her a shove. She stumbled backwards into a table, tipping it up and sending condiments and a serviette dispenser crashing to the floor.

As Kerry rushed over to calm Alison down, James put on a show of menace, spitting on the floor in front of Kam’s face and pounding his fist into his palm.

‘I’d stay down if I was you,’ James warned. ‘And next time I see you, you’d better have our money or I’ll be sticking your hand in the deep fryer.’

Kam sat on an upturned bucket in the Surf Club kitchen. He held a pack of ice cubes against his injured shoulder, while tears streamed out of his eyes. Dirty Dave was outside by the bar, while the other Brigands had gone upstairs.

‘It’s just dislocated,’ Kerry whispered in Kam’s ear. ‘After the Brigands meeting we’ll take you straight to hospital.’

Alison didn’t like having Brigands in her restaurant, and was no fan of the attractive sixteen-year-old fussing over her husband either.

‘What do
you
know about his arm?’ Alison asked Kerry furiously. ‘You don’t look like any doctor I’ve ever met.’

Kerry quelled a mix of nerves and anger. ‘I know first aid,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’m not an expert, but I think it’s a dislocated shoulder.’

Alison turned towards her husband and pointed an accusing finger at Kerry. ‘Where do you know
her
from, anyway?’

‘You’ll understand when this is over,’ Kam said, as he winced with pain. ‘Stay calm and trust me.’

‘Trust you?’ Alison hissed. ‘You’ve been shaken down and beaten up. You’re in debt to the Brigands and now those lunatics are holding meetings upstairs in our restaurant. How can you expect me to stay calm? I told you to go to the police months ago.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Kerry warned, as she pointed up at the ceiling. ‘If they hear you making threats about the police they’ll kill us.’

‘Trust me, Alison,’ Kam repeated firmly. ‘On our daughters’ lives, if this goes wrong I’ll divorce you. You can have everything.’

‘That’s a bloody laugh,’ Alison snorted. ‘What do I get? The mortgage on the house? The debts on the restaurant? You’re
so
stupid I can’t even look at you.’

Alison stormed out of the kitchen into the dining area. Dirty Dave stood at the small bar, where he’d been helping himself to Wild Turkey.