Terror Kid (2 page)

‘Rico. What's happening, bad boy?' It was Karima. She was grinning as if nothing was wrong.

‘What kind of a question is that?' said Rico. ‘Can't you see they've arrested me?'

‘So what stuff did you get?'

‘Nothing. You know I was just walking home and minding my own business,' Rico replied.

‘You see,' said Karima, pointing to Rico as if he was a naughty boy. ‘You should have done some shopping, brov, at least you would have done something to get arrested for.'

The others, three boys and one girl, all began to laugh, but Rico, not wanting to engage with any of them, just turned away and looked at the back of the boy in front of him.

‘They're laughing, but even you know this isn't funny,' said Rico.

One of the many arresting officers now standing in the reception area shouted, ‘Right, that's enough. Keep your noise down.'

Karima and her friends continued to laugh and snigger, ignoring the seriousness of their situation. Karima, as usual, was the leader of the pack and did most of the talking, working hard at giving the impression she was having fun. Rico always thought that Karima overdosed on fun to overcome the pain of her childhood. She had seen too much brutality of war in her homeland. But Rico didn't do fun. Outside of his family, Rico just couldn't find much fun in the world to be joyous about.

The Enquiry Officer at the front desk checked them in and they were all formally arrested, then they were separated and led away for questioning. Rico was taken to a room where he was told to sit down by the officer who had arrested him. The officer sat opposite him but said nothing for a couple of minutes. When he did speak he did so quietly, and slowly.

‘Right, young man, listen to me carefully. My name is Detective Constable Holland. I'm going to give you a few more moments to think about where you are, and then I want you to tell me who called you out onto the streets tonight, and where you hid the goods that you stole.'

Rico wasn't playing his game.

‘I don't need any more moments. I don't need anything from you. What I need is to go home, because no one called me out, I didn't steal anything, and you got nothing on me.'

‘We got something on you all right,' said the officer, maintaining his low, serious tone.

‘What?' asked Rico.

‘We saw you walking down Dudley Road, we saw you talking to your criminally minded friends, and we know that you entered at least one shop on the Dudley Road and helped yourself to some stock. My colleagues are looking at CCTV footage as we speak, so soon, if you can't remember, I'll be able to show you what you've been up to. So you might as well tell me now. That way we save time and get this stuff done with quickly.'

Rico cracked a small smile. ‘It's all good then. I can't wait to see this footage.'

‘Good,' said the officer. ‘I suppose you're now going to demand a lawyer and you're going to tell me that I should respect your human rights.' He pointed to the door. ‘Well, what about the human rights of the people you're robbing out there? Hey, what about them?'

Rico was unmoved. ‘I don't need a lawyer, and I ain't said anything about my human rights. I just want to see this footage you have of me.'

Another officer put his head around the door; Officer Holland saw him, and said, ‘I'll be back.' And left the room.

Rico sat looking around the pale, empty walls for five minutes, then Detective Constable Holland returned and opened the door as wide as it could go.

‘Right, pick yourself up, you're free to go.' He seemed to speak reluctantly, acting as if the conversation they'd just had hadn't happened.

Rico slapped the table and spoke angrily.

‘You see. I'm sick of this. So where's this footage of me? There isn't any, is there? No, you lot just lost control of the streets, so you just start picking up everyone you can to make up for your stupidity.'

The officer stared angrily at Rico. ‘What's this? You want to stay, do you? I'm sure it can be arranged.'

‘I'm sure it can be arranged too, but whatever you lot do you can't scare me. Stop and search me as much as you like, arrest me as much as you like, you don't scare me,' said Rico. ‘Give me my stuff and let me go. I don't need to stay here any longer.'

Rico stood up and followed the officer out to the reception. As they arrived Rico saw his father confronting the desk sergeant. His father was short, but he made the noise of many men as he stamped his feet, banged his fist on the desk, and pointed with his other hand, shouting at the sergeant.

‘Let me in. I want to see my son now. You have no right to keep him here.'

The desk sergeant shuffled some papers around and replied without looking up.

‘I told you, sir, we're bringing him out to you. Raising your voice will not speed up the process.'

‘Process. What process? You don't have any process, you're just a bunch of crooks and liars. And don't call me sir. Now, where is he?'

‘Here I am,' said Rico.

‘Over to you, Sarge,' said the officer.

Rico's father, Stefan, shouted, ‘Rico. Have they charged you?'

‘No. They can't touch me,' Rico replied.

‘You haven't heard the last of this,' said Stefan to the desk sergeant. ‘I'm going to lodge a complaint.'

‘You're free to do so,' said the desk sergeant, who then waved Rico over. ‘I need you to sign for your possessions and you can be off.'

Rico's father carried on at the desk sergeant.

‘You think you can do whatever you like? Well, you can't. This is the fifth time you've picked him up this year, for no reason at all. He's fifteen, what do you want to do, give him a criminal record before he's sixteen? You haven't heard the last of this. You wait. This isn't the end.'

Handing over a see-through polythene bag with Rico's belongings, the sergeant said, ‘He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

‘The wrong place at the wrong time?' shouted Stefan, his voice getting even louder as he repeated the sergeant's words. ‘The wrong place at the wrong time? That's what you lot say every time you pick him up. The wrong place at the wrong time. He was born in this area, he lives in this area, he goes to school in this area, and he keeps getting picked up in this area. So now you tell me, where is the right place at the right time? Come on, tell me.'

‘Come on, Dad, let's go,' said Rico.

Rico and his father left the station and began to walk home. The air was thick with smoke, the streets were busy, sirens could be heard all around, and tension marked every face. As they got to the bottom of the road a car screeched round the corner and sped towards the station. Rico and his father turned to look. The car came to a sudden stop. Two arms appeared out of the side windows, both holding lit petrol bombs, which they threw at the police station. One hit the police station sign, and the other landed in the doorway. The car sped away, going from nought to sixty in six seconds, and Rico watched as the flames got bigger. The steps to the police station were ablaze, flames began to cover the door, police officers ran out spraying foam from fire extinguishers. Rico turned and began to head towards the station. ‘We have to help them, Dad,' Rico said.

His father grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

‘No, Rico,' he said. ‘They're taking care of it themselves. It's got nothing to do with us. We're just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.'

 

At home Rico apologised to his father for disturbing his night, but Stefan laughed and began to tell stories of the many times that his own father had had to get him out of police stations. Rico listened, but his mind was somewhere else.

‘I wonder what happened at the station after we left,' he said.

‘They would have dealt with it,' replied his father. ‘They have the equipment and all the right contacts.'

‘I really hope no one got hurt.'

‘So do I. But let me tell you something, you're worrying about them a lot more than they're worrying about you.'

Rico went up to his room to work on his computers. He had begun writing software for games when he was twelve. He read everything he could about computers, the people behind computers, the writing of software and the future of computers. It was his passion. His first computer had been a cheap laptop that he had bought from a second-hand shop but even after he had upgraded it, it was too slow for what he needed to do, so he passed it on to his mother. He had a Saturday job at Telford's PC, a computer shop in the city centre. The shop sold computers and accessories, but because of his knowledge Rico was allowed to pursue a sideline in computer repairs. This helped bring customers into the shop, and earned extra for him. The owner, Timothy Telford, had another employee called Ana. Rico liked Ana. She was obsessed with dressmaking and every day she came to work she would be showing off one of her creations. She worked hard in the computer shop, but her ambition was to earn enough money to start her own business making and selling dresses.

When Rico was given toys as a small boy he didn't play with them, he took them apart. He would check every detail, examine every single part, observe how they worked, and then put them back together. He felt that he couldn't play with them if he didn't know how they worked. From toy cars to tricycles, from torches to radios, he explored them all, and now he had progressed to computers.

Rico's repair business was flourishing. As well as the customers that came into the shop, there were always friends, and friends of friends, who would turn up at his house with broken games, tablets and laptops. In his bedroom he had three fully networked desktop computers, which he had made from recycled parts he got from friends, or leftover parts he got from the shop. Now he was building another computer.

He had two tables covered with computer equipment. His latest creation was on a table by the window. He had only been working on it for two days but it was to be his most powerful yet. The keyboard and monitor were in place waiting to be connected to a main case, with a fan, a sound card and a couple of memory sticks. Most of these parts had been liberated from a box of so-called junk that an estate agent had thrown out.

Rico loved history, but he knew the future was in computers.

 

City Hospital was busy. Rico's mother, Lena, spent most of her shift tending to the elderly patients on her ward. Lena had worked on this ward for two years and she had also worked on the children's ward, the emergency ward and the maternity ward in her time, so she was very experienced.

City Hospital was on Dudley Road, so some of the hospital staff could hear the riots as they were happening on the streets. Lena was asked to go and help in the emergency department – she had the experience, and they were desperate. She arrived to find nurses and doctors rushing around, frantically trying to keep up with all the casualties coming in. The Accident and Emergency ward was always busy, but tonight was like no other. Along with the DIY casualties and the drink- and-drug abusers, there were those who had been touched by the riots. Most of these casualties were people who had fallen or been pushed over as the crowds took to the streets, some were victims of robberies, and others were shopkeepers who had tried to defend their businesses.

Lena was thanked for working her many extra hours and told that she was free to go. She went to the hospital car park, got into her old, battered car and drove home.

As soon as Lena entered her house Rico came down from his room to see her, and as soon as she saw him she called him over.

‘Come here and give me a hug,' she said, her arms out wide.

As they were hugging, Stefan came into the living room and launched into the story of Rico's latest arrest. Lena wasn't surprised – he had already been stopped many times that year – but she was relieved to know that he had been released and not injured in the riots. Lena listened and when Stefan had told his story she began hers.