Authors: Robert Muchamore
‘They might even be able to bust Leon that way.’
‘Yeah James,
if
they find evidence strong enough to prove a link between Leon and the stolen cars in court. But that’s a very big if. You’ve seen how well he covers his back.’
*
The house was further from the tube station than the boys expected. They both had baseball hats pulled down over their faces and Dave slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses as they turned into Montgomery Grove. It was a posh street, lined with detached houses.
Dave took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and re-read his instructions. It was purely a nervous thing, because he could have recited the words by heart.
They passed a couple of kids on bikes; Dave turned to James as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘The burglar alarm will go off thirty seconds after we enter. So no messing about, OK?’
James tutted. ‘Well
d-uh
.’
‘The car is in the garage and the scout left the keys in the driver’s door. We’ll take one number plate each.’
‘What type of car is it?’ James asked.
‘Porsche Cayenne Turbo.’
‘Oh
cool
,’ James gasped. ‘The four-by-four one. Can I drive? I’m more into motorbikes than cars, but
Cayennes
do a hundred and seventy miles an hour, even though they’re absolutely massive.’
‘Good idea,’ Dave said. ‘A thirteen-year-old driving a sixty-grand car through London in broad daylight. That’s not gonna attract any attention.’
James grinned. ‘I still think we should have done this last night.’
‘It’s swings and roundabouts,’ Dave explained. ‘Darkness is an advantage for the actual break-in, but there’s a lot less cars around at night, so it’s harder to blend in with the traffic during the getaway.’
James stopped walking and called back to Dave. ‘Number thirty-six, Dave. This is it.’
The boys pulled on washing-up gloves as they walked up the driveway.
‘Nervous?’ Dave asked.
James smiled. ‘Only a bit.’
‘Remember James, we’re not risking our lives over Leon bloody
Tarasov
. If it gets heavy, we surrender.’
‘OK,’ James nodded, as he walked on to the front doorstep and rang the bell.
Dave crept through to the back garden and pulled a crowbar out of his backpack. Once James had given it half a minute to make certain nobody was in, he followed Dave around the side of the house and gave him the nod.
Dave plunged the crowbar into the frame of a glass door in the conservatory. It took a couple of strong pulls on the metal lever to break the lock, followed by a shoulder charge and a kick to break the chain on the inside.
Dave held his shoulder and clenched his teeth with pain as he charged through the steamy conservatory and into the house with James on his tail. James felt a surge of anxiety as he caught the sound of a burglar alarm control panel bleeping; counting down the half-minute until the main siren erupted.
They cut through a luxuriously furnished living-room, with a giant photo of a married couple and their two sons hanging over the fireplace. Dave opened a narrow door that led into a double garage. There was a black BMW parked beside the giant Porsche.
‘Quality,’ James grinned.
Dave handed James a number plate. ‘Fix that on.’
Raul had given Dave a set of stick-on plates. The number corresponded to another Cayenne Turbo finished in the same colour; so if the police spotted the vehicle and ran a computer check they’d come up clean.
The main alarm went off as James and Dave crouched at opposite ends of the car. James had to take one of his gloves off to get his nail under the sticky backing on the plate, but his nervous state meant he was all fingers and thumbs. His heart went into overload when he realised that Dave had stuck on the rear plate and was already climbing into the driver’s seat.
‘What are you pissing around at?’ Dave shouted over the wailing alarm.
James finally lifted up the sticky backing and peeled it away. Dave had started the engine by the time he’d fixed it on. James sprinted around the car and jumped into the passenger seat. Dave was in a complete state.
‘I can’t find the
plipper
,’ Dave shouted.
‘What?’ James gasped.
‘The button on the dashboard, or the little doo-
dah
box
thingummy
that works the garage door,’ Dave explained frantically.
James joined Dave in the hunt. He popped open the glove box and a torrent of maps and sunglass cases spilled into his lap.
‘Oh
shit
.’
‘Get out and push the switch,’ Dave shouted, pointing at a green button mounted on the wall.
James got as far as opening the passenger door, but as he stepped out he spotted the
plipper
dangling off the steering column.
‘It’s on the key fob, you
tosser
,’ James shouted.
Dave manically grabbed the fob and pressed the button. The double garage doors began rumbling towards the ceiling at an agonisingly slow pace. When the door was halfway up, an elderly woman dressed in a straw hat and gardening gloves ducked under and furiously opened up the door beside James.
‘Get out of that car, young man,’ she demanded. ‘We don’t tolerate ruffians like you around here.’
She grabbed a handful of James’ T-shirt. Dave had begun rolling the car forwards, but he had to hit the brake. James had a free right arm and enough strength to punch his adversary into the following week, but he couldn’t bring himself to thump an old lady.
‘Get rid of her,’ Dave shouted.
James gave the woman a shove, but she had her nails sunk into his T-shirt and the neck ripped apart as she tumbled backwards. He swivelled on his leather seat and used his legs to shove the woman out of the way before reaching across to slam his door. The garage was now fully open.
‘Drive,’ James shouted.
‘Are her legs out of the way?’ Dave asked.
‘Yeah.’
James locked his door as Dave rolled cautiously away.
‘I don’t want to run her over,’ Dave said. ‘Are you sure her feet aren’t under the car?’
‘I told you she’s clear. Get a bloody move on.’
The big Porsche roared as Dave pulled it out of the garage. He spotted the old lady’s husband doddering up the driveway. He wore a blazer with gold buttons and came armed with a garden fork.
‘You little
buggers
,’ he shouted.
For one nasty moment, James thought the old man was going to dive on to the bonnet. Instead, he launched the fork at the car like a javelin. James instinctively ducked down as the metal prongs bounced against the windscreen.
As the fork clattered harmlessly into the gravel, Dave slammed on the brakes to avoid swiping a kid who was racing his bike along the street. A whole family was rushing down the driveway of the house opposite to see what had set off the alarm.
Dave checked the road and pulled out at speed. He hit sixty, before braking sharply and taking a right into a busy main road.
‘Them two old codgers must have a death wish,’ Dave shouted furiously. ‘If we’d been real robbers, we could have had knives, guns or anything.’
‘Bonkers,’ James said, staring at his ripped T-shirt and shaking his head. ‘Stark raving bonkers.’
Dave blasted his horn, swerved around a car stopped at a crossing, ran a red light and then piled on the accelerator as they flew past the underground station, touching seventy miles an hour.
‘It’ll be a miracle if we get out of here without the cops nailing us,’ Dave said. ‘And I don’t care how much Leon offers, or what it means for the mission, I’m not gonna be stealing any more cars.’
‘Too right,’ James said, anxiously looking back over his shoulder for any sign of chasing cops. ‘It’s not worth it.’
Dave’s rusting Ford rolled on to Leon’s used car lot just after 9 a.m. The plastic signs hanging over the
Portacabin
declared that
Tarasov
Prestige Motors specialised in
The finest second-hand Jaguar and Mercedes automobiles
, but the reality was a ragged mixture of retired company cars and small hatchbacks.
Not many people buy cars on a Wednesday morning, so Pete
Tarasov
didn’t mind helping Dave fit the new compressor for the air-conditioning and some other bits that they’d picked up at the scrap yard the previous day. Both lads were underneath the jacked-up
Mondeo
when Leon lumbered out of the cabin holding two mugs.
‘Hot tea standing on the bonnet,’ Leon shouted.
Dave crawled out from under the car and got a weird ground-level perspective on Leon’s massive gut.
‘Raul tells me yesterday was your one and only,’ Leon grinned.
Dave wasn’t sure if he was supposed to talk in front of Pete.
‘It’s OK. He knows the score.’
‘A little granny trouble, so I’m told,’ Pete smirked, as he picked up his mug with greasy fingers and took a swig.
‘I’m sorry, Leon,’ Dave said. ‘I’ve been in foster homes and institutions my whole life. I want to make this work for me and James. I don’t want to run the risk of getting banged up.’
‘I understand,’ Leon nodded. ‘No hard feelings. It sounds like you caught a rough one and not everyone has the stomach for nicking cars.’
‘You know, Uncle Leon, I was thinking,’ Pete said.
Leon grinned. ‘Why is it that every time you use your brain my wallet gets nervous?’
Pete smiled. ‘Seriously, Uncle Leon, I’m off to university in a couple of months. Dave’s gonna be my perfect replacement here on the lot. He knows his way around a car. He can fix up any little niggles when the new stock comes in from the auctions. Keep ’em clean, maybe even start doing a bit of selling when it gets busy on Saturdays.’
Leon shrugged. ‘I can think of worse ideas, but what about school?’
‘I’m thinking about applying for college, but only part-time,’ Dave said.
‘I can show Dave the ropes over the next month or so while I’m still here,’ Pete said.
‘I’ll put you on a month’s trial. Six quid an hour to start and we’ll work out your hours as things go along.’
‘Cheers, Leon,’ Dave grinned. ‘I can’t believe how great you guys have been to me and James.’
Dave turned and thanked Pete, as Leon lumbered back to the
Portacabin
.
‘Don’t mention it,’ Pete grinned. ‘Just make sure you’re not lying under one of the cars when my uncle finds out what you’ve been up to with his daughter.’
*
James recovered from the disappointing draw with Tottenham, taking a couple of easy scalps in his FIFA 2005 Premiership campaign. He ended up ten points clear with five games left to play, meaning the title was almost in the bag. He paused the game when Hannah rang his mobile.
‘Aren’t you in school?’ James asked.
‘I’m too cool for school,’ Hannah giggled. ‘I’m on the bus home. It’s the last day of term. I got up to the school gates and I thought,
I can’t handle this
.’
‘Last day of term’s usually a riot,’ James grinned. ‘Running around the corridors and booting the classroom doors open. One school I was in, we had seven fire alarms in a day.’
‘Not at my school. I think the high point of the festivities was going to be a clarinet recital. So, do you fancy hanging out, or what?’
‘Cool,’ James grinned. ‘I’m only sitting on my butt playing computer games.’
‘My parents will both be out at work, and your place isn’t exactly,
erm
…’
‘You can say it,’ James laughed. ‘I know I live in a complete dump. It’ll be much better round your gaff if you’re sure it’s safe.’
When Hannah hung up, James took off the pause and finished his match. It was only a few minutes after that when Hannah tapped her ring on the living-room window. She led James to her flat, which had an upstairs, like the
Tarasovs
’. The interior was over the top, like somebody had watched too many home makeover shows on TV, but Hannah’s room was cool. She had a collection of lava lamps, a white sheepskin rug and a life-sized Austin Powers cut-out pinned on her door.
‘Retro,’ James grinned, as he inspected an old record player with its loudspeaker built into the front.
‘I like finding old things in markets and that,’ Hannah explained. ‘Shops are so boring, everyone ends up with exactly the same stuff.’
James knelt down and inspected a two-metre line of singles. ‘Where’d you get all these?’
‘My dad was gonna throw a load of them out, I got some others in second-hand shops and on
Ebay
. So pick a tune then, let’s see what kind of taste you’ve got.’
Most of the records were in plain sleeves, so you had to slide them out and read the song titles through the hole in the middle. While James flipped through, trying to find something he recognised, Hannah swapped her school skirt and blouse for a T-shirt and cargo shorts. He wasn’t bold enough to stare, but he liked what he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye.