London Belongs to the Alchemist (Class Heroes Book 4) Read online

  Nicky chuckled. The girl had spirit, even if she was insane.

  “You make me laugh, kid,” he said. “I get that you’re pretty tough. But how are you going to spring your old man?”

  “First, I need to find where he’s being held. That’s why I need your help.”

  “You’re dreaming, sweetheart.”

  The girl smirked. It was the condescending, belittling expression of someone who knows they are superior to you. Nicky found his fingers brushing the gun.

  “You’re right. I’ve probably made a mistake,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “When I was in here yesterday, I thought that despite the… shortcomings of some of your staff, that you were a capable, powerful man. A man who could get things done.”

  Nicky wasn’t a fool. He knew flattery and crude manipulation when he heard it. But this brat, barely out of school, was very compelling, and his pride wouldn’t let him acknowledge there was something he couldn’t do.

  “Ok, ok, I take your point. But MI5 aren’t the girl guides. They’re good at keeping secrets. If we’re to find your old man, we’ll need something to go on.”

  Lolly opened her expensive bag and removed some photos, which she tossed onto Nicky’s desk. They showed a tall, brisk, red-haired woman. Multiple shots, some of the woman’s car.

  “That lady knows where my father is being held,” said Lolly. “She works for MI5, but I think she used to be in the Metropolitan Police. Maybe she arrested you at some point?”

  Nicky snorted. The kid thought she was funny.

  “I need you to find her,” she continued. “Find out where she lives and then find out where my father is being held. Her name is Stannard. I’ve written her phone number on the back of the first picture. Shouldn’t be hard for someone with your resources.”

  Nicky nodded, thoughtfully. MI5 or not, finding the woman wouldn’t be difficult. Extracting the information from her wouldn’t be too bad, either. The problem was comeback. You don’t mess with those kinds of people unless you’re prepared for a war.

  “To be honest, little girl, I don’t think you can afford me. Yeah, your old man is rich, but he’s an enemy of the state, so the Security Service are probably emptying his bank accounts right now to pay off the national debt. What have you got? Pocket money?”

  “I told you, Super D. And coke.”

  Nicky exchanged another quick glance with Zak. If this girl had access to coke, that would be enough to get the Russians off their back, at least in the short term. Long enough for Nicky to work out if Super D was the real deal.

  “I’d want a lot of it,” he said.

  “I can deliver. Naturally, I wouldn’t expect you to start work without a deposit.” Lolly picked up the plastic shopping bag and pulled out a large coffee tin. She opened the lid and casually handed the tin to Zak as though he were a concierge service.

  Zak looked impressed. He passed the tin to Nicky.

  Nicky regarded it warily. It could be coke. The only way to verify was to have it analyzed. He tried to look unimpressed, but somehow he didn’t doubt that Lolly had brought him the genuine article.

  “Aren’t you going to taste it?” asked Lolly.

  “This isn’t the movies, sweetheart,” said Zak. “Coke has no taste.”

  “It’s the real thing,” said Lolly. “Although I have no idea how much it is worth. But I’m sure you do.”

  “Let’s say for the moment that we do believe you,” said Nicky, refusing to get too excited. “Can you get more? A lot more?”

  “Yes. As much as you need.”

  “How?”

  “That’s my secret.”

  “What about Super D?”

  “I can let you have some of that, too.”

  “I want a sample now.”

  The girl reached back into the shopping bag and pulled out a small plastic bottle, which was about a third full of red, cloudy water.

  “You got it. It’s in diluted form. Care to try it?” she asked, with a mischievous grin, offering him the bottle.

  Nicky smiled and gestured to Darius, who was standing over Lolly’s left shoulder.

  Darius took a step forward, so that he was standing directly behind Lolly’s chair. He pressed a gun against her head. The girl didn’t even flinch. She was either brave, crazy, or both.

  “You have some first,” ordered Nicky.

  The girl shrugged, unscrewed the lid of the bottle, and took a considered, graceful sip of the drink. She replaced the cap, looked at Nicky, then held up the bottle for Darius to take it. Nicky was curious to see what would happen. Lolly had drunk from the bottle and was obviously suffering no ill-effects. He nodded at Darius, who nervously took the bottle.

  “It’ll restore your handsome features,” said Lolly, winking at Darius.

  “It’s ok,” Nicky reassured him. Not that Nicky had any idea whether it was ok or not. But Darius was a young guy, barely in his twenties. If the drug was dodgy, he’d have a better chance than most of recovering from it.

  “You can wipe the lid if you’re worried about catching germs from me,” said Lolly, still treating the meeting like it was a fun sleepover.

  Darius unscrewed the lid and downed the remaining liquid. He put the bottle on Nicky’s desk and looked around nervously, unsure of what was going to happen to him. He seemed to be sweating, and his eyes were wet.

  “I feel strange,” he said, and swayed. “It’s like I’ve just eaten the hottest curry,” he cracked, trying to make a joke out of it.

  Nicky was intrigued. He leaned forward in his seat. The swelling around Darius’s nose was reducing, the puffiness of his black eye diminishing, and the colour returning to his face. Even the man’s general demeanour was changing. Whereas he’d been nervous and reserved since yesterday, now he seemed confident again. The fierceness in his eyes had returned. The man had a new, inner realization of strength.

  Within the space of two minutes, the broken nose had been repaired, the black eye and the bruising had gone, and Darius looked harder, tougher, meaner and more powerful than Nicky had ever seen him before.

  “I feel incredible, boss,” he said, hopping from foot to foot, like he had more energy than he could handle. His face was wet with sweat and there were deep circles under his armpits.

  Addressing Lolly, Darius asked, “How strong am I?”

  “Try punching through that wall,” said Lolly, airily indicating the wall behind her. “Your boss has run out of new desks.”

  He didn’t wait for Nicky’s say-so. Darius turned around, walked up to the wall and without hesitation drove his fist straight through the plaster and brickwork. He withdrew his arm and looked at his knuckles, then showed them to Nicky. They were red, a little swollen, but even that quickly faded. Darius had a stupid grin on his face wider than the Blackwall Tunnel.

  This was incredible. Everything the girl had promised. Just think what he could do with an army of Dariuses. The Russians would be nothing. Nicky could crush Smith and Jones with ease, and anybody else whom they sent. He could barely take it in, that fate had dropped this amazing, incredible gift into his lap. He looked at Lolly Rosewood, his eyes shining. This angel had the power to transform everything. He’d be the most powerful man in London. In Britain!

  “Sweetheart, if I weren’t old enough to be your father, I’d marry you,” he said, laughing.

  “Thanks for the offer. You can be my backup,” drawled Lolly.

  Nicky laughed.

  “Zak, this girl is an angel, isn’t she?”

  Even Zak looked impressed.

  “I think I was born lucky,” said Nicky, feeling triumphant. He swivelled in his chair and looked out of the window at the street. His street. “I had nothing, but I grafted for what I’ve got, and everything I’ve done has turned to gold.”

  Calm down, Nicky, he told himself. Don’t get carried away. One step at a time.

  “There’s one more thing I need from you if we are to have a deal,” added Lolly.

  “Name
it.”

  “When I break my father out of the MI5 safe house, I’ll need cover. Some way of stopping the police coming after me. Confusion. I need to arrange a series of protests and riots. Stop the capitalists, that sort of thing. Can you provide a mob for me? You must know the people who are good at that sort of thing.”

  “Sure. I can lay on some troublemakers,” chuckled Nicky. That sounded like fun and was easy to do. “Zak’ll put the word out. Just let me know when.”

  “And, lastly. No comeback on me, my three friends who were here yesterday, or Al Lester’s family. What I’m offering you is compensation for yesterday’s misunderstanding. Take it or leave it.”

  It was a no-brainer as far as Nicky was concerned. Revenge was only useful if it served as an example to others. In this case, what the girl was offering far outweighed any loss of pride.

  “Miss Rosewood, for you, I’d steal Buckingham Palace. You got yourself a deal.”

  ***

  After Lolly had left, Nicky sat staring out of the window at the traffic chuntering by down below. He was aware of Zak agitating and pacing around the room.

  “I don’t like her and I don’t trust her,” he grumbled.

  Nicky smiled.

  “I don’t, either. But if the coke is genuine, we want whatever she can get us.”

  “If her father is loaded, can’t we just make her give us two million quid so we can pay the Russians?”

  “If she has access to limitless amounts of coke, then I want her as our new partner. And when we get our hands on Super D, our Russian friends won’t be a problem any longer.”

  “But she’s so damn cocky,” growled Zak. “I just want to break her in half.”

  Nicky laughed.

  “You’ll get your chance. She’s obviously using the steroid stuff, but she can’t take it all the time. So do some research, find out where she’s staying. When the time is right, we’ll teach her a lesson.”

  “I’ve got Tiny watching Al Lester and Darius is following the brat.”

  “Good. I’m going to call in a few favours, see if I can find out what’s happened to the brat’s father, and who this woman is,” he mused, holding up the photo of Stannard. “One more thing. See if you can find out who the brat’s other friends are: the brother and sister. I’m going to want to meet them again very soon.”

  Chapter 29

  Sam stayed in school at lunchtime. She remained close to Nina, who had still not recovered from the attack earlier that morning. The two girls sat on a bench in the playground, eating their lunch in companionable silence.

  Sam felt Nina flinch and looked up from her ham sandwich. Mark Foster and an entourage of four boys and two girls were heading towards them from the other side of the playground.

  “I think we should go,” whispered Nina, barely moving her lips.

  “No, wait,” said Sam, putting her hand on her friend’s arm. “I want to see what they’re going to do.”

  “They’re going to beat me up, or you,” hissed Nina, near to panic, and shifting from side to side on the bench.

  “No, they won’t, I promise,” Sam assured her. “I’m not having them intimidate you.”

  “Sam, you don’t understand. This isn’t normal bullying.”

  Foster’s gang fanned out as they drew closer to Sam and Nina. Other kids had purposefully moved out of the group’s way.

  Sam took a longer look at Mark Foster. In some ways he was similar to her brother. He was taller than most of the other boys, confident, athletic looking, and he had a definite swagger.

  That was where the similarities ended. James always had a kindly look in his eyes, his mouth always rested in a smile, and he simply loved being with his friends. By contrast, Sam had only ever seen Foster sneering. He barely registered his entourage, as though it was something he took for granted. There was a girl on his left — pretty, blonde, aloof and cool, and somehow invisible, as though she was there just to make him look good. Sam was fairly sure both Foster and this girl had been at the London Bridge party. They were the ones who had jumped through the window.

  “You looking at something, Blake?” asked Foster, as the crowd came to a halt, surrounding the bench. Nina looked like a frightened rabbit, too petrified to move.

  Sam wanted to keep the crowd’s attention away from her friend, so carried on eating her sandwich. She had learned a lot about dealing with threats over the last ten months. Strangely, it was Sir Michael Rosewood who had taught her the importance of staying calm and relaxed in the face of danger.

  “You get my message, Blake?” Foster asked.

  Sam was genuinely puzzled. Was he referring to Nina’s beating? Was that a message for her?

  “What?”

  “I sent you a text message earlier. I want an answer.”

  “I don’t have my phone with me,” she replied, getting a can of Pepsi out of her bag.

  “I bet it’s a really stupid, cheap phone,” said the blonde girl next to Foster.

  “Yeah,” Foster took up the insult. “Thick like a brick. Like something my dad would have had in the nineties.”

  “Your dad lucked out then, didn’t he,” said Sam. “’Cos then he had you.”

  The mood of the group shifted. Nobody laughed at Sam’s joke, but tension was running high. Sam wondered how many people had challenged Foster before.

  She got up, leaving the can of drink on the bench.

  “Whatever it was you wanted from me, the answer is no,” she said, coolly.

  Foster narrowed his eyes and took a step closer.

  “You don’t want to be doing this to me, Blake. You obviously don’t know who you’re dealing with. You’ve been out of the school for a long time, so let me explain. I’m collecting taxes.”

  “Are you for real?” asked Sam, smiling politely. She wanted to show Foster that he didn’t impress or intimidate her in the slightest. She wanted to rile him.

  “I’m the most real guy you’ll ever meet, sweetheart.” He was grandstanding now, performing to his entourage and looking to them for support. They laughed, dutifully. “I’m all man.”

  “All manure, you mean.”

  “Don’t get mouthy with me, blondie,” he snapped. “Your little friend has probably explained how things work around here.” He looked at Nina. Sam looked too. Poor Nina. Her hands were trembling. Sam needed to end this quickly.

  “Everybody pays a tax. Ten quid a week,” Foster explained.

  “What does that get me?”

  “Protection.”

  “Really? Who here is tough enough to protect me?”

  Foster laughed, and his gang laughed with him.

  “It’s not an offer, little girl, it’s a demand. I want a tenner from you now, and every week until I say otherwise.”

  “And if I don’t?” asked Sam, popping the last bit of sandwich into her mouth. She really didn’t want to resort to violence. Something she hadn’t previously considered was whether the whole group had taken Super D, or just Foster? If it was all of them, it would be a monster of a fight.

  “Same thing as happened to your little friend,” said Foster, cracking his knuckles.

  Sam swallowed her sandwich.

  “Wow. You managed to beat up a 14-year-old girl, and there was only the seven of you? So brave.”

  Foster laughed.

  “And you’re next. A tenner, or you go home crying to mummy with lots of bruises.”

  “Has anyone ever told you, you smell?” Sam wasn’t even sure where that comment had come from. It had popped into her head and she had just said it. It was true, Foster did smell. Even from here, Sam’s nostrils were assaulted by a nauseating, feral sweat. She looked closely at his skin. It was glistening. He was flexing and unflexing his fingers.

  His entourage were the same. They looked as though someone had poured itching powder into their underwear. Even the pretty blonde girl had sweat patches under her armpits. What was wrong with them?

  “Shall I do her over, Mark?” said
the blonde girl.

  “Yeah, let’s drag her round the playground,” said one of the boys.

  They would do it, too, Sam was sure of that. What had happened to her school, that people were behaving like this? It had never been this bad. It was as though the kids were reverting to animals. It was Lord of the Flies. Not that she had ever actually read it, but she was sure it was about something like that.

  “Last chance, Blake,” said Foster. “Pay your taxes and you’re looked after for a whole week. Nobody will dare touch you. You’re part of the gang, then.”

  Sam pretended to consider.

  “Ok, I’ll pay,” she said. Foster smiled.

  Sam went back to the bench and got her purse out of her bag. At the same time, she knocked over the can of drink. As she righted it, she gave the top a subtle, but powerful, tap with her forefinger. That should shake it up a bit.

  “Can I pay you in pennies,” asked Sam, looking over her shoulder at Foster. “I don’t seem to have a note?”

  “You stupid…” began Foster, stepping forward to grab the purse.

  She turned around, ripped open the can of Pepsi and the initial burst of fizzing, agitated liquid exploded into Foster’s face, catching him in the eyes. He immediately recoiled, clutching his face, unable to see. Sam lowered the can and crushed it, ejecting the remaining liquid all over Mark Foster’s light, grey trousers.

  Perfect. Super D or not, now that Foster was unable to see, a fight would be no contest. Added to that, Sam was fairly sure that the humiliation of the wet trousers would ensure Foster would back down.

  “Sorry about that,” said Sam, taking a step forward in challenge, waiting to see if Foster’s hangers-on would make a move on her. None of them did.

  Fortunately, the dynamic changed with the arrival of her brother and Steve Roadhouse.

  “Oh look, he’s wet himself,” shouted James, standing to the right of Sam. Steve placed himself the other side of Nina, offered the girl his hand and helped her to her feet. Now the four of them stood facing the pack of seven.

  Foster wiped the drink from his face, his eyes red. He didn’t seem to be able to focus. He was wild, but he wasn’t going to attack, not now.