London Belongs to the Alchemist (Class Heroes Book 4) Page 22

  Foster crouched down and James was assaulted by a strong smell of sweat.

  “Once you’re in, you’re allowed to buy Super D off me,” explained Foster. “You can then either sell on the Super D, and pay me a royalty; or you just use the drug for whatever you want. Or, if you can’t afford all that, you can just pay me a tenner a week in protection tax. Your sister owes, too. Think it over. Better to be with us than against us.”

  “We flushed your stupid drugs down the toilet,” managed James.

  Foster paused, his face flushed with anger. The sour, sweat smell seemed to increase in intensity.

  “You’d better hope you haven’t,” said Foster. “Because I don’t think you’ve got the money to pay me back what that stuff is worth. So get it, or get a new sister.”

  He pushed James’s head hard onto the tarmac.

  “Let’s go,” Foster said to the others, and the mob quickly dispersed.

  Chapter 36

  James was fuming as Nina helped him to his feet. A crowd of onlookers remained. No sign of any teachers. James felt humiliated. That he, with his powers, should be ambushed by Foster and his friends, even if they were using Super D. It left a very nasty taste in his mouth.

  “Are you all right?” asked Nina, scanning his face for signs of bruises or cuts. There would be none. James knew his injuries had already healed.

  “I’m ok, thank you,” said James, breathing heavily and dusting himself down. His school trousers were ripped at the knees where he had slid across the playground. James was shaking with anger.

  “It’s ok, James, I know how it feels,” Nina tried to reassure him. “You’re safe now.”

  But James didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted to rip Foster apart.

  “What happened?”

  James stopped dusting himself down to see Sam hurrying towards him.

  “Mark Foster beat him up,” explained Nina.

  “Him and a small army,” added James, hastily. “I couldn’t do anything,” he added meaningfully to Sam. He wanted her to know that if he had used his powers, it wouldn’t have mattered how many assailants there were.

  “Why did he attack you?” asked Sam.

  “He knows you took his drugs last night,” said Nina to Sam.

  “Then he should be asking me for them,” stormed Sam, “not picking on my brother!”

  For some reason, that didn’t make James feel any better. In fact, quite the reverse. He should be protecting his little sister, not the other way around.

  “This is all your boyfriend’s fault,” James complained.

  “What?” asked Sam, astounded.

  “You mean Al? Why is it his fault?” asked Nina.

  “Doesn’t matter,” muttered James, again frustrated that he couldn’t talk in front of Nina.

  “Look, calm down,” said Sam, gently, which sent James over the edge.

  “Forget it. I’m going to pay a visit to your boyfriend and get this sorted out.”

  He began walking away from Sam.

  “What do you mean?” demanded Sam, and she started trotting along after him. He sped up.

  Sam followed him until they were out of earshot of the other kids.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded angrily. “Why are you taking this out on me?”

  “This is Al’s fault, that’s why. He’s giving Foster the drugs. And to think you gave me a hard time about Lolly. You are such a hypocrite!”

  “I’m not, I’m trying to help,” protested Sam. She looked hurt and there was a tear in her eye. James couldn’t make himself stop.

  “Well, I’m going to help too. I’m going to see Al and stop him giving out Super D. Without the drugs, Foster is nothing. Problem solved. Then I’ll beat him.”

  “I’m coming, too,” said Sam.

  “Sorry, I’m going on my own,” said James.

  “You can’t,” urged Sam.

  “Watch me,” said James, still walking. To his annoyance, Sam kept following.

  “Maybe you should see the Head?” she suggested. “It’s more proof against Foster.”

  “People like us don’t have to leave it up to the school to fight our battles,” shouted James, over his shoulder.

  “What do you mean ‘people like us’?”

  James stopped.

  “You know what I mean. You, me and Lolly don’t need anyone to go into bat for us. We can handle ourselves.”

  “Funny how you didn’t include Al in that list.”

  “He made it pretty clear the other night that he has his own agenda. Well, he’s crossed the line. Where shall I start looking for him?”

  “You can’t bunk off school this afternoon.”

  “I can do what I like,” replied James.

  “And you can’t teleport in the school playground,” Sam admonished him.

  James didn’t like being told what he could and couldn’t do, especially by his sister.

  He conjured up an image of the empty builders’ yard next to the railway line in New Cross. What did it matter if anybody saw him? Having a power was cool. Why should he hide it? Let everybody see exactly what he was capable of and then let Foster try and take him on.

  “Please,” Sam implored.

  James hesitated. In that moment, the responsibility of making a decision was taken from him as his phone sprang to life.

  He took it out of his pocket. A video was starting to play.

  Nina and Steve came running up, waving their phones.

  “Look at this,” called out Nina.

  “This is awesome,” shouted Steve.

  He crashed into James and shoved the phone under his nose. Nina babbled as she did the same to Sam.

  “My phone just started playing this video,” gushed Nina.

  “It’s Al,” said Steve. “I didn’t press anything, it just started doing it.”

  “Mine too,” said James.

  “Mine isn’t,” said Sam, looking disappointed. “Why am I the only person who hasn’t got it?”

  Trust Sam to moan about something like that, thought James, and turned his attention back to the video.

  Al, once again dressed as DJ Alchemy, was dancing around a car park to some awful drum ‘n’ bass track.

  “… and once the film is finished,” said Al, in the familiar robotic voice, striding up to the camera and waving his arms expressively, “I want you to send it to everyone you know. Tweet it, Facebook it, email it, whatever. Let everybody know. And you’ll want to, ’cos you’re about to see something spectacular that you ain’t ever seen before.”

  As Al moved across the car park, James caught a glimpse of yellow in the background, and then he knew exactly where Al was. He exchanged worried looks with Sam.

  At first glance, Al could have been anywhere. Then he sat on a car bonnet. A bright yellow car. A bright yellow Lamborghini Aventador, which, as James knew, cost £250,000 second hand from a young Saudi guy and was owned by Nicky Cairo.

  Al laid back on the bonnet of the car and started stroking it.

  “This is so sick,” exclaimed Steve. “The guy is a genius. Love that car, is it Al’s?” he asked Sam.

  Sam was open-mouthed.

  “It’s not Al’s,” mumbled James, almost lost for words.

  The camera circled Al and the car, bringing the back of the New Cross Empire Casino into the shot. Al must have a death wish. If Nicky spotted him, he’d shoot him through the head.

  Al stood up on the bonnet of the car, then casually walked off it and back to the camera. He leaned in when he spoke.

  “Nice car, innit? Well expensive. And what goes with fast cars? That’s right, champagne, that’s what.”

  The unseen camera operator handed Al a bottle of champagne and a glass. Al unwrapped the foil around the bottle and popped the cork. The pale, fizzy liquid overflowed onto the ground. Al poured some champagne into the glass.

  “Yesterday I showed you a little magic trick, didn’t I? Let me show you a better one,” said Al. “We’d
all like a champagne lifestyle, wouldn’t we? We’d all like a car like this? Is it fair that some people should have it, and you don’t?”

  He held up the glass of champagne to the camera. Then he backed away to the Lamborghini and stood with his back to it. He pulled off his black gloves with his teeth, held the glass in his left hand and dipped his forefinger into the liquid.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is not CGI, or any special effect. Please watch.”

  Al placed his right hand on the bonnet of the Lamborghini.

  “OMG,” muttered Sam.

  “What’s he doing?” asked James.

  “I think I know,” said Sam.

  James peered closer at his screen. Was the image dodgy, or was the bonnet of the high-powered, performance sports car was wobbling?

  As the seconds passed, the whole front of the car looked like jelly on a tray. There was liquid leaking from the underside, and when James blinked and looked more closely, the entire bonnet had dissolved into a pale, fizzy liquid which cascaded onto the ground, frothing. In seconds, the entire visible section of the yellow carbon fibre bodywork was gone, exposing the chassis, the frame and the interior. James winced.

  Al moved his hand to grab the steel upper in the window frame. The entire monocoque chassis began to dissolve into a large puddle of bubbling liquid. Within moments, the window toppled outwards with a crash; the wheels fell off; and the seats, the dashboard and the rear engine dropped onto the ground with a clang.

  James realized his mouth was still open.

  “You are having a laugh,” gasped Nina. “That can’t be real.”

  “What has he done to that amazing car?” asked Steve.

  James was still staring at the screen. Faintly, he could hear a distant voice over the speakers, which sounded like a shriek of pain or a nasty expletive.

  The camera operator backed away as a flood of liquid washed towards him or her.

  “All real, ladies and gentlemen,” said Al, in his modulated, robotic voice. “I’m going to head off now, before the owner of this ex-high-performance sports car comes out of his office and shoots me with a big gun. But I promise there will be more of this tomorrow. And on Saturday… that’s the big day. Do you know what is special about Saturday? I’ll let you think about that, but in the meantime, ask yourself this — why did Dick Whittington come to London?”

  The camera remained focussed on Al’s masked face. James could hear more distorted shouting and swearing. The camera swivelled to face the fire escape of the New Cross Empire and James could see Nicky Cairo running down the metal steps, holding what appeared to be a gun.

  The camera lurched back to face Al.

  “Well, I think my work here is done, folks. But don’t miss tomorrow’s bulletin. Get your phones ready, because there will be an update at 12.30.”

  And with that the picture lurched and swung sickeningly as Al and the camera operator started running. There were a few seconds where a gun shot was heard and the camera briefly returned to the skeleton face.

  “I think I made him angry, people,” shouted Al. And then the image cut out.

  James, Sam, Steve and Nina stood staring at the blank screens.

  “Uhhh. What the hell was that about?” asked Nina.

  “I take it all back, Sam,” laughed James. “Your boyfriend is wicked.”

  “What did he mean about Saturday?” asked Steve. “What’s special about Saturday?”

  Sam started typing on her phone.

  “What’s the date on Saturday?” she asked.

  “The 21st,” said James.

  “…of April,” completed Sam. There was a pause. She screwed up her face.

  “What is it?” asked James.

  “I’m not really sure if it means anything,” replied Sam. “But the 21st of April is the Queen’s birthday.”

  Chapter 37

  Nicky Cairo was in a very bad mood, yanking the steering wheel of the BMW from point to point as he jammed his foot on the accelerator with all his strength, dodging between buses and cyclists on the A2 heading home to Bromley.

  He still hadn’t worked out who the character in the skeleton costume was, or what stupid trick had been pulled on his prize possession. Someone had nicked it, right? Then left a load of bits and a replica engine covered in champagne? He was too angry to think straight, but he had given orders to the boys to go out, find whoever was responsible, and hurt them.

  Nicky pulled up outside a cafe, where Zak was waiting for him. Zak got in and Nicky roared off, after making an obscene gesture at the bus driver behind him.

  “I heard about the Lambo,” said Zak. “Could it be the Russians? Some kind of warning?”

  “If it was the Russians, they would have stood their ground and laughed in my face. The car is something else. Someone was legging it from the club dressed in a weird black outfit and a mask.”

  Nicky couldn’t bear to discuss it anymore. He’d have to approach that problem when he was thinking rationally again. Besides, he had bigger problems.

  “What have you got?” he asked Zak. “I need some good news.”

  “I’ve got everything we need to know,” reported Zak, obviously pleased with himself. “It’s all gift-wrapped for us.”

  “Go on,” encouraged Nicky, slamming his hand down repeatedly on the steering wheel. Driving this car was like driving a brick.

  “The brat lives with the brother and sister. Their names are Samantha and James Blake. They live with their parents Roger and Yvonne in Ealing. Nothing special about them, except the kids were in that school bus that got blown up last year.”

  “The terrorist bomb? Odd coincidence. How do they know the Rosewood kid?”

  “I couldn’t work that one out. But she’s definitely staying with them. And Al Lester has got some kind of teen romance thing going with the blonde girl, Samantha. He’s been to their house.”

  “Young love is so sweet,” chuckled Nicky. “So we know where to find them all, if we need to. Good. What about the MI5 woman, Stannard?”

  “A joke. You’d think with her being in the Security Service she’d be impossible to find, like they’d make her move house or something. But no. Half of London knew her when she was in the Met. A real formidable copper. She’s still living in the same place in Wandsworth with her husband and two dogs.”

  “No kids?”

  “No.”

  “Shame. Never mind, we can still bring pressure via the husband. Don’t hurt the dogs though.”

  “You sure about this, Nicky? If we lay a finger on her, we could bring the roof down on our heads.”

  “They won’t be able to trace it back to us, and even if they do, once we’ve got Super D nobody will be able to stop us. Send the boys round now. Is Darius still pumped up on Super D?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Send him then. Do it now.”

  Zak made a quick call on his phone, giving the order.

  “What about the Russians?” asked Nicky, when Zak was finished. “Any clue where they’re staying?”

  Nicky was determined to hold all the aces if they were going into battle with the Russian mafia. It would be much easier if they could find out where these guys were sleeping and pay them an unexpected visit in the middle of the night.

  “They’re harder to find. I didn’t want to send our boys sniffing around the Russian community. If those guys get wind we’re looking for them, then we’ve got another war on our hands.”

  “Yeah, well, those guys are first on the hit list when we get hold of Super D.” Nicky wasn’t given to flights of fancy, but he had a mental image of Mr Smith and Mr Jones begging him for mercy, and him casually breaking both their arms and legs, then asking them how they would explain to their masters that they had lost a huge haul of cocaine.

  His telephone rang, which snapped him out of his fantasy.

  He didn’t recognize the number.

  “Nicky Cairo,” he answered.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Cairo.” It was a slow
, Russian burr. Nicky felt his stomach tighten.

  “This is Mr Smith. I thought I would get in touch and find out what progress you are making with our… compensation.”

  Nicky’s heart nearly burst with the desperation of wanting to get hold of Super D and tell Smith exactly where to shove his compensation.

  “I’m working on it.” He had to play this cool.

  “It is Thursday, Mr Cairo. The next shipment comes in on Sunday. You have until Saturday to pay us two million pounds or the equivalent in cocaine.”

  “Yeah, so you said.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to think this wasn’t urgent. Maybe a reminder will help you focus?”

  “I don’t need any help from you, my friend,” said Nicky through gritted teeth, clipping a cyclist as he overtook the car in front. In his rear-view mirror he saw the bright-lycra-clad man piling headfirst onto the pavement. Serve him right, I never saw him, thought Nicky, savagely.

  “We want paying, Mr Cairo,” said the voice at the end of the phone.

  “You’ll get what’s owed to you,” quipped Nicky, winking at Zak and quietly chuckling at the irony of his comment. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “So will we, Mr Cairo,” said the voice, and the phone went dead.

  “So will we, Mr Cairo,” Nicky mimicked Smith. Zak laughed.

  “When we’ve got Super D, what say I take Jones, you take Smith?” suggested Zak.

  Nicky laughed.

  “And then we swap over. No reason why we both shouldn’t teach them some manners.”

  ***

  Even despite Nicky’s ruthless driving, it took them nearly an hour to return to Nicky’s house in Bromley. They spent the journey laughing, joking and making plans.

  They pulled into the driveway and parked next to Shereen’s Range Rover. They got out of the car. Nicky slammed the door of the BMW and kicked it in disgust. He noticed Zak had a small shopping bag.

  “What’s in there?”

  Zak looked sheepish. He dipped his hand into the bag and brought out some colouring books and a packet of pens.

  “For the girls. I saw them when I was buying cigarettes. I know they like colouring.”