London Belongs to the Alchemist (Class Heroes Book 4) Page 8

  “It sounds like you are putting us in the same camp as Sir Michael,” said Mum.

  “I’m being a realist. I’m not taking any chances with the kids, and if helping Lolly is good for Sam and James then that’s what we’re going to do.”

  After an eternity of silence, Mum reluctantly said, “Fine. We’ll try it. But let’s keep a close eye on her. James, are you ok with this?”

  James nodded in what he hoped was a grown-up and responsible way.

  “Sam’s not going to like it,” he reminded his parents.

  “I’ll speak to her,” said Dad.

  Chapter 12

  Sam threw herself headfirst onto her bed and thumped the mattress with pent-up anger and frustration. How could Mum and Dad even consider taking in Lolly Rosewood, after everything she had done to them? And as for James, it was obvious what he was thinking about. Pervert!

  Home was supposed to be a safe place, a calm retreat from all the nasty things in the world.

  To make it worse, because she was grounded, she wouldn’t be able to get away from Lolly. She’d just have to stay in her bedroom and steadfastly ignore her.

  Sam rolled around on the bed before forcing herself to calm down. She picked up her phone to take another look at the text she had received earlier from ‘Al’. DJ Alchemy.

  Her heart pounded in her chest when she saw she’d received another one. Her eyes went blurry and she had to blink to refocus. Her hands were trembling and in trying to open the text she pressed the wrong button and started Angry Birds instead. Cursing herself, she tried again.

  ‘Hi Blondie. You get my txt? Really like to meet up. Tomorrow after school? Al’

  Sam looked at the time stamp. He’d sent the message half an hour ago. So if she replied now, she wouldn’t look too keen. Where could they meet? She wondered where Al lived. Then she remembered that she was grounded. She wouldn’t be able to meet him anywhere. How cruel was that?

  She considered her reply and then texted him back.

  ‘Wud love to, but am grounded after party :-( Think I’ll be allowed out when I’m 18!’

  She’d added the last sentence hoping he’d find her funny. But what if he misunderstood? What if he thought she was putting him off? Damn, why had she added that sentence? Perhaps she should send him another text, explaining?

  Sam agonized over it for the next five minutes, until she was put out of her misery by Al responding.

  ‘I can wait for you ;-)’

  Sam laughed. She liked that. But a minute later and she was despondent again. Was that it? Was that goodbye? Should she text something else, or had he already moved on to the next girl in his contacts?

  Her phone pinged again.

  ‘How about lunchtime? What school you at? I’ll meet you.’

  Wow, he was keen. Was this for real? Why would someone as cool as Al be that interested in her? London was a big place and if he lived miles away it could take him an age to get to Ealing. Another cloud of gloom descended on Sam.

  ‘I’m not allowed to leave school at lunchtime either :-(’

  Great. So while he was some megastar DJ who was running the coolest parties in town, she was the little girl whose parents wouldn’t let her out of their sight.

  Her phone pinged. Another text.

  ‘Were you allowed to go to party? What’s worst that cud happen? Grounded till you’re 21? ;-)’

  Sam laughed out loud. He had a point, but she was supposed to be earning Mum and Dad’s trust back. She dreaded to think what they would do if she disobeyed them again. But this was the first time a boy had shown any real interest in her and it was sending her head into a spin.

  ‘Ok. I’m at South Ealing Comprehensive. Cud meet u at The Bean Counter coffee house on South Ealing Rd. 12:45?’

  Moments later and he replied:

  ‘c u there :-) Al’

  Sam flopped back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, deliriously happy. She tried to push the thought of what she was doing out of her head. Was it really so bad to break her curfew for this? She’d only gone to the party to keep James out of trouble, so it wasn’t actually fair that she was grounded. Ergo, as long as nobody found out, there was no harm in meeting Al.

  With her inner judge having dismissed the case against her, Sam busied herself tidying her bedroom so as not to think about the issue any further. But she was unable to suppress her excitement and she realized she was singing as she folded up her clothes and put them in the wardrobe. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter 13

  Lolly Rosewood followed Yvonne Blake along the narrow corridor, past Sam’s room, past James’s room, to the guest bedroom. It was small, with a single bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. There was a clean towel on the bed. The room was tastefully decorated in a light shade of pink and the big duvet looked soooo inviting. Lolly felt incredibly tired all of a sudden.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable in here. It’s probably not what you are used to,” said Yvonne, awkwardly.

  The bedroom was less than a fifth of the size of her room at Wentworth Manor, her own house. It had the same clean and tidy look of the hotel rooms that she had been staying in, but Lolly had never seen anything more welcoming. It had the warmth of a family’s home.

  “It’s lovely, Mrs Blake,” she said. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

  Yvonne smiled back, although her eyes lacked any real warmth. Lolly knew the whole family would be suspicious of her for some time. She didn’t know what to say to the woman. She’d handled a countless number of her father’s girlfriends, but this was different. Yvonne wasn’t her mother or one of her father’s endless series of women. Lolly had no context of how to talk to her.

  “Dinner will be at six o’clock. I’m sure you must be hungry. Do you like beef and ale pie?”

  “I love it,” said Lolly, nearly groaning. Her stomach rumbled. Food was something she could relate to.

  “Do you have any clothes?” asked Yvonne.

  Lolly looked at the outfit she had borrowed from James. She had been buying clothes and binning them at the end of the day and she had nothing else with her now, except the business suit she had worn at the school.

  “I’ll buy some more tomorrow,” she said.

  Now Yvonne looked genuinely sorry for her.

  “I’ll wash the things you came in today so you’ve got something for tomorrow.” She paused, and added in a stilted voice. “Please don’t betray our trust.”

  Lolly was surprised.

  “I won’t,” she said.

  “And I want you to promise that you won’t use your powers while you are staying with us. Not under any circumstances, is that understood?”

  “It’s understood,” said Lolly, but this raised a flare of resentment in her. Lolly’s powers were her most treasured possession. Nobody, no matter who they were, had the right to deny her that.

  For now, she had no choice but to be gracious.

  What should she do now? She reached into the pocket of her borrowed jogging bottoms and removed her purse. She proffered a wad of fifty pound notes to Yvonne.

  “Here, this is for rent or keep, or whatever the right word is. I don’t want to put you out.”

  Yvonne shook her head.

  “Hold on to your money for the time being, dear. We’ll sort that out later.”

  Yvonne gave her another smile, this one slightly warmer, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  Lolly sat on the bed, unable to articulate the fluttering feeling in her stomach. The purse contained bank cards and a thousand pounds in cash. Her only other possession was a pay-as-you-go phone. She placed them under her pillow.

  She heard a noise from the corridor outside. She opened the door a fraction and peered out. It was James, heading for his bedroom. He saw her and stopped. Lolly smiled at him.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” James replied, looking inscrutable. What did he really think of her? She had fully expected him to sta
rt fighting her back at the school. The fact that he hadn’t must mean that he liked her, at least a little bit.

  “Room ok?” he asked.

  “It’s close to yours, so yes,” she replied, coquettishly.

  James raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m just kidding,” she said, playfully. “Thanks for not kicking me out. Thanks for not kicking me.”

  “You’re welcome,” James replied.

  “I’ll see you for dinner. I want to have a little sleep first,” said Lolly.

  “Cool. See you then.”

  James went into his bedroom and closed the door.

  Reluctantly, Lolly closed her own door and laid back on the bed.

  Stage one complete.

  Chapter 14

  Nicky Cairo had convened a war council in the New Cross Empire, his number one nightspot in south-east London.

  The casino was closed on Mondays. The only people in the building were Nicky, Zak and the guys who ran his other clubs: Nayim, his cousin who managed Cairo Nights in Bromley, and George, another cousin who ran The Egyptian Lounge in Ladywell. All of them trusted lieutenants, all tasked with resolving the problem of the Russians. But one lieutenant was missing.

  “Where the hell is Monkey?” asked Nicky, irritably.

  Monkey Taylor was an old pal who managed Soul of London, a jazz club in Peckham.

  “Sent me a text about an hour ago, said he had something for us and he was on his way,” said Zak, looking at his phone.

  “Well he should be here!” snapped Nicky. Monkey knew Nicky’s obsession with punctuality. It had better be something good, for his sake.

  “Can’t we just get our gear from another supplier? We don’t need the Russians and we don’t need Monkey,” said Nayim.

  There was little love lost between Nayim and Monkey, and the rivalry between his aides was grating on Nicky’s nerves.

  “Not an option,” he replied, wearily rubbing his hands over his face. “We’re in too deep and if we cross them, they’ll kill us and our families as easily as that.” Nicky snapped his fingers. “Yes, it’s two million quid, but cheaper to pay them off than start a war we can’t win. But I’m not handing over my own money. We need to get creative and make up that shortfall. So what’s the word on the street?”

  Nayim lit up a cigarette, took a puff, blew out the smoke.

  “I heard something interesting. About a kid.”

  “A kid?” scoffed Zak. “How much dinner money do we have to rip off to make two million?”

  “You hear about that rave at London Bridge on Friday night?” asked Nayim, ignoring Zak.

  “Yeah, I heard,” said Nicky. This was getting boring. “Bunch of dropouts took over a warehouse or something, smashed it up, big rave. So what?”

  “Word is that it was all run by some kid. Calls himself DJ Alchemy. Holds these secret raves, the kids love it. My daughter tried to go until I straightened her out.”

  “What’s your point?” asked Nicky.

  “Point is,” said Nayim, taking a long draw on his cigarette, “I heard that the cops found a load of drugs after they busted the place. Most of it in bottles of lemonade or something. But they reckon there must have been nearly a hundred grand worth of gear in that building that night.”

  Nicky raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Are you saying the DJ kid was dealing it?”

  “Not dealing, just giving it away free.”

  Nicky’s eyes narrowed.

  “Is he trying to seed the market? That’s risky on somebody else’s patch.” Nicky knew all too well about territory and turf, and the gangs who operated in the centre of London wouldn’t accept some kid muscling in on their operation.

  Nayim shook his head.

  “That’s the crazy thing. From what I hear, he does it every party. Just gives stuff out free. Booze, drugs, he just chucks it into the crowd. They say he’s not interested in money, he’s like… What’s the word?”

  “An idiot?” cracked George, taking a big slug of brandy.

  “An anarchist,” corrected Nayim. “The parties are all, y’know, ‘us against the system’. That kind of thing. He don’t want anything but to have a good time.”

  “Bet you’re glad you kept your daughter away from him now, eh Nayim?” joked George. “Don’t want her to get any bad ideas.”

  Nicky was perplexed, but intrigued.

  “Where’s he getting the drugs from?”

  Nayim shrugged.

  “Nobody knows. He’s kind of the latest big thing around here. Underground, cool, the girls love him. Heard his name a lot in my club. I was thinking of booking him.”

  “Big parties, a supply of drugs,” mused Nicky. “Could be a big thing if we used him right. We need to find out where he’s from. We got to be careful we don’t start a war in somebody else’s manor.”

  “I did a bit of checking. I tell you, this kid is hard to find. No problem if you’re a teenager. All the parties are arranged with some social media stuff. You know, only the kids know about it. Cops are clueless, of course. But I found him in the end. He lives right here in New Cross. His dad runs the exotic fruit shop on the High Road.”

  Nicky nodded. He knew it well. A small, family-run business. The original owner had been an American guy, and he’d passed it on to his son, the current owner.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he mused. “My wife buys stuff there. She’s into fancy recipes and buying from local shops. She watches all those cooking shows. The guy has got kids who help him run the shop.”

  “That’s it. Except the youngest kid — Alvin is his real name — doesn’t want to be part of the family business.”

  “So where’s he getting the drugs from? Not his family?”

  “Don’t know. There’s been no whispers about any drugs going missing. So where does a 15-year-old kid get his hands on more than a hundred grand of product without anybody missing it?”

  Where indeed? thought Nicky.

  “Ok. Invite the kid here tomorrow night. We’ll make him an offer. Best case scenario, we’ll expand these parties and use them to sell gear. Worst case, we’ll make him tell us where he’s gettin’ his supply from.”

  “There’s something else,” said Nayim. “You heard about the big fight between the dropouts and cops, yes?”

  “I saw it on the news, yeah.”

  “The cops took a hell of a beating. Those druggies were like a horde of barbarians or something. Word on the street is that they were taking some new kind of steroid as well as coke and ketamine cocktails.”

  “A new drug?” asked Nicky, leaning forward in his chair. “What is it?”

  Nayim shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “I do,” said a new voice. Everyone looked up. Monkey Taylor had entered the room with his usual swagger.

  “Where you been?” asked Nicky, testily.

  “Sorting out your problems,” replied Monkey.

  Nicky grinned. There was probably nobody else in the city who Nicky would allow to talk to him the way Monkey did. The guy was about 50, fat and looked like he was in gross health. Appearances were deceiving. Monkey was a street fighter at heart. His oft-repeated joke was that he’d had more cuts than the NHS. He was a dangerous man who feared nobody.

  Nicky, however, did fear people. He feared anybody who was more powerful than himself and he reacted accordingly. If the enemy was weaker than you, you crushed it. If it was stronger, you tackled it in a different way. Simple. That’s why Nicky had a handsome face and a scar-free body, and Monkey had been sewn up in more places than a scarecrow.

  “You were talking about a new drug, yeah? From the party at London Bridge?”

  “If you’d been here, you’d know,” retorted Nayim.

  “I had to pick something up on the way, didn’t I,” replied Monkey, his eyes dancing from one man to another.

  Now another man entered the room. Nicky recognized him as one of Monkey’s acolytes, a big mountain of a guy called, appropriately enough, Mountain. What w
as it with Monkey and his mates’ names?

  Mountain was dragging someone into the room. Some scruff, with long, shaggy hair, still a kid really, probably about 18 years old. He was dressed in some raggedy T-shirt with blood down the front of it.

  “What’s this scrote doing in my club?” asked Nicky, perplexed.

  “This maggot,” said Monkey, “has something to tell us.” He grabbed the kid roughly by the neck and threw him along the floor until he collided with the chair that Nicky was sitting on. Nicky looked down at the kid. He was scared out of his wits, he had an ugly bruise around both eyes and he was in bad shape. The kid looked up at him, hoping for some mercy.

  Monkey took hold of the kid’s hair and jerked his head up.

  “Tell the nice gentleman about the drugs.”

  “Please let me go. I ain’t done anything,” whimpered the kid, looking around at the men looming over him.

  “Tell me what you have to tell me and you can leave,” said Nicky, civilly.

  “You’re talking about Super D, yeah? Yeah, I know where you can get some. I know the guy who has it.”

  Nicky smiled and looked at Monkey.

  “Proper helpful little fellow you brought me here, Monkey.”

  “I told you, Nicky. He just wants to help. Well, now he does. He wasn’t so polite when he came into my club and started taking on my boys. Put two of them in hospital.”

  “I… I’m sorry,” said the kid. “It was the Super D. I didn’t mean it.”

  Nicky was losing patience now.

  “Just tell me what Super D is and where I can get my hands on it,” said Nicky, grabbing the kid by the chin.

  “It’s a miracle. Makes you stronger than… than anything,” burbled the kid. “I had some on Friday night.”

  “You don’t look much now.”

  “It wears off after a day or so. But it messes with your head. That’s why I started a fight in the club.”

  Monkey laughed.

  “You should have seen him. Took out two guys, then all of a sudden he looked like he was going to collapse. I stepped in and gave him a hiding. Then I made him tell me what the stuff was.”