came, he was always ready to collapse into bed. His Guardian Angels worked him hard.
‘There’s been a spate of gun crime in northwest London,’ Raf explained. ‘Three dead, several injured. The victims and the gunmen have all been between the ages of thirteen and seventeen. In the UK it’s hard enough to get your hands on a weapon even when you’re of age, and these teenagers have been handling more than air pistols.’
‘Such as?’ Zak asked.
‘Browning Hi-Power, Colt .45, even an Uzi on one occasion.’ These were all heavy-duty weapons. ‘Designer guns, if you get my drift.’
Yeah,
Zak thought.
I get your drift.
‘So this Scott guy and his crew . . . They’re the one doing the killings, right?’
‘Wrong, sweetie,’ said Gabs. ‘They’re the ones supplying the guns. And that’s where you come in.’
*
The pavement in front of Redhill Secondary School is not crowded. It is 09.08 hrs. Lessons started eight minutes ago. A few stragglers are still wandering in, satchels slung over their shoulders. None of them come within ten metres of Zak and Scott. They do glance over, however. It’s clear from the look on their faces that they know not to get involved.
There are two exceptions. On either side of the iron gates two other boys have appeared. Zak hadn’t noticed them before, but now they tread dangerously in his direction. He recognizes them immediately from his briefing. Or rather, he recognizes the razor marks on the side of their heads. Morton Henderson and Holden Palmer. Morton has bad acne. Holden is a giant. Neither looks like the type you want to mess with.
Within thirty seconds they have surrounded Zak. ‘Nice shoes,’ Morton says. Other than that, they don’t speak. They don’t need to. Their very presence is statement enough.
‘Like I say,’ Scott repeats. ‘Off my turf. Now.’
*
‘The thing about guys like this,’ Gabs explains, ‘is they’re greedy. Once they’ve experienced the thrill of making easy money for hardly any work, they can’t get enough of it. Same goes for criminals the world over. It’s their fatal flaw. They just can’t say no.’
‘So you want me to try and buy a gun off him, right?’
Raf flashed a grin at Gabs.
‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘I really think he might be even brighter than he looks.’
‘He’d have to be,’ Raf replied. The trace of a smile crossed his face. He winked at Zak.
*
‘I’m looking for some hardware,’ Zak says. ‘I heard you might be able to help me with that.’
Scott stares at him. A long, level gaze. Twenty seconds pass. ‘There’s a B&Q down the road, blood,’ he says finally. ‘Nice big one too. Get yourself down there. Hardware coming out of their ears.’
‘Not the kind of hardware I’m talking about,’ says Zak.
Scott sniffs. ‘Don’t know what you mean. We don’t know what he means, do we, boys?’
Morton and Holden shake their heads, but say nothing.
‘Fine.’ Zak shrugs. It’s his turn now to pull out a wad of notes. He flicks it ostentatiously against the palm of his free hand. ‘I’ll be going, then,’ he says.
He turns, but Scott’s two stooges block his way. One of them holds out his hand, as if to say:
Give me the money.
Zak stops. He looks at the money, then back at Scott. ‘You could take it from me,’ he says. ‘But just think. After that, you’ll never see me again. Play your cards right and I become a repeat customer. You’ll earn all this and more.’ He shrugs once more. ‘Up to you,’ he says.
Scott might be just seventeen, but the look he gives Zak is full of experience. He is clearly weighing up the situation. Can he trust his new customer? He looks around. The stragglers have all made it into the school gates. The main road in front of the school is fairly busy, but there are no pedestrians to observe them.
Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a police car passes. Zak hurriedly hides the wad of notes under his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a
‘There’s been a spate of gun crime in northwest London,’ Raf explained. ‘Three dead, several injured. The victims and the gunmen have all been between the ages of thirteen and seventeen. In the UK it’s hard enough to get your hands on a weapon even when you’re of age, and these teenagers have been handling more than air pistols.’
‘Such as?’ Zak asked.
‘Browning Hi-Power, Colt .45, even an Uzi on one occasion.’ These were all heavy-duty weapons. ‘Designer guns, if you get my drift.’
Yeah,
Zak thought.
I get your drift.
‘So this Scott guy and his crew . . . They’re the one doing the killings, right?’
‘Wrong, sweetie,’ said Gabs. ‘They’re the ones supplying the guns. And that’s where you come in.’
*
The pavement in front of Redhill Secondary School is not crowded. It is 09.08 hrs. Lessons started eight minutes ago. A few stragglers are still wandering in, satchels slung over their shoulders. None of them come within ten metres of Zak and Scott. They do glance over, however. It’s clear from the look on their faces that they know not to get involved.
There are two exceptions. On either side of the iron gates two other boys have appeared. Zak hadn’t noticed them before, but now they tread dangerously in his direction. He recognizes them immediately from his briefing. Or rather, he recognizes the razor marks on the side of their heads. Morton Henderson and Holden Palmer. Morton has bad acne. Holden is a giant. Neither looks like the type you want to mess with.
Within thirty seconds they have surrounded Zak. ‘Nice shoes,’ Morton says. Other than that, they don’t speak. They don’t need to. Their very presence is statement enough.
‘Like I say,’ Scott repeats. ‘Off my turf. Now.’
*
‘The thing about guys like this,’ Gabs explains, ‘is they’re greedy. Once they’ve experienced the thrill of making easy money for hardly any work, they can’t get enough of it. Same goes for criminals the world over. It’s their fatal flaw. They just can’t say no.’
‘So you want me to try and buy a gun off him, right?’
Raf flashed a grin at Gabs.
‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘I really think he might be even brighter than he looks.’
‘He’d have to be,’ Raf replied. The trace of a smile crossed his face. He winked at Zak.
*
‘I’m looking for some hardware,’ Zak says. ‘I heard you might be able to help me with that.’
Scott stares at him. A long, level gaze. Twenty seconds pass. ‘There’s a B&Q down the road, blood,’ he says finally. ‘Nice big one too. Get yourself down there. Hardware coming out of their ears.’
‘Not the kind of hardware I’m talking about,’ says Zak.
Scott sniffs. ‘Don’t know what you mean. We don’t know what he means, do we, boys?’
Morton and Holden shake their heads, but say nothing.
‘Fine.’ Zak shrugs. It’s his turn now to pull out a wad of notes. He flicks it ostentatiously against the palm of his free hand. ‘I’ll be going, then,’ he says.
He turns, but Scott’s two stooges block his way. One of them holds out his hand, as if to say:
Give me the money.
Zak stops. He looks at the money, then back at Scott. ‘You could take it from me,’ he says. ‘But just think. After that, you’ll never see me again. Play your cards right and I become a repeat customer. You’ll earn all this and more.’ He shrugs once more. ‘Up to you,’ he says.
Scott might be just seventeen, but the look he gives Zak is full of experience. He is clearly weighing up the situation. Can he trust his new customer? He looks around. The stragglers have all made it into the school gates. The main road in front of the school is fairly busy, but there are no pedestrians to observe them.
Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a police car passes. Zak hurriedly hides the wad of notes under his jacket. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a
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