weren’t having it “– if they tried any o’ that stuff, they’d get in massive trouble wi’ the police, wun’t they?”
He laughed louder. Right in me face.
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “You’re just saying it ’cos you’re jealous, ’cos I got given an iPod.”
The trouble were, he had a funny look in his eye, dead serious, like. And he grabbed me arm. “I’ll prove it, if you like,” he said. “I’ll show you. Tonight. You can see with your own eyeballs.”
Din’t I have enough to worry about? Why wun’t folk just leave us alone?
“No. Forget it,” I said. “This conversation is over. Right?”
He gave us a dirty look. Like he thought I were dead pathetic. Not worth the effort. And he let it drop.
*
You know what? I was outta there anyway. Tenderness House was horrible enough even without taking the Jimmys into consideration. But the mood around the place the day after one of their parties was too miserable to bear. The place stank.
I had it all planned out. Citizen Digit could finally begin to make a proper life for himself. In London. I had Grace’s details. All I had to do was track her down on Seven Sisters Road, see if she could help me out for a day or two until I settled into my brand-new life.
But.
Alfi Spar. He had no one watching out for him, did he? If he wouldn’t see how much danger he was in, I’d have to open his eyes for him, so he could get to grips with the situation and sort himself out. I’d do just this one thing for him, and then I’d be off, out of Tenderness House for good and for ever.
So Citizen Digit, for better or worse, adapted his perfectly laid plan.
I waited for nightfall. Then, the first thing I did was pick the lock of Alfi’s room, while he slept, and steal his iPod.
iPods have a video function, see? Not sure Call-Me Norman totally twigged that when he gifted it to Alfi. He pictured young Spar-Boy foot-tapping away to endless hours of dub-step. As if.
Boy was sleeping like an angel, not that that mattered because the Master Crim Didge was as light on his feet as a ghost. So the ghost took the angel’s iPod and then floated away through the corridors of Tenderness. Sure enoughski, the corridors had more security cams than corners, but I’d studiously studied the blind spots. No nightshift Carers were going to spot the Citizen making his way out of the accommodation block and into the driveway. I was Mr Invisible himself, the Floating Shadow, Sir Citizen Digit esq. I was Night-time Plus. If the Digit wants to stay unspotified, it is a hundred and fifty per cent guaranteed that he will stay unspotified.
And so it was. I planted myself like a shrub in the driveway outside Call-Me Norman’s office-come-dirty-den, between a rose bush and a hedge, and as the visitors came, I watched, and filmed.
First up, a Jaguar. Poshness itself. I filmed the number plate and the boat race of a man who oozed out the passenger door. He must have been full of influentia to have his own driver, and by the look of his threads he’d come straight from work. What kind of man wears a suit and works these kind of hours?
The chauffeur drove off and a few minutes later another car pulled up and, I kid you not, a
Sherlock
got out, in full uniform too. I almost jumped up in excitement, thinking for a moment the law’s long arms had stretched all the way over to Tenderness to nick Call-Me Norman and his cronies. But the Digit knew better, and I kept filming.
A third car pulled up and a bald, fat man in a suit belly-huffed out.
Next thing, I see Barry Gorilla-Hands leading one of the WhyPettes by the wrist. She was a fairly new girl. I figured by the pale look on her face, and the way Ape-Face was dragging her, that this was her first time. They went in, and Barry came out a minute later, on his own.
Maybe I’d filmed enough already. All I needed was to convince Alfi of the need to get out of this place. But it made me angry, seeing the way Barry had
He laughed louder. Right in me face.
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “You’re just saying it ’cos you’re jealous, ’cos I got given an iPod.”
The trouble were, he had a funny look in his eye, dead serious, like. And he grabbed me arm. “I’ll prove it, if you like,” he said. “I’ll show you. Tonight. You can see with your own eyeballs.”
Din’t I have enough to worry about? Why wun’t folk just leave us alone?
“No. Forget it,” I said. “This conversation is over. Right?”
He gave us a dirty look. Like he thought I were dead pathetic. Not worth the effort. And he let it drop.
*
You know what? I was outta there anyway. Tenderness House was horrible enough even without taking the Jimmys into consideration. But the mood around the place the day after one of their parties was too miserable to bear. The place stank.
I had it all planned out. Citizen Digit could finally begin to make a proper life for himself. In London. I had Grace’s details. All I had to do was track her down on Seven Sisters Road, see if she could help me out for a day or two until I settled into my brand-new life.
But.
Alfi Spar. He had no one watching out for him, did he? If he wouldn’t see how much danger he was in, I’d have to open his eyes for him, so he could get to grips with the situation and sort himself out. I’d do just this one thing for him, and then I’d be off, out of Tenderness House for good and for ever.
So Citizen Digit, for better or worse, adapted his perfectly laid plan.
I waited for nightfall. Then, the first thing I did was pick the lock of Alfi’s room, while he slept, and steal his iPod.
iPods have a video function, see? Not sure Call-Me Norman totally twigged that when he gifted it to Alfi. He pictured young Spar-Boy foot-tapping away to endless hours of dub-step. As if.
Boy was sleeping like an angel, not that that mattered because the Master Crim Didge was as light on his feet as a ghost. So the ghost took the angel’s iPod and then floated away through the corridors of Tenderness. Sure enoughski, the corridors had more security cams than corners, but I’d studiously studied the blind spots. No nightshift Carers were going to spot the Citizen making his way out of the accommodation block and into the driveway. I was Mr Invisible himself, the Floating Shadow, Sir Citizen Digit esq. I was Night-time Plus. If the Digit wants to stay unspotified, it is a hundred and fifty per cent guaranteed that he will stay unspotified.
And so it was. I planted myself like a shrub in the driveway outside Call-Me Norman’s office-come-dirty-den, between a rose bush and a hedge, and as the visitors came, I watched, and filmed.
First up, a Jaguar. Poshness itself. I filmed the number plate and the boat race of a man who oozed out the passenger door. He must have been full of influentia to have his own driver, and by the look of his threads he’d come straight from work. What kind of man wears a suit and works these kind of hours?
The chauffeur drove off and a few minutes later another car pulled up and, I kid you not, a
Sherlock
got out, in full uniform too. I almost jumped up in excitement, thinking for a moment the law’s long arms had stretched all the way over to Tenderness to nick Call-Me Norman and his cronies. But the Digit knew better, and I kept filming.
A third car pulled up and a bald, fat man in a suit belly-huffed out.
Next thing, I see Barry Gorilla-Hands leading one of the WhyPettes by the wrist. She was a fairly new girl. I figured by the pale look on her face, and the way Ape-Face was dragging her, that this was her first time. They went in, and Barry came out a minute later, on his own.
Maybe I’d filmed enough already. All I needed was to convince Alfi of the need to get out of this place. But it made me angry, seeing the way Barry had
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