knocked all the wind from his lungs and half the food from his mouth. He collapsed, barely able to breathe, and saw Hunter standing over him, still carrying the short, stout cudgel he’d just used to whack him in the stomach.
As Tommy struggled for air, Hunter bent down over him.
‘Listen to me, you idiot,’ he hissed, waving the cudgel in front of Tommy’s face. ‘If you ever,
ever
lead the police anywhere near here, you’ll get something a lot sharper than this in your guts. You got that?’
Tommy tried to nod, but a lump of semi-chewed pizza had become stuck in his throat and all he could do was make a harsh, choking sound. He was aware of Hunter standing up and addressing the rest of the kids in the room.
‘The same goes for the rest of you,’ the man shouted. ‘Anybody got a problem with that?’
Nobody replied. They wouldn’t dare. Like Tommy, they all hated Hunter. But in return for a daily stream of stolen cash, he gave them something they needed. A roof over their heads. Food. And something more important than both of these: safety in numbers. Because when you worked the streets, there was nothing more important than that.
It was 9 a.m. exactly when Felix returned. Ricky’s bed was untouched. He hadn’t moved from the sofa. Thirty playing cards were spread out in front of him. He stared at them for fifteen seconds. Then he closed his eyes. ‘Queen of hearts,’ he said. ‘Two of spades, five of diamonds, nine of clubs . . .’
Thirty seconds later, he had recited the name of every card in order. He opened his eyes again. Felix was leaning on his walking stick and staring at him carefully.
‘Very good, Coco,’ he murmured. ‘Really very good. Perhaps we’ll make something of you yet.’
Ricky smiled. ‘It’s just a party game, though. That’s all.’
‘We’ll see,’ Felix said slyly. ‘We’ll see.’
But inside Ricky’s head, another conversation was taking place, this one with Ziggy.
– You’ve won him over. That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. The things he’s teaching you will be useful on the street. Learn what you can from him. Improve yourself.
– And when the time comes to leave?
– Then you leave.
PART TWO
7
WEAPONS
The weeks that followed passed quickly. Ricky’s days were full and there was no time at all for him to spend the £100 living allowance that Felix handed over every Saturday morning. Not that he needed the money. Every time he left the flat, he returned to find the fridge full, his clothes cleaned and the flat tidy. He never saw the person – or people – responsible. When he mentioned it, Felix had simply said, ‘You haven’t got time for housework,’ and refused to discuss it any more.
So each week, Ricky squirrelled his money away, inside a sock which he kept under the mattress. It would come in useful, he told himself, for when he finally walked out of there.
But Felix wasn’t wrong. There
was
no time for anything else other than his lessons. He turned up every morning at 9 a.m. exactly, peering across the threshold and politely asking if he could come in. Once inside, he worked Ricky hard.
A couple of hours of every morning were spent in the gym, which was housed in one of the spare rooms of the flat. There were several weight machines, an exercise bike and even a treadmill. Ricky grew to hate that treadmill. He’d have been happy to bulk up with some bicep curls or shoulder presses, but Felix soon stamped on that idea. ‘You’re not fully-grown yet, so you could damage your body with too many weights. You need aerobic fitness, so get running on the treadmill.’
‘Don’t see you doing it,’ Ricky had replied grumpily.
‘Count the legs, Coco. Besides, I’ve done my stint of vomiting my guts out through exercise. Now it’s your turn.’ He’d picked a chunk of peanut brittle out of his sweet bag And Ricky
was
sick, several times. It didn’t seem to worry Felix, who watched without expression as he doubled over,
As Tommy struggled for air, Hunter bent down over him.
‘Listen to me, you idiot,’ he hissed, waving the cudgel in front of Tommy’s face. ‘If you ever,
ever
lead the police anywhere near here, you’ll get something a lot sharper than this in your guts. You got that?’
Tommy tried to nod, but a lump of semi-chewed pizza had become stuck in his throat and all he could do was make a harsh, choking sound. He was aware of Hunter standing up and addressing the rest of the kids in the room.
‘The same goes for the rest of you,’ the man shouted. ‘Anybody got a problem with that?’
Nobody replied. They wouldn’t dare. Like Tommy, they all hated Hunter. But in return for a daily stream of stolen cash, he gave them something they needed. A roof over their heads. Food. And something more important than both of these: safety in numbers. Because when you worked the streets, there was nothing more important than that.
It was 9 a.m. exactly when Felix returned. Ricky’s bed was untouched. He hadn’t moved from the sofa. Thirty playing cards were spread out in front of him. He stared at them for fifteen seconds. Then he closed his eyes. ‘Queen of hearts,’ he said. ‘Two of spades, five of diamonds, nine of clubs . . .’
Thirty seconds later, he had recited the name of every card in order. He opened his eyes again. Felix was leaning on his walking stick and staring at him carefully.
‘Very good, Coco,’ he murmured. ‘Really very good. Perhaps we’ll make something of you yet.’
Ricky smiled. ‘It’s just a party game, though. That’s all.’
‘We’ll see,’ Felix said slyly. ‘We’ll see.’
But inside Ricky’s head, another conversation was taking place, this one with Ziggy.
– You’ve won him over. That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. The things he’s teaching you will be useful on the street. Learn what you can from him. Improve yourself.
– And when the time comes to leave?
– Then you leave.
PART TWO
7
WEAPONS
The weeks that followed passed quickly. Ricky’s days were full and there was no time at all for him to spend the £100 living allowance that Felix handed over every Saturday morning. Not that he needed the money. Every time he left the flat, he returned to find the fridge full, his clothes cleaned and the flat tidy. He never saw the person – or people – responsible. When he mentioned it, Felix had simply said, ‘You haven’t got time for housework,’ and refused to discuss it any more.
So each week, Ricky squirrelled his money away, inside a sock which he kept under the mattress. It would come in useful, he told himself, for when he finally walked out of there.
But Felix wasn’t wrong. There
was
no time for anything else other than his lessons. He turned up every morning at 9 a.m. exactly, peering across the threshold and politely asking if he could come in. Once inside, he worked Ricky hard.
A couple of hours of every morning were spent in the gym, which was housed in one of the spare rooms of the flat. There were several weight machines, an exercise bike and even a treadmill. Ricky grew to hate that treadmill. He’d have been happy to bulk up with some bicep curls or shoulder presses, but Felix soon stamped on that idea. ‘You’re not fully-grown yet, so you could damage your body with too many weights. You need aerobic fitness, so get running on the treadmill.’
‘Don’t see you doing it,’ Ricky had replied grumpily.
‘Count the legs, Coco. Besides, I’ve done my stint of vomiting my guts out through exercise. Now it’s your turn.’ He’d picked a chunk of peanut brittle out of his sweet bag And Ricky
was
sick, several times. It didn’t seem to worry Felix, who watched without expression as he doubled over,
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