Part 12 (1/2)

'Well, he's gay.'

'You think he fancies you?' Kerry giggled. 'I wouldn't flatter yourself.'

Nicole turned away from the frying pan with a big smile on her face. 'Come to think of it, I've seen him eyeing you up, James.'

'Shut up,' James said. 'It's not funny. It's disgusting.'

'You think being gay is disgusting?' Kerry tutted. 'I thought Kyle was your friend.'

'He is,' James said. 'But... I'm not comfortable with the whole gay thing.'

'Do us some bread, Kerry,' Nicole said. 'Bacon doesn't take long.'

Kerry got the loaf off the cabinet and started b.u.t.tering.

'You know, James,' she said, 'it must have been hard for Kyle to admit something like that to you. Especially when you're always calling people f.a.ggots and queers.'

Nicole moved the pan off the heat and helped Kerry make up the sandwiches.

'I heard that one person in ten is gay,' Nicole said. 'So it's not that unusual. If you think about it, every football team probably has one gay player on it.'

Kerry giggled. 'I wonder who the gay one at a.r.s.enal is? Actually, the big clubs have loads of players and reserve teams. There's probably at least four or five.'

James stood up from the table and boiled over. 'That's not funny,' he shouted. 'There's no such thing as a gay a.r.s.enal player.'

Kerry slammed James' plate on the table in front of him. 'Sit down and eat that,' she said angrily. 'Kyle's your friend, so you better be supportive. If you say anything that upsets him, I'll show you the meaning of uncomfortable.'

12. SUBURBAN.

It was Wednesday evening, and James was on his third night making deliveries. His phone went off a couple of times a night; always the same calm female voice on the other end. James had no idea who or where she was, only that she seemed motherly, was happy to give directions and always signed off with the same words: You be careful out there, young man.

The deliveries were never more than a few kilometres' ride. The job would be nasty in the winter, but on sunny early autumn evenings it was no hards.h.i.+p. James had imagined his customers would be scraggy-haired women in night clothes holding screaming babies, or wild-eyed men with beards and motorbikes, but it was nothing like that.

James was breathless by the time he found the housing estate. The houses were brand new. There was a developer's signpost over the entrance: LAST FEW HOMES REMAINING PRICES FROM 245,000. The houses were neat, with newly planted trees and recent-plate Fords and Toyotas parked on the driveways. There was no traffic and little kids played outside on skateboards and micro-scooters.

As James freewheeled down a gentle slope, he noticed the streets were named after musical instruments. Trumpet Close, Cornet Avenue, Ba.s.soon Road.

He turned into Trombone Villas, the most exclusive street in the development. The grey tarmac became red and the cars on the driveways changed to Range Rovers and Mercedes. He was looking for Stonehaus, and like millions of delivery people before him, James had learned to hate house names. With numbers, you knew that 56 was after 48 and 21 was on the other side of the road. Stonehaus could be anywhere. He found it after a search, the signpost hidden behind a BMW X5 and a Grand Voyager. He wheeled up the driveway and pressed the bell, which sounded off a tinny version of When The Saints Go Marching In.

A boy ran down the hallway and opened the door. He was eight or nine, wearing the long grey socks and fancy uniform of a fee-paying school. At this time of day, the kid was in a state, with his bare chest showing under his unb.u.t.toned grey s.h.i.+rt.

'Daddy,' the kid shouted.

A man holding a whisky tumbler hurried down the stairs, while the kid ran back to the TV.

'HEYYYYY there,' the man said, trying to sound cooler than the fat balding man he really was. 'Four grams, wasn't it?'

James nodded. 'Two hundred and forty quid.' He went into his backpack and got the four bags of cocaine. The man peeled five fifties off a roll of notes.

'I don't have change,' James said.

Del had taught James to pretend never to have change. If the customer kicked up a fuss, you miraculously remembered that you had money from a previous delivery in your backpack; but you were hoping the average middle-cla.s.s c.o.ke snorter didn't want to keep a drug dealer hanging about on his doorstep and simply said: 'No worries, son, keep the change for yourself.'

James smiled and tucked the money in his pocket. 'Thanks, mate,' he said. 'Enjoy yourself.'

The man closed the door. James couldn't help smiling. He'd just earned thirty-six pounds commission, plus a ten-pound tip, for a half-hour bike ride.

It was gone nine when James got home. Everyone was waiting for him in the living room. Two weeks into the mission, Ewart and Zara wanted a conference to see what everyone was doing and to work out the best way forward.

'Sorry I kept you waiting,' James said. 'But I've got to deliver when I get a call.'

Zara had rearranged the sofas in the living room and brought in kitchen chairs, so everyone could sit facing each other. James squeezed on to a sofa between Kyle and Nicole.

'OK,' Ewart said. 'I want each of you to say what you think you've achieved so far. Keep it short, you've all got to get up for school tomorrow.'

'Nicole,' Zara said, 'why don't you start?'

Nicole cleared her throat. 'You pretty much know. I've been getting on OK with April. She knows what her dad does for a living, but keeps out of it. I've been to Keith Moore's house a few times doing homework and stuff and I've met him; just exchanging h.e.l.los and that.'

'That's a good start,' Ewart nodded. 'Do you think you can carry on getting regular access to the house?'

'Sure,' Nicole said. 'April likes having the girls round and showing off her giant bedroom. She likes to think of herself as the leader of our group. I'm going to a sleepover there this Sat.u.r.day.'

'Have you had much of a chance to nose around the house?' Zara asked.

'I thought I'd play it safe to start with,' Nicole said. 'You've got all the notes and stuff I copied from the cork board in the kitchen.'

'Do you think you could place mini-cameras and listening devices around the house?'

'Easily,' Nicole nodded. 'The house is big, so if anyone asks what I'm doing, I can pretend I got lost and wandered into the wrong room.'

'Excellent,' Ewart said. 'Could you get a nose inside Keith's office?'

'I doubt it, he's usually in there. The one time he was out, I tried and the door was locked. I suppose I could take my lock gun.'

'No way,' Ewart said. 'If someone sees you with a lock gun, it will put you in serious danger and blow this whole operation.'

'The next best target would be Keith's bedroom,' Zara said. 'He's the kind of guy who gets phone calls at all hours, so you can be sure he takes important calls in bed. Have a good snoop and put in a listening device.'

'Why can't you tap the phones from out in the street?' James asked.

'They've been tapped for years and Keith knows it,' Ewart said. 'A serious villain like Keith Moore uses mobiles or face-to-face meetings. He'll pick up a pay-as-you-go mobile and use it for a day or two, then switch to another one before we know he's got it. He also speaks using code words, and uses something to disguise the sound of his voice, so you could never go into court and prove it was him saying what he said. Our only chance of getting useful information is to have a microphone in the actual room where Keith is talking.'

'So, Nicole,' Zara said. 'That's your target. Get a microphone in Keith's bedroom and maybe a few others around the house. The risks are low, because n.o.body is going to suspect that a twelve-year-old girl is planting a microphone, but you should still be careful.'

'OK,' Ewart said. 'Good work, Nicole, keep it up. Do you want to go next, James?'

James nodded. 'Me and Junior are top mates, bunking off and going to boxing and stuff.'