Lone Wolf (8 page)

14. HANGOUT

Ryan got home from school just before five.

‘And?’ James asked.

Ryan smiled as he threw his school bag down in the hallway. ‘Yeah, your plan worked,’ he said. ‘I had double maths after lunch and I sat with Abdi, Youssef and a guy called Warren. We were pissing around so much that we got a detention.’

‘So, am I a genius, or am I a genius?’ James asked.

‘Clearly nothing beats a giant fake street brawl to win new friends,’ Ryan said. ‘Now I’m supposed to be meeting the guys at The Hangout in about an hour, so I’m gonna shower and change. Is there something I can blitz in the microwave?’

‘That’s the only kind of food I buy,’ James said.

After his shower, Ryan felt anxious as he picked out clothes for the evening. He didn’t want to look scruffy, but he might also get laughed at if he ponced himself up too much. In the end he went for a blue and white striped T-shirt, cargo shorts and a pair of Vans slip-ons.

From outside, The Hangout was a grafittied metal shed that could have been a youth club anywhere. The main doors were propped open because of the heat and Ryan stepped into a spacious hall with pool and table tennis tables, a line of vending machines and a lot of severely vandalised foam chairs.

There were about twenty-five kids in the space, and as Ryan walked in it seemed that every eye turned on him. He made about four steps over the sticky tiled floor before Youssef called.

‘Ryan, get over here.’

Youssef was in the middle of a group of about ten lads, most of whom Ryan recognised from his target list. Nobody could be arsed to play ping-pong in the heat, but all the pool tables were busy, while another group of lads played poker. Despite the promise of girls, there were none to be seen, and most mysteriously of all, three sinister-looking heavies sat outside an office.

‘You play pool?’ Youssef asked, as he banged Ryan’s fist. ‘Guys, this is Ryan. He stepped in and saved our asses from those Dartmouth Park slags earlier on.’

Abdi objected to this description. ‘He helped out, he didn’t
save
us.’

Youssef shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

A bulky Somali lad named Sadad spoke. ‘Those arse swipes are lucky I wasn’t there. I would have mashed them up.’

‘I’d love to go up to Dartmouth Park and find those kids and take ’em down,’ Abdi said. ‘They only beat us because they took us by surprise.’

This wasn’t what Ryan recalled, but he joined the nods around the group. As far as he was concerned, they could remember the fight any way they liked, as long as they were still his mates.

‘So how do I get a game of pool?’ Ryan asked.

Sadad answered. ‘I’m up next, you can play the winner.’

As Sadad spoke a bearded guy in a waistcoat came out of the office and offered Ryan his hand.

‘Hi,’ he said, as Ryan shook. ‘I’m Barry, from The Hangout. Welcome to the youth club.’

‘Hey,’ Ryan said, as a couple of lads imitated Barry’s slightly pompous voice.

‘You’re a hundred per cent welcome here,’ Barry said. ‘But you do have to register and there’s a two pound joining fee. If you could just come to my office.’

Ryan looked uncertainly at his new mates.

‘Don’t go,’ Sadad said. ‘Once you’re back there he’ll try to snog you.’

This caused an outbreak of wild laughter, but Barry seemed used to getting mocked. He led Ryan past the three scary-looking heavies and into a well-appointed office. It was equipped with a photocopier, two computers and two whirring air-conditioning units.

‘Nice and cool here,’ Ryan said.

Barry sat at his desk and found Ryan a small blue form. ‘Just fill in your name, address and telephone number. It’s two pounds to join, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t have it with you right now.’

‘I’ve got it,’ Ryan said, as he rummaged inside his shorts.

‘If you can just look up.’

Barry swivelled a webcam around and snapped Ryan’s photo for his membership card.

‘The laminating machine for your card takes a few minutes to warm up,’ Barry explained, as he reached behind and handed Ryan a brochure.

The leaflet was printed in colour and entitled
The Hangout – There For You
.

‘Make sure you give this a good read,’ Barry said. ‘The Hangout is a charity, funded entirely by donations. We work in six London boroughs providing youth clubs such as this one, day trips, sporting activities and support services.

‘Now that you’re a member, you can get involved in any of our activities, or make use of our confidential counselling and advice services. Keep hold of the leaflet and give it a read when you get home.’

‘Thanks,’ Ryan said.

Ryan spent a couple of minutes flicking through the pages while the laminating machine heated up to make his membership card. Once it was ready, Barry handed the still-warm card over and showed Ryan back out into the hall.

Sadad yelled, ‘Hope you kept your mitts off him, Barry.’

Barry ignored it, but one of the three heavies stood up.

‘Sadad, here!’ he ordered. Then he pointed at Ryan. ‘You, listen.’

Sadad looked nervous when he got close, and everyone in the room was looking.

‘Show respect to Barry,’ the thug told Sadad. ‘Get a mop and bucket and clean the whole floor.’ Then he looked at Ryan. ‘Did you treat Mr Barry with respect?’

‘I did,’ Ryan said, nodding anxiously.

‘OK, go back with your friends.’

Sadad walked briskly towards a cleaner’s closet, not daring to show any dissent. Ryan rejoined his new friends. After giving it a few seconds and making sure that the toughs weren’t looking at him, Ryan turned to Abdi and spoke in a whisper.

‘Who are the three nutters?’

‘They work for Hagar.’

Ryan acted innocent. ‘Who the hell is Hagar?’

This comment caused widespread laughter.

‘What’s funny?’ Ryan asked.

‘How can you not know who Hagar is?’ Youssef snorted.

‘I moved here less than a week ago,’ Ryan said. ‘I don’t know who anyone is.’

Abdi smiled. ‘Hagar’s the biggest drug dealer in this part of town.’

Ryan looked over. ‘So which one’s Hagar?’

This caused more laughter.

‘Hagar’s the top dog,’ Abdi said, snorting with laughter. ‘He doesn’t sit in a crummy youth club all day. Those are his lieutenants. They organise all the street dealers and dish out crumbs to us kids if we’re lucky.’

‘What kind of crumbs?’ Ryan asked.

‘If they like you, they give out jobs,’ Abdi explained. ‘Maybe twenty quid to take something from here to there, or go to Starbucks for coffees. Once they start really trusting you, you might get a package. That’s when you sell drugs yourself.’

‘Shit!’ Ryan said excitedly. ‘Can you make a lot of dough?’

Abdi nodded. ‘There’s guys our age making seven hundred a week, just for selling a few hours a day after school. But you’ve gotta be careful, ’cos if you mess up, Hagar’s guys will batter you.’

‘Maybe kill you even,’ Youssef added, as the black ball rattled into a pocket on the nearest pool table.

The guy who’d lost handed Ryan a chewed-up cue, while the victor racked up the balls for another game.

‘OK,’ Ryan said, as he lined up to break. ‘Let’s play some pool.’

15. NEBRASKA

Fay and Ning left Idris STC shortly after noon on Friday. A prison service minibus drove south for an hour and a half before dropping Fay at a semi-detached house in the suburb of Elstree. Her new foster-parents were a couple in their late forties, who had two younger foster-kids and a house filled with china dolls and frilly curtains.

Ning reached Nebraska House just before five, but a mix-up in the paperwork meant it was nearer to 7 p.m. before she was allocated one of the care home’s dingy single rooms. Dinner was evil and Ning sent Fay a picture message showing curry and rice with the word,
EWW!

Fay texted back a few minutes later,
I have a big double bed, the foster-mum makes Victoria sponge cake that’s 2 die 4.

Once she’d settled in her room, Ning called her mission controller, James, to confirm that everything was OK.

‘If you get a chance, pop into room sixteen and see if it still says
James Choke
on the wall,’ James said.

‘Who the hell is James Choke?’

‘My pre-CHERUB name,’ James explained. ‘I was in Nebraska House for a while after my mum died.’

‘The rooms look like they were painted quite recently,’ Ning said. ‘So how’s Ryan doing?’

*

Friday night drew a crowd of more than fifty to The Hangout, and a few of them were even girls. It was officially a disco night, but although Barry had folded up the ping-pong tables to make space, nobody seemed interested in dancing.

Ryan sat at the back of the room with Abdi, who’d sneaked in an Evian bottle filled with vodka.

‘Where’s the rest of the gang?’ Ryan asked.

Abdi pointed discreetly at the single heavy sitting outside the office. ‘Friday and Saturday are busy,’ he explained. ‘Youssef makes deliveries for a dealer. Sadad’s got a gig as a lookout that pays thirty pounds a night.’

Ryan smiled. ‘You reckon I can make some money?’

Abdi nodded. ‘Not right now, but they’ll find you something once they get used to your face.’

‘What if I just go up and ask?’

‘If you’re lucky they’ll laugh, if you’re unlucky they’ll smack you down. Either way, being pushy’s not gonna help your chances.’

‘So how come you’re not working?’ Ryan asked.

Abdi looked shame-faced at the floor between his legs. ‘A couple of months back I had a little gig selling cocaine and heroin from an alleyway beside my mum’s hairdresser’s shop. Two guys jumped me and stole two hundred quid’s worth of gear. So now I’ve got to pay it back at ten pounds a week for thirty-six weeks.’

‘That’s three hundred and sixty.’

‘Interest,’ Abdi explained. ‘The only reason I didn’t get stomped is because my mum does hair for a lot of Hagar’s boys’ girlfriends.’

‘But you can’t help it if two guys jump you,’ Ryan said.

‘Rules are rules, Ryan. If you’re man enough to take merchandise and sell it, you’ve gotta be man enough to look after it.’

‘You wanna play pool?’ Ryan asked.

‘There’s like twenty people waiting,’ Abdi said, as he took a big slug from his boozed-up Evian bottle. ‘Unless you wanna beat them all up like yesterday.’

Ryan pointed at a fit blonde girl sitting a few metres away. ‘How do you rate my chances with her?’

‘About two per cent,’ Abdi said, as he offered Ryan a slug of his Evian. ‘For courage.’

‘Booze breath won’t help,’ Ryan said, as he stood up. ‘Wish me luck.’

But before Ryan got anywhere near the girl he noticed a big Somali dude coming his way.

Abdi looked up eagerly. ‘What can I do for you, boss?’

‘Where is everyone?’ the dude asked.

‘Out and about,’ Abdi said. ‘I’m available.’

‘You don’t exist until you’ve paid your debts,’ he said, before pointing at Ryan. ‘Walk with me.’

A Flo Rida track started up as Ryan followed the thug across the room and out of the main door where it was quiet.

‘You wanna earn a fast tenner?’

‘Sure,’ Ryan said.

‘You know Dirtyburger?’

Ryan nodded. ‘I’ve never eaten there, but I’ve been past it on the way to school.’

‘OK, I’ve got some people on the Pardew estate that need feeding, you see?’

‘Sure,’ Ryan said.

‘Get five burgers, five fries, five Cokes. Take them up to flat fifty-six. Make sure to ask Clive how it’s going, then you come back and tell me what he says. Understood?’

‘Understood,’ Ryan said, as the man peeled twenty-pound notes out of a roll.

‘Don’t screw up. If you do, don’t show your face around here no more.’

*

Fay went to bed early and set the alarm on her phone for 5 a.m. Her room was comfortable and decorated in neutral shades so that it would suit any short-term foster-kid, from a three-year-old girl to a sixteen-year-old boy.

After waking and taking a piss, Fay crept downstairs and looked in the cupboard by the front door. All she found were shoes and coats, so she walked through to the kitchen. She checked the cupboards for anything of value and rattled all the canisters to see if there was a hidden stash.

But the ground floor was a bust, so she walked back upstairs to the room belonging to her foster-parents. She opened the door quietly, then gave it half a minute to see if they stirred.

There was an encased radiator running along one wall and Fay saw her new foster-dad’s wallet and keys lying on top of it. A floorboard made a noisy creak as Fay stepped forward. She monitored her foster-parents’ breathing as she grabbed the wallet, keys and a travel card and tiptoed back towards the exit.

After backing into her room and making a relieved gasp, Fay was pleased to discover that she’d nabbed an Oyster season ticket that would let her travel around London. The credit cards in the wallet were of no use without the pin number, so she left them and took what she thought was a slightly disappointing haul of forty-five pounds.

Fay had prepared her escape the night before. She’d packed a lightweight rucksack with a couple of changes of underwear and some toiletries, and printed off a Google Map showing the fifteen-minute walk from the house to Elstree Station.

Fay slugged some orange juice and couldn’t resist grabbing a slice of Victoria sponge, which she crammed into her mouth as she opened the back door and walked down twenty metres of garden. Using her foster-father’s keys, she unlocked the shed and stuck her head inside, inhaling a mixture of cobwebs and creosote.

There was a tool rack against the back wall and she grabbed a shovel, plus screwdrivers and some other small tools that she thought might come in handy.

The first train south ran at 5:53 and Fay was keen to be as far from Elstree as possible before her foster-parents woke up. She called Ning on her mobile as she strode briskly towards the station, carrying her backpack and a garden shovel balanced on her shoulder.

‘Yeah,’ Ning said drowsily.

‘You sound tired.’

‘It’s twenty-five to six,’ Ning yawned. ‘What were you expecting?’

‘I looked on Google,’ Fay said. ‘The nearest underground to Nebraska House is Tufnell Park. You need to travel north to Totteridge and Whetstone. I’ll meet you by the entrance at about seven-thirty.’

‘What’s at Totteridge?’ Ning asked.

‘You just be there,’ Fay said firmly. ‘We’re gonna have a bit of fun.’