Brigands M. C. (11 page)

The room had two double beds, but Dante lay on a bed beside Ross, eating spicy chicken with rice, drinking Pepsi from a glass bottle and sharing chips out of a basket lying between them. Steve the bodyguard was taking a nap in his room, but Jennifer had joined them and sat across the room with her lasagne perched on a narrow writing desk.

‘So Dante,’ Jennifer asked. ‘How are you feeling?’

Dante enjoyed Ross’ company. He not only resented Jennifer’s intrusion, but couldn’t understand why she’d suddenly appeared.

‘I don’t want to discuss my feelings with you,’ Dante said bitterly. ‘I don’t need any more people sticking their noses in.’

Ross gave Dante a
don’t be rude
stare, but Jennifer only laughed.

‘It doesn’t seem fair, does it?’ Jennifer asked.

Dante tutted. ‘Can’t I eat my dinner in peace?’

‘Jennifer is here to help you, Dante,’ Ross said. ‘She’s just trying to get to know you better.’

‘Fine,’ Dante huffed. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned lately it’s that life
isn’t
fair. The Führer kills my mum, dad, brother and sister. Then he tries to blow me up with a bomb. And he gets away with it, because apparently nobody on the jury will believe me because I told one stupid lie about a bloody T-shirt.’

‘They’re not saying they’ll
never
prosecute the Führer,’ Ross noted. ‘They just need more evidence.’

‘Blah, blah, blah,’ Dante said, as he dumped his dinner plate on the bedside table. ‘I
never
should have spoken to the cops. At least the Brigands
do
stuff, instead of having meetings, and waiting for evidence and all this other crap.’

‘You have every right to be upset,’ Jennifer said.

‘You’re all useless,’ Dante yelled. ‘When I’m old enough I’m going to get a sawn-off and a motorbike. I’m gonna drive up to the Führer’s house and I’m gonna shoot him in the legs. Then I’ll hook him up, and watch him bleed slowly to death.’

Dante felt tears welling in his eyes and he was annoyed because half a minute earlier he’d been eating his dinner with Ross and now he was in a state.

‘It’ll get better,’ Jennifer said.

‘Bollocks!’ Dante screamed. He threw his dinner at Jennifer and started to sob. ‘I’m sick of everyone going on about my feelings. I want everyone to leave me alone.’

The plate narrowly missed the elderly psychologist, but the carpet and chair were covered with rice and chicken.

‘I’m so useless I can’t even hit an old granny with a plate of food,’ Dante shouted, steaming across the room, slamming the bathroom door and locking himself in.

He looked at his red face in the mirror, before lashing out and violently kicking the toilet seat. He hurled Ross’ wash bag at the wall, then grabbed the little bin off the floor and threw it at the frosted glass window. Instead of crashing through the glass as he’d hoped, it bounced off and hit him on the head.

‘Owwwwwww!’ Dante screamed, collapsing to his knees as Ross banged on the door.

‘Open up,’ Ross shouted. ‘You’re just working yourself into a state. It’s not doing anyone any good, is it?’

‘Sod off!’ Dante said, as he kicked the door, then crashed backwards and sat on the toilet lid.

A penknife blade slid between the door and the bolt and Dante lunged forward as he noticed the bolt turning. He expected Ross, but was surprised to find Jennifer’s slim frame in the doorway.

Dante charged at her stomach, but instead of bowling her over he found himself being spun around. Jennifer twisted Dante’s arm up behind his back, and held him in an uncomfortable restraining position as she pulled him out of the bathroom and sprawled him down across the bed.

‘Calm down,’ Jennifer soothed. ‘I’ll let go as soon as you stop fighting.’

Ross closed in as Dante sobbed hysterically.

‘Keep him still,’ Jennifer said. ‘I’ll get my med bag.’

As Ross sat beside Dante on the bed, stroking his back and trying to get him to calm down, Jennifer dashed across the hall. She opened her room with a credit card-style key and came back moments later with her handbag.

‘How can the Führer get away with it?’ Dante sobbed. ‘He killed my whole family. There’s got to be more evidence.’

Ross had grown attached to Dante and had wet eyes himself as Jennifer rummaged through her bag.

‘Dante, sweetheart,’ Jennifer said, as she twisted the sterile cap off the syringe needle. ‘I need you to keep still for two seconds.’

Dante looked back and saw Jennifer moving towards him, with a five-centimetre needle catching the light.

‘No!’ he screamed.

‘Hold him still, Ross,’ Jennifer said, as she pulled Dante’s trousers down a few centimetres to expose the top of his left buttock. She dabbed his skin with a sterile wipe.

‘He can’t get away with it,’ Dante yelled. ‘Leave me alone. What are you doing?’

Ross pushed Dante firmly against the bed so that he didn’t move as the needle sank into his bum. Jennifer drew a swirl of blood up into the syringe before pressing down to inject a dose of sedative.

After a few seconds, Dante felt himself relax and his eyes shot out of focus. Within twenty the sobbing had stopped, his breathing had gone back to normal and he’d drifted into a deep sleep.

Jennifer looked exhausted and wiped her brow on the back of her wrist. ‘So much for waiting until he fell asleep,’ she said.

Ross rolled Dante on to his back and felt sad as he saw the boy’s tear-streaked face. ‘I’m very fond of him, Jennifer,’ Ross said. ‘I still can’t believe what you told me.’

Jennifer smiled. ‘Nor will Dante when he wakes up in the morning.’

At first Dante thought he was still in the hotel. But there was only one double bed. There was a wall-mounted TV, a kettle, a telephone and a miniature fridge. He didn’t have a clue where he was or how he’d got here. The last thing he remembered was checking into the hotel with Ross Johnson and Jennifer Mitchum.

Dante burrowed around under the duvet and saw that he was naked, except for a thickly padded incontinence pad. He opened out the elastic around the waist and was relieved to find it dry inside.

‘Ross?’ Dante yelled curiously, as he sat up and looked out of the window.

The room was on a corner, six storeys up. A crane hovered a few hundred metres away, its driver lowering glass panels on to a banana-shaped construction site. In front of the building were lawns, a car park and two helipads. Most intriguingly a line of little kids in matching red T-shirts and combat trousers was heading out of a side entrance carrying a selection of archery equipment, including bows, arrows and target boards stacked on a big trolley.

As he stepped back from the curtains, Dante noticed clothes laid out on the floor. They were his size: white socks and boxers, pressed orange T-shirt, plus green military-style trousers and boots. Apart from the T-shirt colour it looked identical to what the kids outside were wearing. The boots seemed new, with a rubbery smell and shiny black soles. The T-shirt had a logo with a winged baby sitting on a globe and the word CHERUB cut through the middle.

So it was some kind of boarding school, and Dante was relieved because it definitely didn’t look like the Brigands had got their hands on him. He spun around when a door clicked beside him.

‘Hello,’ a girl said warily, as she leaned in from an adjoining room.

She matched Dante in size and build, but had long blond hair and would have been pretty but for two shockingly black eyes. The girl wore boots, orange T-shirt and combat trousers, and Dante was embarrassed because he was wearing the giant nappy.

‘Hey,’ Dante said. He thought about moving back to the bed and covering up with the duvet, but instead he froze on the spot. ‘Erm … Are you like, I mean … Did you just sort of wake up here?’

The girl’s eyebrows shot up in recognition. ‘Exactly,’ she nodded. ‘The corridor outside is empty, but I heard you yelling
Ross
.’

‘What’s the last thing you remember?’ Dante asked.

‘I was in a kids’ home called Nebraska House. I was supposed to have an evening appointment with my counsellor, but I waited in her office for ages. Then I got a call to say she’d had to go off to Devon for some emergency and she’d see me tomorrow instead.’

‘Devon,’ Dante said curiously. ‘Was she called Jennifer by any chance?’

The girl nodded. ‘Yes, Jennifer Mitchum.’

‘I know her,’ Dante said. ‘What, is she going around abducting kids or something?’

‘This place seems OK,’ the girl said. ‘I mean, there’s tennis courts and kids running around outside. I’m Lauren by the way. Lauren Onions.’

Dante dithered for a second before deciding to use his real name. ‘I’m Dante,’ he said. ‘So is your room like this?’

Lauren held the adjoining door open so that Dante could see inside. ‘Everything’s identical, except I didn’t have a big nappy on.’

Dante looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t know
why
they put this on me,’ he lied. ‘So what do you reckon we should do? Maybe try to find someone?’

‘Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll look around together? There’s got to be an adult somewhere.’

After putting on the uniform Dante met Lauren out in the hallway. They were at the end of a long carpeted corridor, with doors off either side. Some doors were open and as the pair walked they saw rooms in various states of disarray.

‘Looks like teenagers judging by the size of the clothes,’ Lauren said. She noticed a bedside clock. ‘Quarter to ten, so I guess they’re all in lessons.’

‘What happened to your eyes?’ Dante asked, as they started walking again.

‘My idiot dad,’ Lauren said reluctantly. ‘He came home in a mood. I said I needed some money for shopping and he went crazy and punched me in the face.’

‘Jesus,’ Dante said.

‘It’s nothing compared to how it looked at first,’ Lauren said. ‘I could barely see on the way to school the next day. My teacher reported it and that’s how I ended up in Nebraska House. My half brother James was supposed to be there, but nobody could find him …’

‘Maybe he’s here,’ Dante suggested.

Lauren felt dumb because she hadn’t thought of this herself. ‘Maybe he is,’ she smiled. ‘He’s an idiot, but we kind of look after each other.’

As they reached the lift and stairs in the centre of the building a teenager burst out of her bedroom. She held a giant art folio and a pile of books on Picasso. She wore the same uniform as Dante and Lauren, but looked about fifteen and her navy T-shirt was spattered with paint.

‘Hello,’ Lauren said politely. ‘Can you help us please, we’re a bit lost?’

The girl held out her palm. ‘Can’t talk to orange,’ she said firmly.

Lauren and Dante were baffled by the response. They followed the girl as she approached the lift. She was carrying too much stuff to press the button.

‘Up or down?’ Dante asked.

‘Down,’ the girl said reluctantly.

Dante pressed the button. ‘So why can’t you talk to us? All we want is directions.’

‘Sorry,’ the teenager said. ‘But you’ve no idea how much trouble I could get into for talking to someone in an orange T-shirt. They’ll be watching you on CCTV. Mac will find you when he needs you.’

‘Who’s Mac?’ Lauren asked.

‘Will you speak to me if I pull my T-shirt off ?’ Dante asked.

The girl laughed, then looked anxiously at the LED display and groaned with frustration because the lift hadn’t budged from the ground floor.

‘I’ll walk then, shall I?’ the teenager said to herself angrily. ‘I
hate
these lifts! They always make me late.’

Before racing off down the stairs, the girl saw the worried expressions on the two nine-year-old faces. ‘This is a nice place, you’ve got nothing to be scared of.’

Dante and Lauren looked at one another and shrugged.

‘Well,’ Dante said, ‘one thing’s for sure, today can’t get any weirder.’

Lauren managed a half smile. ‘Don’t bet on it.’

Sod’s law dictated that the lift started moving as soon as the overladen teenager set off down the stairs. Lauren and Dante watched the display as the lift rumbled inside its shaft. When the doors opened they revealed a lady with long dark hair and a lacy top stretched over a heavily pregnant belly.

‘Hop in,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll start your tour from the ground floor.’

‘Are you Mac?’ Dante asked, as the doors closed.

The woman shook her head. ‘No, Mac is our chairman. He usually takes prospective recruits on a tour of campus, but he’s in bed with a chest infection. He’s in a real state and his wife’s refused to let him come into work. I’m Zara Asker, one of the senior mission controllers.’

‘Is my brother here?’ Lauren asked, as they stepped out on the ground floor. They were in the main entrance hall. There was a reception desk, and a worried looking boy in a red CHERUB T-shirt sat on a bench outside an office.

‘Yes, James is here,’ Zara said. ‘One second.’

Zara walked towards the boy, who looked about seven. She spoke with an authoritative tone. ‘Jake Parker sitting outside the chairman’s office,
what
a surprise.’