Brigands M. C. (24 page)

‘He’s barely a kid,’ Sealclubber said.

‘But who’s behind him?’ Pikey asked. ‘The only thing we know about them is that they can lay their hands on six hundred grand. Which means they’re deep in the drug trade and they’re not gonna be too scared to take on a few fat blokes in leather jackets.’

‘You’re right,’ Sealclubber laughed. ‘Let’s take our fifteen per cent and let South Devon deal with all the shit. You fancy coming down to Devon with us?’

‘Rather keep watch here,’ Pikey said. ‘Bike plays merry hell with my piles these days.’

*

Rhino turned on the charm as Chloe sat across his desk and flicked through a credit agreement set in six-point text.

‘It’s all very reputable,’ Rhino said reassuringly. ‘It’s a standard agreement between yourself and Midland Retail credit services.’

Chloe smiled. ‘So I won’t have a biker on my doorstep threatening to bust my kneecaps if I miss my payment?’

‘No indeed,’ Rhino laughed, as Chloe signed her name in a box. ‘And twice on the back,’ he added. ‘And finally we need an adult’s signature on young James’ insurance form.’

James stood in the background and broke into a big smile as a mechanic came and wheeled his new 500cc pride and joy down a ramp to have the restrictor kit fitted. ‘Make sure it
doesn’t
work,’ James whispered, and the mechanic gave him a wink.

‘So you just moved down here?’ Rhino asked.

‘Split from my husband,’ Chole explained. ‘I got a nice fat divorce settlement and I needed to get out of London.’

‘I hear that,’ Rhino smiled. ‘You don’t look old enough for James to be your son.’

‘You flatter me,’ Chloe answered. ‘Look at this grey hair!’

‘There’s a big bash at the Brigands clubhouse tonight. Would you be interested?’

Chloe knew it might help with the mission, but she was playing the ex-wife of a stockbroker and she couldn’t jump at the prospect of a biker party, so she hesitated.

‘Come on, let your hair down,’ Rhino said cheerfully. ‘When was the last time you went to a
really
crazy party?’

Chloe laughed. ‘It’s been a while and I’m guessing the Brigands clubhouse is livelier than a cocktail party in Primrose Hill.’

‘So how’s your little Jap rocket?’ Teeth asked, as he stood in the staff canteen, off the mezzanine between Marina Heights’ two floors. The windowless space had a few tables and chairs, a fridge, sink and a coffee machine, but on a warm day everyone took their breaks outside.

‘Haven’t ridden it yet,’ James explained. ‘They’re fitting the restrictor kit right now.’

‘Fitting it badly, I hope,’ Teeth smiled.

‘Course,’ James nodded.

‘Your basic salary is five an hour,’ Teeth explained. ‘Seven quid after eight at night and eight if you work after midnight. If you have a problem with your hours
don’t
leave it until the last minute to let me know. How does a full Saturday and a couple of evenings after school sound?’

‘I guess,’ James said. ‘What’ll I do?’

‘Everyone starts on clean-up and odd jobs: toilets, bins, litter. Next stage is serving in one of the kiosks. The top rung is working in the diner or as a kiosk manager. You get an extra two-fifty an hour for that.’

‘Cool,’ James nodded. ‘I’ve actually worked in a Deluxe Chicken before now, so I’ve got some experience serving customers and stuff.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Teeth said. ‘You never know.’

James remembered a few details about Teeth’s past and decided to flatter his new boss. ‘You look slightly familiar. Didn’t you use to be a wrestler?’

Teeth broke out in a huge smile. ‘How’d you know that?’

‘From when I was little. You were Gumdrop McGlone, on one of those early-morning wrestling shows they used to have on the sports channel. I used to lap that up.’

‘I only did three televised bouts,’ Teeth smiled. ‘You’ve got
quite
a memory.’

‘Do you still wrestle now?’

‘Nah,’ Teeth said. ‘I used to do holiday camps and stuff, but now I run Marina Heights and you can’t disappear for weeks at a time during the summer season. Plus I’m a few years past my prime. I ran a club for a while teaching young ’uns boxing and wrestling moves, but I turned it in. Some guy tried to sue me after his son broke his arm. Plus they brought in all these regulations and criminal checks for people working with kids, and I’ve got a bit of a past.’

‘Pity,’ James said.

‘I’ve got a full complement of staff today,’ Teeth said, ‘but I could start you off on a special job if you want to earn straight away.’

James wanted to ride his new motorbike as soon as it was ready, but putting in some hours would be more likely to impress his new boss. ‘I’ll do anything,’ James said. ‘I’m a hard worker.’

Teeth gave James a security pass, a walkie talkie and a blue boiler suit to put on, then disappeared to collect a water jet sprayer. After leading James to the underground car park below the Marina View apartments they walked between lines of expensive cars to a patch of wall covered with the partially filled outline of a graffiti tag
Eklipz 08
.

‘We spotted the man with the spray can and gave him a good kicking,’ Teeth explained. ‘But the only way you’ll get that lot off the concrete is to blast it.’

After showing James where to rig up the hose and plug in, Teeth demonstrated how to blast off the spray paint.

‘Spray paint
does
shift, but concrete is porous so it takes a lot of doing,’ Teeth explained. ‘You’re looking at a good four or five hours’ work. Take a break when you’re halfway through, then come and find me when you’re done.’

As James took the face visor from Teeth and began blasting with the hose, the walkie talkie hooked to his waist began to crackle. ‘
Cleaning team one to Donut Shack
,’ it announced. ‘
Kid puked up on the promenade. Let’s get it scooped before people start treading through
.’

*

It was half three when James finished. The building manager’s office was behind the restaurants. Teeth sat at a cluttered desk. James recognised the Führer’s sixteenyear-old son Martin as he entered.

‘This is the kid I was telling you about,’ Teeth explained to Martin.

Martin was taller than James, but thin. He wore skinny-fit black jeans, a short-sleeve blue shirt with a thin leather tie loose at the neck and scruffy emo hair. He reached out and James shook a spindly hand.

‘Hey,’ Martin said. ‘Having fun?’

‘Spraying graffiti for four and a half hours,’ James smiled. ‘How could I not?’

Teeth looked at the area James had cleaned on one of the security screens behind his head. ‘Looks like you did OK.’

‘I hear you’ve got a new bike,’ Martin said. ‘What’s it like?’

‘Dunno,’ James said. ‘I’m itching to give it a blast.’

‘We just had Martin’s assistant call in sick for tonight,’ Teeth explained. ‘Saturday night is always busy, tonight particularly so because it’s a Brigands open night. Martin needs someone to help on the crêpe kiosk between six and midnight. Have you got any plans?’

James shrugged. ‘I was gonna phone my girlfriend Ashley, but nothing’s fixed so I guess I could.’

‘It’s best to get there early,’ Martin explained. ‘That way I can show you the ropes and let you practise cooking before we get busy.’

‘No problem,’ James grinned. ‘So if I’m serving food I’d better get home and clean up and stuff.’

‘Enjoy the bike,’ Teeth said, as James and Martin headed outside together.

James threw his wet overalls into a locker in the staff room and belted downstairs to the Leather and Chrome garage. The mechanic recognised him from earlier and dangled the key under his nose.

‘Good to go,’ he smiled. ‘Your mum took all the paperwork home. Just be careful, I’d feel guilty about taking that restrictor off if you wrap yourself around a tree on the way home.’

After putting his riding leathers over his shorts and T-shirt James fired up the bike. Everything about it from the weight and engine noise felt bigger than the Honda he’d arrived on that morning. He felt apprehensive as he opened the throttle and pulled away.

The Kawasaki growled as he cut down the side of the cars queuing to get out of Marina Heights. The streets were crowded with Saturday shopping traffic and James spent several minutes hemmed behind a white van in the high street. But once the traffic broke on to the A-road heading towards home he caught a break in the oncoming traffic and pulled out to accelerate.

The exhaust made a beautiful rumble and before James knew it he’d touched sixty miles an hour and had to dab the brakes to slow down as he dodged back into his own lane. He was tempted to gun the bike and see how fast he could go, but he wanted to get a feel for it, so for now he was content to roll at forty with the wind blasting him and the sun toasting his back.

*

‘I think Teeth likes you,’ Martin said, as James stood inside the crêpe kiosk wearing jeans, a white polo shirt and a Marina Heights apron.

‘I recognised him from his wrestling days,’ James explained, watching as Martin ladled batter on to one of the three circular hot plates used for cooking the French-style pancakes.

‘He’d have
loved
you mentioning that,’ Martin said, using a wide plastic paddle to spread the batter into a thin circular layer. ‘The trick is to make sure there’s enough fat to stop the batter sticking. Then watch until the top of the batter starts to harden. That’s when you flip her over with the paddle to brown the other side.’

‘It’s boiling hot here,’ James said, wiping the beads of sweat off his brow as he studied the tubs of ingredients and machines on all sides. Crêpe fillings ranging from banana ice cream to chilli-beef were lined up under a glass counter. Behind was a coffee and tea machine and a fridge full of cold drinks.

‘You get used to the heat,’ Martin said. He moved his steaming crêpe across to a plastic shelf where they added the fillings and sauces. ‘OK, grab the ladle and have a try. No pressure, but the girl who called in sick tonight is worse than useless, so if you get this right you might find yourself in here permanently, rather than with your rubber-gloved mitt unclogging a toilet.’

James misted the hotplate with oil before carefully ladling out some pancake batter. As he spread it with the paddle a couple of drips ran off the side of the plate.

‘You used a
bit
too much,’ Martin explained, ‘but it’s spread nicely. Now you just need to flip it before it burns. You see how the batter glistens when it’s wet? As soon as that stops, that’s your cue to flip it over.’

‘Ah-ha, look at the working man!’ Julian laughed from the other side of the counter.

‘Hey cock stain,’ James said, as he glowered at Julian’s curly hair and grinning face.

‘Keep your eye on the hotplate,’ Martin cautioned. ‘Now, get the skillet under and flip her before she burns.’

‘I saw you cleaning graffiti earlier,’ Julian said with a superior tone as James flipped the crêpe. ‘I don’t have to work because
my
family aren’t poor.’

‘Piss off, Julian,’ Martin said.

Julian grinned. ‘What was that, my little gay friend? Have you come out to your daddy yet?’

‘I’m not ashamed of my sexuality, Julian,’ Martin said.

‘Oh and I saw your new motorbike, James. I might buy an ice cream and stroll across for a proper look at it later on.’

James was determined to get his first crêpe right, but as soon as he dropped it on to the prep board he lunged across the counter so fast that Julian couldn’t move back. James grabbed a handful of Julian’s shirt and yanked him forward so that his face squished against the clear plastic display cabinet.

‘Touch my new bike and I’ll drag you over this counter and fry your head on the hotplate,’ James warned, before letting go.

Julian straightened his shirt up and tried not to look flustered as he backed away. ‘Have a nice night,’ he grinned.

‘I will,’ James said. ‘Especially after my shift when I’m banging your ex.’

As Julian walked away Martin cracked a big smile. ‘Julian’s the biggest moron. If he touches your bike again, tell Teeth. That whole car park is covered with CCTV and the Brigands have no time for people who vandalise motorbikes.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ James nodded, as his attention turned back to his crêpe. ‘So how did I do?’

‘Good,’ Martin said. ‘It’s a bit doughy in the middle because you used too much batter, and when we get a real customer I’d recommend more pleases and thankyous and slightly less of the threatening to fry their face and shag their ex-girlfriend.’

*

The South Devon Brigands had an open night every third Saturday. For poorer chapters open nights were a way of getting people through the door and making money selling food and drugs. For the South Devon chapter it had more to do with community relations.

Closed doors, security cameras and noisy bikes scared the public, especially when Devon police regularly described the Brigands as a menace. But for many locals and tourists, their only contact with South Devon Brigands was on the open nights when the Führer put his crew on their best behaviour.