Brigands M. C. (38 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ Dante said, stepping back from Chloe and picking up his chair. ‘I’m not being professional. It just
pisses
me off that the Führer keeps on getting away with everything.’

‘Completely understood,’ Zara nodded. ‘So how was the CHERUB part of the mission going before this happened?’

Lauren answered first. ‘Me and Dante were getting nowhere fast. We did get the tip-off about Nigel being involved in the weapons smuggling through his sister Anna, but that was a fluke to be honest. Our main target was Joe Donnington, on the basis that he’d know a lot about what his dad was up to, but he doesn’t. He finds having a father who goes around dressed like Hitler embarrassing and keeps his distance.’

‘Joe’s a good kid,’ Dante said. ‘He was my best friend back in the old days and if my parents were alive he probably still would be. But he doesn’t know any more about Brigands weapons smuggling or drug dealing than I do.’

‘Disappointing,’ Zara said. ‘What about you, James?’

James straightened up in his chair and cleared his throat. ‘It was going really slowly,’ he said. ‘On Friday I’d have said that I was no closer to penetrating the Brigands organisation than when we first arrived. But the run out to the Rebel Tea Party changed everything. Dirty Dave loves me, the other Brigands are starting to think I’m an asset and I’m a shoo-in for Monster Bunch membership if I hang around over the summer.’

‘It’s so frustrating,’ Chloe said. ‘James made the breakthrough we’ve been desperate for just as the other end of the operation blew up in our faces.’

‘I’ve got this meeting with Dirty Dave on Monday,’ James said. ‘He said he’s going to offer me a way to start making some money.’

‘Any idea how?’ Tracy asked.

James shook his head. ‘But he said he didn’t want to talk about it over the phone, so it’s going to be something illegal.’

Zara nodded and locked her fingers together. ‘Well,’ she said, as she drew a sharp breath, ‘none of you are going to like this but I think CHERUB has to pull the plug on this one.’

‘For god’s sake,’ Dante moaned.

‘
Don’t
bite my head off,’ Zara said. ‘Every CHERUB mission is authorised by our ethics committee. Your mission briefings cleared you to infiltrate the Brigands and work with the Biker Task Force in order to help them link a shipment of weapons to the Führer and other full-patch Brigands. That mission ended when the weapons were seized by Devon police.’

‘I could have been stabbed or worse at the Tea Party last night,’ James protested. ‘I’m happy to take risks, but what’s the point if the rug gets pulled from under you? Especially with this meeting on Monday.’

‘I know,’ Zara nodded. ‘I don’t think we should forget all about the Brigands, especially as the three arrests probably won’t stop their weapons smuggling. What I am saying is that the mission you were sent here for is over. You kids can tell your friends that your parents are reconciling and that you’re going back to your father in London on a trial basis.

‘Chloe can work with Ross Johnson. Maybe they can devise another mission that takes advantage of James’ burgeoning relationship with the Brigands. We’ll keep the house in Salcombe and with the school summer holidays coming up, it’s perfectly credible for you all to disappear back to London for a few weeks.’

‘What about my meeting with Dirty Dave on Monday?’ James asked. ‘I might as well go and listen to his offer.’

‘Agreed,’ Zara nodded.

‘So who would come back?’ Dante asked. ‘All of us, or just Chloe and James?’

Zara shrugged. ‘Probably just Chloe and James, but it obviously depends upon the new mission and its objectives.’

‘If there is one,’ James said.

Tracy spoke enthusiastically. ‘If James is on the cusp of penetrating the Brigands it could be a huge breakthrough. Especially with a biker war on the horizon.’

Zara stood up. ‘So, does anyone else have anything to add?’

Nobody said anything, although Dante groaned to remind everyone how cheesed off he was. Zara shook Tracy and Neil’s hands before they left the room.

‘I’ll drive the kids back to Salcombe,’ Chloe said.

Zara pointed at McEwen. ‘You
stay
here,’ she said firmly. ‘The Chief Constable isn’t very happy about one of his sergeants ending up with a fractured cheek and neither am I.’

McEwen shrugged and looked like a little boy who’d been caught stealing cookies. ‘I blame it on stress,’ he said. ‘And extreme sleep deprivation.’

‘Really,’ Zara said, clearly not convinced. ‘Well, the good news is that you’ll have six months to recover from stress and sleep deprivation while you work in the basement of the main building. I believe there are five thousand boxes of archives to be re-catalogued and digitised.’

When his Monday afternoon maths class finished, James headed straight off to the Leather and Chrome workshop where he’d booked in his bike to have the rear indicator replaced. The twin garage doors were open and James was shocked to see a dozen charred Harleys along one wall. They ranged from blackened hulks to less serious cases that had suffered minor damage from being near the flames.

‘Not a pretty sight,’ James said, sucking air between his teeth as Rhino came down the steps from the showroom. ‘That’s gotta be over a hundred grand’s worth of damage.’

Rhino nodded. ‘And these are just the bikes that are salvageable, or that have some parts worth stripping. We left four more up there that were nothing but scrap metal.’

‘Tragic,’ James said. ‘Did you come out OK?’

Rhino pointed towards his yellow Harley Softail. ‘It doesn’t look too bad, but it got near the flames and heat is a killer. All the wiring’s got to be stripped out and replaced. You’re looking at two or three days’ work and a lot of money for parts.’

‘Not good,’ James said. ‘I was lucky, for sure.’

‘I’ve got another ER5 upstairs in the showroom,’ Rhino explained. ‘I’ll take the lamp from that one if that’s OK? It’ll be Friday before the new unit arrives.’

‘Sounds OK,’ James said. ‘How much is it gonna set me back?’

‘Fifty-six quid for the part is all,’ Rhino said. ‘The Führer said not to charge you any labour on account of what you did with the coach.’

‘Cool,’ James smiled. ‘That’s appreciated. How long will it take?’

‘It’s a twenty-minute job, I’ll do it myself while you wait.’

‘Brilliant,’ James said. He pointed towards Marina Heights. ‘I’ve got to meet Dirty Dave. Will it be OK if I swing by and pick it up in half an hour?’

‘Course,’ Rhino nodded. ‘By the way, I’ve not seen your mum for a week or so. Give her my regards.’

James took off his leather riding jacket and slung it over his back as he walked up the back steps towards the restaurants. It was another glorious day and Dirty Dave waved from one of the tables outside a French restaurant that was closed for a break between lunch and dinner. He had a bottle of fizzy water and an ashtray stuffed with dog ends in front of him.

As James sat down he noticed an open-faced motorbike helmet finished in black carbon fibre resting on an empty chair. Most outlaw bikers wore open face helmets. They provided less crash protection than fully enclosed helmets, but gave better visibility and looked ten times cooler.

‘That’s for you,’ Dirty Dave said.

James cracked a big grin. He’d seen a similar helmet advertised in a magazine for over three hundred quid. ‘That’s awesome,’ he gasped. ‘But I can’t take this, it’s too much.’

Dave shrugged as he sucked on his hand-rolled cigarette. ‘That sharpened hammer would have gone through my skull,’ he said. ‘Besides, Brigands get trade price in the Leather and Chrome showroom. The markup on those things is like a hundred and fifty per cent.’

James gave the helmet’s soft leather trim a sniff and admired his reflection in the chromed chin bar. ‘I just did what anyone would have done.’

‘The other thing I’ve got to ask you about could earn you a lot more than cooking crêpes,’ Dave said. ‘You interested?’

‘I’m always interested in making money.’ James reckoned it was most likely to be drug related, but if it was to do with weapons smuggling they might be able to extend the mission.

Dave smiled. ‘I saw you walking around at the Tea Party with your shirt off and you’ve got a great physique. Do you work out?’

‘Some weights and stuff,’ James nodded, wondering if Dave wanted him to work as a bouncer or something like that. ‘And I did a lot of Karate and kickboxing when I lived back in London.’

‘You see, in my business youth is
everything
. Someone your age can make a heck of a lot of money.’

James was slightly baffled. ‘What business is that?’

‘I thought you knew: I run half the strip joints in Devon. Why do you think I’m called
Dirty
Dave?’

James’ jaw practically hit the table top and Dave caught his expression.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Dave said. ‘But being a male stripper doesn’t make you gay. What it makes you is
minted
. You’re seventeen, but you look younger. I can put you on stage in a skimpy costume at my club in Taunton. You dance around a bit, flash your biceps, wiggle your bum in some dirty old sod’s face. I’ll pay you fifty quid for a four-hour shift, but on top of that you’ll get blokes giving you tips and for someone your age that could be a
lot
of money.’

James looked aghast. ‘Are you on a wind-up?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Dave insisted. ‘I can take you up to my club for a look if you want to check it out. The manager and the other boys will find you a costume, teach you a few dance steps and show you how to handle the customers.’

James had been through all kinds of stuff on CHERUB missions, but nothing in his training had prepared him for this moment and his face was going bright red.

‘Oh,’ he said weakly. ‘I mean, this is a surprise. So, like … How about I think about it for a day or two and give you a call?’

‘You’re flustered,’ Dave said, as he pointed towards the crêperie. ‘Embarrassed even, and that’s completely understandable. But you can spend all night cooking pancakes and make what? Twenty-five or thirty quid? At your age and with your body you can make twenty times that amount. Why not use your assets to your advantage?’

*

Lauren thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. She laughed so much that she fell off the sofa and ended up on the floor with one hand clutching her stomach and another thumping repeatedly on the carpet.

‘Oh please god, stop me laughing,’ Lauren shrieked. ‘I can’t breathe. I’m going to die.’

Chloe was trying to act like a responsible adult and had gone out to the kitchen to calm down, but James could still hear her convulsing with laughter.

‘It’s not
that
funny,’ James protested, as he hurled the TV remote at Lauren.

‘Yes it is,’ she screamed. ‘Oh god, I can’t wait to tell everyone on campus.’

Dante had been doing homework at Anna’s house and wheeled his bike into the hallway a couple of minutes later.

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

‘James got invited to become a stripper at Dirty Dave’s gay club in Taunton,’ Chloe said, as she came back into the living-room.

As soon as she made eye contact with Lauren she started howling again. Dante didn’t laugh as hard as the girls until Lauren jumped up on to the coffee table and started dancing.

‘I’m James and I’m a stripper, put some money down my pants,’ she sang.

‘So are you gonna do it?’ Dante smirked. ‘I can just see you up on stage, with greasy old businessmen leering at you.’

‘I think it’s the perfect way for him to infiltrate the Brigands,’ Chloe smiled. ‘He can do it for a couple of years and if it doesn’t work out at least he’ll have a nice little nest egg.’

Lauren hopped off the table but lost her balance and bent her thumb back as she landed awkwardly on the sofa.

‘Serves you right,’ James gloated, as Lauren clutched her hand and moaned. ‘I’m going upstairs to get changed for work.’

‘Leather hat and tanga briefs?’ Dante grinned, making Lauren start laughing again.

Chloe stopped James as he stormed towards the door. ‘On a more serious note, now that we know Dirty Dave’s proposition isn’t related to weapons smuggling you’d better start preparing to leave. I want all of you to tell your friends that it looks like I’m getting back with your dad and that you’ll be going back to London this weekend. Make sure you don’t burn any bridges, in case any of us come back for a second mission.’

It was Thursday, nine-thirty and James’ pancake flipping career would end in half an hour. He dropped a steaming crêpe on to the preparation surface, then laid on vanilla ice cream, tinned orange segments and chopped nuts before folding it in half and dropping it on to a cardboard plate.

‘Voilà,’ James said cheerfully, as his nine-year-old customer grabbed her food and bolted towards parents and a disabled brother sitting at one of the tables. Then he turned towards Martin and acted like he was crying. ‘I’ll miss this all so much,’ he wailed.