CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,37
this shit in any gun shop in the USA,’ he laughed. ‘Go to some African shithole and you can pick AK47s off street vendors for less than I paid for my coffee. But in case you haven’t noticed, this little island has the tightest gun controls in the world and you can’t smuggle a hundred guns and twenty-three thousand rounds of ammunition on a P&O ferry under your jumper.’
The Asian paused, as if he was wavering over the deal. The day was a scorcher and he downed a third of his Frappuccino in three long sucks on the straw. ‘I respect the fact that you don’t want to make rash promises. When can you let us know?’
‘This business is all face to face,’ Sealclubber explained. ‘It’s too risky picking up a cellphone and talking about this. But I’ll set up a meeting and get back to you. You’ll know within three days, five at the outside.’
‘OK,’ the Asian said, as he stood up to leave.
‘Just one thing,’ Sealclubber said. ‘This better not be for some terrorist shit.’
‘It’s Birmingham street shit,’ the Asian laughed. ‘A lot of money in my community. A lot of drugs and protection rackets. There’s a war in the offing and when it starts I’m gonna be right there selling guns and ammo to whichever son of a bitch wants to buy them.’
‘You sound like my kind of guy,’ Sealclubber grinned. ‘Sell the guns to all them Pakis, then sit back and let the bullets fly.’
The Asian looked narked.
‘No offence,’ Sealclubber said awkwardly. ‘It’s what we call brown people in my neck of the woods.’
‘None taken,’ the Asian lied. ‘Call me what you like, just get me the guns.’
Sealclubber wished he either had a calculator or had paid enough attention in school maths class to work out what his fifteen per cent cut of £632,000 would be, but he was sure it was a lot of money.
The Asian sucked his Frappuccino dry and dumped it in a bin as he walked back out into the bright sunlight. He lucked out and dived into a black cab waiting at the lights.
‘Hornsey Road swimming pool,’ he told the driver.
There was a bit of traffic and the ride in the unairconditioned taxi lasted twenty sticky minutes.
‘Could do with a dip myself on a hot day like this,’ the cabbie said, as he pulled up outside the pool and wrote a receipt. But once the cab was out of sight the Asian crossed the street and walked into Hornsey police station, directly opposite.
The desk sergeant pressed a buzzer to let the Asian behind the counter. He headed up to an open-plan office on the third floor that belonged to the National Police Biker Task Force (NPBTF). It was a grand name for a squad with eleven officers, two cars and no budget for overtime.
Everyone looked towards the Asian man as he stepped into the room. ‘I think we’re in,’ he smiled. ‘Security’s a joke. I wasn’t patted down for a bug or anything.’
‘Nice one, Georgie boy,’ a female officer answered and a couple of other officers celebrated by banging on their desks and hurling compliments.
‘He called me a Paki though,’ George grinned. ‘So I’m Tasering the prick when we bust him.’
Chief Inspector Ross Johnson had been in charge of NPBTF for the last nine months. ‘How’d it go, George?’ he asked, as he sauntered out of his office.
‘Not too shabby, guv,’ George admitted, as he stopped in front of his boss and rested an elbow on a beige partition. ‘He baulked when he saw the size of the order. Just hope we didn’t over-egg it.’
Ross shrugged and smiled. ‘I’d hug you if you didn’t look so damned sweaty. If the Führer can’t deliver that quantity of weapons, he’ll still try and sell us as much as he can. That’s gonna push his supply chain to the limits and our boy at the other end of the line should get drafted in to help out.’
George cracked a big smile. ‘Either that or we’ll screw up, lose half a million in cash, get our undercover cop killed and direct traffic until we’re old enough to retire.’
14. PROGRESS
Lauren Onions – now known as Lauren Adams – stepped out of the lift on the eighth floor of the main building on CHERUB campus. She wore a black CHERUB T-shirt. Her best friend Bethany Parker was alongside, wearing a navy shirt she’d earned during an eight-month mission in Brazil the previous year.