CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,42

would look for something to steal, so he kept the investigation notes he wrote each day along with anything else that gave a clue to his real identity behind a false panel in the base of a kitchen cabinet.

But Neil didn’t like the fact that this scene was playing out in the middle of nowhere. Why would the Führer do this out here at 2 a.m., instead of making the offer of prospect status back at the clubhouse over a round of drinks?

It was hard to judge anything when you were dealing with the Führer. He was a borderline psychopath, and Neil knew he made people squirm for the fun of it.

‘You know it’s hard looking for a man named Smith,’ the Führer explained. ‘It’s the most common name in the country. I mean, if your name is Eustace Von Hasselhoff, or even Ralph Donnington it’s pretty easy to track through the records. But there are thousands of people called Neil Smith in the country. So if you were an undercover cop, you’d probably want to pick a name like Smith, or Jones, or Edwards.’

Neil felt his heart quicken. The mention of undercover cops made him uneasy, but snitches and deep-cover police officers had caused the demise of gangs all over the world. You’d rarely spend more than a few hours in biker company without someone suggesting that a certain person was a nark or a snitch.

‘We’ve never had anyone infiltrate a Brigands chapter,’ the Führer continued. ‘Not in the UK, or abroad. And it goes without saying that any cop or snitch found in our ranks is going to suffer a slow and painful death.’

‘I’m an open book,’ Neil said. ‘I’ve been hanging with the bikers around here for two years. Anything you want to know about my life before that, just ask. You want more personal details so you can check up on me? Just ask. If you think it’s too soon for me to become a prospect I’ll wait. You know I want this, but I respect the Brigands and the need for all of your security precautions.’

The Führer twisted on the seat so that he was facing Neil. He placed a hand on each of Neil’s shoulders and pulled him forward so they were almost nose to nose.

‘Admit it,’ the Führer said. ‘You’re a cop. I know you’re a cop.’

Neil was nervous, but he managed to make a laugh. ‘You’re busting my balls. Scout’s honour, on my mother’s life, pinkie swear. What can I say, boss? I can only say it so many times. Believe me, don’t believe me. To be frank, I think the work I’ve done as treasurer of the Monster Bunch and the money I’ve earned means I deserve a shot at becoming a Brigand.’

‘You’re a cop,’ the Führer said, as he slumped back against the tan leather.

Neil was alarmed by the change in the Führer’s voice. Property deals had made the Führer into a wealthy man who could have lived comfortably off his legitimate income for the rest of his life. But he got a bigger kick out of scaring someone, whether it was a person who owed him money, or a terrified waitress threatened with a punch in the face for delivering the wrong dish. And the Führer didn’t sound like he was playing games any more.

‘It’s funny, Neil,’ the Führer smiled. ‘The cops must have taken hundreds of man hours. Writing you into the archives: national insurance, tax records, speeding convictions, criminal record bureaux. And then they screwed it all up with your bike.’

Neil jolted as Teeth took an automatic out of the glove box and pulled back the muzzle to load a bullet.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Teeth asked, as he gave Neil his trademark gummy grin.

‘Come on Neil,’ the Führer said gently. ‘Play along with me. Why don’t you ask how we figured that you’re a cop?’

If this was for real, Neil knew he was a dead man. ‘Whatever information you’ve got, it’s bullshit,’ he said, desperately trying to keep the nerves out of his voice. ‘Tell me what it is.’

‘Three years ago there was a court case,’ the Führer explained. ‘Four stolen bikes were shipped to the UK from Canada to be stripped down and sold over here where Harleys are more expensive. Two bikers from some hillbilly gang up north were arrested, and served two years. The owners in Canada had been paid off by their insurance company and rather than ship the bikes back to Canada