CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,56

upper sixth. He kept a cigarette packet tucked in the sleeve of his T-shirt, sported a triangular beard and a wafer-thin girlfriend called Daisy.

‘So how’d you get a six-hundred?’ Nigel asked. ‘That’s gotta be illegal.’

Ben was cool, but nowhere near as cool as he liked to think he was and he acted like it was a big mystery. But James bought and read motorbike magazines all the time.

‘You’ve got a restrictor kit,’ James said. ‘But the price of insurance on a six-hundred must be horrendous.’

‘Restrictor kit?’ Nigel asked.

‘It limits the power of the bike,’ James explained. ‘Our licences say we can only ride a thirty-horsepower bike until we’re twenty-one, but you can buy a more powerful bike and have a restrictor kit fitted.’

Nigel scowled at Ben’s bike. ‘So this thing is no faster than mine?’

Ben burst out laughing. ‘The new kid is almost right, but I’ll race you for any money you like. I’ve had this bike up to a hundred and thirty on the motorway.’

‘What, did you break the laws of physics or something?’ Nigel asked disbelievingly.

‘You buy the bike,’ Ben explained. ‘Then get the dealer to fit the restrictor kit and get your power output certificate. Then you ask the dealer’s mechanic politely and he turns a couple of screws and deactivates the kit.’

‘Sweet,’ Nigel said.

‘Not if you get pulled over and the cops nail you it won’t be,’ James warned.

Ben shrugged. ‘It’s a risk, but once you’ve ridden a proper machine like mine, those little two-fifties are like Lego bikes, or something.’

Nigel started to laugh. ‘What dealer will do the dodgy modifications?’

‘Any second-hand bike dealer,’ Ben said. ‘Even some of the franchise dealers who sell new bikes. If you go in willing to spend a few grand and make it crystal that you’re only buying if they issue the power output certificate and then disable the restrictor.’

‘You bought your six-hundred from Leather and Chrome, didn’t you?’ Nigel asked.

‘Sure,’ Ben answered.

‘I looked in their showroom last night,’ James said. ‘It’s all like custom paint jobs and twenty-grand bikes for fat blokes who need a bike ’cos they’re too old to get an erection.’

Nigel laughed. ‘That’s the irony with expensive bikes and sports cars: by the time you’re rich enough to afford it, you’re old and bald and you look damned stupid driving it.’

James, Ben and Daisy all laughed. Daisy’s laugh was weird and James looked at her glazed eyes and guessed that she’d had a few puffs on a joint.

‘That showroom’s for tourists and second-home wankers,’ Ben said. ‘But they’ve got a workshop over by the Brigands clubhouse and a whole room full of secondhand bikes.’

‘I noticed a couple of Brigands last night,’ James said. ‘Scary looking bastards.’

‘You don’t wanna start any trouble with them,’ Nigel said. ‘But they’re OK. My big brother says if you like bikes and you get on their right side they’ll buy you drinks all night long.’

‘Good mechanics too,’ Ben said. ‘I mean, they’re enthusiasts more than capitalists. If you go into Leather and Chrome, and you’re a kid and you don’t have a lot of money they’ll treat you fair. Sort you out with a good bike and not rip you off for servicing.’

‘They’re really decent,’ Nigel nodded. ‘Especially with my brother ’cos he’s one of the Monster Bunch.’

‘The what?’ James asked, though he knew of course.

‘Monster Bunch,’ Nigel explained. ‘It’s a bike gang. They ride with the Brigands, but they’re mostly younger and it’s ten times easier to join. My older brother is a member, though he’s away at uni at the moment.’

‘My cousin is in the Monster Bunch, so I knew a few people,’ Ben said. ‘Leather and Chrome set me up with the bike, the financing. They even helped me get a job so that I could make the payments.’

‘So if I went down to Marina Heights I could get my Honda looked at?’ James asked.

Ben nodded. ‘What’s up with it?’

‘I think it’s got a bit of a brake imbalance,’ James lied. ‘It was OK when I first had it, but now if I brake hard the front wheel does next to nothing, then it suddenly bites, locks up and I get tyre smoke.’

Ben laughed. ‘I’m amazed that bike ever goes fast enough to get tyre smoke.’

‘I’ve had it up to eighty-five,’ James lied again. ‘I’ve got no class this afternoon. I might ride down to Salcombe and see if a mechanic will look at it.’

Nigel looked at his watch. ‘You mind if I ride with you, James? I