CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,71
and little kids bopping in front of the disco lights. All it needed was a couple of basketball hoops and it could have passed for a secondary school gym.
The free bar was decorated with giant signs telling people to support their local Brigands by buying raffle tickets, and even with the Brigands on their best behaviour it still took a brave soul to take drinks without contributing.
Lauren’s biggest surprise was a group of frail oldies by the door, tapping feet and drumming walking sticks as they sat in plastic seats or wheelchairs. They were being looked after by some of the youngest members of the Monster Bunch and Dogs of War. No biker wanted to spend his Saturday night this way, but the Führer ordered them to keep smiling because the man from the local paper was due and bikers hugging grannies made perfect publicity.
Joe had disappeared to find his dad, but came running back before his gang crossed the room to join the other youngsters outside.
Joe looked at Lauren. ‘My dad wants to meet you,’ he said awkwardly.
Lauren raised an eyebrow. ‘Why?’
‘Don’t know, but he’s the big cheese around here, so it’s best to do what he says.’
Joe took Lauren’s hand. As they cut between people standing at tables eating and a few groups of dancing women Lauren spotted Chloe on one of the leather benches around the edge of the room having an intense conversation with Rhino.
‘This is her,’ Joe said.
Lauren looked uncomfortable as she stood in front of circular tables and leather armchairs. The Führer was a small man, with his Hitler moustache and his long leather coat draped over the back of the chair. But you could tell he was the boss by the way the other bikers had their chairs facing towards him.
She recognised full-patch Brigands from the London and South Devon chapters, along with senior Dogs of War and more exotic guests wearing Brigands patches from Australia and South Africa.
‘My son’s got his first girlfriend,’ the Führer roared proudly. ‘And about time too.’
Teeth laughed noisily. ‘Your boy Martin hasn’t had one for some reason, has he?’
‘That poof’s not my son,’ the Führer grumbled. ‘My theory is that Marlene was being humped by the milkman just before that one was born.’
Lauren and Joe both burned red with embarrassment. The Führer pointed at the fat man sat next to him. ‘You remember this man, don’t you Joe? Sealclubber, President of the London chapter?’
‘Course,’ Joe nodded. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘We’re just debating who has the best clubhouse,’ Sealclubber said. ‘Our thirty-five years of history versus your sterile brick box.’
‘You gotta hand it to South Devon,’ one of the other London Brigands said. ‘We’ve got Fords while these boys are riding Mercs that they park up in garages bigger than my flat.’
‘Look at my boy,’ the Führer roared, making all the other bikers laugh. ‘I’ve never seen Joe so quiet. Why so shy, son? Tell your girl to come here and give her future father-in-law a kiss.’
Lauren stepped up nervously and pecked the Führer on the cheek. He smelled of some weird aftershave, but Sealclubber’s rank odour was competing. The Führer made a big gesture of pulling out his wallet and giving Joe two twenties.
‘Show her a good time,’ the Führer grinned. ‘You’re beautiful, Lauren, it was good to meet you.’
Joe took the money, then turned anxiously to Lauren as they walked away. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he grovelled. ‘I had no idea that my dad was gonna make me do that.’
‘I’ve survived worse,’ Lauren shrugged.
As if to prove this, the Führer stood up, punched the air and shouted so that half the room could hear. ‘Go on my son, give her one from me!’
The Brigands all roared with laughter as a blushing Lauren and Joe dashed across the floor to meet their friends outside.
25. SCOUTS
Twelve nights after first working the crêpe stand, James had mastered the circular hotplates, knew how to make cappuccinos and lattes without burning his fingertips on the steam nozzle and how to look busy when Teeth or one of the other managers came by wanting an extra hand to wipe tables or empty bins.
James had become friendly with his new boss Martin. Getting a job alongside the Führer’s sixteen-year-old son had been an unexpected bonus, but Martin kept distant from his old man and despite hours of conversation inside the kiosk James hadn’t picked up any useful information.
Martin had been badly bullied at school because he was gay. He’d dropped out before taking