CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,83
led his band up the fast lane of the M5, locked on the 70mph speed limit with no one daring to overtake on the inside. The procession had been joined by the North Devon and Plymouth Monster Bunch chapters and a friendly Cornish gang called Branding Iron.
James found himself amidst a kilometre-long train of bikes, topped and tailed by a ragtag fleet of breakdown vans and coaches. Horns blasted, kids waved from their parents’ cars and the highlight of James’ morning was a team of hockey players squishing bare breasts against the windows of a coach as the bikers roared past.
Riding a motorbike is more physically demanding than driving a car. James had no farings on his ER5 to keep the wind off and the sun gently roasted him inside his helmet, gloves and thick leather jacket. He was grateful to pull into Stoke Gifford service station with half of the three-hundred-mile ride to Cambridge under his belt.
Parents held their children close and nervous arrivals headed straight for the exit gates as two hundred motorcyclists steamed through the automatic doors to queue in the gents and pile into the restaurants. As the Führer entered he was met by the waiting presidents of the Cardiff and Bristol Brigands and six dark-tanned Brigands from Valencia in Spain.
James joined a huge melee of shouting bodies in Burger King, but the counter was swamped and he realised he had no chance of getting served as higher-status Brigands and Dogs of War pushed in front. James was harder than most of them, but he couldn’t start a fight with a whole gang so he gave up and headed to the confectionery shop.
Again, the counters had a massive queue but here the bikers had the option to pilfer. It started with a couple of riders pocketing Polos and opening cans of beer, but soon turned into a scrum with more than thirty riders guffawing as they stole food and drinks while pushing, shoving and knocking down display racks.
James felt bad for the two women behind the counter. One of them screamed for help as a crash-helmeted Dog of War bundled her to the floor and tossed armfuls of cigarette packets into the crowd. James desperately needed a drink, and his lowly status meant that stealing was the only way he’d get anything before they all had to remount their bikes.
He left the shop guzzling from a half-litre bottle of Sprite and holding a king-sized Mars Bar and a tub of mini Pringles. He stepped over a streak of urine where several Brigands had given up on the toilet queue and pissed over the cash machines.
A coachload of scared pensioners were being herded out through a chirping fire door, while another group of Brigands jeered the man serving in Costa Coffee, and the manager of Marks and Spencer earned a bloody nose after trying to stop a Cardiff Brigand from making off with a bottle of freshly squeezed orange and rasberry.
James was alone and wore no gang insignia. This made him easy pickings if the cops arrived and started arresting people, so he decided to head out to his bike and maybe top up with petrol if the queue wasn’t too bad. But as he stood in the automatic doorway he saw twenty-five men charging towards the doors waving clubs and lengths of bike chain. A shout of ‘Brigand wankers’ went up as they began pouring inside.
James dived back into the shop as men came through the door and immediately chain-whipped a Dog of War queuing for the toilets. Blood sprayed several metres from a deep cut running from the biker’s ear to the side of his nose.
‘Vengeful Bastards,’ several people shouted at once.
James had heard the name: the Vengefuls were a small but fearsome gang, founded by two Brigands who’d been expelled for breaking the club’s strict rules banning members from using heroin. Now with six chapters, the Vengeful Bastards were the Brigands’ sworn enemies.
James’ Sprite bottle got knocked from his hand as members of the Brigands and their support gangs piled out of the shop, the toilets and the restaurant armed with whatever came to hand. A full-patch biker was expected to fight bravely for his gang. Cowardice was grounds for a severe beating, followed by expulsion.
As James backed up into the shop he watched Teeth disarm a Vengeful, sending his bike chain flying towards him. James grabbed the chain, while Teeth lifted his opponent and smashed him head first into a stone pillar.