CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,84
Vengefuls seemed outnumbered and were getting a pasting. James crouched down, surrounded by cardboard boxes near the till with two female clerks clutching each other and sobbing under the counter.
James pulled on one of his leather riding gloves, then wrapped half the chain around his padded hand. This made a knuckleduster that doubled as a whip if he needed some extra reach.
‘Is there a place to hide?’ James asked.
One of the terrified clerks answered. ‘Our manager’s locked himself in the stock room.’
The fighting outside subsided as Vengefuls were knocked down or ran off, then resurged as a second wave arrived. Some Vengefuls came through the front doors, but a second group poured out of an upstairs restaurant where they’d apparently been waiting in ambush and had missed their cue to pile in with the first wave.
As fists, clubs and boots flew, James watched as a man with a bread knife sticking out of his back staggered into the shop. For a second James thought it was his riding partner Orange Bob, but it was a Vengeful Bastard prospect barely older than himself.
James considered first aid, but before he could do anything the fighting came into the shop. Two fat Vengefuls held the South Devon Brigand Dirty Dave by his arms. They bundled him into a glass rack stacked with souvenir playing cards, china figures and other tat. As the ornaments smashed on the floor a ginger-bearded Vengeful pulled out a hammer with its end sharpened into a vicious looking spike.
As the hammer lunged, James lashed out with the chain, hitting the ginger Vengeful’s hand. He then punched the man in the face. As the Vengeful staggered back, Dirty Dave freed himself from the other one and sent him clattering into an open-fronted cooler filled with soft drinks and sandwiches.
James grabbed a large brass model of the Clifton Suspension Bridge, belted his ginger opponent around the head with it and then knocked him cold with his chain-wrapped fist. Dirty Dave was tussling with the other man, but James prioritised grabbing the sharpened hammer before someone else got hold and used it on him.
As James reached down and grabbed the hammer another Vengeful Bastard charged into the shop and swung a punch at his head. James’ vision blurred as the big fist knocked his head against a glass shelf, but he swung the hammer and the pointed end sank deep into the man’s knee.
James ripped the hammer out, causing a spurt of blood. He dived out of the way as the biker crumpled, smashing through two glass shelves and moaning in pain. Another Vengeful charged in as James stood up. This man was smaller, and James threw an uppercut, plunging his chain-wrapped fist into the man’s chin, smashing his jaw and sending him crashing on to the newspapers and cigarette packets spilled across the floor.
While James floored three men, Dirty Dave was still struggling with his original opponent. They had arms around each other’s necks and were throwing weak punches. Although James wasn’t really on the Brigands’ side, he certainly wasn’t with the Vengeful Bastards after three of them had attacked him.
Buzzing with fear and shock, James kneed the fat Vengeful in the stomach. The blow doubled him up, enabling Dirty Dave to break loose and punch him in the face. James finished him off by bashing his head against the inside of the fridge so that it buckled a metal shelf.
James looked outside and saw injured men strewn across the tiles. The Brigands and their puppets seemed to have won the battle, but the cost had been heavy and with so many knives and weapons flying about a lot of men would be on their way to hospital, or dead.
Teeth, the Führer and several Brigands from other chapters stood in the doorway shouting orders. The floor around James was covered in blood, the shelves were shattered and there was hardly a piece of stock left on the shelves.
‘You did great,’ Dirty Dave said, giving James a massive grin and slapping him on the back. ‘Saved my arse.’
James knew his fingerprints were all over the hammer, so he took it with him and carefully avoided stepping in any blood as he left the shop. He followed Dirty Dave outside, where the Führer and the Cardiff president had taken charge.
‘I want our bikes riding out of here in formation,’ the Führer shouted. ‘If anyone gets arrested, don’t say a word unless our lawyers tell you to.’