CHERUB: Class A - Robert Muchamore Page 0,40

the ropes wearing gloves and a head guard. James was built for boxing: solid arms, big shoulders and strong enough to take a punch.
‘Touch gloves,’ Kelvin said, stepping back from the two fighters.
James charged forward on the bell. Del landed the first hit, a glancing blow on the side of James’ head guard. James hit Del’s head harder, sunk another punch in Del’s guts and then covered his face, blocking Del’s jabs while spying for an opening through the crack between his gloves. When it came, James pounced forward and landed his glove in Del’s face. The next punch caught Del off balance, sprawling him out over the canvas.
James wanted Del to get up so he could thump him again, but Del waved his gloves in front of his face and crawled to the ropes. James was disgusted. He spat out his mouth guard before tugging off his glove and hurling it at Del’s back.
‘Call that a fight?’ he shouted. ‘Come back for some more, you little wimp.’
Kelvin grabbed James by his shoulders and pulled him backwards. ‘Cool it, tiger,’ he grinned. ‘Try and remember this is amateur boxing. You win on the number of clean punches you land, not on how hard you punch or even how many times you knock the other guy down.’
‘I wanna fight somebody really good next time.’
Kelvin laughed. ‘You’re a strong lad, James, but you need to work on your speed, so don’t start getting cocky.’
James unbuckled his head guard and jumped out of the ring. Junior was walking towards him.
‘You almost look good enough to fight me,’ Junior said, smiling.
‘I’d fight you now if they’d let me.’
Del had staggered around from the other side of the ring. His hair was soaked in sweat where it had been trapped under his head guard.
‘You’re too strong for me,’ Del gasped.
‘Sorry I called you a wimp,’ James said. ‘I got carried away.’
Del and James gave each other a sweaty hug. It was always the same: in the ring you wanted to kill someone, but once you got out you were mates again. As James walked over to his training pals, Kelvin called him back.
‘I hear you’ve been a reliable delivery boy since you started,’ Kelvin said. ‘Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed.’
‘Cheers,’ James said, his mind still fixed inside the ring.
‘You fancy a little train ride tomorrow evening?’
‘How far?’ James asked.
‘We need a package delivered down St Albans way. You up for it?’
‘Sure.’
‘There’s twelve kilos of coke split into four bricks. Get someone you can rely on to help you carry it. You’ll earn forty pounds each.’
‘Sounds fair,’ James said. ‘Where do I pick the stuff up?’
‘You know Costas?’
James nodded. ‘I’ve seen him around.’
‘He’ll meet you in the Thornton playground at about six o’clock. Bring your mate so we can check him out.’
*
Kyle was on another delivery, so James offered the job to Kerry.
‘It’s fifteen minutes’ ride on the train,’ James said, ‘and we’ll be earning twenty pounds each.’
Kerry shrugged. ‘I was gonna do homework with Dinesh after school, but I’m not getting anything new out of him.’
It was a drizzly night, so nobody else was in the playground. Costas was a burly sixteen-year-old who’d dropped out of school the year before. His face was a mass of zits and he didn’t like the look of Kerry.
‘Are you kidding me?’ he asked. ‘You weren’t supposed to bring your girlfriend. You need someone with a bit of presence in case there’s trouble.’
‘This was arranged at short notice,’ James said. ‘Kerry’s all I could get and she’s well up to the job.’
Costas looked at Kerry. ‘No offence, babe, but we don’t use little girls.’
Unless you were a very large person, preferably armed with a baseball bat, calling Kerry babe was a seriously bad idea.
‘I’m not your babe,’ Kerry sniffed. ‘And I’m quite capable of defending myself.’
‘I’m sure you are, sweetie,’ Costas sniggered. ‘Sorry, James, but this is not gonna happen. Bringing a chick on a delivery, man… What are you thinking?’
‘Give us those drugs,’ Kerry said furiously. ‘Or you’re in deep trouble.’
James smiled at her. ‘Kerry, calm down. I’ll make a couple of phone calls and smooth this out.’
‘No,’ Kerry said. ‘I’m not letting this bag of pus talk to me like that.’
Costas snorted noisily.
‘What you gonna do, baby cakes, pull my hair?’
Kerry lunged forward, slamming a Karate chop into the front of Costas’ neck and sweeping his legs away as he stumbled backwards. Costas was on the ground with Kerry’s knee crushing his windpipe before he even realised