with a Car Of The Week sticker in the front window.
‘Back in a flash,’ Leon yelled, as he clambered into the car with his customer. ‘Any problems, go next door and speak to George in the pub. If any more customers turn up, be polite. I’ll be back in under half an hour and tell ’em I’ll make it worth their while for waiting.’
Once Leon drove off, Dave strolled into the office. He bent under Leon’s desk and plugged a flash memory drive into the USB socket on the front of Leon’s computer. The machine was already on and had no security whatever, not even a basic password. Dave simply clicked on the My Computer folder and dragged the icon for the hard drive across to the window that had popped up when he’d plugged in the miniature drive. It took five slightly nervous minutes to copy everything over.
Dave was back to waxing, with the contents of his boss’ computer tucked into his shorts, when Leon returned. He squeezed his barrel-shaped body out of the Astra and led his customer into the cabin to sort out the fine points of the deal; emerging ten minutes later and shaking her hand enthusiastically before she drove off the lot.
‘If every customer was as dumb as her, I’d be driving round in a Rolls Royce,’ Leon grinned, as he sauntered up to Dave with a finger in his ear. ‘She could have got that same car at a supermarket for six hundred less than what she paid me. Not a bad rack on her either.’
Dave nodded. ‘Yeah, but a few too many miles on the clock for my taste.’
‘Let’s lock the gates for half an hour and we’ll get a fry-up. My treat.’
The Palm Hill Grill was on the corner a few hundred metres from the lot. The staff and regulars all knew Leon. A couple of elderly men sucked roll-ups at the table next to Dave and Leon. The other diners were spattered in paint or brick dust.
‘Bacon, beans, two fried eggs, bubble, fried slice and a mug of tea,’ Dave said, when the waitress came over to the table. She was small and curvy, with pouty lips and a spray of zits across her forehead.
‘Look but don’t touch, Dave,’ Leon grinned. ‘My Pete’s been after little Lorna for two years.’
Everyone in the café roared with laughter; except Lorna, who flushed bright pink. Dave realised this was a good moment to find out if anything had ever gone on between Leon and Will.
‘So’d you hear about my brother’s new computer?’ Dave asked.
Leon shook his head, as he drank a mouthful of tea.
‘He got off with Hannah Clarke. She took pity and gave it to him, along with some bits of furniture.’
‘Lovely young girl, that Hannah,’ Leon nodded. ‘Quite friendly with my Liza, though she’s being sent to some posh school now.’
‘It belonged to Hannah’s cousin, Will. James left it plugged in and the poxy thing was clogged up with dust. It overheated and damn near burned us out. I blasted his room with air freshener, but it still reeks in there.’
One of the old men at the next table overheard. ‘Isn’t Will Clarke the young fellow who came off the roof?’ he asked, with a heavy Irish accent.
‘Yeah,’ Dave nodded.
The man shook his head slowly. ‘A real pity that was.’
‘Tragedy,’ Leon said. ‘Really bright kid. He was only about thirteen when I got my first computer on the lot, but everyone told me Will was the bee’s knees. I had him over for a couple of afternoons and he set everything up for me and showed me a few tricks. When Max wanted a computer in his room, I got hold of a dodgy one off a bloke in the pub. Will came over and fixed it up: you know, put the Windows disk on it and the latest games. It would have cost hundreds to have bought the real stuff.’
Dave was satisfied. He couldn’t push further without seeming suspicious, though he’d fish for more later.
The Irishman looked at Dave, with the bloodshot eyeballs of a man with a serious taste for drink. ‘Why do you think that boy killed himself?’
‘How should I know?’ Dave shrugged. ‘I just moved here, so I never even met the guy.’
‘But you’re a young person,’ the Irishman explained. ‘So I thought you’d know how these things go.’
‘Drugs killed him,’ Leon interrupted, with the authority of a man who weighed over a hundred kilos. ‘Whether he fell,