Читать книгу Jimmy Coates: Killer - Joe Craig - Страница 7

JIMMY COULDN’T BELIEVE what he had just heard. He stood up and dropped the sad remains of his food. His mind was blank. He opened his mouth slightly, but nothing came out.

“Give me your bag,” Mitchell repeated. Then shouted. “Did you hear me? Give me your bag!”

Jimmy looked down at his bag, dumbstruck. He had no idea what to do. He was even too surprised to be scared.

Mitchell was fed up. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected. It was actually making him a little nervous that Jimmy seemed to be considering his question, assessing whether it was worth giving up the bag. Mitchell pulled himself up to his full height, which wasn’t a great deal taller than Jimmy. His eyes flicked between the boy and his bag. Should he ask one more time? What if the boy didn’t speak English? There was only one way to sort this out, he thought.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he strode forward. Jimmy didn’t move. So Mitchell stuck out the palm of his hand and pushed Jimmy out of the way. Jimmy lurched back and felt a pain in his chest where Mitchell had made contact. As Mitchell reached down for the bag, Jimmy came straight back.

At the split second that Mitchell bent over to pick up the bag, Jimmy jammed his foot into the back of Mitchell’s knee and dug it in. Mitchell collapsed forward, then looked round, furious. Pulling the bag up with him, he swung it at Jimmy’s head, but Jimmy was too fast. He ducked with ease and caught Mitchell’s arm as it swung past, pulling it down and towards him. Mitchell didn’t have the balance to stay upright and reeled forward. His face hit the ground this time, and it wasn’t kind. Jimmy planted his foot firmly on the back of Mitchell’s neck.

“Let go of my bag,” he said. He sounded calm, but inside Jimmy was amazed at his own speed, strength and reactions. He had watched himself moving and seen someone who really knew how to win a fight. There was no fuss, just efficient and devastating moves. The violence in him had sprung from nowhere, telling him what to do, or doing it for him.

Mitchell had never stood a chance. His face was squished against the cold dust. He couldn’t feel anything except the pressure against his neck that was so close to cutting off his breathing. That and shame. The physical discomfort was matched by the pain of injured pride. He opened his fingers slowly, letting the strap of the bag fall.

Jimmy kicked it away but kept his eyes fixed on the back of Mitchell’s head. In the dim light he could make out the glistening of a tear on Mitchell’s eye as it rapidly blinked, trying to throw off the soil of the park. Then, with a rush of awareness, Jimmy felt terrified by what he had done. Until tonight it had been completely alien to him to act in such a violent way. Now he stood there, with power over another boy. He had it in him to do terrible things when hardly provoked. He could have given up his bag and then found his way to the police station. But he hadn’t.

Jimmy’s first instinct was to step back and apologise, to help the boy up off the ground even. But there was nothing to stop the fight continuing if Jimmy released his opponent now.

“Leh we go!” Mitchell cried from the ground, his words obscured by grass and fear.

“OK,” Jimmy said, thinking desperately, “but you have to help me.”

“Whaa?”

“Help me.”

“Jush gid your fuh off why nick!”

“What did you say?” Jimmy lifted his foot and stepped back. Mitchell rolled over to look up at him.

“I said ‘get your foot off my neck’.”

“Oh.” For the first time, Jimmy could look squarely into this other boy’s face. Mitchell stood up carefully, not taking his eyes off Jimmy, and reluctantly rubbed his neck. Jimmy was surprised to see that the person who had tried to mug him was so young. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” said Mitchell.

“You’re not sixteen. You’re shorter than my sister, and she’s thirteen.” Jimmy felt a new confidence. He didn’t think this boy would be too keen to have a foot in his neck again.

“So? I might be short for my age.”

“You’re no way sixteen, that’s all.” Jimmy looked at him harder, as if to check.

“All right, I’m thirteen,” mumbled Mitchell, his humiliation complete. He looked away.

“There’s nothing in my bag,” Jimmy remarked. “Just food and clothes.”

“Then why were all those men after you?”

Jimmy tried to think of an answer, but nothing came. He knew it wasn’t for the bag, though.

“They’re after me,” he stuttered at last. The shock of hearing it said aloud for the first time was dreadful. “They’re after me,” he said again. His throat tightened, and his stomach turned over. This wasn’t any mysterious inner strength, though–it was fear.

“What’s your name?” said Mitchell.

“Jimmy.”

“I’m Mitchell. Hi.”

“I don’t want to fight.” Jimmy suddenly felt close to crying.

Mitchell let out a huge laugh, throwing his head back and feeling his neck some more. Jimmy was taken aback.

“What’s funny?”

“You idiot. You just beat me up. You could have killed me,” scoffed Mitchell. “I’m not going to try hitting you again, am I? Idiot.”

“Shut up!” said Jimmy, but a small part of him glowed at this coming from an older boy. “Just go away.”

“I’m not running away. What if you chase me?”

“I won’t chase you.”

“I’m staying here. If you want to go, then go. I’d never catch you.” Mitchell stepped slightly to the side, almost inviting Jimmy to run past him. But something Mitchell had said made Jimmy stay.

“You saw them chasing me?” Jimmy asked.

“What? Yeah. I saw those men get out of the car and come at you.”

“You watched the whole thing? And you could keep up?”

“Well, yeah. Sure.” Mitchell shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno, I’m a fast runner too, I guess. Faster than those men, anyway.”

“Oh.” Jimmy wondered how come two kids had been able to run faster and further than any of the men.

“So, are you going?” Mitchell jerked his head to one side, indicating the park.

“I need your help.”

“Yeah right. What for?”

“I just need you to take me to the police station.”

“What?” Mitchell laughed again, but it was more nervous this time. “You want me to go with you to the police station so you can tell them to arrest me? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No, not so they can arrest you. You don’t have to come in with me, but I need to get away from those men.”

“Why should I help you? I already saved you from them.”

“What?”

“I saved you from those men. They were going to catch you but I stopped them.”

“You didn’t stop them. I escaped.”

“Yeah, I did. You don’t know. You couldn’t see.” Mitchell jumped from foot to foot, half from cold and half from restlessness. Jimmy knew he was lying. It was pretty obvious. He didn’t want to argue, though. He wanted to get moving before the men found him again.

“OK, whatever. Thanks,” Jimmy sighed. “So because you saved me, I won’t tell them you tried to steal my bag. But you still have to take me to the police station. Unless you want my foot in your neck again.” He had never threatened anyone like that before, and he didn’t like how it felt, though he could see from Mitchell’s expression it was going to work.

“Why don’t you phone them? Get out your mobile.” Mitchell thought he was being clever. His brother would be impressed if he snatched a mobile.

“I don’t have one. What about a phone box?” said Jimmy, completely unaware that the truth had saved him from another attempt at robbery.

“Whatever. Come on, then. Let’s go.”

Mitchell and Jimmy walked through the park in awkward silence. Mitchell stayed a couple of steps ahead of Jimmy. He was used to walking alone and didn’t like the feeling of accompanying someone. He dug his hands in his pockets and ignored the boy next to him.

Jimmy dragged along behind. It had been a very long night and it wasn’t over yet. He longed to shut his eyes and find himself back in his bed, waking up from a bad dream. His parents would be there, so would Georgie, and everything would be fine–perhaps better than before. No arguments, and definitely no men in suits.

As they climbed through some bent railings in the park fence, Jimmy shot out a question just to break the silence. “What school do you go to?”

Mitchell grimaced. “Leave me alone.”

“Oh.” Jimmy waited a second then tried again. “Hey, thanks.”

“What?” This time Mitchell turned to look at Jimmy.

“Thanks for showing me the way. I was lost. What’s your name again?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Mitchell sneered. “I should have beaten your head in.”

“You didn’t though, did you?” Jimmy felt braver now. Compared to suited men in black cars, Mitchell was a lot less scary than he might have been. “I’ve forgotten your name,” Jimmy said.

“It’s Mitchell. But we’re not friends, so you can forget it again.”

“I’m Jimmy.”

“I know. Jimmy the idiot.”

Jimmy just smiled. Being called an idiot didn’t seem to matter any more. He didn’t mind that Mitchell didn’t want to talk; he was just relieved to have someone taking him in the right direction. And he might have been wrong, but he thought for a second that he saw a smile creep on to Mitchell’s face.

They stopped on a corner.

“It’s down here on the right,” Mitchell muttered.

“Wait there,” ordered Jimmy, straining to see if the police station was there. He kept Mitchell in the corner of his eye, just in case. “How do I know I can trust you?” he said at last.

“You don’t.” Mitchell shook his head in exasperation. “Look, it’s down there, OK? I’m not taking you any closer. I’m not your mum. So believe me or don’t, I don’t care. I’m going home.” He turned his back on Jimmy and started walking away. He was braced for a fight, expecting Jimmy to pounce on his back. He tried to walk casually.

All Jimmy could see were the shadows. He scoured the scene for anything that looked suspicious. But everything looked suspicious. Any parked car could be concealing more men in suits, lying in wait for Jimmy. He didn’t want Mitchell to leave. The company was comforting.

“Thanks again,” Jimmy whispered.

Mitchell didn’t look round. Instead, he stuck his hand up in the air and held it there for a moment, then he broke into a jog and was gone. Jimmy’s heart sank. He was alone again.