Under Cover (Agent 21) Read Free Page A

not today,’ Ricky said. He didn’t try to keep the dislike from his voice. His landlord was a scumbag.
    ‘Not for you, kid. You’re out of here.’
    Ricky stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘You stupid as well as ugly?’ Baxter said. The Chuckle Brothers gave a nasty laugh, just as a woman appeared in the doorway of Ricky’s room. She had three children with her – hungry, pale-faced things. Immediately Ricky understood. Baxter had managed to squeeze more money out of this woman than he could out of Ricky.
    ‘I’ve got nowhere to go,’ Ricky said.
    ‘Anyone bring a violin?’ Baxter asked. He nodded at Chuckle 1, who picked up a bag at his feet and threw it towards Ricky. ‘Your stuff,’ Baxter said. ‘And you owe me money.’
    ‘What for?’
    ‘For the damage you’ve done to the room, you thieving little runt. Peeling wallpaper, cigarette burns—’
    ‘They were there when I moved in – I don’t even smoke. And anyway, I haven’t got any money.’
    ‘When did
your
problems become
my
problems, kid?’ Baxter looked over his shoulder at Chuckle 1. ‘Turn out his pockets.’
    – You need that money! Run!
    But Ricky didn’t move. His eyes were on the bag. There wouldn’t be much in there. A change of clothes, some toiletries. But it would contain the only two things that
meant
anything to Ricky: a picture in a frame of him with his mum, dad and sister, before the accident. And a letter, rather dog-eared now, in his sister’s neat handwriting. He wasn’t leaving without them.
    The bag was three metres away. Baxter’s man was four metres beyond it.
    – I can grab it before he gets me, then run down the stairs.
    – No you can’t. Leave it and get out of here.
    But that wasn’t an option. Not if the picture was in the bag. Ricky ran forward and grabbed it – it wasn’t heavy – then spun round and sprinted back towards the top of the stairs. He was just about to make the first step down when he felt a fist in the small of his back. He lost his balance and tumbled. His shin cracked against the corner of one of the steps and his head hit the banister. He called out in pain as he thumped down the stairs, dragging the bag behind him.
    And when he hit the bottom of the stairs, Chuckle 1 was there, behind him. He pulled Ricky to his feet, then thumped him in the pit of his stomach. Winded, Ricky doubled over, but then felt his attacker pull him up by his shoulders. He knew the punch in the face was coming, but didn’t expect it to be so hard. Chuckle 1’s knuckles connected with his cheek. He felt blood spurt from his nose, and a cracking, pulsing pain on the right side of his face. Chuckle 1 patted him down. He found the money in his back pocket in no time. He waved it up towards Baxter, who was standing at the top of the stairs.
    ‘How much?’ Baxter asked.
    Chuckle 1 flicked through the wad of notes. ‘Hundred and five . . . no, ten . . .’ He sounded like he was having trouble with the adding up.
    Ricky’s winded lungs were still gasping for air, but in the quiet of his mind, Ziggy was feeding him instructions.
    – Run now, while he’s got his hands full of money. The front door’s open – you can feel the air coming in. If you get out of this with just a punch in the stomach, you’ll have done well. You’ve seen what they’ve done to other people . . .
    True enough. These guys thought nothing of breaking a few bones. Ricky gripped the handle of his bag, gulped once more for air and sprinted towards the front door.
    Baxter shouted: ‘Get him!’ But Ricky had found his legs. Seconds later he had burst out of the front door and was sprinting down the road.
    – I seem to have done a lot of running today.
    – Well, don’t stop now, unless you want another fist in your face.
    Ricky’s lungs burned. He looked over his shoulder. Twenty metres behind him, Baxter and his men were at the door of the house. Baxter was gesticulating at them, clearly