Free Brigands M. C. by Robert Muchamore Page B

smooth skin and shoulder-length hair reminded him of his dead sister.
    ‘I always wanted a little brother,’ Tina said. ‘I wanted him to be called Barnaby.’
    Dante smirked. ‘That’s such a toff’s name! He would have got battered at school.’
    ‘I always saw him dressed in a little sailor suit and patent leather shoes. It wasn’t a terribly realistic fantasy to be honest.’
    ‘I wish I could stay here forever sometimes,’ Dante said. ‘Especially if Holly could come.’
    Tina ruffled his hair and pulled back a triangle of the duvet. ‘You’d better get in. You’ve got to be up early for the drive to Devon.’
    ‘If I was dead I wouldn’t have to sleep,’ Dante replied. ‘Or worry about getting bombed. Or wake up drowning in piss.’
    Tina rubbed his back and gave him a kiss. ‘You are so strong and clever, Dante Scott. I’d bet you my entire overdraft that your mum and dad wouldn’t want you dead. They’d want you to grow up and become an amazing happy person, and that’s exactly what you’ll be.’
    Dante smiled and took another breath tinged with hair and deodorant.
    ‘Now try getting some sleep and I’m only next door if you need me, OK?’
    Dante nodded before skimming across his bed and diving under the sheets. Tina flicked out his light and he went to sleep thinking about Tina and imagining having someone like her as a girlfriend or wife when he was older. Sleep came easier when he looked forward instead of back.

9. LIES
     
    Ross made Dante dress in chinos and a smart shirt for the trip to Devon. It was a five-hour drive in an unmarked police car, with Ross at the wheel and Dante’s armed guard Steve in the passenger seat. Dante had the back seats to himself and spent most of the trip on his Gameboy and reading every word of two wrestling magazines that Ross had bought for the trip.
    It was eleven when they stopped off at Bridgwater services to piss and eat Burger King. Dante was pleased that Ross bought him a Whopper. His mum always said it was too expensive because he’d waste half of it.
    ‘That big enough for you, boy?’ the police bodyguard asked, before blowing on his coffee.
    Dante smiled. He’d been delighted when Steve had turned up for the morning trip. Out of all the police guards, he was the one most likely to join him on the Playstation and the previous Saturday he’d even shown up with a packet of cake mix and they’d made a sponge with orange-flavoured icing.
    ‘We stopped here once on a Brigands run,’ Dante said. ‘A full-patch called Pigeon got knocked off his bike after a run up in Scotland. I was in the run truck …’
    ‘What’s that?’ Steve asked.
    ‘You can’t carry much luggage on a Harley,’ Dante explained. ‘So when the Brigands go on a run, there’s usually a truck or van that carries baggage, spare parts and stuff. When I was little I used to think it was cooler to ride in the truck than in the coach with all the mums and kids.
    ‘So anyway, this other truck knocked Pigeon off the road. We followed the truck until it pulled in. They were all set to beat up the truck driver, but the man realised he was being followed and called the cops on his mobile. So we arrived to find all these pigs – sorry, I mean police officers – waiting. But when they asked what we were doing they just said that I’d been whining that I needed to use the toilet.’
    ‘So nothing happened?’ Ross said, disappointed at the flat ending.
    Dante smiled. ‘I said I remembered coming here. I didn’t say it was a great story.’
    ‘You seem happier today,’ Ross noted.
    ‘Because something’s happening with the murder case at last, even if I don’t exactly understand what.’
    ‘I thought I explained,’ Ross said.
    Dante shrugged. ‘I still don’t get this whole CPS thing.’
    ‘OK,’ Ross said. ‘It’s called the Crown Prosecution Service. You know when you watch a court thing on TV they have lawyers who ask people questions?’
    Dante