Free Bloody Horowitz by Anthony Horowitz

in.
    â€œAt—the—next—roundabout—take—the—third—exit.”
    â€œLet’s turn this off, Haz,” Jason said. Without waiting for an answer, he reached forward and pressed the button. The screen went black. They continued in silence.
    It took them another forty minutes to reach Aldeburgh, a pretty coastal town with a shingle beach that stretched from one end to the other. Jason had chosen it because he had been here once when he was very young, before he met Bob Kirby or Harry or any of the other gang members. It had been a long time ago, but he still remembered the fishing boats moored on the beach, the brightly colored houses, wonderful fish-and-chips. It was a rich town now, full of Londoners with second homes. Maybe that was why Harry had agreed to come here. Loads of houses, empty from Monday to Friday. They had stolen a car. Why not break in somewhere while they were about it?
    They parked the BMW in a parking lot at the far end of the town, next to an old windmill, then walked back down the main street, Harry tossing the keys in his hand as if he had owned the car all his life. After the excitement of the theft and the buzz of the ride, they were both thirsty—and Aldeburgh had plenty of pubs. Together, they set out to find one.
    About halfway down the street, they passed a flower shop. Again, this was something that Jason wouldn’t have dreamed of admitting, but he quite liked plants. There had been a time, before he dropped out of school, when he had thought about working in a garden center or even training to be a landscape gardener. His biology teacher had encouraged him and had fought on his behalf the first time he was suspended. Of course, she had given up on him in the end. Everyone had. But there were times when he felt a certain emptiness, a sense that things could have been different. Looking at the plants arranged on trestle tables in the street, he felt like that now.
    There was an elderly man with white hair and spectacles, presumably the shop owner, packing away for the night. He was delicately loading plants onto a wooden tray and Jason recognized immediately what he had been selling. The plants were pale green with strange leaves shaped almost like mouths . . . for that indeed was what they were. Venus flytraps. Jason even remembered their Latin name. Dionaea muscipula. In a way, the plants were little miracles. There was nothing quite like them on the planet. They were carnivorous. The leaves were covered with tiny, sensitive hairs and when an insect flew in, they would spring shut, forming an airtight chamber. That would be it for the insect. There was no way out. Over the next five to twelve days, the creature would be dissolved and digested. That was how the plant fed. And even the most brilliant scientists weren’t quite sure exactly how the trap worked.
    â€œWhat you looking at?” Harry demanded.
    â€œNothing, Haz,” Jason said, blushing slightly. He realized he had almost given himself away.
    â€œLet’s find a pub.”
    They moved on, and as they went, Jason noticed the old man glance at him almost sadly, as if he knew something that Jason didn’t. Later on, he would remember that. But meanwhile, Harry had crossed the road and a few minutes later they were both drinking pints of Adnams—the local beer—and the tray of exotic plants was forgotten.
    The rain had stopped and they spent two hours in Aldeburgh, drinking until their money had almost run out, then walking the High Street, sneering at the art galleries, playing soccer with a Coke can, testing the doors of parked cars in case any of them had something worth stealing inside. By six o’clock it was getting dark and suddenly they were on their own. They bought fish-and-chips and ate it on the seawall, looking out at the black, choppy water. It didn’t taste as good as it had when Jason had come here as a boy.
    â€œWell, this is a waste of