Free Stitch-Up by Sophie Hamilton Page B

away.
    Latif was already down by the river, leaning on the railings and staring out into the darkness. I was surprised to see the tide had gone out, leaving two pebble-dashed beaches stretching up from a glassy twist of river. Battersea Park was submerged in silence once again. The windows of the houses on the other side of the river were unlit.
    There was a sizeable drop down from the platform, and I cursed Latif for leaving me stranded, but fearing he’d think me useless if I called him back, I grasped the thick perimeter pole and lowered myself down, landing in a mess of arms and legs. After picking myself up, I joined Latif riverside.
    He was lost in his own world.
    Resting my elbows against the red railings, I gave him a sideways glance. His face was as smooth as the river’s surface. He appeared unruffled. Feeling my eyes on him, he turned and smiled.
    â€œDad said the government was getting tough on the small stuff – graffiti and that. But I didn’t take any notice. The feds are always after taggers. We’re soft targets. Even so, that was excessive.” He picked up a twig from the walkway and dropped it over the railings. We watched it twist and turn asit fell to the riverbed. “I thought Dad was being paranoid. That’s what he does for a living. Turns out he was right.”
    â€œWhat? He’s paranoid for a living?” I said.
    â€œIn a way.” Latif grinned. “He’s paranoid about our freedoms and that. He’s a lawyer – one of the good guys. He defends our rights and liberties and tries his best to stop this crookin’ government taking them away. He’s always on at me to watch out.” Latif shook his head. “It’s whack sending copters after taggers. But it’s not unusual. Swear down! You can’t do nothing these days. Soon they’ll introduce curfews and that. And all we’ll be able to do is stay home and watch television.”
    â€œHave you ever been caught?”
    â€œA few near misses, and as I say, I was busted as a kid.” He flashed a smile. “But that’s the buzz.” He shook his head again. “Too much craziness.”
    â€œToo much craziness.” I repeated, still in a trance of disbelief.
    Staring at the river, trying to gather my thoughts, I was unsure what to think. Too much craziness! But why? Was it really about Latif’s graffiti? I couldn’t help thinking there was more to it. For some reason, I found myself thinking about Dad’s relationship with the chief of police. They were close; I knew that. But how close? I pictured the two of them laughing and joking together at GoldRush Image Inc’s New Year’s Eve party before disappearing into Dad’s office for one of their private chats. Then there were the nights when the whirl of a helicopter landing on our helipadwould wake me, and going to the window I’d see the chief of police emerging from the cockpit, moments before a ring of security swallowed him up, marching him across the lawn and into the house. Like a hood paying his respects to a Mafioso boss. I grimaced, tucking my hands under my armpits. They probably knew I was missing by now, so, I guessed, Dad would be holding crisis meetings with the chief of police. I pictured the policeman’s Action Man face, courtesy of GoldRush Image Inc, nodding in agreement with Dad’s every crazy demand.
    My unease slid back.
    â€œWhat are we going to do now?” I asked.
    â€œYou’re joking?” Latif turned to face me. “ We’re doing nothing. You’re going home and I’m keeping a low profile. You saw what happened to those kids, Dash. It isn’t safe.”
    â€œBut…”
    â€œI’m gonna be straight with you, bubblehead.” He gently pulled me round by my shoulders, and fixed me with a narrow-eyed look. “And you mustn’t take it personal, yeah? I can’t hang with you. You’re not a nighter.