Free The Black Dragon by Julian Sedgwick Page B

The streets are emptier and, in the clear light of day, the exoticism of last night is replaced by something harder. Crumbling concrete on some of the buildings. Peeling paintwork. Laundry hanging out to dry in the gritty air while restaurant and shop owners scrub down the pavements.
    They have expected to find police tape cordoning off the restaurant—or even an officer on duty—but there’s nothing at all to suggest the events of the previous evening. The door and main window are blinded by graffiti-covered shutters, both padlocked shut. One small window is uncovered, gazing at the street blankly from just above them.
    â€œYou take a look, Danny. You’ve got the advantage over me now,” Zamora says.
    Standing on tiptoes, squinting into the gloom, Danny can just make out the wreckage of the aquarium, shoved back against a far wall. Chairs are stacked on tables, but otherwise all the glass, broken furniture, water and dead fish have been cleared away.
    â€œCan’t see much.”
    â€œWe need to get inside,” Zamora grunts, rattling the shutter.
    Danny touches the lock pick set on the end of its bootlace. Maybe it’s the kind of simple padlock that springs easily?
    He remembers Dad giving him the basic lessons and going on and on about Houdini’s great moment of discovery as a boy when, working in an ironmonger’s, he had been asked to free a convict from handcuffs. He had succeeded and—hey presto—that was the start of a whole career.
Everyone has to start sometime
, Danny thinks. Saw rake is the best bet when you’re in a hurry. He flips open the pick set, then cranks the lock with the tension tool and starts dragging the rake in and out, feeling the pins moving, trying to make them fall into the shear line. Nearly. Try again.
    But then he hears footsteps approaching quickly and, guiltily, he snaps the tool shut.
    Looking up, he sees Sing Sing.
    She’s coming at a half trot down the hill, eyes hidden behind a big pair of wraparound shades, a small rucksack slung over one shoulder. The sun catches her bright-green trainers. Danny feels something lift, as if a small weight has come off his shoulders. In broad daylight she looks like any other early teen—hardly like an enemy. He’s glad to see her.
    â€œWhat do we think about her?” Zamora whispers.
    â€œNot sure,” Danny says. “But it felt like she was waiting for something to happen last night—”
    â€œOi,
señorita
!” Zamora booms. “We want a word—”
    â€œWhat happened to you last night?” Danny says, cutting across the major.
    She comes close up to them, but then walks right on by. Zamora goes to grab her elbow but she sidesteps neatly and hisses, “Shut up, dumdums. Follow me.” And hurries on.
    â€œNothing to lose,” Danny says. “But let’s keep our eyes peeled.”
    Three shops farther down the lane, Sing Sing swings around a corner into an alleyway. Danny tries to relax, open his senses up, eyes wide, scanning for trouble as they follow close behind.
    The girl is moving at speed, ten or so paces in front of them, turning right again, into a much darker, narrower passageway that cuts along the back of the shops. She comes to a halt.
    â€œBack door to the Bat,” she says over her shoulder. “I have a key—”
    â€œWhy did you disappear?” Danny interrupts. “Where’s Laura?”
    Sing Sing shakes her head. “No time. Not good to be seen around here. You want to look for something, right? Something that belongs to your aunt?”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œLucky guess.”
    â€œNow, listen, Miss Sing Sing,” Zamora says. “Where’s Chow?”
    With her eyes shrouded by the sunglasses it’s very difficult to read anything on her face. “No idea.”
    Sing Sing looks away, her mouth set in a firm line. “You coming or not, boys?”
    Zamora glances