The bap tasted dry and floury. Chewing, he scrolled through his phone's contacts list, found Viv, and pressed. He forced down the food as her image appeared, with the homeless shelter in the background.
"Hi, Josh. I haven't heard anything definite, before you ask. But there was something I was going to follow up before calling you."
"What kind of thing?"
"Just a maybe… The lad might be friendly with some gekrunners."
"Any particular location?"
"No, sorry."
"Viv, you've given me the only piece of meaningful information I've had today, maybe this week. So thank you."
"Well, you're welcome. Look, we're busy at the-"
"Sure. Take it easy."
"You too."
So, gekrunners. He could fire off querybots to research their movements locally, see which places they haunted, perhaps even backtrack to where they lived.
His attention snapped outwards as seven young guys, aged around eighteen, filed in and sat around the window table. The large workmen had departed; only two solitary men were left, finishing their lunches. The gang – all white, some with motile tattoos: a swastika rotating on one guy's neck, or flowing lines of tears from eye to jawline – ordered tea, then sat waiting for everyone else to leave.
The dark-skinned man behind the counter shuffled his feet. His gaze kept moving towards the gang, then sliding away, while his hand repeatedly went to his phone, drew back.
Josh shut down his own phone.
First guess: five were armed.
"Tea tastes like piss," one of them was saying.
"We need to ask for our money back."
"With cash interest, like."
"Fuckin' dark skin cooks their brains, don't it? Absorbs heat, right?"
They sniggered.
"Need a piss," said one.
"Got a magnifying lens you can borrow. Help you find it."
"Fuck off."
It was Rotating-Swastika Guy who went past Josh, heading for the small toilet at the back. Meanwhile, some of the others were on their feet, slapping each other's arms, all part of the ritual. The two men who'd been lunching both drained their cups and left, heads down, trying to maintain a fiction: that nothing was about to happen, that what went on around them was none of their business. Finally, Rotating-Swastika came back grinning. Chairs scraped as the remaining gang members stood up. Rotating-Swastika stopped at the till.
"You got cash in there, intya?"
"That's nothing to do with you."
"Seein' as how you served us piss, it fuckin' does, pal."
"Please leave now."
The others were gathering in a semi-circle, one-deep, behind Rotating-Swastika. When Josh stood up, all seven of them were in front. The tables on either side would make it hard for anyone to outflank him. They thought they outnumbered everyone; in fact they were lined up, targets for him to drop.
"Oh, sorry, mate." One of the guys with drippingtears tats had noticed him. "After you."
The thug's sweeping, ushering gesture, encouraging Josh to leave, was not courteous: it was passiveaggressive. In court, he could claim he was being polite; uneducated witnesses would find it hard to describe the intimidation.
Except I'm not playing.
As Josh breathed from his diaphragm, his voice came out deeper than normal.
"I'm in no hurry to leave."
Dripping-Tears Tat and five of his mates straightened, eyes widening. Only Rotating-Swastika Guy failed to react, immersed in mouthing off to the lad behind the till. But the others were frozen, their brains processing unconscious alarms, primal senses re-evaluating the violent potential here.
One of them grabbed hold of Rotating-Swastika and yanked him back.
"Come on, you dick."
Those nearest the door were already leaving.
"What-?"
"Police officer, come on."
Then they filed out, and were gone.
Good.
Except that part of him thought the opposite, that it was an aching shame they had denied him the opportunity of the dance, to let loose the reptile inside, the lizard-brain that fought with logic, and the primate layer that knew the joy of blood because a smile and a scream are predator's expressions, the baring of teeth and the spurting ecstasy of ripping and rending, hitting and twisting, smashing knee-joints, slamming skulls into red oblivion.
He wanted to tear them apart.
[TWENTY]
The guy behind the till was called Gopan. After thanking Josh, he called out all his family so they could give thanks, too. Three people came out from the kitchen: a large man called Uncle Rajesh, skinny brother Sanjeev, and the tired girl who served the food: Gopan's sister, Mina.
"You're all welcome," said Josh. "And look, you've already got spyballs. Why don't you get two more cams, and rearrange them there and there."
"Ah." Sanjeev's eyes were bright as he nodded, understanding the geometry. "Very good idea."
"Add an alarm that you can trigger," Josh pointed at Gopan's phone. "Then buy a monthly call-out plan from one of the local security firms. Except check at the police station before you deal with anyone."
"Will you be there?" asked Gopan.
"I'm not a police officer. They were mistaken."
"Ah. But you were looking for someone."
"I'm working for the boy's father, who's worried."
"Oh. Would you show us the picture again?"
Josh brought up Richard's image, and turned the phone to Gopan. This time Gopan frowned for a long time before shaking his head.
"I'm really sorry. Uncle Rajesh?"
The big man took a look. "No, sorry."
Sanjeev had been peering at it over the others' shoulders. "I don't think so."
But Mina gave a tilting nod.
"You recognise him?" said Josh.
"With Opal." Her voice was less dull than before. "Walking with Opal."
"Who's-?"
"Local girl," said Sanjeev. "Comes here sometimes, not often. Chats with Mina."
"When did you last see Opal?"
"Days ago." Mina looked down at the floor. "A few days."
"You know where she lives? Or which school she goes to?"
Mina shook her head.
"Sanjeev?" asked Josh. "Any ideas?"
"Sorry."
"That's OK. I've got a name. You probably don't know her surname?"
"Afraid not."
"OK. Thanks, everyone."
"Thank you!"
Smiles and nods and waves carried him to the door. He went out onto the street grinning, remembering to check for signs of the gang waiting in ambush, but seeing only a clear ordinary street, safe to walk along. After some eight or ten paces, he stopped, remembering Viv at the shelter, and what she had said just a few minutes back: "The lad might be friendly with some gekrunners."
He turned and went back in. The family were still standing among the tables, discussing what had happened.
"Mina, I don't suppose this Opal is a gekrunner, is she?"
Mina's smile was big as she nodded.
"Jumps," she said. "Somersaults and things. She's brilliant."
"So are you," Josh told her. "So are you."
Uncle Rajesh hugged her, and her grin reminded Josh of Christmas and getting just the present you wanted, and had thought you would never have.
Josh waved a salute and left.
Richard looked up from the floor, sponge in hand, as Opal entered the shop, unhitching a backpack from her shoulder.
"Whoah, bad smell," she said. "Who threw up? Cal told Brian to keep out the winos."
"It was me. Again."
"Oh."
"Brian's getting some sort of spray, says it'll clear the air."
He rinsed the sponge in the bucket, and wiped some more. There was nothing left to clean up, nothing visible, but Opal was right: the stench remained.
"Hey, Opal." Brian came in from the back, a huge yellow aerosol in hand. "Stand by for some biochemical warfare. This is powerful stuff."