Johnny Delgado Private Detective Page 2

  While he was in the kitchen, I had a quick look around the apartment. It was exactly the same as mine — same layout, same size, same everything. The only difference was, it was a lot messier. It wasn’t dirty or anything, but the whole place was jam-packed with stuff. Everywhere I looked, there were boxes and bags full of all kinds of stuff — computer games, DVDs, CDs, hair-dryers, boxes of perfume and aftershave, piles of brand new clothes. There was even a big cardboard box full of Harry Potter figures sitting on the top of the TV.

  Marcus came back in, handed me a soda, then sat down cross-legged on the floor. He’d put a hoodie on. The zip was undone, but the hood was up. He lit a cigarette.

  “I hear you’ve been talking to Carly,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Carly and Beth.” He winked at me. “Nice girls.”

  “Oh, yeah … right.”

  He grinned. “You’re really doing this P.I. thing then?”

  “Sorry?” I asked. I didn’t understand.

  “P.I. … private investigator … private detective … whatever … you’re really doing it?”

  “Yeah, I suppose …”

  He gulped some soda. “Toog told me you found his cat.”

  I smiled. Marcus was talking about Benny Toogood. Everyone calls him Toog. He’s a strange man — six foot six and a real giant. He’s got a huge square head and hands like shovels. He’s also kind of slow, and not too smart. He’s not stupid or anything, just very … very … slow. A few weeks ago, I’d bumped into him in the elevator. He was crying. He’d lost his cat, he told me, and he really loved his cat. So I helped him to look for it. And I found it. It was at the vet’s. Toog had taken it in that morning to get its nails clipped, and then he’d simply forgotten all about it.

  “You’re his hero,” Marcus told me. “Toog thinks you’re a genius.”

  “Toog’s OK,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Marcus agreed. “He’s cool.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. Then he looked at me. “You never know when you might need someone like Toog,” he said. “It’s always good to have someone looking out for you.” He tapped his cigarette into an ashtray. “Most of all if you’re stupid enough to get mixed up with people like Lee Kirk.” He looked at me again. “You know who he is, don’t you?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Sort of …”

  Marcus shook his head. “He’s The Man, that’s who he is. Or he soon will be.”

  For the next ten minutes, Marcus told me all about Lee Kirk. He told me how he’d worked himself up from being a simple gang member to being second-in-command of the Westies, the gang who run the West Tower, and that he was now getting ready to take out the current boss, a kid called Tyrell Jones, and then take control of the Westies himself. After that, he planned to join up with the other local gang, the E Boys, and take over the whole development.

  “Kirk’s a psycho,” Marcus told me. “But he’s clever, too. Very clever. He knows how it works, all the gang stuff — the rules, the drugs, the guns. He knows how to play it. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  Marcus laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s good. Keep it that way and you’ll be all right. Don’t get sucked into it, man. The whole gang thing is a load of shit. They think it’s all about power and money, which it is, but they don’t use it for anything. They just hang around, wasting time, talking shit, waiting for something to happen.” He looked at me. “But listen — Kirk’s different. He’s ambitious. He’s going places. And if anyone gets in his way, he won’t think twice about taking him out. So, be careful — OK?”

  “I’m only going to follow him. He won’t even know I’m there.”

  Marcus shook his head. “He’ll know.”

  “Yeah, well …”

  Marcus shrugged. “It’s up to you. I’m just letting you know, that’s all.”

  “Yeah … thanks.”

  The room went quiet for while, and everything felt kind of edgy. Marcus kept looking right at me for a moment. He gave me a long, hard look. Then slowly, and without a smile, he finished drinking his soda and stood up. He scratched his belly, yawned, then grinned at me.

  “All right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “OK.”

  With that, Marcus strode over to the TV and cracked open the big cardboard box that was sitting on the top. The next thing I knew, Marcus was offering me a Harry Potter figure in a plastic box.

  “You want a Hagrid?” he said

  “That’s Snape,” I told him.

  He shrugged. “Whatever — you want it?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Just then, the door opened and Della came in with her mom. Della didn’t look very well. Her face was pale and tired, and there was a small Band-Aid on her neck. Her mom was carrying a big bottle of pills and an oxygen mask.

  I stood up.

  Della smiled at me. “Hello, Johnny.”

  “Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  “I’m all right. I was just—”

  “Della,” her mom cut in, “you go to bed now.”

  “Can’t I just—?”

  “Not now.” Mrs. Hood looked at me, then back at Della. “You can see Johnny some other time. Right now you need to get some rest. Go on.”

  Della gave me an awkward smile. I smiled back at her. She gave me a little wave, then turned around and went off to her room. I looked quickly over at Mrs. Hood. She looked worried. I looked down. I felt a bit embarrassed. Like I was an intruder or something.

  “I’d better go,” I mumbled.

  Mrs. Hood just nodded silently and went into the kitchen. I watched her go. She looked sad and very tired. The sadness seemed to stay in the air behind her like a poisonous cloud.

  Marcus stood up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he told me. “Mom just gets worked up about things. Next time you see her she’ll be fine.”

  I looked at him.

  He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell Della you’ll call her in a couple of days. She’ll be fine by then. OK?”

  “Yeah, OK,” I said.

  “Right,” he grinned, “go on then, run off home. I got stuff to do.” He patted me on the shoulder. “And don’t forget what I said about Kirk. Just watch yourself — OK?”

  Chapter 4

  Thinking and Waiting

  I spent most of Saturday just hanging around the apartment doing nothing. Mom was working at the library today. And I was on my own.

  So I was thinking.

  Mostly, I was thinking about Lee Kirk. I kept looking at his photo, the one that Carly had given me. And every time I looked at it, I thought about what Marcus had said. He’s a psycho … he’s clever … he’s different … be careful. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to get in touch with Carly and tell her I’d changed my mind. I didn’t want to go snooping around after a psycho. It was stupid. Dangerous. Scary. But I’d said I’d do it, hadn’t I? I’d taken the money. And if I really wanted to be a private detective, I couldn’t change my mind about a job just because I’d gotten a bit scared, could I?

  That wouldn’t be right.

  I’d said I’d do it, so I’d do it.

  Anyway, I didn’t know how to get in touch with Carly. I hadn’t gotten her address or phone number. She’d said she would phone me to see what I’d found out.

  Stupid.

  At six-thirty that evening, just after Mom got home, I put on my coat, picked up my phone, and got ready to leave.

  “Going out?” said Mom.

  “Yeah, I won’t be long.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Steve’s place.”

  “Steve who?”

  “Steve Devine. You know, from school? He lives in the West Tower.”

  Mom shrugged, as if she’d never heard of Steve Devine. That wasn’t surprising. I’d just made him up.

  “All right,” she said. “Well, take care of yourself. And don
’t be too late.”

  ********

  There are three apartment buildings — the North Tower (mine), the West Tower, and the East Tower. Each of them has 23 floors, and each of the floors has ten apartments. 230 apartments to a block, nearly 700 apartments in all. That’s a lot of apartments, a lot of people. Each of the floors in each of the buildings is exactly the same. There’s a hallway on each floor with a row of apartments on both sides. There’s an elevator at one end of the hallway and stairs at the other. The doors to the stairwells are dirty yellow. The walls are painted a horrible sickly green, and the floors are covered with some kind of dirty brown plasticky stuff. There are lights in the ceiling, a couple of windows at the end of each hallway, and that’s about it.

  There was no one around when I left my apartment. The hallway was empty, the elevator was empty. When I got out downstairs, there was no one there either.

  I headed off across towards the West Tower. The space in between the towers is called “the square”… I don’t know why it’s called that. It isn’t a square. It’s just a rough patch of tarmac with a few crappy benches and a road at one end. It’s not even a square shape.

  The road goes in between the North Tower and the other two buildings and I headed across it. The evening light was beginning to dim, and a light rain was falling. I could hear loud music blaring out from an apartment somewhere, but there were hardly any people around. A homeless old guy was digging through the bins by the benches, and there were a couple of E Boys hanging around on the other side of the road, but that was about it.

  I crossed the road and hurried over to the West Tower. It was getting cold now. The clouds were low and heavy, and an icy wind was whipping around, blowing rain into my face. In the cold shadows of the apartment buildings, everything looked dark and gloomy.

  I gazed up. The West Tower was in front of me, the East was to my left, and the North was behind me. Three great blocks of dirty gray concrete, 700 tiny apartments, 2000 or so people.

  It’s a world within a world.

  ********

  As I came up to the entrance of the West Tower, I saw a few younger kids hanging around the doors. Most of them were on bikes, and most of them had cell phones. They were runners. Delivery boys. Look-outs. Working for the Westies. The oldest of them was about 12 gears old. They watched me as I went through the doors and into the downstairs lobby. One of them came over and stood next to me as I pressed the button for the elevator. He had chains around his neck and a snotty nose.

  When the elevator came down, the snotty kid got in with me.

  “What floor d’you want?” he said.

  “Thirteen,” I lied.

  He hit the buttons — 13 and 18.

  The doors closed and the elevator started moving. I looked at the kid. He stared at the phone in his hand. It was a top-of-the-range smartphone — camera, 3G, movies, everything.

  When the elevator stopped at 13 and I stepped out, I saw the kid put the phone to his ear and start talking. I waited for the doors to close, then I went down the hallway and walked up the stairs to the 14th. I didn’t open the stairwell doors and go into the hall yet.

  It was five to seven.

  I stood in the stairwell and waited.

  Chapter 5

  Everything Goes Black

  From where I was standing, I couldn’t see the door to Lee Kirk’s apartment, but I thought I’d hear him when he came out. And I was right. Bang on seven o’clock, I heard a door open, and when I opened the stairwell door and stepped out into the hallway, there he was — Lee Kirk. Coming out of his apartment. His blond hair was all gelled up, and he was wearing black track pants and a white Nike hoodie.

  He wasn’t very big, but he looked a lot nastier than his photograph. Nasty and cold and mean.

  My heart was pounding as I walked along the hallway towards him. I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket and pretended to read it. Earlier, I’d written a name and address on the paper, a made-up name and address — Barry Jennings, Flat 1604, West Tower, William B. Foster Project Development. The idea was that if anyone asked me what I was doing here, I could pretend I was lost. I was just some dopey kid, looking for someone called Barry Jennings. It wasn’t much of an idea, but it was better than nothing.

  And Lee Kirk wasn’t even looking at me anyway. As I walked passed him, frowning at my piece of paper, he was too busy locking his door and sorting out his phone and stuff to notice me.

  So far, so good.

  I carried on down to the end of the hallway and stopped by the elevator. I waited, pretending to study my piece of paper again. When I heard Kirk’s footsteps coming up behind me, I hit the button for the elevator. The light came on, and I heard the distant whirring and clunking of the elevator as it started moving up the shaft.

  I could sense Kirk standing behind me now. I could smell his aftershave. I could feel his presence. It didn’t feel good. I forced myself to stay calm. Don’t move, don’t turn around, don’t look at him.

  The elevator seemed to take forever.

  I was beginning to sweat.

  My legs felt shaky.

  The silence was killing me.

  I wanted to turn around and say — Hi, I’m not following you, you know. Honestly. I’m not doing anything. I’m just waiting for the elevator …

  But I forced myself not to.

  In the end, after the longest 30 seconds of my life, I heard a dull-sounding ting, and then a juddering clunk as the elevator finally arrived.

  I stared at the doors, waiting for them to open.

  And when they did, that’s when everything went wrong.

  There were two of them in the elevator. A tall black kid in wrap-around shades, and an ugly-looking guy with a face like a pizza. The pizza-faced guy had a bottle in his hand. They were both staring at me.

  I didn’t even have time to step back. As soon as the doors opened, Kirk grabbed me from behind and shoved me into the elevator, and before I knew what was happening, someone hit me hard in the belly and I fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

  “Doors,” I heard someone say.

  A button thumped, and I heard the doors closing. As the elevator started moving, I tried to get to my feet, but I didn’t have a chance. The first kick slammed me back to the floor, the second one got me in the belly again, and the third one made everything go black.

  Chapter 6

  The Fall

  I’m floating in space. Everything’s dark. Stars are spinning faintly in the distance. There are planets, big square planets. Square and flat, like walls. Silver walls. Wooden walls. They keep drifting towards me, knocking into my head, then bouncing away. They’re ships. I’m drowning. I’m drinking the sea. It tastes sweet. Sweet and strong. Sour and fruity. It’s black …

  Everything’s black.

  Everything’s gone.

  ********

  When I woke up, the first thing I saw was that I was holding a knife. A big, heavy knife. The silver blade was sticky with blood. My hand was red, too. I opened my fingers and the knife fell to the floor.

  The floor was gray. A gray carpet.

  My head hurt.

  My belly hurt.

  I felt sick.

  I couldn’t remember anything.

  I closed my eyes and tried to think — Where am I? What happened to me? Where did the knife come from? Why is it covered in blood?

  Nothing. No answers. My mind was empty. I could remember Kirk shoving me into the elevator, then someone kicking me in the head ... but that was it. After that — nothing.

  I opened my eyes and looked around.

  I was lying on a grubby couch in the front room of a dim and shadowy apartment. The curtains were shut. It was dark outside. Night-time. Late. The TV was on, some game was playing, the sound turned off. The room was a mess — unwashed plates on the table, dirty clothes on the floor, trash all over the place. The air smelled stale. The apartment felt empty and quiet, but I could hear dim sounds from somewhere else — rap music, v
oices shouting, a police car wailing in the distance ...

  The sounds of the project development.

  I’m still in the projects, I thought. I’m in an apartment, somewhere in the development.

  It didn’t make me feel much better, but at least it was something. I felt in my pocket for my phone, but it wasn’t there. I searched all my other pockets — nothing. I started to sit up, groaning at the pain in my belly ... and that’s when I saw him.