The Charlie Cobb Series

Chapter 11

11

I pull the case along Deansgate. It’s a long, wide drag lined by some of the swankier bars and restaurants in town. I’m making good progress, but the case starts to tug in my hand. I realise the kid’s awake. He’s banging on the inside.

Shit, I forgot to leave him some air.

I stop on the street outside a tapas restaurant.

The case wobbles side to side. I hear his muffled shouts. So do a bunch of passers-by. They stare at me and at the case. I stare back and they move on. I unzip the case halfway around. The kid spills out onto the pavement.

Now I’ve got another audience. A group of shrieking old women.

“Call the cops and you're all dead," I say to them.

They shuffle on their way, pissing in their frillies.

The kid gasps for air. His eyes wild. He picks himself up. Stares at me. Looks around him. Then runs, right across the street. Straight up a side alley.

Bollocks!

I boot the case to the side of the street and take off after him. He’s a fast little bugger and leaves me for dust. But I know these streets like the inside of my arsehole. Even the posher ones. I head left into another side alley. It’s the much shorter route and he’ll soon be sent my way by a couple of dead ends.

Sure enough, I’m waiting for him when he pops right out. I reach to grab him. He body swerves me and takes off up a pedestrian street, heading towards civilisation.

I give chase again. I see two uni-age lads ahead. A little bit drunk.

“Hey, stop that kid,” I shout. “He stole my wallet!”

One of the lads reaches out and gets hold of the little bastard. I catch up to them, breathing hard.

“Give him back his wallet,” one of the lads says.

“I didn’t steal nothing,” the kid says. “He’s trying to kill me.”

“I’ll sort him out from here,” I say. “Cheers, lads.”

I think they’re starting to doubt the situation, but I can see they don’t have the stomach for a rumble. As they continue on their way, I pull the kid to one side. I shove him inside a doorway.

“Don’t kill me,” he says.

“Kill you? I’m saving your arse, soft lad.”

“You knocked me out and stuffed me in a case.”

“You’re alive. Don’t be ungrateful.” I let him off the wall. “Now, listen, I can’t protect you if you keep running off. We need to work together.”

“Why? Just hand me over to the police.”

“No can do.”

“Why not? No one saw your face. And I won’t say nothing.”

“Let's just say me and the law don’t get on.” I check the coast both ways. “Besides, half the bastards are bent.”

I hear a chopper hovering overhead. See a light in the sky. Not too far from here.

“Just let me go,” the kid says. “Better all round, yeah?”

“This isn’t Brexit or X-Factor. You don’t get a vote. Now come on.”

I take him by the scruff of the neck and march him down a couple of side streets. I find a car parked in the shadows. A silver Toyota Yaris. One of the old models. Nice and easy. I take the coat hanger out from my jacket pocket. I use it to break into the passenger door.

Passenger doors are easier. Fewer wires in the door panel.

I push the kid inside and flash him the gun inside my jacket. "Don't get any ideas," I say.

A few seconds later, I've got the engine started.

The kid looks across at me as he pulls on his belt. “What are you gonna do with me when we get out of here?”

“One thing at a time, Columbo. Christ.”

I ram the seat back as far as it’ll go. I look like King Kong in a clown car, but it’ll do. I spin the Yaris out of its space and along the back alleys.

We hit the main drag. If I can make it to the ring road, we'll be clean out of here.

But there’s a problem. A big, roadblock-sized one up ahead. Cops in neon yellow jackets checking driver IDs, no doubt all ways out of the city. We pull up in a queue, two cars back from the cops. Another car pulls up behind. The police chopper drifts sideways overhead, scanning the area with a blinding spotlight.

I look at the kid as I think over my next move. His left hand goes for the door handle. He unclips his belt with his right.

I grab him by the elbow before he can bail. As the car in front pulls forward, I step on the accelerator. I spin the wheel, holding onto the kid with my spare hand.

I pull a u-turn in the path of an oncoming coach.

It slams on its brakes and we miss it by a whisker. As the kid tries to wriggle his way out, I get the Yaris up to speed. Thirty. Forty. Too fast for him to jump.

He shuts the door.

“You’d better put your belt back on,” I say, checking in all my mirrors.

Wailing blue lights fill each one. I guess we got their attention. The chopper tracks us too.

Tonight just keeps getting better and better.