Heatwave, Oliver Davies [pdf ebook reader .txt] 📗

about one of the kids, a fourteen-year-old squirt that looked about as intimidating as a kitten in his social media pictures, but Jules had plans for it. The younger ones were always keen to please, hanging off his every word and scurrying off to do what Jules wanted in the hope of getting into his good graces and being rewarded. Their worship and fear never failed to give Jules a thrill that he got from little else.

“Where is he, then?”

“Yeah, I’m boiling out here.”

Jules ignored the pair of them, taking his cigarette back and sucking deep. The smoke left his fingernails yellow and got caught in his clothes, but the heady relief of the nicotine made it worth the cost.

“There- That’s him,” Jules said, straightening up. His friends stirred, craning their heads to pick out the kid, who couldn’t have been taller than five foot and was sporting a ragged haircut that looked like it’d been done by his mum while she was drunk.

“Jesus, Jay, you can’t be serious.”

“Shut up.”

Jules wouldn’t usually pay any attention to a kid like that, nerdy and pale unless he was pushing him around for his snack money, but this particular one had changed his mind. Plus, the kind of kid who had been bullied since primary school always turned loyal as a bulldog to a guy like Jules if he took them under his wing. He had every belief that this would turn out to be a sweet deal.

The lad was wearing a black rucksack that resembled a leech that had sucked itself fat and swollen, his shoulder all hunched up. Jules makes a mental note to himself about what the kid would have to change if he wanted to get in with Jules’ group, and that dorky haircut would be the first to go.

When the boy got near the school gates, Jules stepped out, heading straight for him. One of the school teachers had been lingering by the school bus, keeping an eye on Jules’ lot in a way she probably thought was subtle. She straightened up as Jules made his move, clearly debating whether to intervene or to fetch help. Jules ignored her.

“Hey, kid, hold up.”

If he was expecting wariness or fear from the skinny nipper, which he was if he was honest with himself, Jules was disappointed. The kid was cool and seemingly unbothered as Jules and his three bulky mates blocked his way, even though the boy had to tilt his head up to look at them.

“Who’re you?” His voice hasn’t broken yet, and he sounded like a choirboy. The hard look on his pale face wasn’t angelic, though, and his dark hair hung limp and greasy.

Jules’s mate mocked the kid’s squeaky voice, and Jules watched the lad, taken aback when the kid didn’t so much as blink. No anger or embarrassment was visible, and there was certainly no fear. He just looked at them. Jules’s habitual scowl deepened, hiding an uneasiness he wasn’t used to feeling.

“Doesn’t matter who we are, squirt,” Jules said roughly. “You’re Ali Pumphrey, am I right? We’ve heard about you, Ali.”

The kid, Ali, stared back at him evenly, his chin tilted up fearlessly. He didn’t fidget on his feet, and his dark eyes were weirdly unnerving, considering he was nothing more than a rat-faced little kid.

“So?” he said finally.

He took a purposeful step to the side and made to go around them, but Jules blocked him immediately. In his peripheral, he saw that the school teacher had joined forces with a frumpy dinner lady, but Jules didn’t pay them any mind. If they thought that some stern glares, hands on hips, and scolding would make him leave before he’d got what he wanted, they were going to get the shock of their lives.

“So,” Jules said, drawing the word out. “We’ve got a use for you.”

“Yeah? What do I get?” Ali said.

“What do you get?” Jules’ best mate grunted, a guy who topped Jules’s height and was as wide as this kid was tall. “You get to stay outta hospital, y’little-”

Jules put a hand out when his friend pushed forwards. It was an act, of course. Beating up a scrawny kid like Ali would look weak, like Jules was scared of dealing with anyone his own size. And he’d rather cut off his own hand than look weak. A little push, though, was different, and Jules took a step forward and gave the insolent squirt a firm shove in his bony chest, sending him sprawling back on the hot tarmac.

The teacher was hurrying over now, ready to pounce, so Jules made a show of leaning down to grab Ali’s skinny arm and heaving the kid back to his feet, patting him on the shoulder and brushing imaginary dust off him.

“Are these young men bothering you, Alistair?” the teacher demanded, slightly out of breath from her scurrying over to them. The dinner lady turned up behind her, giving Jules a narrow-eyed look that meant she’d seen Jules around or knew of him.

Jules gave them both a bright smile, flicking his blond hair out of his face. Sure, he wasn’t a cute fourteen-year-old anymore, but having blue eyes and blond curls could charm even the most irritable adults.

“Bothering him?” he said warmly, straightening out Ali’s second-hand blazer and stepping back. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Ali?”

“Of course,” Ali said immediately, his thin voice flat and certain. Jules had expected some hesitation or uneasiness, but the kid was either a born actor or genuinely unafraid. “Excuse me, Mrs Peters.”

He moved around Jules and walked away purposefully. Jules watched him go, surprised, before turning to give the frowning teacher an innocent smile and helpless shrug as if to say, ‘Kids, right?’

He didn’t wait for her to protest before he headed off after the kid, his mates following after him. He had no intention of letting Ali run off before they’d gotten him to join the gang, by persuasion or otherwise. Jules got what he wanted. He always did.

“You were smooth there,