Double Cross by Malorie Blackman Read Free Book Online

shoulder.
The thing was heavy and uncomfortable and made me
walk with my whole body tilted to one side. But that
wasn't why I was in a bad mood.
    Breakfast with Mum and Jessica had been bad enough.
But then Callie had let me down. She must've decided to
walk to school by herself today, in spite of telling me last
night that she'd knock for me. I was so used to going to
school with Callie that when it didn't happen, it felt
strange, like I'd set foot out of my house and forgotten
something vital.
    But I shouldn't have been surprised. More often than
not these days, Callie was a silent companion. Since
her nana had died, she'd changed. According to the
newspaper reports, some anonymous Nought guy had
died in the explosion as well. The authorities didn't
seem to be straining themselves to establish his identity.
Or maybe it'd been reported on page thirty-odd of
the dead guy's local newspaper and hadn't managed to
make it any further up the 'does-anyone-give-a-damn?'
scale.
    What had happened in that hotel the day Jasmine
Hadley died? Was she really so unlucky as to be in the
wrong place at the wrong time? Was life really that arbitrary?
It would appear so.
    An executive jet-black WMW – known as 'white man's
wheels' – pulled up alongside me, its back window gliding
down in expensive silence.
    'Tobey Durbridge, isn't it?'
    I stepped back, pulling my rucksack closer to my
side. The WMW before me was almost limousine-like
in its proportions. It had to be custom-made. The alloy
hubcaps had been polished to a high shine and I could
see my distorted reflection in them. I took another
step back, as did my reflection. We both had the same
idea.
    A Nought man's face moved into view. I recognized
him at once. Alex McAuley. Aka Creepy McAuley (only
ever said behind his back) or Softly McAuley (occasionally
said to his face by close friends only) because he could be
kicking your head in and he'd never once raise his voice.
No one – as far as I knew – had ever heard him shout. He
didn't need to. His dark-grey suit covered a middleweight
boxer's physique. He was still in shape, even though he
was in his mid thirties. He wore his blond hair swept
back off his face. His light-brown eyebrows framed hard,
ice-blue eyes. The single yellow diamond stud he wore
in his left ear twinkled like a giggle in the morning
sunlight. He smiled at me, pulling back thin lips over
perfect, high-price, sparkling white teeth. I fought my
natural instinct to take another step back or, better still,
do a runner. It wouldn't do any good anyway. I saw
the silhouette of another Nought man in the back
seat of the car next to McAuley. Between them was a
state-of-the-art laptop, McAuley's no doubt, with a
memory stick attached. The driver and the guy in the
passenger seat were also looking at me. McAuley's car
was full. The rumours were true. He never, ever travelled
alone.
    I answered the expectant look on his face. 'Hello, Mr
McAuley.'
    'Ah. So you know me?' he replied, his tone soft and
lilting.
    I didn't bother responding to that one. If he needed
his ego stroked he'd have to find someone else to do it
for him.
    'I've been hearing a lot about you, Tobey Durbridge,'
he said.
    My heart flipped like a pancake. Didn't like the sound
of that. Not one little bit.
    McAuley raised his eyebrows when I failed to reply.
'Aren't you going to ask me what I've heard?'
    I shook my head.
    'You're not the least bit curious?'
    'If it's bad, it'll crush my ego, in which case I'd rather
not hear it. And if it's good, it'll make my head swell, in
which case I'd better not hear it.'
    McAuley considered me. I was pinned by his gaze
like a lepidopterist's butterfly. 'Curiosity moves us
forward,' he said.
    Around McAuley, curiosity could also move you under
– buried two metres under, to be precise – but I decided
to keep that to myself.
    'You know when to keep your mouth shut, don't
you?' McAuley smiled, even though there was nothing
to smile about. Mind you, if I'd forked out the