Nobody Saw No One by Steve Tasane Read Free Book Online Page A

– if he keeps quiet enough, Jackson might forget he’s there altogether. Invisible-ize himself like the Good Citizen.
    Crow belongs to Jackson, see. He’s got all the authenticates, documents and unsurance cover on the kid, so it’s all legit. The Digit don’t know where JB got the docs. I reckon Virus hacked a few files and inputted the data. Like I say, once your story’s on the interweb, it’s God’s honour. So if Jackson and Crow ever get stopped in the street by the Sherlocks, online references confirm it all: Jackson Banks is Crow’s Foster Dad. Can you like it? The Digit never heard anything so ridic in his life.
    JB uses the poor sap to squeeze through spaces too tiny for most burglars. And what the Digit does know, is that that’s how Crow got his scar – trying to squeeze through a smashed-in window that still had a shard of glass wedged in the frame. Ouch.
    Jackson gives Grace a celebratory slap on the booty. “Come on, Gracie. The night is young. So are we.” She spares me a parting smile as he slides her towards the door. Leastways, her mouth is smiling. Her eyes are somewhere else all together. She catches my look, and her mouth goes into cheery overdo. She is not right, and it’s the one thing Digit can’t figure out – why’s she with Banks?
    Crow-Boy limps along by his side, as ever. “Obnob,” Banks mutters, and the dog comes scurrying from his hiding place, sniffer slung low to the ground. He bares his fangs at me as he passes.
    Banks doesn’t bother closing the door behind him.
    “Always a pleasure doing business with you!” Virus calls, sliding the bolt shut, before capsizing into a chair and wiping his sweaty brow vehemously with a wad of tissues.

6. UP AND AT ’EM
    Best kip I’ve had in years. Now I’m set for the day. Always rise early. Get a head start on all the other lot. Advantage: Spar.
    First up I put on me
Cash Counters
uniform, before having a look around. It’s a titchy room, not much more space than for this little bed and bedside table. Me room at the Barrowclough’s were much bigger, and had a window overlooking the garden. There ain’t no window here, but it is clean and it don’t smell. Not that the Barrowclough’s smelled – well, it did smell, o’ fresh air and cooking. After the cooped-up pongs o’ the residential unit, the Barrowclough’s were heaven.
    Here, there’s not more than the whiff o’ disinfectant. I reckon Mr Virus likes to keep it nice for us all.
    This room could be all right. I could pin up some posters, put a rug down over the lino. Maybe paint over the white walls – bright blue, or a mix! A different colour for each wall. Planets and stars on the ceiling.
    A room. My room.
    I open the door soft-like, so it won’t creak and wake t’others. At Tenderness House I were always up and at ’em well before Byron and the rest were awake. They’d get narky if I woke ’em too early. But I like dawn. I like the sun coming up, greeting the day.
    Also, you get first dibs at any grub.
    There’s a latch on the outside o’ the door.
    Why din’t I notice that last night?
    I were shattered, weren’t I?
    I guess Mr Virus used it as storage before converting it into a bedroom for his lads.
    I mean, even if there’s three floors, including the shop floor, and the dining room is huge, and the bathroom posh like a hotel, there’s still, what, seven of us kipping here, including Mr Virus. Maybe more, who knows? So you’d reckon the rooms ’ud have to be quite small. I don’t mind. It’s me own room. I wonder if Mr Virus’ll let us keep a dog. A small dog. He could sleep under me bed.
    I’ll ask him later.
    I creep downstairs, see what grub’s in the fridge. At Tenderness you made do wi’ what you were given, when you were given it. But I bet Mr Virus says
all for one and one for all.
    I slide noiseless into the dining room and then I freeze. He’s at the table. Like me, Mr Virus is rise and shine, up and at ’em, work to be done.