Jimmy Coates: Killer. Joe Craig

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       CHAPTER FOUR – NEVER ALONE

      JIMMY COULDN’T BELIEVE what he had just heard. He stood up and dropped the sad remains of his food. His mind was blank. He opened his mouth slightly, but nothing came out.

      “Give me your bag,” Mitchell repeated. Then shouted. “Did you hear me? Give me your bag!”

      Jimmy looked down at his bag, dumbstruck. He had no idea what to do. He was even too surprised to be scared.

      Mitchell was fed up. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected. It was actually making him a little nervous that Jimmy seemed to be considering his question, assessing whether it was worth giving up the bag. Mitchell pulled himself up to his full height, which wasn’t a great deal taller than Jimmy. His eyes flicked between the boy and his bag. Should he ask one more time? What if the boy didn’t speak English? There was only one way to sort this out, he thought.

      Shaking his head in disbelief, he strode forward. Jimmy didn’t move. So Mitchell stuck out the palm of his hand and pushed Jimmy out of the way. Jimmy lurched back and felt a pain in his chest where Mitchell had made contact. As Mitchell reached down for the bag, Jimmy came straight back.

      At the split second that Mitchell bent over to pick up the bag, Jimmy jammed his foot into the back of Mitchell’s knee and dug it in. Mitchell collapsed forward, then looked round, furious. Pulling the bag up with him, he swung it at Jimmy’s head, but Jimmy was too fast. He ducked with ease and caught Mitchell’s arm as it swung past, pulling it down and towards him. Mitchell didn’t have the balance to stay upright and reeled forward. His face hit the ground this time, and it wasn’t kind. Jimmy planted his foot firmly on the back of Mitchell’s neck.

      “Let go of my bag,” he said. He sounded calm, but inside Jimmy was amazed at his own speed, strength and reactions. He had watched himself moving and seen someone who really knew how to win a fight. There was no fuss, just efficient and devastating moves. The violence in him had sprung from nowhere, telling him what to do, or doing it for him.

      Mitchell had never stood a chance. His face was squished against the cold dust. He couldn’t feel anything except the pressure against his neck that was so close to cutting off his breathing. That and shame. The physical discomfort was matched by the pain of injured pride. He opened his fingers slowly, letting the strap of the bag fall.

      Jimmy kicked it away but kept his eyes fixed on the back of Mitchell’s head. In the dim light he could make out the glistening of a tear on Mitchell’s eye as it rapidly blinked, trying to throw off the soil of the park. Then, with a rush of awareness, Jimmy felt terrified by what he had done. Until tonight it had been completely alien to him to act in such a violent way. Now he stood there, with power over another boy. He had it in him to do terrible things when hardly provoked. He could have given up his bag and then found his way to the police station. But he hadn’t.

      Jimmy’s first instinct was to step back and apologise, to help the boy up off the ground even. But there was nothing to stop the fight continuing if Jimmy released his opponent now.

      “Leh we go!” Mitchell cried from the ground, his words obscured by grass and fear.

      “OK,” Jimmy said, thinking desperately, “but you have to help me.”

      “Whaa?”

      “Help me.”

      “Jush gid your fuh off why nick!”

      “What did you say?” Jimmy lifted his foot and stepped back. Mitchell rolled over to look up at him.

      “I said ‘get your foot off my neck’.”

      “Oh.” For the first time, Jimmy could look squarely into this other boy’s face. Mitchell stood up carefully, not taking his eyes off Jimmy, and reluctantly rubbed his neck. Jimmy was surprised to see that the person who had tried to mug him was so young. “How old are you?”

      “Sixteen,” said Mitchell.

      “You’re not sixteen. You’re shorter than my sister, and she’s thirteen.” Jimmy felt a new confidence. He didn’t think this boy would be too keen to have a foot in his neck again.

      “So? I might be short for my age.”

      “You’re no way sixteen, that’s all.” Jimmy looked at him harder, as if to check.

      “All right, I’m thirteen,” mumbled Mitchell, his humiliation complete. He looked away.

      “There’s nothing in my bag,” Jimmy remarked. “Just food and clothes.”

      “Then why were all those men after you?”

      Jimmy tried to think of an answer, but nothing came. He knew it wasn’t for the bag, though.

      “They’re after me,” he stuttered at last. The shock of hearing it said aloud for the first time was dreadful. “They’re after me,” he said again. His throat tightened, and his stomach turned over. This wasn’t any mysterious inner strength, though–it was fear.

      “What’s your name?” said Mitchell.

      “Jimmy.”

      “I’m Mitchell. Hi.”

      “I don’t want to fight.” Jimmy suddenly felt close to crying.

      Mitchell let out a huge laugh, throwing his head back and feeling his neck some more. Jimmy was taken aback.

      “What’s funny?”

      “You idiot. You just beat me up. You could have killed me,” scoffed Mitchell. “I’m not going to try hitting you again, am I? Idiot.”

      “Shut up!” said Jimmy, but a small part of him glowed at this coming from an older boy. “Just go away.”

      “I’m not running away. What if you chase me?”

      “I won’t chase you.”

      “I’m staying here. If you want to go, then go. I’d never catch you.” Mitchell stepped slightly to the side, almost СКАЧАТЬ