CHERUB: The General (20 page)

‘So how’s it going with you and Bruce these days?’

‘He’s a good guy,’ Kerry smiled. ‘Did you see the necklace he got me for Christmas? It was
so
beautiful. It must have cost a bomb.’

‘Last time I asked you said there wasn’t much of a spark between you,’ James said, as he dug into the box to take out a chocolate. ‘You said you might break up with him.’

‘Bruce is totally different to you,’ Kerry said teasingly. ‘He’s a gentleman.’

‘He’s one of my best friends,’ James nodded. ‘Although he’s so obsessed with martial arts and stuff it’s kind of boring. Sometimes it’s all he goes on about.’

James pulled a crescent-shaped chocolate out of the box, but Kerry slapped his wrist. ‘Don’t scoff all the orange creams. They’re my best ones.’

‘Why don’t you come and get it?’ James said, poking out his tongue and balancing the chocolate on the tip before leaning across and sliding his hand into Kerry’s lap.

Kerry punched him hard in the ribs.

‘Owww,’ James gasped, as Kerry stood up. ‘You made me bite my tongue.’

‘What planet are you on, James?’ Kerry growled, as she pushed James away with her foot.

‘I’m only messing,’ James said.

‘I cried for days after you dumped me for Dana. Now she dumps you, and a week later you expect me to throw myself at you like nothing ever happened?’

‘Sorry,’ James said, realising that the enticing thought of Kerry being naked under the robe had made him move
way
too fast.

‘You’re disgusting,’ Kerry shuddered. ‘Bruce is supposed to be one of
your
best friends and he has more respect for me in his little
fingernail
than you have in your whole body.’

‘Kerry, you know I still have feelings for you. I got carried away and I’m really, really—’

‘Just leave,’ Kerry growled. ‘Forget it happened, but
don’t
try it on like that again.’

*

After two days of private planes and luxury suites came the harsh reality of a 5.30 a.m. checkout and a four-hour drive to the Fort Reagan training compound in one of the remotest areas of the Nevada Desert. The Reef concierge took Mac aside and gave him a tacky plastic VIP card which would enable him to earn casino points on a future visit, plus a two-for-one coupon at any of the restaurants.

The tone was polite, but the implication crystal clear: you didn’t gamble enough to justify all the freebies we gave you and if you come back you can pay for your own damned room. There was also a conspicuous absence of help with the luggage and all the kids had to make several runs up and down in the lift to get Kazakov’s stash of equipment down to their pick-up point.

Their ride was a shabby green bus, with UNITED STATES ARMY stencilled along each side. The driver was a heavy-set black man, who saluted Kazakov before issuing everyone with hospital style identity bracelets that included a microchip and a tiny photograph. Once fixed on, the plastic bands could only be removed with scissors.

The bus was large and everyone was still sleepy, so the cherubs spread out and kept quiet as they cruised through the Vegas suburbs and into the open desert as the sun broke the horizon.

James ended up near the back of the bus with a rather sorry-looking Mac sitting opposite. He kept coughing, so James passed over the bottle of mineral water from his day pack.

‘Cheers,’ Mac said, keeping his voice down because Jake was dozing in the row of seats in front. ‘So what did you make of Vegas?’

‘Very cool,’ James said. ‘I’m definitely going back when I’m older. How did it go at the tables after dinner?’

Mac had always been a big man on campus. He seemed different dressed in a crumpled shirt, with stubble and a hangover.

‘Dropped another eight hundred bucks,’ Mac smiled. ‘Which was nowhere near enough to keep Julio happy.’

‘And your lady friend?’ James asked boldly, half expecting Mac to revert to being an authority figure and telling him to mind his business.

‘She was totally in cahoots with Julio,’ Mac said. ‘I was staggering back to my room just after one this morning and she says: “Julio says you ain’t gambled enough for a freebie, so it’s six hundred dollars if you want to sleep with me”.’

James laughed loud enough to make Jake open one eye. ‘Did you pay her?’ he gasped.

‘What kind of person do you think I am?’ Mac said incredulously. ‘I told her I’d rather have a nice cup of tea and sent her packing.’

*

By 8 a.m. they were on an Interstate eighty miles outside of Las Vegas. There were strips of fast-food joints and shops every few miles, but they had to stop at a particular one which Kazakov had already phoned to order thirty kegs of beer.

‘I don’t know what Kazakov’s plan involves,’ Mac grinned, as they stepped off the bus into a parking lot and stretched their legs.

‘I’m not even sure that I want to,’ James smiled. ‘The part with the beer kegs looks like fun though.’

Kazakov, the bus driver and a guy who’d come in especially early to open up his liquor store loaded the kegs into the base of the coach as the cherubs headed towards a twenty-four-hour diner. Inside it was about eighty per cent full and the sweat-glazed hostess had to split the party of twelve between two tables, with a bunch of uniformed US soldiers at the table in between.

James ordered something called a Cake and Steak Grand Slam, which was a giant platter of just about everything on the menu, including a large T-bone steak and side stack of pancakes in a swimming pool of maple syrup.

Kazakov arrived at the table before the food, but their driver spotted some colleagues from Fort Reagan and went to sit with them.

‘You all going up to the Fort?’ the waitress asked, as she doled out the breakfasts. ‘Looks like there’s another big exercise starting there this morning.’

Her name badge said she was called Natasiya and Kazakov gave her a smile.

‘What’s a nice Ukrainian like you doing way out here in the desert?’ he asked.

‘Paying the bills and raising my kids, same as every other waitress,’ she smiled. ‘Most people think I’m Russian.’

‘English speakers can’t tell,’ Kazakov tutted. ‘I get the same thing in Britain. Some people even think I’m Polish.’

James had twice as much food as anyone else and Bruce shouted over the US soldiers at the table in between, ‘You gonna eat all that, fat boy?’

James knew he’d never get through it, so he let Lauren and Rat take one of his pancakes and Kevin had two rashers of crispy bacon to go with his French toast.

‘You sure you don’t want some, Bruce?’ James shouted. ‘Put some meat on them skinny bones?’

‘Might be skinny but I could kick your butt any day,’ Bruce shouted back.

A female soldier at the next table turned angrily to James. ‘Would you two mind?’ she drawled. ‘Can I eat my breakfast without you boys yellin’ in my ear?’

‘Sorry,’ James smiled, before turning back and starting to cut his steak.

A corporal sitting directly behind Kazakov stood up with an empty maple syrup jug and rudely ordered the waitress to give him a refill.

‘Goddamn service here sucks,’ the soldier complained, as he sat down. ‘That Russian ain’t getting no tip out of me. Reckon she learned her waitressing skills in the Gulag.’

Kazakov slammed his coffee down and swivelled around to face the corporal. ‘Why don’t you shut your mouth and learn some manners?’

The corporal bared his brite-white twenty-something teeth at Kazakov as Natasiya arrived with a jug of hot syrup. ‘Maybe you should mind your business, old man.’

Kazakov shook his head and turned back to his breakfast. ‘Typical Americans,’ he muttered loudly. ‘Ignorant, loud and
stupid.’

The burly corporal bolted out of his seat and tapped Kazakov on the shoulder. ‘I happen to take offence at foreign people coming to my country and talking like that.’

Meryl smiled. ‘Why don’t we
all
stop mouthing off and have a nice breakfast?’

Kazakov ignored her and spoke loudly so that everyone in the diner could hear. ‘In my country we love your American flag. We cut the soft fabric into little rectangles and then we wipe our asses on it.’

James and Rat struggled not to laugh as soldiers and civilians at the surrounding tables jeered with outrage.

The corporal’s eyes bulged as he leaned towards Kazakov. ‘You wanna take this outside?’

‘Anytime, cowboy,’ Kazakov grinned, as he stood up.

The corporal looked surprised by Kazakov’s bulk. He’d started an argument on the basis of Kazakov’s grey head in the row of seats behind, but now found himself nose to nose with a physique and scarred face that looked like it had won several wars all by itself.

‘Change your mind, cowboy?’ Kazakov sneered. ‘Guess I’m bigger than the girls on your high school wrestling team.’

The restaurant went quiet as people stopped eating and turned to watch the testosterone fuelled drama. James glanced around and didn’t like the fact that at least six other booths were filled with soldiers and none of them looked like they were about to add Kazakov to their Christmas card list.

‘Not worth fighting over, boss,’ James said to Kazakov, as he tugged on the Ukrainian’s shirt.

The female soldier was doing a similar job trying to settle down her buddy and the giant bus driver had come across from his table to urge calm.

After a few seconds where it could have gone either way, Kazakov and the corporal settled back into their seats. But then every eye in the restaurant turned towards the distinctive ratcheting sound of a shotgun chamber being loaded.

A tough-looking female chef had stepped out of the kitchen and had both barrels aimed at Kazakov’s head.

‘Ma’am, there’s no need for that,’ Mac said anxiously.

‘No need?’ she said incredulously. ‘I got two sons and a daughter in the armed forces, mister, and you can get your anti-American ass the hell out of my restaurant.’

Diners cheered and clapped as Kazakov stood up and backed away from his table.

‘And the rest of yous,’ she added, waving the gun at James and the others.

Mac pointed at Kevin and Jake. ‘We just brought the children in for some breakfast.’

The chef looked at the two boys before yelling at one of the waitresses. ‘Natasiya, make this order to
go
.’

The Ukrainian waitress rushed over with a heap of cardboard cups and polystyrene food boxes. It wasn’t ideal, but Mac nodded appreciatively at the gun wielding cook as James and the rest of the party hurriedly scraped food from plates into boxes and poured drinks from glasses into cardboard cups.

‘Thank you ma’am,’ Mac said, as he reached inside his jacket.

‘Keep your damned hands where I can see ‘em,’ the cook screamed, stepping forward so that the barrels were right in Mac’s face.

‘Cool it!’ Mac gasped. ‘I’m reaching for my wallet.’

By this time, Kazakov and the rest of the CHERUB party were on their way to the door with their hastily boxed food.

‘Showed you, asshole,’ one soldier shouted. ‘Got your ass kicked by a girl!’

James’ face burned with embarrassment as they moved through the automatic exit door, pausing only to grab serviettes, straws and plastic cutlery. Kazakov bristled as a chunk of corn bread hit him in the back of the head, but Meryl jabbed him in the back and told him to keep moving.

‘American cocks,’ Kazakov shouted, turning around and flicking off the diners as he made it out into the morning sun.

Mac was last out of the diner, and everyone turned on Kazakov as they hurried back towards the coach.

‘I don’t care who you people are or what your rank is,’ the driver shouted. ‘You pull another stunt like that and you can get off my bus and walk.’

‘Are you out of your bloody mind?’ Mac shouted. ‘Picking a fight with thirty soldiers! We’re lucky we only had a gun pointed at us.’

‘Ignorant American scum!’ Kazakov screamed. ‘Their missile killed my baby brother and their crooked casino robbed my three thousand dollars.’

Meryl groaned as she climbed aboard the bus. ‘You’re a big boy, Kazakov. You shouldn’t gamble what you can’t afford to lose.’

James crashed in a seat behind Bruce. He grabbed the steak out of his box and tore off a massive chunk with his teeth.

‘Shame it didn’t kick off,’ Bruce smiled. ‘I haven’t been in a decent fight for months.’

‘Psycho,’ James grinned. ‘Steak’s
bloody
good though. Maybe we can stop in again on the way back…’

If the bronze bust of America’s fortieth president on the front gate had been replaced with Mickey Mouse, the entrance to Fort Reagan could easily have passed off as a theme park. The army bus joined a queue of traffic at the entry gate to a massive parking lot which was losing a battle with encroaching sand. James’ eye followed the perimeter fence until it vanished over the horizon.

Military personnel arrived in buses and got waved through an express line, while the civilian traffic had to bide its time as soldiers checked their paperwork, searched trunks and inspected the underside of cars with mirrors held on the end of long stalks.