iBoy

and nobody gave a shit about it.

I went into the kitchen and found a roll of insulation tape in a cupboard under the sink, then I went back out into the hallway and got to work.

After I'd tied up Adebajo and the Korean guy and locked them in the bedroom, I dragged O'Neil into the front room, tied him to a chair, and then I just sat down and waited for him to wake up.

The room was filled with all kinds of drug stuff — bags of white powder, bags of brown powder, blocks of canna­bis, carrier bags full of grass and pills. There was clingfilm for wrapping, scales for measuring, spoons and knives and syringes and foil... piles of cash all over the place.

I wondered how much money they made here. And how come, if they had so much money, they didn't find somewhere nicer to live? I mean, even by Crow Town's standards, this place was a hovel. Dirty walls, dirty windows, greasy carpets, foul air ... the whole place stank.

O'Neil groaned.

I looked at him and saw that his eyes were beginning to open. I waited a few seconds, just enough time to let him recognize me, then I leaned forward and spoke to him.

'Howard Ellman,' I said. 'Where does he live?'

'Munh?'

'Howard Ellman,' I repeated. 'I want to know where he lives.'

O'Neil just looked at me for a moment, not quite sure what was happening, and then — suddenly realizing that he was tied to the chair — he started struggling. Wriggling and writhing, cursing and spitting, trying to break free ...

I touched his knee, giving him a short sharp shock. He yelped, stopped struggling, and stared wide-eyed at me.

'Listen to me,' I said to him. 'Just tell me where Ellman is, and I'll let you go.'

'What?'

'Ellman. I just want to know where he is.'

O'Neil shook his head. 'Never heard of him. Now you'd better fucking —'

I zapped him on the knee again, harder this time, and once he'd stopped screaming and shaking, I said to him, 'I'm going to keep doing this until you tell me what I want to know, and each time it's going to get worse. Do you understand?'

He glared at me, trying to show me that he wasn't scared, but I could see the fear in his eyes. I reached out towards him again. He jerked away, rocking from side to side in the chair.

'Just tell me where he lives,' I said.

He shook his head. 'I don't know ... nobody knows.'

'I don't believe you.'

'I don't know,' he spat- 'It's the fucking truth!'

I didn't want to believe him, but the way he said it — the passion in his voice, the fear in his eyes — I was pretty sure that he was telling me the truth.

'What about a phone number?' I said.

O'Neil shook his head. 'He doesn't give it out.'

'So how do you get in touch with him?'

'You don't... if he wants something, he gets in touch with you.'

'How?'

'He'll send someone ... or maybe get someone to call. One of the kids, usually.'

'What kids?'

He shrugged. 'The kids, you know ... the little fuck­ers who want to be Crows.' O'Neil looked at me, a bit more confident again now. 'You'll never find him, you know. Not unless he wants you to. And then you'll wish you hadn't.'

'Yeah?'

He grinned. 'You've got no fucking idea what you're dealing with. When he finds out what you've done tonight —'

'How's he going to find out?'

O'Neil hesitated for a moment, then he just shook his head and shrugged again. I raised my arm and moved my hand towards his face, palm first. I let the energy flow into my skin, feeling it pulse and burn, and I could see my hand glowing with heat as I moved it ever closer to O'Neil's face. His skin was reddening now, his forehead dripping sweat, and he was starting to panic — straining backwards, arching his neck, trying to get away from the heat.

'No!' he screamed. 'No! Please, don't... please ...'

I paused, my hand a few centimetres from his face. 'How's Ellman going to find out I've been here?'

'He won't... I won't say nothing,' O'Neil spluttered. 'I promise ... I won't tell him —'

'Yeah, you will. I want you to tell him.'

I heard the siren then. Faint at first, but rapidly getting louder. I got up, went over to the window and looked out. Beyond the burning Golf, I could see the flashing blue lights of two police cars speeding down Crow Lane. I knew that no one in Crow Town would have called them, especially about something as trivial as a car on fire, so I guessed that they were on their way to somewhere else. But, just to be on the safe side, I tuned in to the police radio frequency and simultaneously hacked into the communications system at Southwark Borough Police Station to find out what was going on. And it took me less than a second to discover that I was wrong — they weren't going somewhere else, they were answering a call from a passing motorist about a burning car outside Baldwin House.

'Shit,' I muttered as the two patrol cars turned off Crow Lane and started racing down towards the square with their lights and sirens blazing.

I knew that I was probably safe enough staying where I was, that the police were probably just going to check out the Golf, make sure it was nothing more serious than just another burning car ... then they'd probably just wait for the fire service to arrive and leave it to them. The last thing the local police would want to do at four o'clock in the morning was to go round Baldwin House knocking on doors, waking people up.

So, yeah, I was probably safe enough staying where I was ...

In this stinking flat.

Surrounded by drugs and guns ...

And drug dealers ...

Electrocuted drug dealers.

One of whom was tied to a chair.

No, I realized, probably wasn't good enough. If by any chance the police did find me in here, I'd have a lot of explaining to do.

I had to get out.

I moved away from the window and quickly went over to a table in the middle of the room. It was piled high with clear polythene bags filled with what I assumed was heroin and cocaine. I picked up two bags of each and put them in my pockets.

'Hey!' O'Neil called out. 'What the fuck are you doing?'

Ignoring him, I reached out and picked up a small black automatic pistol from the table and put it in my pocket with the drugs.

Car doors were slamming outside now.

Police radios were squawking.

It was time to go.

I turned to O'Neil and said, 'Tell Ellman I'm coming for him.' And before he could answer, I walked out of the room, went down the hallway, opened the flat door and left.

As I headed down the corridor towards the fire exit, I called 999 from my iBrain.

It was answered almost immediately. 'Emergency. Which service?'