Кевин Брукс - iBoy

"Hey, Davey," I said, walking into the room. "How's it going?"

The two young kids jumped at the sound of my voice, and even Davey looked a little bit startled for a moment, but he soon relaxed when he realized that it was only me.

"All right, Tom?" he said casually. "What are you doing here? I thought —"

"You can go," I said to the two kids.

They both stared at me, and although they were only about twelve years old, their eyes were already cold and hard.

"Go on," I told them. "Fuck off."

They glanced at Davey, he nodded, and they reluctantly sauntered out. I watched them go, studying them closely, comparing them to my iMemories of the young kids in the video of Lucy's attack, but I was pretty sure that these two kids hadn't been there. I waited until they'd left the room ... then waited some more. They both had their mobiles on, and I could tell from the signals that they hadn't gone anywhere — they'd stopped outside the room and were waiting to hear what happened.

"Listen, Tom —" Davey started to say.

"Tell them to go," I said.

"What?"

"The two kids, they're still out there. Tell them to go."

Davey looked puzzled for a moment, trying to work out how I knew, then he just shrugged and called out, "Hey! You two ... fuck off. Now!"

I heard muffled whispers, then shuffling feet. . . then, from beyond the room, "Sorry, Davey ... we was just... we was just going, OK?"

And, with that, they were gone.

I turned to Davey. "Fresh blood?"

"What?"

I shook my head. "Nothing ... don't worry about it." I stared at him. "How's your conscience, Davey?"

"My what?"

"Conscience." I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "It means the consciousness of the moral quality of your own conduct or intentions, together with a feeling of obligation to refrain from doing wrong."

Davey frowned at me. "What the fuck —?"

"I know you were there, Davey," I sighed. "And I know you threw the iPhone out of the window."

His frown deepened. "What are you talking about?"

"I've seen the video."

"What video?"

Sighing again, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my mobile. As I selected the video player, I retrieved the video from inside my head and sent it to my mobile, and by the time I'd opened the player, the video was already there. Without saying anything, I hit playand passed the phone to Davey. He took it, watched it for a while, and then — with his face visibly paling — he passed it back.

"Remember it now?" I asked him, deleting the video and putting the phone back in my pocket.

He nodded sheepishly. "Where did you get it from? The video, I mean ..."

"Does it matter?"

"No ... I suppose not."

I looked at him. "Christ, Davey, how could you? I mean, Jesus ... how could you do that?"

"I didn't do anything," he whined.

"You were there! You watched them doing it... you were laughing , for God's sake. You think that's not doing anything?"

"Yeah, I know ... I just meant —"

"I know what you meant." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to control my anger. Davey lit a cigarette. I sighed again. "You used to be all right, Davey. I mean, you used to have a mind of your own. What the hell happened to you?"

"Nothing."

"Did you think it was funny, what they were doing to Lucy? Did you think it was a really good laugh?"

"No."

"So what did you think it was then? Did you think it was cool? Tough? Did it make you feel good?"

Davey's eyes darkened. "You don't know ..."

"What? I don't know what? "

He shook his head. "It's just the way it is, OK?"

"No," I said, "it's not OK."

"Yeah, well ..."

I looked at him, trying to see the old Davey, the Davey who used to be my friend. "Why didn't you try to stop them?" I asked quietly. "Why didn't you at least try ...?"

"Don't be stupid," he said. "They would have beaten me up, wouldn't they? Same as they beat up Ben ... worse, probably. When they tell you to do something, you fucking do it."

"They told you to be there?"

He shrugged. "I was with them, wasn't I? You're either with them or you're not. You don't get to pick and choose." He puffed on his cigarette and looked at me. "It's a differ­ent world, Tom. Once you're part of it, there's nothing else. You've just got to live it." He lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry ... I shouldn't have thrown the phone at you."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You what?"

"I never thought it'd actually hit you."

"I don't care about the fucking phone!" I spat. "Shit..."

He looked at me, grinning. "You've got to admit, though — it was a pretty good shot."

I was very close to hitting him then. I really wanted to smack him in the head and wipe that stupid look from his face. Not because he was grinning, not even because he'd momentarily lulled me into almost feeling sorry for him ... but simply because of his complete lack of remorse for what had been done to Lucy. I mean, how could he even think about apologizing to me without feeling sorry for Lucy?

It was totally unbelievable.

And I knew then that it was a waste of time trying to reason with him, or trying to appeal to his better side, because he didn't have a better side any more. I just had to treat him as nothing. I had to ignore my disgust, bury my anger, and just use him to get what I wanted.

I looked at him, letting him see the coldness in my eyes. "Whose idea was it?"

"What?"

"To beat up Ben — who was behind it?"

He shook his head. "I'm not telling you anything. I can't —"

"OK," I said, taking my mobile out of my pocket. "I'm going to ask you again, and if I don't get the answer I want, I'm sending the video to the police. And to your mum. And then I'm going to start shooting my mouth off, and pretty soon everyone's going to know that you've been talking to me, and that I've been talking to the police —"

"You wouldn't —"

I pressed a few buttons, pretending to select the video, then I keyed in a number (it was actually my own number), and said to him, "Last chance. Whose idea was it?"

" I can't —"

"All right," I shrugged, turning my attention to the phone. I moved my thumb, as if I was about to hit the sendbutton.

"No!" Davey shouted. "No ... don't, please ..."

I paused, without moving my thumb, and looked at him. "Whose idea?"

"Look," he sighed. "It doesn't work like that, OK?"

I moved my thumb again.

"It's the truth, Tom," he said quickly. "Honestly ... it's just ... I mean, it's not like there's anyone in charge or anything. It's not like that." He shook his head. "All this stuff you see on TV about gangs, fucking Ross Kemp, you know ... it's all a load of shit. It's just not like that. There aren't any leaders or rules or anything ... it's just a bunch of kids, hanging around. We just do stuff, you know?"

"All right," I said. "But one of you must have decided to beat up Ben. I mean, there must be some kind of hier­archy."

"Higher what?"

"You know what I mean. Like with you and the two kids earlier on — they're Crows, aren't they?"

"Little Crows, yeah."

"And they do what you tell them?"

"Yeah."

"And there must be other Crows who tell you what to do, and you do it."

"Well, yeah ... I suppose."

"Right. So who was it? I mean, you said just now that "if they tell you to do something, you fucking do it". So who told you and the rest of them to beat up Ben?"

Davey hesitated, scared to name names.