Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [23]
This was a long speech, given the circumstances, and pretty well put together too. Not many kids would have stood up to Red Sharkey like that. Of course, when I say stood up, I don’t actually mean stood up literally. Emotions flicked across Red’s brow, as though his brain was channel-hopping. He went through amazement, fury and sadness among others, eventually settling on a blank expression which reminded me of the one Mel Gibson did in Braveheart, just before he cut some English guy’s throat.
‘That’s what you think?’ he growled, and the words did seem to come from the back of his throat. ‘You think all I do is bully and steal?’
‘You think I play at being a detective?’
‘It is a game,’ shouted Red, pulling me to my feet. ‘A baby’s game. You swan around playing detective and innocent people suffer.’
I pulled away from him. This was too much hogwash for anyone to bear.
‘Innocent people like you, I suppose?’
Red gave me his standard-issue charming grin. ‘Exactly.’
I decided to cut to the chase. ‘Just give me my shield, Sharkey. Give me the shield and the hair thing, and I can close the book.’
Red grabbed my shirtfront, dragging me towards him. It was classic hard-man stuff, almost an act.
‘I didn’t take your stupid plastic badge or the hair. So close the book right now, Half Moon. Close it or else.’
Or else what? I wondered, but I never found out, because May’s dad pulled up in a Volvo estate. He opened a window and called to Red.
‘Show some backbone, Sharkey. That boy is barely up to your waist.’
Red had never taken orders well. As far as he was concerned, this was between him and me, and none of Gregor Devereux’s business. So rather than release me, he lifted me higher until my shirt tightened at the back and I was forced to rise to my tippy-toes.
I often wondered what would have happened then, if Gregor Devereux had been forced to actually rescue me, but it never came to that, because we had a bit of a movie moment.
Something that sounded like a really big lion purred down the street. I looked over my shoulder to see a large, gold, seventies BMW pull up to the pavement, almost nudging the Devereux estate. This was the Sharkeys’ car and everyone in town knew it. It had been doing the rounds of Lock since before I was born. Local legend had it that Papa Sharkey won the car from a millionaire German tourist in a game of boules. Legend also had it that the lock on the driver’s door was broken and Papa never bothered to have it fixed, because no thief would be stupid enough to steal Papa Sharkey’s car.
The front window came down smoothly on an electric motor and a huge head dipped into the light. The face was mostly wild black beard, with two laser-blue eyes that calmly took in the situation.
‘Get in the car, son,’ said Papa Sharkey. ‘We’re going to the grave today.’
His voice was impossibly deep and smooth. Like someone had mixed the bass guy from a soul band and the guy who does the movie trailers together in a vat of treacle. A voice like that was difficult to disobey, but maybe Red had had practice, because he held on as tightly as before.
Papa spoke again, his tone a shade harder.
‘Red. In the car. Now.’
Red glowered for a moment, then swallowed it. He shot me one last loaded look and released my shoulder, crossing the road to the BMW. He climbed inside the dark interior and the car pulled away slowly. I didn’t take my eyes off the big saloon until it was out of sight. It would be about three hours before my heart slowed to normal speed.
Mr Devereux got out of his car and straightened my shirt. ‘Steer clear of that one, young Moon. He’s trouble. Just like the rest of his family.’
I was inclined to believe it. The police files confirmed that the Sharkeys were indeed trouble. It seemed as though Red was following in the family footsteps, in spite of May’s faith