Bandits, Dirt Bikes & Trash, page 17
‘You’ve seen it six times already,’ Karma said, as she rolled up a puzzle magazine and used it to gently swat some little kids sitting cross-legged on the floor. ‘You’ve been watching that channel since you got up two hours ago. And don’t come whingeing to me if you all get detention from Mr Khan for being late.’
‘I bet Khan won’t be at school today.’ Matt snorted.
Josie nodded and laughed as she got off the carpet. ‘Robin says Mr Khan borrowed three trucks from his pals in the Forest Rangers. Now he’s got to explain why two have bullet holes and the third is a mangled wreck.’
‘That’s worse than the time Robin accidentally shot the door mirror off my mum’s BMW,’ Alan said, glancing around like something was missing. ‘Speaking of golden boy, did Robin sneak down to school without us?’
‘Robin went to the toilet,’ Josie said, as she pointed out Robin’s school backpack on one of the sofas.
‘But that was yonks ago,’ Alan noted, while Karma stewarded more sluggish kids out of her lounge. ‘He must be doing an absolutely epic dump.’
‘There’s a mental image I can live without!’ Josie said, grimacing.
Matt was the last of the younger kids to pick up his school stuff and head down to school. Karma sighed as she surveyed the carpet, which was overrun with cushions, cups, sweet wrappers and cereal bowls. Then she looked at Josie and Alan.
‘Why are you two still lurking?’ she asked, as she tapped an imaginary watch on her wrist.
Josie took Robin’s school pack then marched to his bedroom with Alan and Karma in tow. The bathroom door was locked, so she thumped on it.
‘Robin, are you OK in there?’ she yelled.
Alan grinned. ‘Have you got violent explosive diarrhoea again?’
‘Or did your ego get so swollen that you can’t get your massive head through the door?’ Josie added, joining Alan’s laughter.
‘Quiet, you idiots, I’m on the phone,’ Robin yelled back.
A minute later Robin twisted the bolt and stepped out, flicking water off his wet hands and smiling.
‘My dad’s lawyer, Tybalt, called,’ Robin explained excitedly. ‘The judge has scheduled the appeal hearing for eleven o’clock. If they win, my dad could get out of prison today!’
‘Nice one,’ Alan said, as Josie smiled and held up two sets of crossed fingers.
But Karma worried that Robin would be upset if things went badly. ‘That’s great news, but let’s see what happens, eh? Don’t set your hopes too high.’
‘I know,’ Robin agreed. ‘If Dad’s not released, Tybalt says he’ll sneak me into the courthouse to see him before he’s sent back to Pelican Island. Either way, I’ll have to miss school if I’m going into town.’
‘What!’ Alan complained. ‘Again?’
‘Mr Khan won’t like that,’ Josie added.
Karma glared at the pair of them. ‘Why are you two still here? Grab your school stuff and scram!’
Robin couldn’t resist childishly poking his tongue out at his friend and girlfriend as they left his room.
‘Enjoy School Zone,’ he teased. ‘It’s sure to be super fun.’
Karma turned her glare on Robin.
‘Nobody will stop you going into Locksley to see what happens with your dad,’ she said, as she wagged a stern finger. ‘But don’t get cocky, because I’ll make sure you catch up on all your schoolwork this weekend.’
42. BACK IN FASHION
It took an hour to get Robin and two bodyguards from Sherwood Castle to the parking lot behind a shuttered frozen yoghurt store at the edge of the forest. He was picked up by an elegantly dressed, well-spoken young woman named Zoe.
She was one of many brilliant, principled law graduates who wanted to boost their careers by working as unpaid interns for the crusading lawyer Tybalt Bull. Though her giant red Porsche coupé and designer heels suggested that her quest for social justice had the backing of some seriously rich parents.
‘Tybalt sent me, since I’m the last person anyone would expect to have Robin Hood hiding in her car,’ Zoe explained.
As Robin threw his bow and backpack on the rear seat and slid onto the quilted white leather, he noticed a pen and two blank birthday cards on the armrest.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Zoe said as she buckled her seatbelt. ‘My twin sisters are your biggest fans. They have nothing in common, apart from their unicorn hoodies and Robin Hood posters on their bedroom walls. They turn twelve next week, and if you could write them birthday cards they will literally explode!’
‘No worries,’ Robin said, feeling a little embarrassed and wondering what messages to write, while Zoe gave his two bodyguards a wave and pulled out onto a busy road. ‘My handwriting is messy, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s not just my sisters who think you’re cool,’ Zoe continued. ‘The world is full of people who complain. But how many stand up and do something, like you? One in a thousand? One in a million?’
Zoe was a chatterbox, and kept going for the entire twenty-minute drive to Locksley. She told Robin how everyone had been talking about him in the seafood restaurant she’d dined at the night before.
‘People kept saying Robin Hood was last summer’s fad,’ Zoe gushed. ‘But after yesterday, you’re trending everywhere. I was supposed to be meeting five friends on Saturday night, but two have already dropped out because they want to stay home and watch Truth to Power.’
As her electric Porsche sped towards central Locksley, Zoe told Robin that she wasn’t interested in money, that she’d rather die than end up working in a dull corporate law office like her mother, and how she really wanted to get a poodle but couldn’t look after it properly because Tybalt kept her working twelve to fifteen hours a day.
Robin slid down low in his seat when they hit traffic and unusually crowded pavements near the town centre. The coupé’s rear windows were heavily tinted, so he felt safe peeking out when they stopped to let a noisy crowd of university students cross in front of them.
Many covered their faces with bandanas, fearing that Locksley cops might hunt them down later. Two wore Robin Hood Lives hoodies and several held up placards with slogans like Free Ardagh, End Police Corruption NOW and Don’t Vote For Gangsters.
Robin’s favourite was a group of goth students, who’d dressed a shop dummy as Guy Gisborne and dragged it by a noose around its neck.
‘Quite a turnout,’ Robin said.
Zoe nodded as the traffic cleared ahead. ‘Locksley Uni students have really got into the campaign to free your dad. They’re utterly sick of getting shaken down by cops who want bribes, or putting up with Gisborne’s thuggish club doormen and drug dealers when they go out on the town.’
Robin risked another peek out of the window as they reached the edge of Civic Square, home to the town’s Central Court, town hall, and a crumbling museum and art gallery.
He was impressed to see hundreds of his dad’s supporters gathered along metal police barriers lined up in front of Locksley Central Court. A looser group mingled around the statue of Sir Edward Locksley in the square’s centre, including teens in purple Locksley High polo shirts and old folks with a big banner that claimed Gisborne had ripped off their pensions.
Zoe steered her bulky Porsche through the tight entrance of a multi-storey parking lot. Robin realised that he should have climbed over the back seat and hidden in the trunk when a court security officer tapped on the driver’s-side window. Luckily, Zoe’s upmarket car and posh accent meant the officer barely glanced at her Central Court ID badge before waving her through.
‘Be careful if you go out on the street, pet,’ the officer warned. ‘There’s student scumbags everywhere.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind, officer,’ Zoe said, annoyed but careful to hide it.
After driving up a dozen tight ramps, the Porsche broke into winter sunshine on the roof of the parking lot. As Zoe pulled into a charging bay, Robin saw that the only other car on this level was covered in bird crap and had no wheels.
‘It never gets busy up here,’ Zoe explained, as she skimmed through some messages she’d missed while driving. ‘But it’s still safest if you stay out of sight in the trunk. I’ve put pillows and a torch back there and I’ll leave it open a crack so you get fresh air.’
Robin smiled as he folded the opposite half of the rear seat and peered into a cosy little den lined with a picnic blanket.
‘That’s five-star luxury,’ he told Zoe. ‘I usually have to hide in trunks full of rusty tools and smelly boots.’
‘I’m glad you approve,’ Zoe said as she glanced at her watch. ‘The last message I got said that the judge was on schedule and your dad’s hearing was about to start. So, keep your fingers crossed and with any luck you won’t be hiding back there for long.’
43. VILE LITTLE HOOLIGAN
After twenty minutes in the trunk of Zoe’s Porsche, Robin started hearing more noise from the protests down at street level. There were chants, jeers, police sirens and regular PA announcements ordering the crowd to move back from the barriers in front of the courthouse.
Robin tried to watch the TV news on his phone, but his signal was weak and the picture kept breaking up. He had better luck streaming a local news radio station. They interviewed a spokesperson from Locksley police who wanted everyone to stay away from Civic Square, then a bunch of people demonstrating inside the square called the radio station, urging everyone to come into town and join the protests.
Robin laughed as he listened to an elderly caller ranting about how young people needed more discipline. Then the caller read out a list of crimes Robin had committed and told listeners that he was a vile little hooligan who deserved to be thrown in jail until his hair turned grey.
Less amusing was a woman caller who said she’d be voting for Guy Gisborne in the upcoming sheriff elections because he was a local man who was tough and knew how to get things done, even if that meant bending a few rules.
As the radio cut to an advert for Mindy Burger’s new range of frosted mini-donuts, Robin was jolted by two bangs loud enough to make the Porsche’s dashboard rattle. These were followed by screaming.
Desperate to know what had happened, Robin peeked out through the crack in the car’s trunk to make sure the coast was clear. Then he rolled out, crept around the side of the car and squatted, looking between the bars of the metal railing that edged the parking lot.
Central Court and a couple of other buildings partially blocked his view of Civic Square, but he still saw groups of people scattering as clouds of light grey tear gas wafted towards them.
But while some protestors tried to back out of the square, coughing, their eyes burning, the side streets were busy with protestors trying to get in. In some spots they were held back by police barriers, but in others there was nothing to stop them.
‘This is an unlicensed gathering!’ the square’s PA system screeched. ‘Leave the Civic Square in an orderly fashion, or you will be arrested.’
Robin felt queasy as Locksley police released more grenades filled with stinging tear gas. The tangle of people fleeing while others tried to enter the square had caused several falls and tramplings. Nobody was seriously hurt, but that was surely only a matter of time.
‘Civic Square is now closed!’ the PA screeched, while a line of masked student protestors lobbed water bottles, eggs and anything else that came to hand towards lines of cops in riot gear. ‘Anyone remaining in the square will receive a heavy fine and a criminal record.’
Robin got another jolt as someone directly behind him yelled, ‘Hey!’
He spun with his bow, but it was Zoe, looking annoyed.
‘You were supposed to stay in the car,’ she said irritably as she unplugged her car from the charging terminal. ‘Lucky it was me who snuck up on you.’
‘I could have shot them,’ Robin said defensively.
Zoe was too busy to argue. ‘The main court entrance on Civic Square is completely blocked off. Tybalt wants me to drive around to the entrance at the side and be ready for a possible pick-up. The appeal judge has retired to her chambers. She could come out and deliver her verdict at any minute.’
‘What about me?’ Robin asked.
Zoe pointed to the trunk. ‘Unless you plan to walk home.’
‘Right,’ Robin said. ‘Did you get any vibes? Does Tybalt think Dad’s appeal is gonna go our way?’
Zoe shrugged as she shut Robin back in the trunk, then opened the driver’s door. ‘Interns like me drive people around and make photocopies. Tybalt doesn’t confide in me. Either your dad—’
Zoe stopped speaking because there were three sharp bangs as Locksley police unleashed more tear gas canisters.
‘Someone’s gonna get killed down there,’ Zoe yelled furiously as she buckled her seatbelt. ‘There’s no need for the cops to gas a peaceful crowd.’
‘I hate Locksley police,’ Robin shouted from the trunk as Zoe began reversing out of the parking bay. ‘What did you start saying about my dad?’
‘It’s fifty metres between the court your dad’s in and the side entrance,’ Zoe explained. ‘If Tybalt steps outside on his own, we lost the appeal. If your dad’s with him, we can start smiling.’
44. THE CANDIDATE
It was a two-hundred-metre drive from the exit of the multi-storey car park to the side entrance of Locksley Central Courthouse. But the journey was a crawl through streets packed with people.
Gassed protestors squatted at the roadside with garish red eyes and snot streaming from their noses. Even shielded in the trunk of the car, Robin caught a peppery tang in his throat and a slight sting in his eyes.
None of the protestors knew who Zoe was, or that Robin was hiding in her trunk. They just saw the type of fancy car that would be driven by a rich businessperson or a dodgy lawyer, and expressed their contempt by thumping on the hood and aiming half-drunk lattes at the windscreen.
The tension ratcheted further as Zoe stopped in front of a line of cops. She flashed her court access pass and tried to explain that she had to get to the side of the court to pick up a defendant.
‘Posh bird like you, working for Tybalt Bull,’ one cop sneered from behind his riot helmet. ‘Are you having a laugh?’
Zoe looked stressed as she got out of her car and unsuccessfully tried to catch the attention of a senior officer behind the line of riot cops. Then she got back behind the wheel, sent a message to Tybalt and kept sounding her horn until a senior court official finally came over and ordered the cops to let her through.
The road at the side of Central Court had police barricades at both ends, while most protestors who’d braved the barrages of tear gas remained at the court’s front entrance. But Tybalt had tipped off the media about his plan to exit via the side, and a gaggle of photographers and TV crews waited patiently as Zoe’s red Porsche rolled up behind them.
As minutes passed, the sun hitting the outside of the trunk made Robin’s back sweat while the lingering tear gas made his eyes itch.
Outside the car, protestors who’d spotted the media pack began to realise what was happening and moved their focus from the front of the courthouse to the blockades at each end of the side street. And while the cops had plenty of tear gas left, they were wary of gassing photographers and TV crews and creating a storm of bad publicity.
‘Finally,’ Zoe told Robin, as the court door opened. ‘It’s happening.’
‘My dad there?’ Robin blurted, desperate to crawl out and see for himself, but knowing it was too risky with cops nearby.
‘Ardagh!’ Zoe said, her voice rising to a squeal and cracking a huge smile. ‘We bloody did it!’
Robin felt his eyes flood with tears. ‘Heck, yes!’ he said, then kicked the back of the seat out of sheer excitement. ‘Is Dad coming towards us?’
‘Tybalt has stopped at the top of the steps by the exit,’ Zoe explained. ‘Your dad and Little John are there too. About fifty people are taking photos, and the protestors at the end of the street are rocking the metal barriers.’
Robin heard the crowd roar as they spotted Ardagh Hood on the court steps.
‘What’s Tybalt saying?’ Robin asked.
‘Can’t hear,’ Zoe said, then Robin remembered the local radio stream on his phone.
He turned up the volume and was pleased that they were running a live feed of Tybalt speaking on the steps less than twenty metres away.
‘. . . appeal judge has accepted Ardagh Hood’s petition for acquittal on the grounds that police did not follow proper procedures after his arrest,’ Tybalt said dryly. ‘My client pleaded guilty to theft charges, which cannot be appealed, but the judge has agreed that Ardagh Hood’s sentence will be reduced to time served. Therefore, my client has been released from the remainder of his prison sentence, subject to a good behaviour bond.’
Outside the car, Robin heard metal barriers clatter as protestors broke through, chanting Ardagh’s name.
‘Mr Hood, how does it feel to be a free man?’ one of the journalists shouted, as another tripped on the steps and dropped his microphone.
‘These first six minutes have been good!’ Ardagh shouted back, getting a few laughs.
Tybalt spoke more formally. ‘My client, Ardagh Hood, now has a brief announcement to make.’
‘First of all, I would like to thank Tybalt Bull and his team, who have worked incredibly hard to secure my release from prison,’ Ardagh began, as the crowd of cheering protestors reached the bottom of the steps and began jostling the camera crews and journalists.
‘I went to prison because I stood up to a nasty, criminal bully named Guy Gisborne. My time in prison has only increased my determination to keep up this fight. Since Gisborne is now running for election as Sheriff of Nottingham, I have decided that the best thing I can do is to stop him.
‘I am therefore announcing myself as an independent candidate in the upcoming sheriff election. I intend to fight Guy Gisborne, I intend to beat Guy Gisborne, and I intend to be fairly elected as the next Sheriff of Nottingham.’
‘Amazing, amazing, amazing!’ Robin blurted, squirming with excitement. ‘Did you know about this?’’
