Read Public Enemy Number Two for Free Online Page A

PRISONERS ARE FORBIDDEN TO TALK DURING MEALTIME.
    A few minutes later I got my first taste of prison food. Taste is the wrong word. It didn’t have any. We lined up at a hatch where we were served watery stew, mashed potatoes and cabbage, prunes and custard. Shut your eyes and you wouldn’t know which was which. I didn’t like to think what animal had ended its days in the stew. All I can say is that it had a lot of fat, not a lot of meat, and some sort of disease.
    Nobody talked and for ten minutes the only sound was the clatter of spoons and forks against tin trays. I didn’t eat anything. I’d left my appetite in the number three court of the Old Bailey. It was probably still sitting in the dock, dreaming of a Big Mac. Another bell rang and we carried the trays back to the hatch.
    I’d just handed mine over when there was a crackle from a loudspeaker and a voice called out. “Nine-five-four-four-six Simple to the visitor’s room.”
    Powers was right behind me. “Well, whaddya know,” he whispered. “Only been here five minutes and ya got callers.”
    A guard appeared and led me back through the door, down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, and into another room.
    “So you finally ended up where you belong,” Chief Inspector Snape said.
    Of course I’d expected to see him sooner or later. Snape had set it all up from the start. He’d asked me to share a cell with Johnny Powers, and when I’d refused he’d gone ahead and arranged it anyway. He must have found out about the trip to Woburn Abbey. Somehow he’d held the other tourists back so that I’d be alone in the room with the carbuncles. One of his men had already slipped the jewel into my jacket pocket. Another had smashed the cabinet. After that I more or less played into his hands—or at least, his handcuffs.
    And here he was, sitting at a table, smoking. Boyle stood behind him, grinning at me like he’d just heard some great joke. Only I was the joke. Well, they hadn’t heard anything yet. Did they really expect me to take all this sitting down?
    “Sit down,” Snape said.
    “Snape—” I began.
    “Take a seat, laddie,” he interrupted. “I can understand you’re a bit cut up, but—”
    “Cut up?” I almost screamed at him. “What do you mean ‘cut up’? I’ve been sent to a detention center. I’ve got eighteen months. Eighteen months! I’ll be lucky if I manage eighteen minutes! I’m sharing a cell with a loony. And you know what happened to his last cell mate? Yeah—he was ‘cut up’ all right. Into lots of pieces!”
    He waited until I’d finished, then gestured at the chair. Boyle nodded, the smile still on his face. Wearily I sat down.
    “I need a job done,” Snape said.
    “A job,” Boyle muttered.
    “Powers could be the only chance I have of getting to the Fence. I told you I have to find him.”
    “And I told you—no!” I sighed. “You could have found someone else to do it for you.”
    Snape shook his head. “There was nobody else. It had to be you, laddie. You’re thirteen, and you’re smart. And the trouble is, we don’t have much time.”
    “Time?” I almost laughed. “Well, I’ve got plenty of time. Eighteen months . . .”
    Snape shook his head again. “I’m afraid not. You see I’ve just got the latest psychiatric reports on Powers.”
    “And what do the psychiatrists say?”
    “They don’t say anything. They’re too frightened to be in the same room as him. They won’t go anywhere near him. He’s violent. Homicidal—”
    “I noticed.”
    “—and he’s getting worse. Any day he could crack up altogether. After that he’ll be useless to me. A vegetable . . .”
    “I don’t get the problem,” I said. “It’s never stopped you working with Boyle.”
    At least that finally wiped the smile off Boyle’s face. He lumbered toward me, his hands outstretched.
    “No, Boyle,” Snape sighed.
    “I’ll kill him . . .”
    “No!”
    “I’ll say it was an accident,” Boyle pleaded.