Ghostcatcher Read online

  He reached the junction and stepped out into the road without looking; the blare of a horn rang out. Julius recoiled, his heart hammering as the car prowled away. It had no lights. He watched it go until the last glint of grey metal had vanished past the street lamps.

  Turning up the collar on his jacket he started walking again, faster this time. He heard a noise on the wind, the low growl of an engine moving slowly. He made a left, down beside the old waste ground, and skirted the chain-link fence for a block. He was almost out at the other side when he saw the car pull up ahead, blocking the lane. Julius darted left, down between the back of two houses. He heard car doors slam, and picked up speed. Other footsteps joined his own.

  He turned again and then took a right; running past black-metal fire escapes that zigzagged up the high brick walls, weaving round bins and piles of rubbish. He didn’t know it was a blind alley until he was at the end of it.

  The bulb of a red exit sign at the top of one of the escapes lit the bricks a low fiery colour, lengthening the shadows. A cat screeched, knocking over a bin lid, and scarpered. Julius turned to watch it dart past and came eye to eye with the two goons who were standing between him and the only way out. One was very tall with a shiny, chiselled face and full lips, the other was short and wide with baggy cheeks and hang-dog eyes. They walked slowly towards him.

  Julius tried to scream the word ‘Help!’ but his breath was balled up tightly in his throat and all he could get past it was a whisper. A chill feeling spread through the air.

  The tall goon had a heavy jaw and the top of his head was slightly cone-shaped. He laughed and made a show of looking all around. ‘Are you talking to us?’

  The exit sign buzzed and flickered like an electric flytrap. The taste of fear was at the back of Julius’s throat.

  ‘Help,’ he gasped again.

  The tall goon did an impression of Julius’s reedy cry and chuckled.

  ‘All right, that’s enough fooling around,’ the wide goon snapped. ‘Hand it over.’

  ‘Please,’ Julius whispered.

  The goon’s eyes darkened.

  Julius quickly corrected himself. ‘I meant, please don’t take it. It’s for the rent – if we don’t pay up this week, we’ll be out … we don’t have anywhere else.’

  The goon rolled his eyes and faked a yawn. He held out a hand and beckoned a ‘gimme’ with his fingers. ‘Don’t make me ask again,’ he snarled.

  To emphasise the point his companion pulled out a lead pipe and thumped it menacingly against the palm of his hand.

  With trembling fingers Julius unzipped the money belt and threw it across the ground towards them. It rolled to just short of the wide goon’s feet.

  A shiver ran over Julius’s skin, as a draught of cold air blew past.

  The wide goon nodded impatiently at the belt and the tall goon stepped forward, and then stopped as a look of pure dread dawned on him. The exit sign blew.

  A metal bin lid frisbeed out from behind Julius and hit the tall goon on the chest, beating him backwards. He fell onto the wide goon, knocking him into a mound of bin bags under the fire escape.

  Julius turned to see who had come to his rescue, but there was no one there. He looked back again to see the goons shoving each other angrily as they scrambled to their feet, slipping on the contents of the burst bin bags.

  ‘So he thinks he’s a tough guy.’ The tall goon raised his pipe threateningly at Julius.

  ‘No – I …’ Julius looked around for an explanation but he couldn’t find one so he fell silent.

  ‘You’re going to be sorry.’ The tall goon rushed at him but something struck his shoulder and he spun round like a turnstile. His legs flipped out from under him and he went down, his pipe landing end up on his forehead. ‘Yow!’ he yelped, clutching his skull.

  The wide goon bared his teeth as he strode towards Julius – and straight into the bin lid, which was in the air again. It struck him on the head like one half of a pair of cymbals. The goon reeled off against the slimy alley wall and pinned himself there.

  ‘It’s some kind of trick!’ he yelled.

  The money belt still lay on the floor. The tall goon began to crawl towards it, then his face paled and he crawled back again and onto his feet, staring at Julius in abject horror.

  Julius shrugged helplessly at him and shivered.

  The goons glanced quickly at each other then scarpered, their thumping boots followed by the strain of an engine starting and the screech of tyres – and they were gone.

  Even when the sound of the car had faded, Julius Oliver hesitated, his heart racing, and then, very carefully, he walked forward. The money belt swooped up, skimming a puddle unsteadily and landed in his hands.

  He stood there for a moment staring at the belt. Then he looked up and his eyes travelled around the empty alley.

  When he finally spoke his voice was husky and had a tremble in it. ‘You’re him, aren’t you? The one in the paper. The –’ Instinctively he took a step away as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His breath curled out in front of him and drifted around in the darkness, and then his heart began to slow, the sweat cooling on his skin and his breathing quieting until all he could hear was the rustling of the rain.

  Julius gulped. ‘Hey, kid!’ he called out into the darkness. ‘Thanks!’

  The icy air and the creepy feeling in the alley began to fade and after a moment the Peligan City night returned to just being cold and dark again, but maybe not as cold or as dark as it had once been.

  Acknowledgements

  Karl James Mountford, my creative partner in crime for Potkin and Stubbs, for passion and generosity that went above and beyond.

  Emma Matthewson, Jenny Jacoby, Tina Mories, Nick Stearn, Jane Harris and all the team at Piccadilly Press for believing in this story and helping to make these books the best they could be. Thank you for being in my corner.

  For their literary map reading skills, clearing the path and lighting the way: Hilary Delamere and Jessica Hare at The Agency; the unstoppable Meg Burrows; Liz Ferretti, Morag Clarke, Jane Bailey and Ruth Dugdall.

  My colleagues at Suffolk Libraries, who I’m very proud to work alongside, for making it possible for me to juggle my dream jobs, and to my friends and family: thanks for cheering me on and keeping me going.

  Potkin and Stubbs was inspired by many great hard-boiled and noir novels and films, including the work of Dashiell Hammett, Dorothy B. Hughes, Raymond Chandler and Vera Caspary, Humphrey Bogart, Alan Moore and the music of Billie Holiday, Miles Davis and Duke Ellington.

  Sophie Green

  Sophie Green writes children’s fiction and short stories. She has a degree in zoology and an interest in folklore and urban legend. She was born and still lives in East Anglia and works as a librarian for Suffolk libraries.

  Karl James Mountford

  Karl James Mountford was born in Germany and is now a full-time illustrator based in Wales.

  He studied illustration at Swansea College of Art and was also the artist in residence there while studying for his MA in Visual Communication.

  He now spends most of his day illustrating all types of awesome stories and genres.

  Thank you for choosing a Piccadilly Press book.

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  First published in Great Britain in 2020 by

  PICCADILLY PRESS

  80-81 Wimpole St, London W1G 9RE

  www.piccadillypress.co.uk

  Text copyright © Sophie Green, 2020

  Illustrations copyright © Karl James Mountford, 2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior
written permission of the publisher.

  The right of Sophie Green and Karl James Mountford to be identified as author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978-1-84812-860-6

  Piccadilly Press is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK

  www.bonnierbooks.co.uk