Lone Wolf by Robert Muchamore Page A

the heat and Ryan stepped into a spacious hall with pool and table tennis tables, a line of vending machines and a lot of severely vandalised foam chairs.
    There were about twenty-five kids in the space, and as Ryan walked in it seemed that every eye turned on him. He made about four steps over the sticky tiled floor before Youssef called.
    ‘Ryan, get over here.’
    Youssef was in the middle of a group of about ten lads, most of whom Ryan recognised from his target list. Nobody could be arsed to play ping-pong in the heat, but all the pool tables were busy, while another group of lads played poker. Despite the promise of girls, there were none to be seen, and most mysteriously of all, three sinister-looking heavies sat outside an office.
    ‘You play pool?’ Youssef asked, as he banged Ryan’s fist. ‘Guys, this is Ryan. He stepped in and saved our asses from those Dartmouth Park slags earlier on.’
    Abdi objected to this description. ‘He helped out, he didn’t save us.’
    Youssef shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
    A bulky Somali lad named Sadad spoke. ‘Those arse swipes are lucky I wasn’t there. I would have mashed them up.’
    ‘I’d love to go up to Dartmouth Park and find those kids and take ’em down,’ Abdi said. ‘They only beat us because they took us by surprise.’
    This wasn’t what Ryan recalled, but he joined the nods around the group. As far as he was concerned, they could remember the fight any way they liked, as long as they were still his mates.
    ‘So how do I get a game of pool?’ Ryan asked.
    Sadad answered. ‘I’m up next, you can play the winner.’
    As Sadad spoke a bearded guy in a waistcoat came out of the office and offered Ryan his hand.
    ‘Hi,’ he said, as Ryan shook. ‘I’m Barry, from The Hangout. Welcome to the youth club.’
    ‘Hey,’ Ryan said, as a couple of lads imitated Barry’s slightly pompous voice.
    ‘You’re a hundred per cent welcome here,’ Barry said. ‘But you do have to register and there’s a two pound joining fee. If you could just come to my office.’
    Ryan looked uncertainly at his new mates.
    ‘Don’t go,’ Sadad said. ‘Once you’re back there he’ll try to snog you.’
    This caused an outbreak of wild laughter, but Barry seemed used to getting mocked. He led Ryan past the three scary-looking heavies and into a well-appointed office. It was equipped with a photocopier, two computers and two whirring air-conditioning units.
    ‘Nice and cool here,’ Ryan said.
    Barry sat at his desk and found Ryan a small blue form. ‘Just fill in your name, address and telephone number. It’s two pounds to join, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t have it with you right now.’
    ‘I’ve got it,’ Ryan said, as he rummaged inside his shorts.
    ‘If you can just look up.’
    Barry swivelled a webcam around and snapped Ryan’s photo for his membership card.
    ‘The laminating machine for your card takes a few minutes to warm up,’ Barry explained, as he reached behind and handed Ryan a brochure.
    The leaflet was printed in colour and entitled The Hangout – There For You .
    ‘Make sure you give this a good read,’ Barry said. ‘The Hangout is a charity, funded entirely by donations. We work in six London boroughs providing youth clubs such as this one, day trips, sporting activities and support services.
    ‘Now that you’re a member, you can get involved in any of our activities, or make use of our confidential counselling and advice services. Keep hold of the leaflet and give it a read when you get home.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Ryan said.
    Ryan spent a couple of minutes flicking through the pages while the laminating machine heated up to make his membership card. Once it was ready, Barry handed the still-warm card over and showed Ryan back out into the hall.
    Sadad yelled, ‘Hope you kept your mitts off him, Barry.’
    Barry ignored it, but one of the three heavies stood up.
    ‘Sadad, here!’ he ordered. Then he pointed at Ryan. ‘You,