Jimmy Coates: Assassin?

Chapter One

Strange Talents

Jimmy took aim, made sure his mother wasn't watching, and flicked. The chocolate wrapper hit his father, who grinned and returned fire.

"Stop messing about and help clear the table," Jimmy's mother said, chuckling and taking two plates to the kitchen. She ruffled her husband's hair as she passed him.

"Jimmy, I need your computer." It was Georgie, Jimmy's older sister.

"No way," he replied.

Georgie waited until both their parents were in the kitchen.

"I wasn't asking," she whispered. "Anyway, you can't stop me -- I'm still bigger than you."

"Mum!" Jimmy cried.

"I'm not doing anything!" Georgie shouted in response. Their father popped his head round the door, back to being a grown-up.

"Keep it down. You'll disturb Mr. Higgins."

Too late -- they heard the familiar pounding on the wall.

"I hate that old weirdo," muttered Georgie. It was remarkable how a next-door neighbor who claimed to be nearly deaf could have such sensitive hearing.

Jimmy slowly stacked the dishes.

"Come on, Jimmy," his sister pleaded, "I need to do that stupid project on Westminster Bridge."

"Okay." He sighed. "Half an hour. But if you want to find out about a place you should go there, not read about it on the Internet."

"Thanks for the advice, genius." Georgie ran up the stairs.

Once the table was clear, Jimmy joined his parents in the living room. They were watching the news. On the screen were pictures of Ares Hollingdale, the prime minister, walking around Downing Street, and then another man who looked a bit scruffier but a lot younger.

Jimmy wasn't interested in the news, so he turned to go, but his father's voice stopped him.

"Sit down, Jimmy -- this will make a change from the rubbish you always watch."

"It's boring," replied Jimmy.

"But it's important -- someone might form an opposition to the government again." He frowned for a second at Jimmy's mother, who pursed her lips.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Jimmy's father pushed himself up with a sigh.

"You expecting someone?" asked his wife.

He stood for a long time scratching his ear, then just said, "No," and strode out to the front door.

Jimmy's father manufactured bottle tops for various soft drinks and beers. He often saw clients at home, but these meetings always took a long time and sometimes went on late into the night. Sometimes Jimmy heard shouting when he was in bed.

"You don't think -- ," started Jimmy's mother, but her husband had already left the room. She looked at Jimmy. "Go upstairs and get ready for bed," she snapped.

"What?" said Jimmy. "Dad was just telling me to watch the news. And Georgie's in my room." His mother didn't answer. She turned off the television, and they both started listening to what was going on at the front door.

"Oh, it's you," Jimmy's father said. "I didn't expect -- "

"Can we come in, Ian?" It was a man's voice, deep and flat.

"Erm, of course. We weren't expecting you." His father sounded nervous, and the other man cut him off.

"Thanks," he said. The floorboards creaked and the door opened. The man who walked in was tall and broad, taller even than Jimmy's father, and obviously in much better shape. He was tanned, and good-looking, but only smiling with one half of his mouth, a small smile that scanned the room and found Jimmy.

"Hello, young man. You must be James." Before Jimmy could answer, his mother jumped up between them.

"Please," she said, with her hand out to distract the man's attention. "Sit down. Please sit down."

The man looked at Jimmy's mother and straightened his tie. It was a long black tie, thinner than the ones Jimmy's father wore for work, and the man's suit was the same black.

"Helen, how lovely to see you again," he said, and sat where Jimmy's father had been sitting.

"Jimmy, go upstairs," said his father, who walked in and sat down awkwardly.

"No, he can stay, Ian," said the man in the suit.

"You haven't -- ," started Jimmy's mother, but the man cut her off.

"We've come for the boy."

There was silence.

Jimmy replayed in his mind what the man had just said: "We've come for the boy." What? Did that mean him, Jimmy Coates? Jimmy quickly went through the last few days in his head, or as much as he could manage on the spot, trying to remember if he had done anything wrong. But he was panicking and couldn't even think of what he'd done that morning, let alone yesterday or the day before. Then Jimmy suddenly noticed another man, who was standing in the doorway. He was dressed the same way as the first man, but was not quite as tall or as tanned.

Jimmy's father turned from one man to the other.

"You're early," he said. "We thought -- "

"I know," the man interrupted again. "This is the new arrangement. We've come to get him." The man looked straight ahead, not around at Jimmy, and not at either of his parents. He was waiting for something. Finally Jimmy's mother spoke -- and she surprised everyone.

"Run, Jimmy," she said, gasping, her voice almost a whisper. She clutched at her throat, and then shouted, "JIMMY, RUN!"

For a tiny moment he didn't move. Everyone's face was turned toward him. Jimmy looked at his father. He looked sad, but not scared like Jimmy's mother. The terror in her voice made its way into Jimmy's belly and connected with the confusion in his head. Then he was finally able to unfreeze his legs and throw himself toward the door.

The man standing there wasn't expecting such a burst of speed, and when Jimmy's full weight hit him, he was winded. Jimmy pulled open the front door. But what if there were other men in suits waiting for him outside? Leaving the front door open, Jimmy bolted to the stairs instead, sprinting up two at a time. He reached the top out of breath, and dashed into his bedroom.

Jimmy Coates: Assassin?. Copyright © by Joe Craig. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

---

Excerpted from Jimmy Coates: Assassin? by Joe Craig
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.