Page 5 of Worth the Wait
Knife incidents had crept up in towns like Worthbridge. They weren’t only city problems anymore. Gangs didn’t care if a place had bunting and ice cream vans in summer. They saw bored kids, no prospects, no one watching. Then moved in. Targeted the vulnerable. Offered cash and power in exchange for loyalty and silence.
And it worked.
Small towns were ripe for the picking.
Freddie had seen it too many times. How fast a schoolyard punch-up could turn into something you didn’t walk away from.
The boy stiffened, eyes darting sideways, then looked back at Freddie with a mix of fury and panic.
“They were—” He stopped. “Forget it.”
Freddie’s instincts buzzed. That wasn’t nothing.
And it sure as hell wasn’t over.
“You’re being detained under Section Five of the Public Order Act. Disturbing the peace and suspected assault. You don’t have to say anything, but it may harm your defence…”
Freddie delivered the caution. Words he’d said a hundred times before. To youths as young as, if not younger than, the one in front of him. But as he spoke, he watched the boy’s face change. Not in fear. Not in guilt. But… harden. As if he’d slipped a mask on.
Then Freddie caught his eyes.
Angry. Rabid. Almost feral.
But blue. Deep and startling, a bright clash with the shadow of his dark hair, damp and curling beneath the edge of his hoodie. Freddie jolted. He’d seen eyes like those before. And it twisted in his memory bank like a faultybulb refusing to switch fully on. He shoved it down to do his job.
Before walking him back to the car, Freddie gave the standard instruction. “I’m going to search you now under Section One of PACE. Anything sharp I need to know about?”
The boy said nothing.
So he patted the kid down, checking pockets, waistband, shoes. Nothing. No weapons, no phone, no sign of drugs. Just a skate tool and a scrap of paper with a half-smudged number on it.
He shoved it all into a clear evidence bag, more for process than concern.
Then, as they made their way to the car, the kid muttered under his breath, “Should’ve let me finish it. Would’ve done you a fucking favour.”
Freddie glanced sideways but didn’t bite. “Yeah? How so?”
Kid clammed up again. Probably wise.
Becca joined them, wiping her hands on a tissue. “Other kid’s banged up but conscious. Says he doesn’t want to press charges.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t log it,” Freddie said. “Get his name?”
“Yeah. He’s known to us. Low-level stuff. Shoplifting, pushing boundaries, usual teenage crap. The two that fled are the interesting ones.” Becca returned to Freddie’s side. “This one, though,” she tilted her head towards the cuffed teen, “new face.”
The kid glared at her.
“Proper lost his rag. Other kid reckons he flipped.”
Freddie tightened his grip on the lad’s arm. “You might have picked a fight with the wrong people.”
“Couldn’t give afuckwho they are!” the lad shouted over his shoulder.
Across the park, the other teen held up two fingers to his mouth, waggling his tongue between them.Real mature.
Freddie felt the tension roll through the cuffed boy and prepared for him to launch a counterattack. “Oi. That’s not gonna help anyone.”
He opened the back door and guided the lad into the car. The kid didn’t resist, but he vibrated with fury. Shoulders tight, breath shallow. Controlled chaos. The usual shit. Freddie slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirror, and watched him through it.
