Public Enemy Number Two by Anthony Horowitz

Powers is Public Enemy Number One, Diamond must now be considered Public Enemy Number Two.
    “Police are still looking for Tim Diamond, Nicholas’s elder brother, who may be able to help them with their inquiries.”
    Johnny switched off the set.
    “They’re looking for me!” Tim moaned. He was staring at the blank screen as if the newscaster was about to climb out and grab him.
    “Of course they’re looking for ya.” Johnny grinned at me. “Public Enemy Number Two! Ya moved up in the charts pretty quick—eh, kid?”
    “Yeah.” I tried to look delighted. It wasn’t easy. “What happens next, Johnny?”
    “Right now ya get some sleep. I reckon we could all do with some shut-eye. Isn’t that right, Ma?”
    “That’s right, Johnny boy.”
    “Meantime, Nails can go out and get the rest of the boys together. I’ll see them at four. So, Nails . . . ya better get a box of cupcakes or something.”
    “Sure thing, Johnny.”
    “Good.” Johnny patted me on the shoulder. “Public Enemy Number Two? I like that, kid. It suits ya.”
     
    At last Tim and I were alone.
    We were sharing a bedroom on the second floor. It was about as comfortable as the living room. There were two single beds leaning unsteadily toward each other, a chair with three legs, and a wardrobe minus the door. The window looked out onto a construction site behind the house, only there was so much dirt on the glass you could barely see anything.
    For a long time neither of us said anything. Tim looked exhausted. His face was streaked with dust and his hair was standing on end.
    “How could you do it, Nick?” he said at last. “My own brother! First the robbery . . . and then this. I mean . . . this Johnny Flowers. He’s insanely criminal. I mean, he’s criminally insane. And his mother! How could you do it? I’m wanted by the police! When they find me it’ll be the end. They’ll lock me up. I’ll never find the Purple Peacock. I won’t ever get another job. They’ll probably give me twenty years, Nick. Twenty years! That’s not to be sneezed at . . .” He pounded his fist into the pillow. Dust rose in a cloud and he sneezed loudly.
    “Listen,” I said. “I didn’t do it, Tim. I never stole the carbuncle.”
    “But, Nick. The judge—”
    “I was framed, Tim. I didn’t know it at the time—although maybe I should have guessed . . .”
    Slowly I explained everything that had happened. The visit from Snape and Boyle, the Fence, Woburn Abbey, Johnny Powers. Then I explained it again using words with fewer syllables. It took me about twenty minutes and all the time Tim sat there, grasping the mattress.
    I wasn’t sure he’d grasped anything else. But when I finally stopped he stared at me and scratched his head.
    “You mean . . . you didn’t do it?” he said.
    “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Tim.”
    “And the only people who know are Snape and Boyle? But Snape and Boyle . . .”
    “Yeah. They bought it.”
    “They bought the carbuncle?”
    “No. They crashed. They’re dead.”
    “So what do we do now?”
    I stood up and went over to the door. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I suppose the only thing we can do is try to track down this Fence that everyone wants. If the police ever catch up with us, it might be something to bargain with. But in the meantime . . .” I swung around on Tim. “You’ve got to convince Johnny and Ma Powers that you’re a real crook. If they ever find out you’re a private eye, it’ll be curtains for us.”
    Tim glanced at the window “This place could do with some curtains,” he said.
    “They’ll kill us, Tim! I mean really kill us. You’ve got to think like a gangster. Act like a gangster. Be a gangster. And you’ve got to start now.”
    Tim got to his feet and straightened his shoulders, drawing his hands across his chest. He gave me an ugly sneer and threw back his head. “I’m Al Capone,” he growled.
    “Al Ka-seltzer more like,” I muttered, but I