The Dirty South (6 page)

Reality hit me when I felt a punch behind my right ear. It dazed me because I didn't see it coming. I was surrounded by four of them. I only had time to notice that they were all Africans before the kicks and punches pounded my black ass. I felt jolts of pain all over my body and it took me a couple of moments to realize I was on the ground. I opened my eyes and saw a Nike-covered foot aimed for my face. It struck me on the right side of my mouth and I felt the crunching of a few teeth and a splitting sensation. I spat out blood before I choked and then I remember one of the Africans yelling, ‘Peel him!'

My rings were wrenched off my fingers and they took my wallet. My Nikes were pulled off as well. Then they took off my gold chains and thieved my mobile. They had found my little bag of skunk in my inside jacket pocket and they even took my ultra-thin Rizla papers and my lighter. The only other thing I remember is that one of them said, ‘Who's he think he is? A Brixton shotta coming down our ends and he wasn't even packed. Man, that was a proper easy jack.'

For one bitch of a long time I laid fucked up on my back looking up to this bright sky. The sun was hurting my eyes but I didn't have the strength to lift my hands up to shield them. I felt the warm blood dripping over my jawbone and I remember thinking it was surprising how quickly it cools. With a big effort I managed to roll on to my side and I spat out more blood that was clogging up my throat. Half a tooth came out as well. Everywhere was hurting but the thing that pained me the most was knowing that Ann must have set me up. That motherfucking bitch.

A crying baby stopped me from falling into unconsciousness. I opened my eyes and saw a white trash girl, no older than seventeen, standing beside me with her baby buggy. She had a Croydon facelift, earrings too big for her head and a market bargain denim skirt. I remember her taking out her mobile and making a call. For the next ten minutes or so she stood beside me, saying, ‘Don't try to move.' Then an ambulance turned up. I managed to tell the medics my name and address and I also told them that the pussies had nicked my Nike One Tens. My precious Nike One Tens! I don't remember much after that.

I
was in hospital for three days, spending most of my time staring at the ceiling and trying to make sense of what happened. How could I allow some bitch honey-trap me? Even though I was on some serious painkillers my whole jaw just pounded in agony. And I was hungry. At this point I would've eaten pilchards and rice and felt no shame. I just wanted to eat a meal, any meal.

Confined to drinking soup from a straw, I wasn't a good patient and when Mum drove me home from the hospital the first seeds of revenge planted itself in my mind. I still had visits to the dentist to look forward to. Bitch! I thought, it's 'cos of Ann why I can't eat a Kentucky Zinger Tower. Then some part of my brain blamed me. You dumb pussy, it said. This is all because of your shotting. Simple as. It was your decision to get involved in it, you alone. You're intelligent enough to make good choices and you made a wrong one. Deal with it!

Stepping out of the car all groggy-like and feeling confused, I was led to my bedroom by Mum. While I'd been away she had cleaned up my room a bit. My carpet had been hoovered, my games for my PlayStation all put in a neat pile, my CDs no longer littered the floor and had found a new home on a new shelf. Even my computer desk and stereo had been wiped clean. It was nice to see
my life-size poster of Aaliyah still pouting over my bed and under the bed my hidden dirty plates, mugs and takeaway drink cartons had been cleared away. I felt a little humiliated by all this but Mum said nothing. She was in a strange, subdued mood.

As I sat on the bed, Mum closed the door. She then sat beside me and gently cradled my jaw with her palms. Compassion was in her eyes and although I hate to admit it, her motherly touch felt good. She had taken the week off to look after me so I was feeling a little guilty. I know how she is about missing days from work. She then patted my pillow and said, ‘Lie down.'

I did as I was told and I tried not to reveal how helpless I was. When my head hit the pillow Mum asked, ‘Dennis, are you dealing?'

The question took me by surprise and it took me a few seconds to prepare my response. I didn't meet her eyes. ‘What do you mean dealing, Mum?' Every word I spoke was uncomfortable.

‘Dennis, look at me. Are you selling weed, Dennis?'

‘Selling weed! Course not. I'm not on that.'

‘Are you sure, Dennis?'

‘I ain't lying, Mum. No.'

‘If I find out you're lying to me don't think that you ain't too damn big for me to box you! I‘ll ask you again. Look at me, Dennis. Are you dealing?'

‘No, Mum.'

I feigned tiredness by half closing my eyes. Maybe she would go away if she could see how sleepy I was. I didn't wanna talk. My fucking mouth!

‘I'm just trying to think why these bad-breed boys attacked you,' she reasoned. ‘You're not a member of the gang, are you?'

‘No, Mum!' Raising my voice pained my jaw. ‘I was just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time… Simple as. It was a jack, Mum. Simple as. It happens. That's life on road nowadays. We live in South London, not south Berkshire.'

Mum stood up, folded her arms, took a couple of paces and looked out of the window. At that moment she might have questioned why she didn't move away from South London when
she had the chance. ‘You know, Dennis, back in my day it was violent enough. But badmen would generally harm other badmen. People who weren't involved in drugs and crime were more or less left alone. If you minded your business no trouble would come to your door and you were free to enjoy being young.'

She now had her back to me and I sensed some kinda deep messed-up memory or something that was fucking up her head for many years. Maybe she was thinking about Paps. Obviously she doesn't know that I know how Paps became a cripple: that he was a shotta. Maybe I shoulda told her.

She finally turned around and forced a half smile. ‘You just concentrate on getting better. Everyone's been asking for you, Uncle Royston, Grandma, Auntie Denise, Everton and even your great aunt Jenny called from Jamaica last night. I guess Grandma must have told her about your bad news.'

It was kinda nice that the family were thinking about my black ass but that ho Ann was in my head. Burn her! Mum sat back down on my bed. ‘You know,' she opened with, ‘in many ways things are more difficult with your generation. So many distractions. So many things that demand your attention.'

‘What do you mean, Mum?'

‘Everything is in your face. You can't watch the damn TV without some friggin' advert trying to hustle their crap. Remember those trainers you wanted, Dennis? You was about seven. Screamed the friggin' house down 'cos I refused to buy them.'

This was weird. Mum was turning into Paps. I've never heard her talk like this before.

‘But I spoiled your black behind anyway,' she went on. ‘Buying you name-brand crap that you didn't need and in some cases you grew out of the friggin' clothes in a few months. Your paps was always cussing about it but no, my children had to looked neat and sweet on the road. I spoiled your black behind. Maybe it's because of that you want things so quick. Maybe you didn't have the money for what you wanted. So you decided to deal. Is that how it went, Dennis? Because you wanted to look better than the other ghetto kids? I've heard the way you chat with your friends. I ain't stupid,
Dennis. Is that how it go? You better tell me the
bloodclaat
truth, Dennis.'

Mum could cuss with the best of them, including Grandma but she's never sworn in front of me. I looked at her in disbelief wondering how long she had been angry and why. She had a good job, strong marriage, nice house, fat wardrobe and at least one of her children had great potential. She wants to try and be Cara, Noel's Mum, for a day. Then she's got a right to be vexed. ‘I ain't lying, Mum! Brothers I went to school with are on that but not me.'

‘You better not be lying, Dennis. Selling weed can lead you to all kinds of crap you'd never believe. I still don't understand why these boys attacked you. Were you teasing them, Dennis? You know I never liked you teasing other kids at school. I taught you to appreciate good clothes if you have them but
not
to go on like a puppy show in a sufferer's face. Didn't I tell you that, Dennis?'

‘Yeah you did tell me. I don't do them things anymore, Mum.'

She then caught me in a fierce gaze, searching my eyes for any clues of insincerity. The intensity of her stare forced the back of my head deeper into my pillow. ‘I'll ask you again, Dennis. Are you dealing?'

‘No, Mum. It's like I said, I'm not on that.'

Suddenly she got up and went towards the door. ‘I'll check on you in about an hour. Try to get some rest.'

I let out a long sigh. Then I worked my mind over to see if I had left any incriminating evidence in my room. Rizla papers, half cigarettes and little bags of skunk weed for my private use. I'm sure I had been careful. I didn't even dare smoke fat-heads in my room when everybody was in bed. Maybe Davinia said something. She once caught me smoking a zoot in the park when I was with Noel. No, she wouldn't say anything. She knows what's good for her.

For the next few days I was expecting Mum to burst into my room with an oz of weed in her hand and my fingerprints all over it. She never did but my suspicion of her knowing something deepened because she was being extra-nice to me. She even bought me a new mobile! It was much better than the old one. It was slim
and cool and didn't look like a brick. I wasted no time in showing Davinia my new toy and she went off in a sulk chatting something about I didn't deserve it. I couldn't wait to show it off to the poor-assed ghetto kids in youth clubs.

That same day, Noel came around in the evening. As Mum showed him in she was being over-polite to him, asking how Cara was and the rest of the family and all that shit. Mum was always extra-polite when she didn't like someone. As for Noel he looked like someone had just farted in his face. Brooding was an understatement… I took him upstairs to the privacy of my room 'cos it was obvious he had some shit on his mind.

As I closed the door behind me, Noel took two hundred and fifty pounds out of his back jeans pocket and threw it on my bed. It was wrapped neatly in an elastic band. ‘Your share,' he said. ‘While you've been honey-trapped I've still been on road making dollars.'

‘Thanks for that, bruv,' I said. ‘Appreciate it.'

Refusing to sit down as he usually did in the chair by my bed, Noel kinda fidgeted on the spot, looking uneasy. ‘Spill it out, bruv,' I urged. ‘What's on your mind?'

He pointed a finger at me, stopped shuffling his feet and said, ‘You!'

‘What do you mean, me?'

‘People been chatting,' he explained. ‘How you got honey-trapped by some bitch from Peckham ends. It's not good for our rep, bruv. Some brothers been laughing about it, saying that you and me are pussies. I ain't tolerating that.'

‘Let them chat, bruv,' I said. ‘What do they know?'

‘Is that all you can say? Let them chat? Do you think we're gonna have any mileage in the skunk game if man on road thinks we're pussies? Every Tom, Dick and Jezebel are gonna test us, gonna try and jack us. And I ain't stepping on road with that shit over us. I want my rep back.'

‘I've been thinking, bruv,' I said. ‘Maybe it's time for me to get out of this business. We've had a good run.'

I looked up at Noel and I could see frustration brewing in his face. ‘What do you mean, get out of the business!'

‘Keep your voice down, bruv. My mum might hear you.'

‘And if we stop our so-called business,' Noel went on, dropping his tone, ‘what am I supposed to do? I'm never gonna get a good job. I ain't got shit qualifications. What are people on road gonna respect me for? How am I gonna get a decent ride to drive? I ain't gonna be like my mum, working in some shit supermarket and getting brushed by some pussy white man 'cos I'm five minutes late. You know she was passed over for promotion by this white lady who had only been working at Mum's store for a few months. Mum's racist boss told her the reason she didn't get the promotion was 'cos she needs to improve her customer relations. Burn that! If I see this pussy on road I'm gonna pound him… I'm not gonna struggle like that. I'm not gonna be a good nigger boy only for some white pussy to tell me I can't get promotion. All for an extra fifty fucking p an hour! Fuck that! You know what my mum does? She counts two pences and five pences to see if she's got enough money for the electric key. Burn that! No way I'm gonna do that shit. And I ain't gonna shop in no deadbeat stack-them-high supermarket looking for bargains. Burn that shit too. I'm gonna hustle for what I can get in this fucked up racist world and
fuck
anybody who don't like it! Including
you
. Do you know how it feels to walk with your mum when she's carrying Lidl bags?'

I didn't know how to answer so I switched the attention back on myself. ‘Them African brothers wanted to kill me,' I muttered.

‘Wanted to kill you? They just slapped you around a little bit. You're walking and talking now, right? My mum used to beat me much worse than the shit you got. But then you was always a spoilt little rich kid.'

‘Fuck you!'

‘You know I'm right,' Noel added… ‘Look at you bitching about a little beating you got. Wow! You lost one tooth! I see your mum tucked you up in bed alright when I knocked on your gates yesterday. She didn't want you disturbed. She's making your soup in an hour's time. I'm surprised you haven't got no bell to ding her. Always a mummy's boy. What do you know about a hard knock life? It's always been easy for you. You're a pretend badman,
Dennis. Everyone knows it. A motherfucking wannabe. You ain't too different from those white and Asian people who try to talk black. You're a motherfucking pimp! Pimping from street culture.'