The Dirty South (9 page)

‘I dunno what Dennis and me are doing but you're going back to your gates now,' Noel replied.

‘But I don't wanna go home yet.'

‘If you don't stop bitching in my ear you can step it to home from here. Are your trainers comfortable,
bitch!
'

After dropping off Priscilla we sat in silence again for a while. I wondered if what happened to Red Eyes could be a reality check for Noel. Recently he had been thinking of moving onto the crack game. Think about the P's we could make from that shit, Noel said. I had talked him out of it by telling him that crack shottas get at least five years bird. Noel reckoned he could do two years bird but five years? He couldn't put his mum through that stress.

With Red Eyes now dead I even wondered if Noel would want to carry on with the skunk game… He knew Red Eyes well. He
saw him all the time when he was a kid and like me, he would try to sneak into his mother's bedroom and watch them have sex… Sometimes I wondered if all young boys did this or was it a ghetto thing?

‘Dryneck,' Noel said after a long pause.

‘What? Who?'

‘Dryneck,' Noel repeated. ‘A relative, cousin of cousin or some shit like that. Or he could be an uncle, not sure. He used to come around to my gates when I was young. He used to go to our school. He's about ten years older than us. He's got eczema or dry skin or something but it's all cool 'cos he said you can't catch it from him. It ain't like other contagious shit like old school plague.'

‘Noel, you can't catch eczema or acne off anybody.'

‘Anyway, he deals in ozes and shit and we could set up things with him neatly…'

‘Can you trust him?'

‘Yeah. I don't think he'll spill to my mum. He's a Jehovah's Witness and he was even there at all of his kids' christenings. That makes him a decent brother in my ratings. He don't deal on Sundays though… He lives on Lansdowne Green estate, you know, Stockwell ends, behind the tube station.'

‘What? You wanna check him now?'

‘Why not? He stays up late all night watching Dick Dastardly and
ThunderCats
cartoons so he'll be awake.'

‘Ain't we gonna have a period of mourning for our former dead dealer? He was
stabbed
over forty times. I'm still trying to get my head around it.'

‘Dennis, stop being a fucking pussy. Red Eyes would have wanted us to carry on. Trust me, he would have carried on the same way if someone shanked your black ass forty times.'

It was close to 2 a.m. when we was climbing the steps to Dryneck's fourth floor flat. The lift didn't work. I was proper screwing 'cos I wanted to stay in the car and listen to some music but Noel insisted that I meet Dryneck.

Noel pressed the buzzer and after a while some chick came to the door and asked, ‘Who is it?'

As she looked at us through the spy-hole, Noel answered, ‘It's me, bruv… Noel, Noel Gordon from Tulse Hill ends. Your nephew. Or cousin. Remember me? You know my mum Cara. Man coming on business. Open the fucking door, bruv. Tell the bitch to open the door.'

We could hear the chick walking away. ‘Can't you ever have manners?' I cussed in a strong whisper.

‘Dryneck should know my voice,' Noel said, irritation all over his face.

Then the door opened to the sound of clicks and rattling keys. This white chick with Lana Turner-like hair stood there in a pink dressing-gown with fluffy white cuffs and the reddest lipstick I have ever seen. She stood aside with a bunch of keys in her left hand and only let us in after offering Noel one bitch of a stare. She then led us along this short hallway which had framed photographs of Daffy Duck, Donald Duck, Bugs Bunny, Barney Rubble, Betty Rubble, Cheetara from the ThunderCats, Jessica Rabbit, Pepe the skunk and a painting of an aroused Wily Coyote hanging from the walls. I offered Noel a quick glance and he read my mind instantly. This was fucked-up childhood, strange crazy, public enquiry, social worker issues shit. I didn't want to stay in that place for too long.

We came to a halt in the lounge that had a fake polar-bear rug on the wooden-tiled floor and almost covering one wall was a cinema-like screen. It was showing a
Top Cat
cartoon with the volume turned down. This black leather sofa was in the middle of the room like in American sitcoms and I could see smoke that came from its direction. Some Japanese cartoon Manga shit was hanging from the walls in wooden frames. I glanced behind me and opposite the gigantic TV screen was a life-size picture of Michelangelo's
David
.

Just as I was thinking of making a run for it, Dryneck raised his head from his laying-down position upon the sofa. He was one ugly mother. He was wearing a yellow silk dressing-gown like the one Sylvester Stallone wore in
Rocky
and he was smoking a big-head with one of those Marlene Dietrich cigarette holders. He didn't look cool, he looked like a fucking idiot, as is always the case when a
ghetto brother tries to look classy. He was burning high grade if my senses wasn't fucked up by the surreal environment of that place. I had to close my eyes for a couple of seconds and open them again to see if all this shit was real. Unfortunately it was and I still felt like running to the exit screaming… Noel didn't seem to flinch but I guess being ignorant in certain things is sometimes a blessing.

‘Noel, Noel Gordon from Tulse Hill ends,' Dryneck said. ‘Yes, I remember you well. From when you was a child. We're second cousins.'

The chick joined Dryneck on the sofa and she laid her head upon his chest. She took a generous toke from his zoot and formed her mouth into an O to blow the smoke. I had an immediate erection. Dryneck's neck wasn't as bad as I imagined it to be. It was just, well, a little dry. But Lord Jesus was he ugly!

‘Nasser,' greeted Noel, choosing not to use the nickname. ‘What's gwarnin?'

‘Well, Noel,' Dryneck said. ‘Trying to be successful. And the definition of a successful man is that he can always earn more than what his girl spends.'

‘And the definition of a successful woman is to find
that
man,' the chick added.

This was getting more weird by the moment. I nudged Noel. Hopefully he would have got the message that we had to finish the deal so we could get out of this crazy place and away from these crazy people.

‘Yeah, Nasser,' Noel began. ‘We're looking to do a bit of business.'

‘I don't usually do business at this time of night,' replied Dryneck. ‘And especially if I am entertaining.'

At this point the chick kissed Dryneck on the cheek and ran her fingers over his bald head… I swear I heard a happy sigh. My erection was still tenting my jeans. ‘But I know you are in need,' Dryneck continued. ‘I have heard of the misfortune that has befallen Red Eyes and during the course of the last day and a half many people in our business have made enquiries to find out if I will take up the slack.'

‘So what you saying?' Noel asked. ‘You gonna deal with us?'

‘I suppose your money is as good as everybody else's,' Dryneck nodded. ‘Gloria, can you go and get my merchandise and the scales please… How much are we talking about, gentlemen?'

‘Four oz of skunk,' answered Noel.

‘I think I can accommodate you.'

The chick got up and went to a room that led off the hallway. I tried hard not to look at her legs as she walked by. She was wearing Lisa Simpson slippers. I closed my eyes yet again. She returned a couple of minutes later with the scales and the skunk wrapped in kitchen foil and went to the coffee table, pushing aside cartoon video and DVD cases to make a space for herself. It was then when I spotted the lines of cocaine and a credit card all neatly placed upon a smaller, matching coffee table. Gloria worked quickly and neatly, soon balancing four oz of skunk on the scales.

‘I'm forgetting myself,' said Dryneck. ‘This is Gloria… Miss Gloria Grahame. Obviously it is not her real name but that is the name you will address her by. As you can see she is quite efficient. When you leave she will give a mobile number to you and for any future transactions that we might have I urge you to dial that number first. The number will change every month but you will be notified a day beforehand what the new number is. You will
not
come here again. Is that clear? You will be met by Gloria or myself in a designated meeting spot. Any orders over four ounces please give me two days' notice. Is that clear?'

‘Yeah, loud and clear,' said Noel.

Dryneck then looked at me for longer than what was comfortable. ‘I know your father,' he said. ‘He had quite a rep when I was a kid. I haven't seen him for many a year.'

‘Yeah, er, a lot of people know my paps,' I managed.

As Dryneck turned his attention back to
Top Cat
, I fished for my wad of P's inside my jeans and found that my erection was still rampant. Gloria got to her feet, made her way over to me and took the money. She counted it carefully, licking her right index finger and her thumb. When she finished counting she offered me a wink and by then my dick was hurting me. She then gave Noel her mobile
number and walked us to the exit. ‘Don't call during working hours,' she said. ‘Call from seven to eleven in the evening.'

Dryneck didn't even say goodbye.

When we got back to the car, I asked Noel, ‘Where did he get
her
from?'

‘Gloria?' Noel replied. ‘She works in some bank up in the city and she shots for Dryneck up those ends as well. When he's entertaining, Dryneck likes her to look like those old-time movie stars. He‘s got a thing about blondes and cartoons. Did you notice?'

R
ed Eyes was buried six days later in Streatham cemetery. All five of his baby mothers were there, all wondering if he had left anything valuable behind. It was kinda freaky to see all those little versions of Red Eyes running around the place and getting cuss by all these different women. I wondered if any of the boys would be a shotta like their paps was.

The allegation that said the Feds had taken Red Eyes' plasma TV was the living bullshit. In a place like Bricky, people will believe that the Feds are capable of shit like that… Even Paps sucked in the hype, saying that almost twenty years after the Brixton riots, blah blah blah, the Feds can never be trusted blah blah blah. Margaret Thatcher and the Feds were all racists blah blah blah. Back in my day they wanted to purge young black males off the streets, blah blah fucking blah. Will he ever stop going on about it? Paps still has issues with the Feds that needs serious closure but I guess he's a man of his generation. I wondered how do young brothers of my age feel when they join the Feds with all that bad vibes coming from the ancients.

Red Eyes' mum actually claimed the huge TV set and she was planning on sending it to her home in Jamaica. Meanwhile the Feds were doing flat-to-flat enquiries in Myatts Fields and that meant
a sizable majority of the Bricky underworld had to put all their drugs, contraband, arms and dodgy foreign people in lock-ups and garages. There won't be no evidence on CCTV about the murder 'cos every time Lambeth Council and the Feds set the cameras up on lamp-posts, walls and shit, the kids in the estate nick all of it. They even dig up the wires with pick axes. The little hustlers sell all the hi-tech shit to the criminal minded and they get electricians to rewire the cameras and shit to keep a serious watch outside their own gates. Only in Bricky.

If Red Eyes' killer was a white man then someone might have said something but if he was black then the Feds would get more words out of a dumb-ass ghetto brother answering a question in chemistry class. Word on road said the killer
was
a crack addict who was desperate for a hit. But you couldn't be sure. Anyway, I don't think Reds Eyes' merking will be played out on
Crimewatch
. That programme's about bad shit happening to white people in nice little Surrey suburbs. Burn
Crimewatch
.

I was a little nervous at the graveside 'cos not only was Noel's mum Cara there but my paps as well. How did he know Red Eyes? Cara and Paps were standing side by side in some deep reflection. Of course I said to Paps that I was only at the funeral to support Noel who had lost a close family friend. I'm not sure if he bought my excuse for attending a known shotta's funeral but he was trying to hide something too. Many guys of his generation were going up to him saying hello and shit and I could see Paps getting more uncomfortable by the minute. It was like watching that scene in
The Godfather
when everyone was going up to Michael at the funeral of Marlon Brando. Judging by my pap's body language my guess was that most of those brothers were ex-shottas, hustlers, whatever. Some of them looked proper dodgy with their facial scars and those ‘I've seen a lot of shit in my life' eyes.

After Red Eyes was laid to rest we all went to the house of Red Eyes' sister, Glenice, and she made a speech about how Red Eyes was the best brother she could have hoped for 'cos he helped her put on a deposit for her house in Thornton Heath. He was a ‘community' man, Glenice continued and always helped those
less fortunate than himself. I have never heard so much blatant fuckery in my life! For a second my mind brought up an image of Red Eyes wearing a red cape with the ‘community man' shit emblazoned on it and his Calvin Kleins worn over tracksuit bottoms. And if Red Eyes could help to buy a house in Thornton Heath, why the fuck was he living in Myatts Fields?

I had to give credit to Glenice 'cos she did provide nuff drinks, Jamaican beef patties, rice and untold roasted chicken legs. And she invited Akeisha Parris! She was there and I couldn't believe it. I had to go to the bathroom and make sure that my short trim was looking sweet and neat. I returned and there she was right in front of me dressed in a black trouser suit. I forgot to blink… She was still slim but she now owned a cute booty and nice little cute breasts… Her buffness was so fine it was hard to look away. She didn't move and walk like an everyday ghetto chick and that was a plus. She still had elegance… So I made my move when she was alone nibbling peanuts and sipping red wine out of a glass. This was another plus. Most of the ghetto chicks present were downing Barcardi Breezer and beer bottles as if someone was gonna call
time
any second… I went over to her, my heart beating like the bassline of one of them garage tunes and I could feel the sweat developing on my temples. Don't fuck it up, Dennis,
don't
fuck it up! Should I tell her about the bracelet?
No!
Try and be cool, laid-back. Think of Thierry Henry after he's scored an ill goal.