Breaking Out

by Janice Nix

  The more I learned, the more desperate his situation seemed. Godfrey had been released from prison with nowhere to go. For seven days he’d stayed at the local homeless hub – but that was the longest that anyone could stay. There was heavy pressure on the service. He was sent to a hostel. But by himself in a room, and off his medication, his mood crashed. He became so disruptive that the hostel had no option but to ask him to leave. Now he was sleeping on the street. Meetings at probation were the only anchor he had left.

  From the surgery’s point of view, of course I understood the ban. They had the other patients to think of. But he urgently needed to find another doctor. Everywhere I tried, the list was full. After several fruitless phone calls, I felt as though I was going round in circles.

  I also had a difficult decision to make.

  I bet if I got a gun and shot you … Those were the words that Godfrey used. This was a threat. I must inform the manager and record this event on the system. If another, future officer were to be exposed to danger from this client and I had not done so, it would bring my job into question. My instincts said that Godfrey had spoken from illness and desperation, not because he really presented any risk. But the process was vital for everyone’s safety.

  Godfrey needed someone to guide him as he peeled back all the layers of problems that were causing him to behave in the way he did. But how could he get it? His circumstances were a hopeless tangle. The system wasn’t responding to his needs.

  I talked to a senior manager about Godfrey’s threat. She called the police. The incident was formally recorded to alert other members of the team who might deal with him in future. The matter went no further. For action to be taken, things needed to get worse. That’s quite often the case. Nothing happens until there’s a crisis. With limited resources, there isn’t the capacity to see trouble coming, or help a person who is struggling before they just can’t cope any more. If there was, so much misery and suffering could be prevented – and so much money could be saved.

  If Godfrey ever does hurt anyone, further down the line, when his situation has deteriorated – there had been a warning. I heard it clearly on that warm sunny day on the pavement in Stockwell. Then I made sure that others heard it too. The problem was that no one was listening. Or even if they were, they were unable to respond.

  MAY 1988

  I decided to grow the syndicate’s UK network. That meant getting out of London. It was safer to deal volume away from the city.

  I based the new operation up country, in Northampton, Birmingham and Leicester. I worked with Diego, a contact who’d proved to be reliable. To get him sweet, I sold him two ounces of the Captain’s finest flake for £900 each. I knew how much profit he would make. He was on the phone again before the end of the day.

  ‘Janice? That stuff’s proper. I want anything you’ve got.’

  ‘I got a ki right now.’

  ‘Okay. How much?’

  ‘Thirty-six. I’ll bring it up there.’

  The extra six thousand was danger money – covering the chance I would be taking in transporting the goods. Moving merch is the riskiest part of any operation. Every few weeks, I headed up the M1 to meet Diego at Toddington Services. He introduced me to his mate Mank, and I tapped into their network of contacts in the Midlands, West Country and Wales. I travelled down to Bristol to meet up with Mank’s bikers in the Black and White cafe. They were surprised to be dealing with a woman. They struggled to accept that I was capable of handling business on this level.

  ‘Hey babe. You look sexy. We could have good times,’ they’d always sigh.

  ‘My name’s Janice, not sexy. You’re here to buy a product. I only want to talk about money and drugs.’

  Everyone went quiet.

  ‘Right then. Let’s do business. Money talk, bullshit walk.’

  ‘Ah, Mama J, you’re the lady,’ they’d say.

  ‘I’m not the white lady. I just got the white lady.’ They’d smile, but by now we’d both know who was in charge.

  Long ago in Holloway, I’d found my iron will – the will of a boss. I wanted total control – so everything about me sent that message loud and clear. I showed those men no fear, no hesitation, no self-doubt. Control your mind, and your mind controls your face.

  I parked outside the house in Northampton at half past nine in the evening. It was the middle of summer and still almost light. I wasn’t expected until ten o’clock, but I was early. I needed to know who was going to show up – and I wanted a look at who they might bring with them.

  As the sky slowly turned from deep pink to dark blue and car headlights came on, I sat tight and watched the house. At five to ten, I picked up my phone.

  ‘Mank? It’s Janice.’

  ‘Hey Janice – where are you?’

  ‘Five minutes away. He there yet?’

  ‘Er, no, actually, he’s not. Any minute, though.’

  ‘So – the customer’s not arrived?’ I said.

  ‘Any second now. He’ll be here. Simon is straight with me. He’s a good guy.’

  Already I had serious doubts about that.

  At two minutes to ten, I got out of the Cosworth. I checked myself over, smoothing down my black Apple Bottom top over my tight leggings. When I was ready, I walked up the garden path and rang the doorbell. Mank answered. I noticed he was acting super-friendly, seeming even more delighted than usual to see me.

  ‘Wha’ ah gwaan, Jan?’

  He was a good guy and I liked him. But I wasn’t going to chat patwa right now. In my big blue and white Chanel handbag was a ki, packed inside a sparkly yellow giftbag. £36,000 was the street price, including danger money for the journey.

  I followed Mank into the house. In the living room stood Diego. He was peering round the curtain. Both of them were smiling, but I noticed at once that they were tense and on edge.

  ‘Well?’ I said. ‘Is he here yet?’ They exchanged glances.

  ‘Janice – he’s coming. He’s driving down from Birmingham.’

  I looked at my Cartier watch.

  ‘It doesn’t matter where he’s driving from. I drove here from London,’ I replied. ‘This guy’s late.’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, sure. Absolutely.’ Diego picked up his phone and pressed the buttons. He paced through the house with his finger in his ear, talking softly. I heard him say, ‘She said ten o’clock.’

  I turned to Mank. I kept my voice level.

  ‘Mank,’ I said, ‘you think I’m travelling with sweeties? You’re taking my freedom for joke. Why ain’t he here?’

  Diego put down his phone.

  ‘Jan, I’m really sorry. The guy’s on the motorway. He’s coming, but he’s going to be late.’

  ‘Well, I hope he didn’t spend too much on petrol.’

  Three minutes after ten, I left the house. I got into the Cosworth, flicked on my headlights and drove away.

  By 11.30 I was back in the city. My phone had rung three times on the journey. I didn’t pick it up. I drove to Herne Hill in south London, and let myself into a house in a quiet leafy street. My friend Krystal heard me arrive and came downstairs. She looked surprised to see me. Krystal’s place was one of my safe houses. I usually stayed away – but in tonight’s circumstances, I had to make an exception.

  ‘Hey JanJan – what you doing here? I’m just getting ready for bed.’

  ‘Sorry about the late visit. I got a last-minute problem. I need to leave a present.’

  I put the yellow giftbag in her hands.

  ‘Sure.’ She took the bag from me. I didn’t know where in the house she stored my goods. I didn’t need to know. What mattered was that I could go home clean.

  Just after midnight, I let myself back into my flat. Nadia was in bed and the place was dark and silent. Ida had been minding her and now they were both sleeping. In the kitchen was a note.

  We had fish fingers and chips for dinner. Bed by nine. Love, Nanny.

  Frustrated by the evening’s wasted journey, I sat down and lit
a cigarette. The phone rang again. This time I answered.

  ‘Hey, Janice.’

  ‘Hey, Mank.’

  ‘I’m with the guy now – Simon. We’re in his car. We’re coming down to London.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘We’ll come round and pick up the work then head straight back.’

  ‘You won’t. Not tonight. That parcel’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  I heard him relaying this information to whoever else was in his car. ‘Gone? Already?’

  ‘But Janice – you knew he’d be coming!’

  ‘Mank, let him understand. I drove from London to Northampton. Our agreed time was ten o’clock. Now it’s midnight and I’m in my bed. The parcel’s gone.’

  ‘But can you fix him up?’

  ‘Not tonight. You lot jam at a hotel.’

  ‘Aw, Jan, c’mon! You can get it. Please! Do this now – I’m begging you.’

  ‘No. We had a deal. I’m not risking my freedom driving all the way up there so you can fuck me about and tell me he’s not here yet. That’s not my responsibility.’

  I pressed the cut-off button.

  When I woke next morning, I could hear the cartoons on the telly. Nadia was listening to Thunder Cats. I got up and fixed her and Ida their breakfasts. Nadia sat at the bar in the kitchen, eating her cereal and chatting to Nanny. We searched for her school things, which were strewn around as always. This morning, she couldn’t find her reading book.

  ‘Nad – look in your bedroom, quick! Auntie Monica’s here any second!’

  ‘Can Nanny come with us to school?’

  I took a quick glance at Ida. Ida smiled.

  ‘Of course she can. Now find your book!’

  Nadia shot into her room. I could hear her searching. By the sound of it, everything she owned would soon be lying on the carpet.

  ‘If you kept your things tidy, Nadia, you wouldn’t lose your book!’ I called to her.

  ‘Uhhhhh!’ she went – the noise she always made when something annoyed her. It’s going to be no time at all, I thought suddenly, before I’ve got a teenager on my hands.

  ‘Look under your bed!’ I told her.

  My mobile phone rang.

  ‘Janice?’ said Mank’s voice. ‘I’m in Clapham with Simon. Where d’you want to meet?’

  BZZZZZ. The front door intercom sounded.

  ‘Mummy! Auntie Monica’s here!’

  ‘Have you found your reading book?’ I asked.

  ‘Have I found my what?’ said Mank on the phone, sounding surprised.

  ‘Yes, Mummy!’

  I gave Mank an address. ‘Forty minutes,’ I told him. I kissed Nadia and off she went with Ida and Emmanuel’s cousin Monica, who regularly walked her to school. I heard the door of our building closed behind them. In the sudden quiet, I picked up the mobile and rang Krystal.

  ‘Bring the gift bag, darling. I’ll be at the Monkeys. Twenty minutes okay?’

  I got dressed. My shell suit was Gucci – white trousers that matched my white ballet pumps and a grey, white and plum patterned jacket. I drove to Herne Hill to meet Krystal outside the Three Monkeys restaurant.

  ‘Thanks, babe. Don’t forget – Wednesday for your shopping, yeah?’

  I headed for the address I’d given Mank – another safe house nearby. This one was run by Scully’s partner, Glen. As I parked, I saw Mank and Simon waiting in what must be Simon’s car. Mank jumped out as soon as he saw me and started to apologise.

  ‘Janice – look – I –’

  ‘Inside,’ I told him briskly. I let myself into the house and both men followed. Simon was tall and dark-haired, in his thirties, dressed in a black leather biking jacket.

  In the kitchen, I turned to face them.

  ‘Well?’ I demanded.

  Mank tried again. ‘Janice,’ he said, ‘look, I’m really –’

  Then Simon held out his hand. He was well-spoken and confident.

  ‘Mate – I’m the one who should have an explanation. Except that there isn’t one. I really do apologise.’

  He sounded like he meant it. I accepted the handshake.

  ‘That’s okay, Simon. But when I say ten o’clock, I mean ten and no fuck’ry.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Now – thirty-seven and we’re good. I charge for transportation.’

  ‘I got ya.’

  With a nod, he took the money out of his knapsack: bundles of fives, tens and twenties, each one totalling a thousand, held together with elastic bands. I quickly scanned the pile to make a practised estimation. All good.

  ‘That’s cool,’ said Simon. ‘And from now on, I’ll make sure I’m always on time.’

  31 October 1988, Southwark Crown Court.

  Theft from person. Shoplifting. Probation order – 2 years.

  23 February 1990, Middlesex Guildhall Crown Court.

  Attempted theft. Imprisonment – 1 year.

  Breach of probation. Imprisonment – 6 months consecutive.

  I was driving through the Oval in Nasty Girl. At the junction by St Mark’s church, I saw blue lights behind. The police made me pull me over.

  ‘Hello, Janice.’

  I was always half-waiting for trouble. I was an ex-con, known to the feds. And I recognised this guy – he caused regular hassle. We called him Steven Seagal.

  ‘Good morning.’

  ‘I see we’re in a different car today!’ Seagal said.

  I answered with a smile and shrug.

  ‘Can you tell me who this car is registered to?’

  I was in a sparky mood today. I felt dangerous. Suddenly I decided to give it some swag.

  ‘What’s the problem, officer? You want to search my car?’

  The instant I said it, my stomach did a cartwheel. Why did I just say that? Because if Steven Seagal takes me up on my kind invitation, he gonna find the white that I got stashed in the boot.

  He gave me a considering look.

  ‘Just wanting to make sure that everything’s in order.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much, and it is.’ I leaned my arm casually out of the open window, trying to play it cool.

  But if he does this search, my arse is grass.

  Steven Seagal walked slowly round the jeep, inspecting it. I could feel the adrenaline surging through my body. Every second, the tension increased. I’d taken this one right to the edge. I kept right on smiling, willing him to get back in his vehicle.

  ‘That’s alright for now,’ he said to me. ‘You enjoy your day.’

  ‘Why thank you – I will!’ As I drove away, I burst out laughing at the close shave I’d had. I was up to the sky on danger. When I described the scene to Scully, he laughed too, but then quickly looked serious.

  ‘You did it for the hell of it. You were out of your head, babe. Don’t do that again.’

  That was the last time I trafficked any drugs in my jeep. Nasty Girl was just too outstanding. She was a risk I couldn’t afford to take. Scully drove an ancient scruffy Volvo – and he did it for good reason. Once again I learned from him. I started buying bangers from dealers down in Thornton Heath. They cost a couple of hundred pounds a time. As soon as each banger packed up, I’d buy another. I used them – and only them – to move work, and kept my fun cars for fun.

  Scully was my lover, my teacher and my friend. He didn’t offer me a safe suburban life. He knew I didn’t want it. We didn’t do domestic. But what I had with him was solid.

  He gave me a Kutchinsky lapis and diamond ring as a gift – the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I took it to Ida’s house and put it away for safekeeping in the Louis Vuitton attaché case that was my last link to Pepper. Whenever I touched its soft leather, I remembered her. The day I stole the case in Crocodile, our laughter in the cab, the astonishment of finding the money in the secret compartment. A friendship like Pepper’s is precious and so rare. Now that Vuitton case held both the loves of my life.

  But Scully gave me something even more precious
than that ring. He gave me trust and respect. He showed me that I was an equal in his world.

  With all his years of experience, he never once forced me to do what he wanted. If I disagreed with him, he’d only say: ‘I’ll let you think on that.’ He’d let me work it out for myself. He gave me his trust without question, to run my business as I thought it should be run.

  The first sign of trouble was the robbery.

  I’d been at home all day. When I left just after three to pick up Nadia from school, I carefully locked the barred security gate on the outside of my front door. I met her and we strolled happily home together while she told me all about her adventures. Everything seemed normal – the outer gate still locked, the door still tightly closed. Except that now, the door refused to open. For a minute or two, I shook the handle in annoyance. Then I realised it was bolted on the inside.

  It felt a little strange to do it, but I thought I should call the police. The London Fire Brigade also arrived, to help break in. What we found was a great jagged hole in my living-room ceiling. Plaster fragments and broken bits of timber were scattered everywhere.

  ‘It was a break-in through the loft. He must have planned to leave by your front door,’ said the policeman who attended, ‘but apparently your deadlock changed his plans. So he climbed back out the way he came. At least that way he couldn’t take much with him.’

  My burglar had got access to the loft via the stairwell, then smashed through my ceiling with an axe. As the policeman said, he’d not taken very much – just two watches, a Cartier and an Omega, along with my cheque book and card. But something told me those weren’t what he’d come for.

  The incident was troubling and strange. I’d been targeted – my flat was the only one he robbed. My burglar had also been watching me – he struck in the only half hour when I wasn’t at home. What was going on?

  ‘Janice,’ said Mikey Shoes, ‘you’re handling big now. There’s issues happening. You need to be strapped.’

  I knew what he meant. It was time for me to carry.

  ‘You’re Scully’s right hand,’ Shoes continued. ‘That means people will test you. Be ready.’

  Sharp Man, Leggy and Mikey were some of the first customers Scully had given me. They’d been together from way back in Spanish Town, Jamaica. Sharp Man was a dealer, very well-connected, and Leggy was his muscle for hire. But Mikey was the danger man. And I knew just how dangerous he was.