The Dirty South

by Alex Wheatle

  I glanced at Paps and he sat down. He looked kinda embarrassed, shame-faced even. The female Fed looked at Paps and satisfied herself that he wasn’t gonna have another outburst and carried on. ‘Were your assailants wearing any distinctive jewellery, necklaces or anything of that nature?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘Can you recall if any of your assailants had facial scars?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘In your own time, Dennis, can you tell us what happened?’

  ‘Me and Noel drove up to Flaxman Road ends ’cos we was about to link with a bredren. We parked at the sports centre and all of a sudden we saw pure man. Two of them had guns. They ordered us out of Noel’s ride, jacked us of all our money, our mobiles and shit and then they started pounding Noel. They kept on kicking him. They wouldn’t stop. Just kicking. Kicking…I couldn’t do anything about it. A gun barrel was pressed to the back of my head. They kept on…Kicking.’

  My headache suddenly got worse. I had to close my eyes for a second but that was no escape… Noel’s merked body was in my head in full fucking colour. I struggled to get my black ass in control ’cos I didn’t want to bawl in front of any motherfucking Fed. ‘Then they turned on me,’ I went on. ‘Simple as. Don’t remember nothing else.’

  ‘What did they take?’

  ‘Our money, mobiles and stuff. Didn’t I tell you that already? They even took my Jamaican football shirt!’

  ‘Anything else?’

  Maybe this Fed bitch knew what was going down with these so-called Muslim crews jacking shottas and shit. But if she thought I was gonna say, yeah, they jacked our weed, then she might as well direct her questions to the moon.

  ‘Nothing else!’ I raised my voice.

  The male Fed looked up, his pen all ready-like. He communicated with his eyes something to the bitch Fed that I couldn’t read but the questioning only went on for another five minutes. It was only at the end of the interview that I realised Paps was in floods of tears.

  They released me from hospital four days later. Mum came to pick me up but I desperately wanted to stay with Akeisha. Not wanting to cause any fuss I didn’t say anything… I called Akeisha constantly instead on her mobile. ‘Are you alright? Are you safe? Is there anyone hanging around your gates? Has anyone been following you? Don’t step out too late on road. It’s too dangerous out there. Don’t walk on road alone.’

  At home I was treated like a prince. Mum cooked my favourite meals, bought me DVDs, CDs and she had prepared the front room for me. She didn’t want to climb the stairs all day to see how I was. It was all good ’cos I had the TV remote control to myself. But I couldn’t get away from thinking why was my Noel dead and my black ass living? By my second night back home, I was too depressed to watch any TV or even listen to music. I burst into tears like a pussy and Mum thought about sending me to a private counsellor. We was offered the services of a Fed counsellor but Mum burned that idea.

  Akeisha came to see me every evening about 9 p.m. after she put Curtis to bed. Laying together on the sofa-bed, we spoke of our future plans together and where we would like to go on holiday. We settled on Crete ’cos there was so much history there and Curtis would get to hear and watch those cool stories about the Minotaur. But when Akeisha left about midnight I would sink into depression. On the third night I wanted to climb the stairs with my sleeping bag and sleep in my parents’ room. I got as far as the staircase landing but I stopped myself ’cos of my pride. I ain’t no fucking pussy.

  For untold hours at night I had to face the returning image of my best friend’s unmoving body laying on the concrete of some ghetto car park. I could even visualise the dirty crisp packets, the stamped-on cigarette butts, the flattened drink cans and a couple of empty Ribena fruit juice cartons that were littered on the ground. My headaches came and went.

  On the fourth morning out of hospital Mum took me to my doctor. I was given pills to help me sleep and other pills to help fight my paranoia; I had developed some kinda fucked-up fear of anyone who approached our house. On one morning I scared the shit out of Davinia when she entered the house. Anyway, these tablets put me in some weird trance-like state but at least they made me tired and I slept a little… Sometimes I couldn’t walk in a straight line and I pissed myself twice… Proper embarrassing but Mum was cool. She cleaned me up like I was a baby. But I was sober enough to make sure my teeth were cleaned and I was wearing something decent for when Akeisha visited. I started to get out of my sofa-bed at 8 30 p.m. just to step to the window and watch her arrive at 9 p.m. If she was more than a minute late I would call her frantically and ask where she was. ‘Where are you? Are you OK? Is anyone following you? Hurry up! Paps or Mum will drive you home and you really should come in a cab.’

  God! Did I live for those moments when Akeisha and I cuddled up on the sofa-bed and she would just look at me, caressing my face. And she would break out into a smile… Her visits kept me from being suicidal. She kept me sane. Just. But why Noel and why not me?

  Noel’s funeral was days away. The Feds were keeping his body doing all kinds of forensic shit on it to see if they could pick up any clues. I don’t know what they found but they said Cara could collect the body tomorrow. All I could think about was I have to make sure that I don’t go through with this shit again with Akeisha. I have to merk Courtney Thompson.

  The funeral itself was a fucking nightmare. At least my black ass made it. So many people came up to me and offered their condolences but I don’t remember their faces or who they were. I was in some kinda fucked-up world where I imagined around every corner I might be pounded by black brothers. I hated being scared but I had no choice but to stay close to Mum. I was still on medication and Paps argued that the funeral would be too much for me but I didn’t want my last image of Noel to be of him sparked out on the concrete.

  When I caught the eyes of Cara at the service, anger surged in me and I wondered what I could do for her. Or if I was honest, I wanted her stamp of approval for my vengeance… But I wouldn’t ask for it on the day when she laid her son to rest. I did have a chance to see Noel before he was buried. Cara, Priscilla and Mum had dressed him in his favourite baggy jeans, sweat top and baseball hat. He looked peaceful. Like he was simply asleep but in a coffin. It was only when the coffin was lowered into the ground that Cara totally lost it. Screaming she was. You could see the strains, muscles and thin bones in her neck. I’ve never seen someone open their mouth so wide. Mum, Priscilla and Auntie Sharon tried to console her, but Cara just screamed louder. They had to pull her back so she didn’t fall into the grave. I felt I had to do something for her. Had to…

  ‘MY BABY! MY BABY! MY BABY!’

  As I heard and took in every fucked-up scream, my decision to merk Courtney Thompson just hardened. Nothing else mattered to me. I would do any shit to make sure I ain’t standing at no motherfucking graveside and watching Akeisha lowered into the dirt. Fuck that. After I finish my revenge then God can do what he pleases with me. I didn’t really give a shit no more. I was in hell anyway so bring on the fucking devil, Lucifer or Old Screwface as Granny used to call him.

  Akeisha ushered me into the back of Mum’s car after the funeral and I sat and held her hand. I looked at her and she asked me, ‘How you feeling?’

  ‘Good,’ I replied. ‘Noel’s at a better place now. He’s left us to carry on to live in this fucking hell. That’s what it feels like to me, a fucking hell.’

  Kinda shocked at what I said, Akeisha gave me a tight hug. I think it was the first time and only time that I really frightened her. Mum turned around and offered me a disapproving stare. I didn’t care anymore. I knew what I had to do.

  Five days after Noel’s funeral I had recovered enough to link up with Gloria Grahame… We met in the SW9 bar in central Bricky and we found a quiet corner. She bought me a Red Bull and vodka and she asked if I wanted anything to eat. I declined but she ordered some kinda veggie burger for herself. I watched her eat and drink her red win
e and she didn’t smudge her red lipstick once. But she did leave her mark on the glass.

  ‘I need a gun,’ I whispered.

  ‘Are you sure, Dennis?’

  ‘I don’t wanna argue about this, Gloria. Can you get me a gun yes or no?’

  ‘Well, it’s not my thing, Dennis. That’s Dryneck’s domain…’

  ‘Then tell him I need a gun.’

  ‘You can’t kill all of them, Dennis. It won’t bring Noel back.’

  ‘I don’t wanna merk all of them. Just wanna duppy one of them. The pussyhole leader.’

  ‘Whoever you kill will not bring Noel back.’

  I had to check myself as my voice was getting louder. I dropped it to a whisper again… ‘Look, they merked my best friend and they threatened to merk Akeisha… These pussies are not joking, Gloria. It’s their leader or me, simple as. He’s gonna come for me or Akeisha when he realises he will never get no pussyclaat P’s from me. He’s gonna have to merk me so he can keep face. That’s the way it goes. Ghetto rules. Only one brother gonna be standing and don’t give me that shit on black on black murders that you love to go on about or I will fling World War One in your face – mass white on white murder. Don’t fuck about with me, Gloria. You and Dryneck can get me a gun if you want to. I know Dryneck has his own arms. You can either deal with me or I’ll go to someone else. So, can you get me a gun yes or no?’

  She took a sip from her wine and for the first time since I’ve known her, Gloria looked vulnerable, scared even. She took another sip and played with the fork in her hand. The veggie burger thing was half-eaten. She looked at her plate then flicked her eyes up to me. She put her fork down on the plate and then lit a cigarette… She blew her smoke towards the ceiling.

  ‘Then I can’t say no,’ she finally said. ‘If someone killed Dryneck I’d wanna kill them so the answer is yes.’

  ‘OK, that’s all good.’

  ‘We had to move, Dennis,’ Gloria said. ‘One night we came back from the theatre and there was a crowd of them in the forecourt of the estate. They stared at Dryneck and he had to reveal his gun. That didn’t deter them though. They kept on staring. I must admit I shit myself. We knew then that our time was up. Time to get out of the game. We moved out a few days later and we’re renting a place in Purley before we head west at the end of the year.’

  To be honest, I didn’t care about whatever crew threatening Gloria and Dryneck… At least Dryneck had a gun to protect himself and his girl. I didn’t have shit.

  ‘When can I pick the gun up?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘On the house.’

  ‘I want instructions, all the shit.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re careful with all that kind of thing.’

  ‘Nothing too big,’ I said. ‘I wanna put it in my inside pocket of my leather jacket. I wanna know all about the safety catch and that shit.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get what you want. But you must get rid of it. Not in a council bin or any place like that. In the Thames. For all our sakes that gun can’t be found once you have used it.’

  ‘I hear you.’

  There was a pause as I drained half of my Red Bull and vodka. Then after a while Gloria smiled. ‘Dryneck asked me to marry him.’

  ‘You serious?’

  ‘Yeah, can you believe that? I said I’ll think about it.’

  ‘What’s there to think about? Don’t you love him?’

  ‘Yeah, I do. But people wouldn’t rush into marriage if they had to pay the same amount to the minister as the divorce lawyer.’

  Gloria’s remark relaxed me a bit and made me laugh. But I wanted to get back to business.

  ‘You’ll call me right?’

  ‘I promised, didn’t I,’ Gloria answered.

  ‘Don’t be stalling me hoping that I’ll change my mind.’

  ‘It’ll be about a week,’ she assured. ‘You’re getting a clean gun, Dennis. That takes days to arrange.’

  ‘Just don’t make it too long.’

  ‘As long as it takes, Dennis.’

  I finished my vodka and Red Bull and stood up.

  ‘Dennis, be careful.’

  ‘Call me soon,’ I said as I left the bar.

  I didn’t have the gun yet but I decided I was gonna start scouting for Courtney Thompson’s black ass. Brixton mosque should be a good bet on a Friday morning.

  Chapter Seventeen

  STAKEOUT

  Next Friday I got up early. It was before 7 a.m. and when Mum saw me she thought I was going to work. Everton had told me to take as much time as I wanted to recover. So I wasn’t going to the garage.

  ‘So where are you going?’ Mum wanted to know.

  ‘For a drive,’ I said, avoiding her eyes. ‘Some fresh air.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK driving, Dennis? It’s only been two days since you was on medication.’

  ‘I’m good, Mum. I just want some fresh air. It’s better in the early morning.’

  ‘Why not go for a walk?’

  ‘It’s alright, Mum, I can drive. In fact I was thinking of driving to the park and then walk.’

  ‘If you are sure, Dennis.’

  I made myself a strong coffee and put a teaspoonful of honey in it. With that I had three slices of toast. I was still eating the last slice as I headed out of the front door. ‘Bye, Mum.’

  ‘Take care, Dennis.’

  I got in my ride and finished my toast. I pulled my Chicago Bulls baseball hat down to almost cover my eyes. Then I switched the engine on and tuned into Choice FM. I turned the volume down from what was usual for me and the DJ was saying it was gonna be a hot day. I drove off and headed for the mosque in Gresham Road, central Bricky. I pulled up about sixty yards away from the mosque, parking on the opposite side of the street. Adrenaline was flowing through me but fear had yet to grip me. I found it ironic that the Fed station was only another thirty yards further on from the mosque.

  Some worshippers had already arrived for morning prayers and men were mingling around in front of the mosque in their bright garments and strange hats; why were the hats all too small? Children were also there with their parents. The women looked elegant and mysterious in their long dark robes and Noel once joked to me how does a Muslim brother know if the girl he’s chirpsing is buff or not?

  My eyes were focused on every new arrival and every departure. If a bus shielded my vision then I’d get out of my ride for a better look. I didn’t want to miss Courtney Thompson and his crew. I got back into my ride when I realised that he might arrive from behind me and spot me.

  By 8.30 a.m. the traffic was building up but I remained where I was. Tension was building inside of me and every black brother I saw under the age of twenty-five was a potential enemy.

  By 8.45 a.m., I finally saw Courtney Thompson and his crew climb out of a BMW and a Lexus. My mouth went all dry-like and fear suddenly filled me up like a bitch injection… In my head I saw the shit getting kicked out of Noel and I wondered if it would be my black ass next? My black ass might be lowered into the dirt. Mum would be making sure that the tablecloth being used for my wake was spotless. Paps would be wondering why did God spare him and allow his son to die.

  The rides couldn’t park outside the mosque so the drivers had to park somewhere else. Courtney’s fucked-up beard posse were all dressed in white and beige and all of them were wearing some kind of hat. It looked like they were wearing some kind of black slippers too. I recognised at least three of them. Fucking pussies! Again, I saw in my inner vision the savage kicks that merked Noel. I shook my head to rid myself of the picture and concentrated my sight once more…

  Then I saw Courtney’s crew approach the entrance but three older guys confronted them and an argument took place. I noticed that the older men were not wearing anything on their feet. From what I could make out the greybeards would not allow Courtney and his crew to enter the mosque. From where I was I could hear raised voices, s
ome in Arabic. ‘Ackroog! Ackroog!’ Jostling and pushing was going on. Courtney himself was gesturing wildly with his hands, obviously fucked off. But it didn’t matter how loud he shouted or how mad his body language was, the elder Muslims wouldn’t let him in. ‘Ackroog! Ackroog!’ I sat back down in my ride, closed the door and laughed out loud. On my stereo Jay-Z was rapping about some dirt off his shoulder.

  Moments later, Courtney pulled out his mobile phone from a pocket and called somebody. Then my own mobile sounded and it nearly made me jump out of my black skin. What the fuck?

  ‘Hello?’ I said cautiously. My hands were shaking. My heartbeat pounded… I thought about starting the ride in case I needed a quick getaway. How the fuck would Thompson know my number? I only got this new mobile the other day and I hadn’t put any numbers in it yet. Be logical, Dennis. It can’t be him. Be cool. Don’t panic and chat normally.

  ‘It’s Mum, Dennis. Where are you? Something the matter?’

  ‘I’m just pulled up outside Brockwell Park, Mum.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘If you start to feel dizzy you come straight home. Even leave your car where it is and one of us will come and get you.’

  ‘No need for that, Mum. I feel OK.’

  ‘You sure, Dennis?’

  ‘Yeah I’m sure, Mum. I’m gonna park somewhere and go for a walk in the park. I might try swimming later on.’

  ‘Well you look after yourself, Dennis, and if you’re feeling dizzy you call me or your father straightaway. Oh, and park your car legally, Dennis. You know what Lambeth parking wardens are like.’

  ‘Yeah, Mum, they’re brutal.’

  ‘Have you got the doctor’s number in your mobile?’

  ‘Er, yes, Mum.’

  ‘OK, Dennis. I’m just walking into my office now. It’s your dad’s day off today so if you need anything, he’s there. Bye.’