Ray looked as if he was determined to let nothing get in his way. He looked mad; he looked as if he had been possessed. ‘How did you know I was here?’ he asked.
‘I knew something was wrong when I called you,’ said Prem. ‘So we followed you. Ray, this is getting out of hand, let’s go.’
‘Shut up. This fucker killed Yinka, now I’m gonna kill him, watch me.’
‘I didn’t kill her,’ Dragon groaned.
‘If you didn’t kill her one of your lot did, and you’re their main man.’
‘None of my crew killed her,’ Dragon said, before swallowing the blood in his mouth.
Ray kicked him in the stomach. ‘You killed her, then you came here to kill me, didn’t you?’
‘What are you saying, it was you that called me here.’
‘Don’t you mess about,’ said Ray. ‘I’m in no mood to be messed about and you’re in no position to start messing about.’
‘Come on Ray, leave it,’ Prem pleaded.
Ray looked up at Prem and Tyrone. ‘You two are my people, man, but you can’t stop me.’ He looked back down at Dragon. ‘And you brought me here to die amongst the condoms and the heroin needles and now look at you.’
‘I didn’t call you here,’ said Dragon. ‘I got a message to meet you here.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ray. ‘From who?’
‘From your man, the so-called Messenger.’
Ray kicked him again. ‘Bullshit, the Messenger’s your man.’
‘I don’t know who he is,’ groaned Dragon.
‘Hold on a minute,’ said Prem. He looked down at Dragon. ‘Who told you to come here?’
‘The Messenger,’ replied Dragon.
Prem continued, ‘Who’s the Messenger?’
‘I don’t know.’
Prem kicked him in the head. ‘I said, who’s the Messenger?’
‘I told you,’ Dragon replied, exhausted. ‘I don’t know. He works for you, how should we know who he is? We don’t know.’
Prem looked up. ‘Can’t you see it, Ray, something’s wrong; you think that he called you here and he thinks that you called him here. They think we keep ringing them and threatening them and we think that they keep threatening us. Something’s up.’
Ray could see Dragon thinking it through. He seemed to be genuinely puzzled but Ray wanted to be sure. He kicked him again. ‘You’re just trying to save your skin, ain’t you?’
‘I don’t know the damn Messenger, I have never called you, it’s the truth, man.’
‘Think about it, Ray,’ said Prem. ‘It doesn’t make sense. If he came to kill you why ain’t he carrying an iron, what was he going to kill you with?’
‘We don’t know,’ Ray replied. ‘Search him.’
Tyrone and Prem bent down and began to search Dragon. He was carrying nothing except a phone, keys, cigarettes and money. ‘He’s clean,’ said Tyrone.
Ray bent down and put the gun right on Dragon’s forehead. ‘I could send you to hell right now but guess what, I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. I’m gonna let you go home tonight and I’m gonna do some research. If what you say is true we should talk again, if not we should fight again, but next time there will be no mercy for the merciless.’
Ray put the gun in his pocket and the three of them ran as fast as they could towards King’s Cross. At the station they got a taxi and headed east, hardly speaking as they went. When they reached Stratford, Prem asked the taxi to take them to the Channelsea Business Park.
‘What are we going there for?’ Ray asked.
‘We got something to do there,’ Prem replied.
The taxi dropped them off near the business park by a small river called the Channelsea River. Once the taxi had left them, Prem tried to reason with Ray. ‘Throw the gun away, Ray.’
‘No,’ said Ray. ‘I paid good money for it and it ain’t over yet.’
‘Throw it away.’
‘No.’
Tyrone leaned on to the bridge and looked at the moon reflected in the dirty water. ‘My baby’s gonna be born soon. I had this idea that it would be a rapper from birth, but what kind of an example would we be if we teach that the way to survive in hip-hop music is by having a gun? I say the gun should go.’
Ray stood behind Tyrone and spoke to the back of his head. ‘Yes, that sounds nice, family man. I know you’re gonna be a daddy soon and all that, but this is about life and death, man.’
‘No,’ said Tyrone. ‘What you have in your pocket is death, what Sam has in her womb is life.’
‘Never mind the wise bullshit words. If we check this theory out and find that this Messenger guy is not a Western Alliance man I’ll throw it away, but if not I’m gonna keep it until I feel safe.’
Tyrone looked at Prem. Prem nodded positively, Tyrone nodded back. ‘OK,’ said Tyrone, walking away. ‘Now let’s go home.’
The next day all the concerts for that next week were postponed. The fans were upset but this time they were promised new dates. The press began to sniff around but they found nothing. Both Ray and Dragon were sporting bruises that distorted their faces and weren’t too keen to be seen in public. There was an afternoon meeting at Ray’s house where Marga Man sat and listened to the boys explaining everything that had happened the night before, everything except the story of the gun. After he had heard all they had to say he began making phone calls. First he rang Damage Limitation Records in west London. Posing as a promoter he got the number of the Western Alliance’s manager. Then he rang the manager, identified himself and they arranged a secret meeting that night in the shop.
As the appointed time drew near, Marga Man drove the boys to the music shop under cover of darkness where they waited for the visitors to arrive. They arrived right on time. There was a knock on the door, and Positive Negatives looked out to see the Western Alliance looking in, or at least a few of them. Marga Man went and let them in; the man leading them in was the first to speak.
‘How’s it going? I’m Pablo, the manager.’
‘Cool, and I’m Marga Man.’
Dragon and Ray locked eyes together and the two opposing sides began to size each other up. The Western Alliance were as multi-racial as a band could be. On this night six of them, including their Spanish manager, had made the journey, all shuffling around not sure which attitude to adopt.
‘You guys shake hands,’ said Marga Man. ‘Let’s get these peace talks under way.’
The rappers started to shake hands diplomatically.
‘That’s good,’ said Pablo. ‘No need for names. If you don’t know each other already you will soon.’
They all stood or sat around the counter and let Marga Man lead the discussions.
‘Now, yu guys are busy guys and we guys are busy guys so none of us have lots of time to waste. We appreciate dat yu come all dis way to be here and dat also suggests to me dat yu are serious ’bout dis. So let’s get to de nitty gritty. Out there people are fighting in de name of our bands. Two people have been killed and over nine people have been stabbed. De police are saying dat there are other deaths dat they feel may be linked to dis warfare and it’s impossible to count how many people have really been injured. Now dis is de way it happened from our point of view. We start dropping some lyrics and people love it, we come from nowhere den big hit and tings sweet. But den we go to an award show to pick up some ornaments and yu guys start mouthing at us.’
‘You know why,’ said one of the Alliance.
‘Why?’ asked Prem.
‘Because we were getting messages from your man mouthing at us, insulting our people.’
‘We haven’t got a man sending messages,’ said Ray.
‘Well,’ said Dragon, ‘the day before the Awards we got lots of calls saying that we were crap rappers and that the only true rappers come from the east.’
‘Did he say he was representing us?’ asked Tyrone.
‘Yeah. Well no, not really. It’s difficult to say,’ said another member of the Alliance. �
�When I heard him he never actually said who he represents, he just went on about what was going to happen to us.’
‘But that’s it,’ said Prem, standing up and gesticulating wildly. ‘When he phoned us he didn’t say he was from the Western Alliance, he didn’t say who he was representing. He just made it sound like he was from the Alliance, he hinted at it. He just kept going on about he’s the Messenger.’
‘No, he never called anybody by name,’ Ray said, thinking aloud. ‘We gotta find out who made those calls. Who is the Messenger?’
‘All right,’ said Marga Man. ‘I don’t want to offend anyone so what I’m now going to say to de Alliance also applies to de Positives. Can you think of anyone in your crew who could be doing dis?’
Pablo shook his head at the thought of having to think about it. ‘Do you know how many of us there are? The Western Alliance is seven bands who united into one.’
‘I know dat,’ said Marga Man. ‘But we still have to check every angle, every person. We all have to do de same. Our band’s not as big as yours but I’m still thinking of de roadies and de sound people, yu know.’
‘What you mean, even Bunny?’ asked Prem in a disbelieving voice.
‘Even Bunny,’ replied Marga Man. ‘I trust him one hundred per cent, but dat doesn’t mean we shouldn’t think of him.’
‘So what you saying?’ said Ray. ‘You saying I gotta suspect Tyrone, and Tyrone gotta suspect Prem, and Prem gotta suspect me?’
‘And me,’ said Marga Man. ‘Come on, it’s not about suspecting each other, it’s about tinking of every possibility. Please don’t give me a hard time.’
‘The brother’s right,’ said Dragon. ‘We all gotta do it.’
‘Let me quote a rap to you now,’ said Marga Man. ‘It goes like dis. “We can’t go on together with suspicious minds”.’
‘Who’s that, Marga Man?’ asked Prem, ‘and where’s the rhyme?’
‘It’s Elvis Presley,’ replied Marga Man, ‘and it doesn’t rhyme, not when I do it anyway.’
There were snorts all round as everyone tried to stop themselves from laughing at Marga Man.
‘OK,’ he continued, ‘Elvis couldn’t rap. Seriously now, all of us have a mission, to find dis Messenger. We must leave here, we shake hands, and if any of us have anyting to say to any of us we should say it to their face, no matter what it is – take de Messenger outta de loop. Is dat a deal?’
‘You got it, man.’
‘It’s on.’
‘For real.’
And various other words of agreement were exchanged, then they shook hands again, this time with feeling.
After the Western Alliance representatives had left, Ray, Prem, Tyrone and Marga Man stayed in the shop for over an hour, talking and trying to think of possible suspects but none of them could think of anybody. They couldn’t even recognise the voice of the Messenger. It didn’t sound like anyone they knew and it just didn’t sound like anyone from the Alliance boys that they had heard.
Back home in his flat Ray found it very difficult to sleep that night. He went through the library in his mind of everyone he knew and he was still getting nowhere. But the next morning he had an idea. He phoned Prem, Tyrone and Marga Man. He was unable to get Tyrone so he left a message on his phone and arranged to meet the others at the shop. They waited for a while hoping that Tyrone would turn up, but when there was no sign of him Ray started getting impatient. Ray wanted to speak to them all together.
Then, just as they were about to start, Tyrone walked in. He looked depressed, and his eyes were watery. He went and sat on a bar stool by the counter and stared into the distance.
‘What’s up?’ Ray asked carefully.
‘We lost our baby,’ Tyrone said. ‘Sam had a miscarriage.’
‘Oh no. When did it happen?’ asked Ray.
‘Last night, when we were at the shop. She was taken to hospital. When I got back home I got a phone call telling me to get to the hospital quickly. I rushed as quickly as I could but it was too late.’
‘What? Oh man, sorry Tyrone. Sorry to hear that man,’ said Ray.
They all dropped their heads.
‘How’s Sam coping, is she all right?’ asked Prem.
‘She’s still there with her family. I had an argument with them. Her brother said that it’s being around the band that’s caused it, so we had a go at each other. Maybe he has a point. Sam’s done a lot of crying but she’s dealing with it.’
‘That’s real bad news,’ said Marga Man. ‘Look, why don’t you go home?’
‘No,’ said Tyrone. ‘What’s there for me? I’ll see Sam later.’
‘I think you should go,’ said Ray, resting his hand on Tyrone’s shoulder.
‘I’m OK,’ said Tyrone, hardening his tone. ‘I’m here.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Marga Man.
‘But I’m off this weekend,’ Tyrone continued, shaking his head.
‘What do yu mean, yu leaving de country or someting?’ Marga Man was confused.
‘No, I’m moving in with her. She needs me,’ he said. ‘What’s this meeting about anyway?’
Ray wasn’t sure if Tyrone was up to it, so he began by reminding Tyrone he didn’t have to stay. ‘Tyrone brother, I’m telling you now, I have a little plan. I got a theory that I need to move on, but I mean it, you can leave any time, I won’t feel bad, I’ll understand. You got other things to think about.’
‘I’m with you,’ said Tyrone, lifting his head up as if ready for action.
Ray started by asking for confirmation that they had confidence in him. ‘You trust me, don’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you know that we said we should consider all possibilities when we’re trying to find out who it is, right?’
They all answered positively again.
‘OK,’ said Ray, ‘do you have your phones with you?’ They all did. ‘Great, follow me.’
Ray led them out of the shop. Marga Man quickly locked the door behind him. Ray then led them across the road and into the police station. They were all lost for words but went where they were led.
‘Can we see Detective Sergeant Horne please?’ Ray asked the duty sergeant.
‘I’m afraid he’s busy right now. Can I help you? What’s it about?’
‘Well it’s about music and television, and hip-hop, and two murders.’
‘Are you serious?’ asked the duty sergeant.
‘We don’t joke about murder,’ Ray replied.
‘I’ll get him.’ The officer picked up the phone and called D.S. Horne down. Ray asked if they could go somewhere private and they were shown round the back into a room. The others were quiet, leaving Ray to do all the talking when D.S. Horne arrived.
‘Have you had any luck at all?’
‘No,’ said D.S. Horne. ‘But let’s face it, Ray, you and your community haven’t been very helpful, have you?’
‘You haven’t exactly had it at the top of your priorities either, have you? Anyway, forget that. Look, you know that throughout all this fighting and stuff we’ve been getting threatening phone calls, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, so have the west London boys. We thought that they were threatening us and they thought that we were threatening them.’
‘So? What does that mean?’ D.S. Horne asked, pulling out his notepad in an attempt to look busy.
‘Can’t you see, someone’s stirring it up.’
‘And I suppose you think it’s me.’
‘No, don’t be silly,’ Ray said. He then turned to the others and held his hand out. ‘Give me your phones.’
‘What?’ said Marga Man.
‘Come now, trust me,’ said Ray, ‘confidence in me, remember now.’ They all handed Ray their phones. ‘OK, you do some detective work, talk to the phone companies or whatever you do and let us know who’s been calling us, and where from. I know you can do that clever stuff.’
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br /> ‘But you lot get hundreds of phone calls, don’t you?’ the detective sergeant said, not sure how useful it would be.
‘Yes,’ said Ray, ‘but you only need to check the numbers that were withheld. There’s only a few of them, and the number we are looking for would appear on all our phones.’
It made sense to the detective. The others silently acknowledged that it was a good idea by touching fists, much to the officer’s amusement.
‘I’ll do it,’ said D.S. Horne. ‘I need twenty-four hours.’
‘Great,’ said Ray. As they were leaving Ray turned back. ‘Hey, I hope you guys mind your own business.’
‘What do you mean?’ D.S. Horne asked.
‘Well, only pay attention to the job in hand, don’t start doing market research and ringing up all my friends.’
D.S. Horne laughed. ‘Don’t worry, we’re professionals.’
That night, Marga Man ordered in food from their favourite Nigerian restaurant and they ate in at Ray’s place. They knew they were on to something, but Tyrone’s mind was on Sam and Ray’s mind was still looking for clues. After the meal Marga Man went home, dropping Tyrone off en route to see Sam. Prem stayed, and he ended up staying overnight. They slept fully clothed, two on the bed. When they woke up the next morning they were horrified by how close they had slept to each other, and Ray was even more horrified by the state of his flat. They made a deal, they were to clean up the flat before they did anything else. They tried.
* * *
About midday, just as Prem was about to leave for home, Marga Man turned up at the house. He was rushing manically.
‘Come on, let’s go. De police rang me at de shop, said dem have a result.’
Ray rang Tyrone and told him that they were on their way to the police station. Prem and Ray then raced down to the car and with the help of some highly illegal driving they were at the station in less than ten minutes. The desk sergeant was expecting them. He showed them into D.S. Horne’s office. As they sat down, Tyrone turned up puffing and panting and looking like he had had no sleep whatsoever.
‘Good to see you,’ said D.S. Horne. ‘We did the check with the phone company and we’ve found one mobile number that has rung all of you and the caller has always withheld the number. Sometimes he calls from an address in north London, and sometimes from central London.’
Gangsta Rap Page 21
