Who They Was

by Gabriel Krauze

  Davina is a good ting. She ain’t one of them dutty hood rats who love danger too much, who’ll link a man one day and then let his bredrin smash the next day, who get gassed if a man they’re linking rolls with a burner and shots crack or whatever, love the money more than anything, get hype off Gucci belts and thugged-out talk, will give a man brain in the traphouse. That’s what you call a badderz. Only good for a quick beat and then bye.

  Gyal like Davina might be from the hood, but they just want a better life for themselves even though they’ve long ago accepted that dreams are only meant to pass the time when you’re sleeping. Them kinda chicks are loyal forreal. If you end up in pen, they’ll ride it out and wait for you.

  Gets me thinking how recently it’s all been one fucked-up mess between me and Yinka. We haven’t spoken properly on the phone for months. Only time I’ve linked her it’s really just to beat and then we both drift away without looking back. She knew it was my birthday last week on the 5th of May and all she did was send me a text message. It popped up on my phone screen – Happy Birthday Gabriel, may all your dreams come true. Yinka xxx – while Bimz was pouring out cups of yak for me and the mandem, everyone toasting me like happy earth strong Snoopz, more life more life, and then I forgot to text Yinka back. She knows that I’m stuck in this life. Maybe she’s just waiting for some change. But I ain’t gonna change. I wear the same clothes to do a move as I wear to go uni. I kiss my girl soft n slow with the same lips I use to tell a man to go suck his mum. I stroke her hair with the same hand in which I hold my shank when I’m about to wet someone up. Anyway, more times I’m questioning if it really is love or just the ripeness of her body and her lips that draws me to her, makes my heart beat with excitement and my dick hard. When I’m not with her that’s when I start thinking I love her. When I am with her I know that I don’t. When she chases after my love I know she’s going to trip and I can’t prevent her falling. Most of our relationship is mad arguments and splitting up n shit. She’ll lock me off because I say I can’t meet her coz I’m doing suttin with Gotti or whoever. Then it’s back to square one, me telling my boys fuck her anyway, I’m done with that chick, while I write eleven text messages in one evening, proclaiming how I’ll finally change for her because nothing is more important than us. But really it’s because when I can’t have her, her body takes on some almost mythical form in my mind that I crave and I start remembering all the good shit. Her crashing into the back of me that time we went go-karting. Nights under her electric blanket. Her getting hyped off my bars at some clash in the ends. I don’t know. It’s gotten to the point where we split up every few months and then I’m always fucking around with next gyal.

  There was this one chick I was going out with in uni for a hot sec called Tiwa. Mad peng. Tall light-skinned ting with curly hair and a body that made any man stop and look twice like oh my days. She loved me off and bare man at uni were mad jealous. This one time, I went to her yard and while I was fingering her on her bed I stared up at a larger-than-life poster of Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. The whole room was on some little princess shit; fluffy pillows and teddy bears everywhere like she was gonna have a tea party with them after juicing all over my fingers. When I suggested putting on some slow jams, she said I hate that music and then gave me neckback, sucking and tossing me off onto her big olive oil breasts. I was like fuck this shit, this girl’s an eedyat. It all ended between us in some house party in uni halls, her chasing after me in tears while I shouted I’m done with you you fucking eedyat, I don’t need your stupidness around me and you can’t even lips me properly, which was true. She had this way of kissing me with her lips tightened up like she was afraid our teeth might smash into each other. All the mandem in uni thought I was mad for letting her go but I can’t just turn fool over some pretty gyal. Later though, I started wishing I was still with her but she wouldn’t reply to my messages and then she blocked my number coz I kept calling her. Now who’s the eedyat?

  Sometimes I wake up in the dead of night and I know I’m waiting for someone who I’ve always been connected to but who I haven’t met yet and the fact I can’t find her fills me with a sadness that always takes me by surprise. It goes away when I bun a zoot and go back to sleep and then I wake up in the morning with my dick hard, thinking about robbery. Anyway.

  We’ve been on the block for about two hours now and still no sign of this brer from the bookie’s. My belly grumbles and Mazey says I need some breakfast. Gotti spits over the railing of the staircase, says where dafuck is this brer. Mazey folds and re-folds his bandanna and Gotti says he ain’t gonna come now, it’s too late, the shop will be open by now and they don’t carry the p’s to the bank once it’s open. It’s jarring, but the adrenaline left us all longtime and we’re hungry, so we head back. Mazey yawns and says I’m tired and I say brudda you just woke up not long ago, what you on about? But I can feel it too, mad drained by all that readiness which came to nothing.

  We go to the shop in Precinct and I buy a can of KA Black Grape. Mazey gets a Ribena and a bag of Skittles. Then we go into the little caff next door and buy chicken patties before returning to Bimz’s yard.

  Gotti is mad restless, like his brain won’t stop ticking away as he looks through his phone. Mazey and Bimz are taking turns to play GTA: San Andreas, just running around shooting people, blowing up whips, getting as many stars as possible until they get wasted or get arrested and then they pass the controller. I’m bunning my last zoot. The emptiness of the day fills the room and clings to us.

  You man come follow me to get a draw, says Gotti, so me and Mazey get up and follow him out of the yard. I say I wanna cop one too and Gotti says yeah that’s deya my brudda, I got one yout in Craik Court waiting for us. We walk over to the block. Gotti buzzes some number and the door opens.

  As we go up to the first floor, I see two white nittys just ahead of Gotti, climbing the stairs, one of them holding a bottle of White Lightning. Without saying anything, Gotti leaps up the stairs to the landing and bangs one of the nittys in the back of his head. I take my little shank out and stab the second nitty who is closest to me in the top of his head. The blade bounces off his skull and he puts a hand to his head and goes aah what did I do? He drops to his knees like he’s checking the stairs for something. Gotti bangs the other nitty in the face and shouts you ain’t got my fucking money yeah? I jump up the stairs and get behind the nitty who Gotti just banged and shank him in the back of his neck. Blood starts leaking and the nitty says aah what the fuck and puts both of his hands to the back of his neck, squeezing tight, then he slumps sideways against the wall like he’s gonna drop. One of the flat doors on the landing opens and some older African man in glasses peers out of his hallway, says what’s going on and we say nothing boss. He looks at the two nittys like he’s looking at some mess on the floor and steps back in, closing the door. We go upstairs and Mazey says rah, Snoopz shanked that brer in the head like it was nuttin, and Gotti laughs and says that pussyole owed me money from when I shot him three bits of food, musta thought I’d never see him again or some shit and he laughs his usual AHAHAHA and then he knocks a door to get our draw.

  By the time we get downstairs the nittys have disappeared. Drops of blood left behind. I notice that my shank is broken. When I jooked that brer in the head, the blade bounced off his skull and the plastic handle snapped. I show Mazey like fam, I broke my shank on that brer’s head and Mazey says don’t lie, lemme see that. I’m like fam, that was my favourite little shank you know. Mazey says that’s a proper shame Snoopz, I don’t think they had any other ones like it in the shop, and then we walk back to Bimz’s yard to get charged.

  Later, we’re in Mazey’s room and we’ve just finished eating. The room smells of Chicken Cottage and punk. I’m on my phone messaging Mystery. Mystery is one chick Taz introduced me to when I was doing the music ting. She’s on this MCing ting as well, blatantly a tomboy, always rocking trackies and beanie hats but it can’t hide the fact she’s peng. The first time
I really clocked it was when she messaged me like do you wanna come round and write bars? I went to her yard and she was in a tracky but she wasn’t wearing a beanie. Long black hair like a Japanese ghost, satin yellow skin and I noticed her eyes were soft and oily like weed seeds. She’s nineteen, although she looks younger coz she’s mad petite. She’s got a one-year-old son but the dad is some wasteman who’s nowhere to be seen. I went round in the evening after she’d put her son to bed. We wrote lyrics to couple grime beats and then we ended up fucking on her sofa, bareback. Every now and again I holla for the linkage. Every now and again she hollas at me. You know how it goes.

  I message Mystery u wanna link up?

  She texts back yh cum thru this evening like 6 or something my mums got my son 4 2nite so u can stay.

  I message have u got a friend 4my boy?

  She replies yh I mite do still wots he like?

  So I describe Gotti and at the end I write he’s shower still and she messages back LOL yh I’ll holla at my girl to cum thru this evening x.

  I say yo Gotti, I got one link tonight in Harlesden, she says she’s got a friend for you, you on rolling? And he says course my brudda, I’m involved. We say lickle more to Mazey and cut.

  Gotti buys a bottle of Rémy Martin cognac, his favourite yak, from the corner shop that has the murder posters in the window. We jump on the tube from Queen’s Park and go Harlesden. Mystery actually lives on the road right opposite Krazy Needles where we got our Outlaw tattoos done. She answers the door and gives me a hug, tiptoeing while I bend down because she really is mad short and then she says wagwan to Gotti who says you arright yeah? I say this is Gotti and we go into the living room. Mystery’s bredrin is sitting on the sofa billing a zoot. Curvy dark-skinned ting with her hair relaxed, dressed up enough to look good but not enough to make it look like she’s trying. Mystery’s rocking baggy tracksuit bottoms and a little vest but she don’t need to wear nuttin special for me. Gotti and Mystery’s friend introduce themselves to each other and we all get comfortable on the two sofas and start chatting. Mystery leans against me. Gotti opens the bottle of Rémy Martin and two twos we’re all juicing and bunning, talking shit, listening to tunes and it’s a nice little vibe.

  It’s all dark outside. We’ve been vibesing together for a couple of hours when Mystery goes to the kitchen like she needs to get something and I follow her. She doesn’t turn the light on and there’s only the blueness of the night pouring in through the window in patches that hit the floor, the wall, the fridge, her face, eyes soft and oily like weed seeds. I lips her up, taste weed and cognac and that something else which no one can describe, that makes a kiss taste good. She moans and breathes hard and my hands are inside her tracksuit bottoms, grabbing her little backoff, and her hand goes into my tracksuit bottoms and pulls me out and I swear she can feel my heartbeat in her hand and then I turn her around, bend her over the kitchen table, pull down tracksuit bottoms and thong in one go and push myself into the warm, wet and tight and she says fuuuck you’re so big. You’re hitting it too deep and I say too deep? She says yeah like it’s scary, I can feel it in my belly and she laughs and I pull out and she turns around and smiles in the darkness. She kisses me softly, lips lips lips, and pushes me to sit down in a chair. Pulls my tracksuit bottoms and boxers down to my ankles, turns around and eases herself onto me, her pussy all next types of wetness and I think how it makes sense that water is a goddess and iron – like guns and shanks and hard dick – is a god. Then she rides me with her back to me and I am mesmerised as I always am with beautiful backoffs, two perfect curves that the universe invented, and I jus wanna bite dat I say. She lets me. Later we creep out into the hallway in case Gotti and his ting are beating and we go into Mystery’s bedroom and do it all over again and then I buss all over her back and fall asleep.

  I wake up mad early in the morning. It’s not even gone past eight. The house sighs. Mystery is asleep. I get out of bed. Looking around the room I see pieces of my life scattered about without any sense of order. My black Nike hoodie on the floor. An empty weed bag with green dust at the bottom. Black and white Nike Air Max 90s. The shank with the broken green handle on the bedside table. An empty can of KA Black Grape. My diamond teeth. Mystery’s shaved pussy like a polished stone.

  I put my tracksuit on and go to the front room, slowly pushing the door open because I don’t wanna disturb Gotti and his ting. Gotti is lying on one sofa and the chick on the other. They both look pretty much how they looked last night apart from the creases of sleep. Gotti opens his eyes and says wagwan fam? Wagwan brudda you bless? He sits up and says what time is it? My battery died. I say I’ll see if Mystery has a charger and I look at the girl on the sofa who’s still fast asleep and say did you beat? Nah not even, says Gotti and then, you got any dro left? Nah it done last night. Gotti goes over to where the chick’s handbag is, on the floor by the sofa, looks through it, pulls out a bag of punk which is still half full and takes out a bud. I say brudda. He says she ain’t gonna notice that and laughs. I laugh and say nah, you’re badmind fam. He sits on the sofa and bills it. We smoke in silence while morning breaks the sky open. Then Gotti says fuck it, goes over to her bag and takes out a next bud so there’s only some dusty leaves and a few crumbs of dro left, not even enough for a tiny zoot. He drops the baggie on the floor by her handbag and comes back to the sofa and I say you’re moving savage brudda.

  Two twos the girl wakes up and says hello. Gotti is sitting there bunning a big zoot, staring at the ceiling. The chick looks down at her handbag, sees the baggy next to it, picks it up between two fingers, looks at it and says are you fucking taking the piss? You smoked my loud, she says to Gotti, raising her voice. Gotti kisses his teeth and says I only took a little bud. A little bud? Are you mad? I still had half my fucking draw left, don’t try take me for some dickhead and Gotti says seckle yourself and stop shouting man. The girl says I can’t believe this and kisses her teeth mad loud. She gets up and walks out of the room and I can hear her going into Mystery’s bedroom where she starts letting off. Gotti carries on smoking and we can proper hear the chick saying whatdafuck is wrong with that brer, he bunned my whole draw while I was sleeping. Gotti finishes the zoot, drops the roach into the empty Rémy Martin bottle – hear the hiss as the ember hits dregs of yak – says fuck it and goes over to the chick’s handbag. He pulls out her wallet, opens it and takes all the notes – two tens and a twenty – and stuffs them into his pocket. Come we duck he says and I’m creasing up, nah you’re fuckery brudda, and then he starts laughing too. Mystery and her bredrin walk into the living room. Mystery says I’m sorry Snoopz but— and Gotti says it’s calm, we’re going anyway. I’m like I’ll holla at you later to Mystery and Mystery’s friend says you’re taking the fucking piss. We walk out of the door and the sun spills all over us and we’re proper benning up laughing. But it’s a shame though, his ting was kinda peng still. I woulda definitely beat it.

  THE PRINCE

  Nothing brings a prince more prestige than great campaigns and striking demonstrations of his personal abilities.

  Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

  LEMME TELL YOU about my brother Rex. Rex was in the William Hill on Willesden High Road. One hour before closing time, bare heads tryna find that last win of the night, punching the roulette machines as they lost their money. Two cashiers at the till were busy paying out, checking tickets, whatever. Rex went into the toilet where there was a closet under the sink, opened it, squeezed himself in and shut the door. An hour later, he heard the cashiers telling everyone closing time, the stragglers shuffling out, someone opening the door to the toilets, switching off the lights and then the door to the bookie getting locked from the inside, before the cashiers started preparing to go home. Rex jumped out of the closet under the sink holding a 9 mill, gloves on, bally over his face and ran out of the men’s toilet. The two cashiers didn’t know what was happening. They were behind the counter, putting jackets on over their William Hill shirts as Rex vaulted o
ver, grabbed one and cracked him over the head with the strap. He told the other one to open the safe but the brer said they didn’t have the code. Rex gunbucked the cashier he was holding again and the brer dropped to the floor semi-conscious. Then Rex cocked the strap, grabbed the one who said he didn’t know the code, stuck the nozzle of the nine under his chin and told him to open the safe. Eight bags in there. Eight thousand pounds. The key to the shop door was still in the lock. Before leaving, Rex gunbucked the brer who’d finally remembered the code to the safe – I clapped his face off brudda, he told me – and then he walked to the door, tucked the mash into his waistline, put the rucksack of money over one shoulder and stepped out into the night. His getaway driver got shook and ghosted, so Rex had to run down Willesden High Road with his bally on, cold metal rubbing against his dick as he ran, bag full of p’s bouncing on his shoulder. Later, when he heard about my move for thirty bags he said that shoulda been me n you brudda, and I said William Hill shoulda been me n you, and he said I know.

  He’s my brother in a way that no one else is. It’s not like me and Gotti where it’s all about eats and scatty moves and getting high on adrenaline all the time. We’ve known each other for way longer. He was always getting gassed off my lyrics when I used to clash next MCs and when I met him I recognised the realness right away. Type of person who’ll really show you how effective moral principles are when you’re staring down the barrel of a burner. I bumped into him one day on Kilburn High Road and he was going through some real hard times; his mum had kicked him out, he was sixteen, living in some shitty hostel full of nittys and his mum had taken his stack so he had no p’s, which meant no food, no weed, no sleep. I was eighteen at the time, I hadn’t done any big boy moves yet and I didn’t really have any p’s myself. But I had a draw and I’d just eaten some chicken n chips. I gave him my last twenty and he never forgot it.