Origins- the Road to Power

by Ricky Black

  ‘He’s a drunk, L. A proper loser. He’s got a few kids running for him and even they rip him off. He’s no good for us.’

  ‘We have to start somewhere, Shorty. Set the meeting up.’

  Shorty shrugged. ‘Fine. If this fucks up though, it’s on you.’

  Days later, Shorty and Lamont stood outside Louie’s place. The house itself was unforgettable. It was a ramshackle terraced spot with shutters over the windows and a brown front door with the paint peeling from it. Leading the way, Shorty knocked. After a few moments, they heard movement and what sounded like cursing. Soon both doors had been unlocked and an old man glared out at them.

  ‘Shorty? What do you want now?’ Louie growled. He was a stunted man with a round belly, fleshy face and a copious amount of grizzled facial hair. He wore a pair of greying tracksuit bottoms and a rumpled sweater.

  ‘You know what I want. I’m here to do business, unless you want to do it out here?’

  ‘Who’s he?’ the man looked at Lamont now. Lamont met his gaze.

  ‘He’s my boy. I told you about him. He’s with me in this thing.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Lamont.’

  ‘Surname?’ Louie all but shouted.

  ‘Jones. His surname is Jones,’ Shorty muttered.

  ‘Jones . . . Carmen Jones?’ Louie’s eyes were wistful. Lamont didn’t have to ask how he knew the name.

  ‘She’s my Auntie.’

  ‘Come in. Quickly.’

  The living room looked even worse than the outside of the house. Cleaning evidently wasn’t one of Louie’s talents. There were plates of food on the coffee table, everything covered in a fine layer of dust.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Louie, sitting in a dilapidated armchair. The pair remained standing. ‘Fine. Suit yourselves. What do you want?’

  Lamont started to speak, but Shorty beat him to it.

  ‘You know what we want. An ounce of coke. You’ll get your fee back plus interest when we move it.’

  Louie took a second to reply, loudly sucking his teeth. The sound was disgusting, but both boys ignored it.

  ‘I give you that, I’m shorting myself. It’s bad enough I’ve got little kids out there making me look dumb trying to rip me off. People think I don’t know, but I do.’ Louie met Lamont’s eyes, then Shorty’s.

  ‘That’s between you and your people. We’re looking to get our feet in the door. Furthermore, we already talked about this, so why are you messing around?’ Shorty’s voice rose.

  ‘Because I’ve already got one set of people ripping me off. You lot might make it two sets, and then I’m losing out even more. I dunno if it’s worth it. Not without summat up front.’ Louie picked his words carefully. Shorty’s hands balled into fists, a prominent vein throbbing from his neck.

  ‘You’re taking the piss.’

  ‘I’m not trying to—’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me,’ Shorty thundered. ‘I don’t care what little pricks you’ve got juggling for you on the streets. Never think you can treat me and my people like shit, understand?’

  Louie nodded, swallowing hard. ‘I’m not trying to mess you around, but I have to do what I think is right.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You’re a slanger. Take that save the streets shit elsewhere, because this is business. You said we were getting an ounce, so we’re not leaving without one.’

  ‘What, so now you’re threatening me?’ Louie shouted. Lamont saw Louie’s hand slip into his pocket. In his rage Shorty seemed to have missed the movement. The whole thing was getting out of hand.

  ‘Does anyone want a drink?’

  Lamont’s words were even, but had the desired effect. Louie and Shorty stopped shouting.

  ‘You what?’ Louie had taken little notice of the quiet Jones boy. He wore a black crewneck sweater and jeans, and had an air of healthy confidence about him.

  ‘I’m thirsty. I’d like a drink. Does anyone else want one?’ Lamont replied.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a beer,’ Louie said slowly, unsure of what was going on.

  ‘Shorty, can you get Louie a beer please while I speak to him?’

  Shorty glared at Lamont but rather than argue, he stomped to the kitchen. There was another moment of silence when he left, both men trying to feel the other out.

  ‘So, you know my Auntie,’ Lamont finally spoke. Louie assessed the words before he replied.

  ‘I know a few members of your family. I knew your mother too,’ he looked Lamont in the eyes. ‘You look a lot like her.’

  Lamont felt a jolt in his stomach at the mention of his mother. Louie wasn’t the first to say this. People had been saying it to him all his life, and every time they did, he had the same feeling.

  ‘So I’ve heard. You and my Auntie . . . was it serious?’

  ‘Why?’ Louie’s tone was suspicious. Lamont maintained the eye contact. He stood by the window, the light from outside the dirty windows illuminating his profile, making him appear more dominant, bathed in the brightness.

  ‘She raised me after my parents died. I guess I just don’t understand what men saw in her.’

  ‘You don’t?’ Louie raised his bushy eyebrows. Lamont laughed, conceding the point. He was old enough to understand the sexual effect women had on men.

  ‘Okay, maybe I don’t want to see it from that angle.’

  ‘Your Auntie, she was something special. Even now, people still talk about her in her heyday,’ Louie paused, checking if Lamont seemed offended before he went on. ‘She had this wild energy. Pure passion. She could go in a room and get any guy she wanted. Any guy!’ Louie’s voice rose. Lamont gave him a moment before he spoke.

  ‘And she wanted you.’ It wasn’t a question. The answer was already clear.

  ‘You probably see me as some grubby old man, but back then, I had the wardrobe, the jewellery, a big car. People waited around for me. I guess your Auntie liked that because we started spending time together,’ Louie’s eyes darkened then. ‘She used me. Got what she wanted . . . money, powder, everything, and then she just switched. Didn’t avoid me or anything; she just changed. When a woman as passionate as your Auntie turns cold on you, you feel horrible. That was how I felt. Ill.’ Louie’s words were tinged with a sadness that Lamont himself understood.

  What Rochelle had taken from him was far worse than any money, or clothes or jewellery. She had taken his heart.

  Lamont had spoken to no-one about it, not even Marcus. At times, he felt he was over his feelings, and then they would intensify, returning more powerful than ever. Lamont needed to convince Louie, because he had no intention of ending up like him.

  ‘I understand, Louie. Really, I do.’

  Louie seemed surprised at Lamont’s sincerity for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed.

  ‘I wanna ask you summat now.’

  Lamont nodded.

  ‘Why do you wanna sell drugs?’

  ‘Why not?’ Lamont quickly replied, before he’d even considered the question. Louie shook his head.

  ‘Seriously. Be straight up.’

  ‘I need to. You weren’t the only one who got bled by my Auntie. Any money my parents might have left, I never saw. I remember the wild parties she held that I had to clean up after though. As a kid,’ Lamont shook away the memories, focusing, determined to make the older man understand. ‘I need to build something and this is the best way to do it.’

  ‘You’re different though. I can see that. You can fit in out there, in that normal world. You don’t need to stay in the darkness.’

  ‘The other reason I need to do this,’ Lamont went on as if he hadn’t heard Louie, ‘is because I had someone I cared about too, and she screwed me over. The normal life is what I might have had with her, but that’s done. I always listen to my instincts, and when my instincts tell me to do something, I do it. More importantly, I make sure I do it better than anyone else.’

  Neither spoke now, knowing a level of understanding connected them. Shorty
re-entered the room. He gave Lamont a funny look and handed the beer to Louie.

  ‘What’s the deal then?’ he said, his voice still thick with anger. Louie rose with a grunt and went upstairs. He returned and handed a carrier bag to Lamont.

  ‘There’s two ounces in there. Shorty knows the price. Come back when you have my end, plus ten percent.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Monday 4 May 1998

  Neither Lamont nor Shorty spoke after leaving Louie. Lamont glanced around as they walked, his earlier confidence buried. Chapeltown was full of predators, and the police were always around in some form. The last thing they needed was to get caught with drugs.

  The fear propelled Lamont forward, his step quickening. Shorty moved more assuredly next to him. He didn’t look daunted about walking with drugs. Instead, Shorty looked thoughtful.

  ‘I heard what you said to Louie,’ he finally broke the silence. Lamont didn’t respond, though by the look in his eyes, it was obvious he had heard his friend speaking. ‘Who did you catch feelings over?’

  Lamont stopped, turning toward Shorty. Shorty was taken aback by the seriousness etched into every line of Lamont’s face.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever. Okay?’ Lamont’s tone was chilling, and Shorty nodded.

  ‘Fine,’ Shorty changed the subject. ‘I’m gonna link up with K-Bar. We’ll cut and bag these ounces. He’s getting hold of the equipment for us, so I’ll get at you when it’s done. There’s this crackhead named Chalky. He’ll let us use his place.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  When Lamont entered his home, the noise from the TV was deafening. Auntie sat in the living room, watching her evening soaps with a cup of coffee. She glanced at Lamont standing in the doorway. A frown appeared on her face but she didn’t say a word. Instead, she turned her attention back to the TV.

  Lamont headed upstairs, smiling at the reaction. Auntie had grown comfortable with Lamont giving her money. It was why she hadn’t pushed back after their argument. As much as she disliked him, Lamont knew Auntie would do anything to make sure the cash continued coming in.

  Upstairs, Lamont tried to read a book, but found himself restless. He made some food in the kitchen, washing the tasteless microwave meal down with a glass of water, thinking about the venture they were undertaking.

  Convincing Louie to give him a package was only the first step. Selling weed was relatively safe. They dealt mostly with people he knew and there was no real danger. Cocaine, crack and heroin were different ball-games. The stakes were larger and people were willing to maim to keep what was theirs. Lamont needed to be tough, but more importantly, he would have to use his brain like he never had before. It was vital that he succeed.

  Lamont thought again to the Mercedes Benz; the cool assuredness of the man driving it. The way Shorty had spoken about him. Ricky had it all. A flash car, money, a reputation . . . Rochelle.

  Putting his plate in the sink, Lamont quickly washed and dried it then left the house, needing some air.

  Lamont moved along the streets with his head down, fighting the urge to yawn. He was tired after the day but he knew if he laid down, he wouldn’t sleep. He was wired, his brain refusing to shut down, to stop thinking about Rochelle. Lamont hated himself for the weakness. He wanted to be more like Marcus and Shorty. They could effortlessly detach from whatever girls they were seeing. They were ruthless, and that was what Lamont wanted to be. He wanted to be callous. Cold.

  He couldn’t help but yearn for her though. He only had to close his eyes to remember the feel of Rochelle’s body against his, the parting of her mouth as she moaned, the sexual dynamite in her eyes just waiting to explode. So many months had gone by, but Lamont could still see it all, and it was killing him. He had messed around with other girls since, but Rochelle was burrowed under his skin.

  Lamont’s feet took him to Chapeltown Road. He stood outside Warsaw Stores, one shop amongst a row, staring straight ahead. Street lights threw the row into prominence. Lamont wasn’t the only one hanging around, but the older men gave him his space, talking in loud tones.

  Lamont thought of Rochelle, and of prison. Most of all, the thoughts of failing were overwhelming to the point of crippling him. He closed his eyes. He needed this. He needed to succeed.

  ‘Lamont?’

  He almost didn’t hear the soft voice calling him, but looked up instinctively as a girl walked confidently towards him. It took a second before he realised they’d gone to the same school. She wore a black jacket, fitted denim jeans and flat shoes, carrying a leather portfolio and a handbag. Her skin was a butterscotch shade that seemed to gleam under the streetlights. Lamont found his depressive thoughts dissipating slightly under an obvious beauty he didn’t recall her having a year ago.

  ‘Layla, how are you doing?’ he said after finding his tongue.

  ‘Good. Just coming back from college. How are you though? I haven’t seen you since school ended. Didn’t you go to the end-of-year party?’

  Lamont shook his head. He’d heard that Erica and some of her friends were organising a party, but he had given it a miss.

  ‘I couldn’t make it. So, how’s college? Are you still wanting to be a solicitor?’ Lamont remembered Layla’s passion from school. Her eyes widened slightly, and he could tell she was surprised at him remembering.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right. I’m loving college. It’s good to be around new people and the classes I’m taking are enjoyable. What are you doing with your days?’

  Lamont shrugged. ‘Would you believe me if I said I was still trying to find myself?’

  Layla grinned, looking at Lamont’s tracksuit and expensive trainers. It didn’t take a genius to work out what he was into, and it was made obvious by his vague answer. Layla had spotted him when she was sitting on the bus, and the sorrow in his eyes intrigued her enough to get off the bus a few stops early to speak to him. They had only spoken a few times in school, but this somehow felt different.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, but talking about whatever it is might help.’

  ‘I’ve just got things on my mind. It’s not even worth putting into words.’

  ‘That means women.’

  Lamont grinned, but didn’t deny it. Traffic whizzed along behind them. A kid and his friend dribbled a football down the road, passing it between them and keeping it from the edge of the pavement. For a moment, Lamont remembered doing the same thing as a kid. He watched them harder than he should have. Layla entered Warsaw Stores whilst he was distracted and bought herself a bottle of water.

  ‘Well . . . It was nice running into you, L, but I’m gonna go. I got off the bus to speak to you, but I have an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Where are you walking to?’

  ‘St Martin’s.’

  ‘Can I walk with you?’

  Layla nodded, and they began walking up Chapeltown Road. Lamont felt himself warming to Layla as the conversation flowed. She told funny stories about college and they shared memories from school. He ambled along, feeling freer than he had in a long while.

  Layla was surprised at Lamont. She remembered him chasing after Erica in school and stuttering around women. Now, Lamont was more confident and direct. He smiled easily, but Layla couldn’t help but notice that his eyes, a beautiful rosewood shade, were hard, none of the supposed joy reaching them. It was thought provoking. By the time they reached Layla’s house, the pace of their walking had slowed, trying to make the talk last.

  ‘Well, here we are,’ Layla said, motioning to her house. ‘It was nice running into you, L.’

  ‘You too. I’m glad you’re doing well. I’d like to stay in touch if it’s cool with you? Feels weird to reconnect and then forget about each other again.’

  Layla smiled, reaching into her portfolio and writing her number on some paper. She handed it to Lamont.

  ‘You’re right. Ring me and we’ll hang out sometime.’

 
Lamont grinned and hugged Layla, enjoying the feel of her slim curves against his body. He inhaled a vanilla scent and pulled away slightly.

  ‘I’ll speak to you soon.’

  The next morning, Auntie stormed into Lamont’s room at the crack of dawn. He snored gently, his head burrowed into a simple white pillow.

  ‘Lamont! Wake up!’

  ‘What do you want?’ Lamont yawned, not even opening his eyes.

  Auntie’s eyes narrowed. ‘I want some money. Do you know how much things cost around here?’

  Kissing his teeth, Lamont clambered from the bed.

  ‘Get out of my room. I’ll bring it down to you.’

  Auntie gaped at him, fury resonating in her eyes.

  ‘Who the hell are you talking to?’

  Lamont looked at her, not at all bothered by the outburst.

  ‘If you want your money, leave.’

  Glaring at her nephew for a long moment, Auntie turned on her heel and flounced from the room. When he heard her stomping back down the stairs, Lamont smiled, happy to have won another verbal spar. He washed and dressed, sauntering downstairs with four ten-pound notes. Laying them on the kitchen table, he was about to walk back out when Auntie called after him.

  ‘What’s this?’ Her lip curled.

  ‘You wanted money. There’s your money,’

  ‘This isn’t enough. I need more.’

  ‘Tough. You’ll get the rest on Friday. Until then, make it last.’ Without even waiting for Auntie to reply, Lamont walked out of the house, realising with a jolt that he was thinking of Layla, and not Rochelle.

  Lamont was in his room reading when the call came through. K-Bar met him outside Auntie’s, and they drove to Chalky’s place. He lived near Bankside, close to Lamont’s home. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. When they entered, Shorty was in the kitchen, the drugs haphazardly wrapped. There was cocaine residue on numerous surfaces, but Chalky was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘We’re good to go, L. We’ve got everything cooked and bagged. Chalky’s putting the word out that we’ve got some strong shit, and I’ve let my people know, so it’s time to get cracking.’