Origins- the Road to Power

by Ricky Black

  Lamont considered that information, sitting back and allowing Marcus and Junior to hold a conversation. He was making more money than he could manage. Some of it was lent to people at extortionate rates that they had to pay back. Most was invested into buying more drugs. He’d bought a stake of the barbers, and funded a few smaller businesses, but he lived in fear that he would lose it all, a fact Junior had cottoned onto immediately.

  Lamont resolved to speak with Martin and his solicitor, and ensure everything was watertight.

  ‘What did you think then?’

  Lamont and Marcus were in town drinking beers. They’d gone to get some food after leaving Junior’s, then Marcus suggested hitting the city centre.

  ‘He’s shrewd.’

  Marcus nodded. ‘He came up alongside Karma, Delroy and Mitch. You needed to be ruthless back then to survive, but Junior played them all and stayed out of the crossfire.’

  Lamont lifted his beer. ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘Did a job. Took something from the wrong person. Junior reached out, and I sent his guy packing. Gave him a few slaps and told him I was keeping what I took.’

  ‘What did Junior do?’

  Marcus grinned. ‘He reached out again through some guys I respected, and they set up a meeting. This was in like 97/98. We spoke, and I guess I realised he would benefit me. I never gave him the work back, but I did other jobs he put me onto, and paid him back ten times over. He’s given me money in the past, and even saved money and invested it. He’s a good guy to know, that’s why I wanted you to meet him.’

  Lamont scratched his chin, glancing around the bar. It was fairly quiet, unsurprising as it was a Monday night. A few people having after work drinks were milled around, but nothing major.

  ‘Has he ever advised you to invest?’

  ‘All the time.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. I like my money where I can see it. I don’t know nothing about stocks and investments and all that shit. If I don’t have money, I just go out and make more.’

  ‘Is that enough for you?’

  Marcus surveyed Lamont with a long look.

  ‘Blood, I’m not you. I don’t hoard money, because we’re in the jungle, and I can always make more. Junior’s been telling me about investments for the longest. He has loads of money but that’s his thing. My thing is just to keep doing what I’m doing. When people step out of line, I show them. I enjoy spending money more than I enjoy saving it.’

  The friends didn’t speak much after that. Lamont understood Marcus’s mindset in a way. It was similar to the mindset of other criminals Lamont knew; they lived for today and barely considered tomorrow. Lamont had never been able to live that way, and he would not start now.

  Friday 18 August 2000

  Lamont stared out of the taxi window as it pulled to a stop outside a house on Francis Street in the Hood. As Shorty paid the driver, Lamont surveyed the house, noticing the loud music shaking the ground. He didn’t know whose party it was. Shorty had called, told him to throw on some clothes, and they were off.

  ‘Shorty, good to see you.’ A svelte woman in a t-shirt and equally tight jeans opened the front door. She kissed Shorty on the cheek before turning her eyes on Lamont.

  ‘You too, Tash. This is Teflon.’

  Lamont noted Tash’s eyes widening. Teflon was a nickname Shorty and K-Bar had given him, mockingly proclaiming that nothing ever stuck to him, and that he was some wannabe Mob boss. Lamont had stopped protesting, mostly because he knew the pair wouldn’t listen. It was a surprise that Tash seemed to know him though.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Teflon. C’mon in, babe, have a drink.’

  They did the rounds. Shorty knew everyone, and couldn’t move without people stopping him to speak. He introduced Lamont and everyone that heard his nickname had the same awed reaction, following up with attempts to hold a conversation. Shorty left him in a corner saying he’d be back soon.

  Lamont sipped the brandy and coke Tash had fetched, listening to the music in silence, tuning out the buzzing noise of the party. He didn’t know how to interact with the party-goers. They were from the same area with similar experiences, but life was different for Lamont. He was different. Appearance wise, he dressed the same as many of the guys in attendance; navy crew-necked t-shirt, jeans and Air Max trainers. His mindset set him apart though, and his cold eyes. Not that he knew that.

  A movement caught his eye and Lamont noticed a girl dancing at the other side of the living room. His eyes were drawn to long legs that the tight jeans and boots only helped accentuate. Feeling his eyes on her, the girl danced a while longer, watching Lamont the whole time. He held the stare, a mirthless smirk flitting over his features.

  She beckoned him over, but Lamont didn’t move, killing the instinctive part of him that wanted to go to her. She took the hint, moving to him, ignoring the three guys who tried speaking to her on the way. She stood in front of Lamont, taking in his frame.

  ‘What you drinking?’

  In response, Lamont held out the plastic cup. The girl took a sip, wiping her mouth and giving it back. She’d missed some residue, the liquid hanging on her plump bottom lip. Lamont’s eyes flickered to it.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘My friends call me L.’ Lamont didn’t ask her name. Part of him wanted to, but the past had him tethered, and he was different now.

  ‘Okay, L. I’m Kim.’

  Lamont smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘Do you know Tash then?’

  ‘We went to school together. Carr Manor. Where did you go?’

  Lamont told her. He learned they had people in common and before long, an hour had passed. Lamont had finished three drinks and still couldn’t see Shorty. Kim stayed by his side the whole night and even now she pressed against him, swaying to the music. Lamont blearily scanned the room, noting at least half a dozen guys glaring in his direction and grumbling to one another.

  ‘Wanna come and have a drink at my place?’

  Lamont needed less than a second to decide.

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Kim’s place was a small, one-bedroomed spot near Roundhay Road. It appeared clean, with cream walls and bright furniture. Kim signalled for Lamont to sit down. She’d had more drink than Lamont, and this was evident in her movements. Without asking what he wanted, Kim came with half a bottle of brandy. She drank from the bottle, then handed it to Lamont. Kim clutched him tightly on the sofa, gazing through lidded eyes.

  Lamont put the bottle on the coffee table, tracing Kim’s jaw, drawing her even closer. His mouth covered hers, the kiss deepening. Kim moaned in his mouth, practically sitting on Lamont’s lap as he clutched her body. His brain was surprisingly coherent, recalling the moves that worked for him.

  Kim’s moans increased, and soon Lamont peeled her out of her clothing, kissing her as Kim grinded on him, enamoured and wanting more. She tugged at Lamont’s jeans and boxer shorts, devouring him with her warm mouth, causing Lamont to let out a hiss of pleasure. Her motions increased, the suction her mouth provided causing Lamont’s body to jerk. Lamont collapsed onto the sofa, panting as Kim looked into his eyes, her mouth moist. Composing herself, she took his hand and led him upstairs.

  Morning came, and Lamont’s eyes slowly opened. He didn’t recognise the room, but the previous night's actions quickly came back. Kim was fast asleep, her arm draped across his bare chest, her hair cascading over her face.

  Lamont disentangled himself and quickly dressed, uninterested in a repeat performance. Without even looking back at the bed, Lamont made his way downstairs, located Kim’s key and left.

  It wasn’t far to his flat, so Lamont walked rather than call a taxi. He was glad he hadn’t been steaming drunk. His mouth was dry but other than that, he seemed to have avoided a hangover. He couldn’t help but wonder about people’s reactions to him.

  As soon as Shorty had dropped the name Teflon last night, people had treated him with a cert
ain reverence. He planned on speaking to Shorty and clarifying exactly what his friend had said. Putting all thoughts out of his head, Lamont quickened his step, looking forward to having a shower and going back to sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saturday 2 September 2000

  Shorty and Lamont were indoors. A heatwave had recently hit Leeds with a vengeance, and Shorty lay on the sofa with his eyes closed. Lamont sat upright in his chair, apparently lost in thought.

  ‘What time’s the meet?’ said Lamont.

  ‘K’ll be there now. It better go as planned too, or I’m gonna smack up Terry.’ Shorty didn’t even open his eyes.

  ‘Terry knows what he’s doing. No reason it shouldn’t go to plan,’ said Lamont. Privately, he was concerned. Terry had been cool for a while after they murdered Blanka, but now he was overly cocky, walking around the streets like he owned them.

  ‘He’s a flake. Always has been. Raider and them lot nearly killed him after he flirted with Keisha that time.’

  ‘Terry tried it on with Raider’s sister?’ Lamont asked. Raider was a loud maniac, with a reputation similar to Marcus’s.

  ‘He’s a clown. Watch he doesn’t try that with Marika.’

  ‘Rika would chew him up. You know what my sister’s like,’ said Lamont. Shorty laughed.

  ‘Raider’s sis isn’t all that, anyway. I tapped it last year.’

  ‘Jesus, you need testing.’ Lamont shook his head.

  ‘How do you know I didn’t use a rubber?’

  Lamont glanced at Shorty. He had a small smirk on his face, eyes still closed.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘She didn’t gimme a chance. Got myself checked after though. Clean as a whistle.’

  ‘For now.’

  Shorty sat up. ‘Fuck off. You need to get out there and start sampling these chicks.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’

  ‘Are you sleeping with someone on the sly?’ Shorty sounded interested now. Lamont just smirked, not bothering to reply. ‘Tell me, man. I tell you about all of mine. Who are you fucking?’

  Lamont was about to speak, when they heard a rush of quick footsteps. The door opened and K-Bar bounded into the room, panting.

  ‘What happened?’ Lamont asked, letting K-Bar catch his breath.

  ‘Got rushed at the meet. Police licked us,’ K-Bar pulled off his damp hoody and slid into a weathered armchair. Several of his dreads stuck to his forehead. Impatiently, he brushed them away.

  ‘Did you lose them before you came here?’ Shorty demanded. K-Bar cut his eyes to him.

  ‘I was careful. Had to drop the pack though,’

  ‘Where’s Terry?’ Shorty stood now, tense.

  ‘He ran. All of us did. Everyone went in different directions trying to throw them off.’

  ‘We need to go find him. He planned this deal. He needs to make it right.’

  ‘Boss, I didn’t know it was gonna happen either.’

  They were at Terry’s place, a spot he was renting in Chapel Allerton. It was a three-bedroom place, the living room hosting a gigantic flat-screen TV, along with a DVD player and the usual medley of action DVDs. Lamont glanced at a copy of the film Commando. Terry reclined on his cheap sofa, sipping a beer.

  ‘We lost half a box, Terry. You organised the meet, and you were supposed to protect our interests,’ said Lamont. K-Bar and Shorty brooded behind him, glaring at Terry.

  ‘Half is nowt.’ Terry waved his hand.

  ‘We feel differently.’ Lamont kept his eyes glued to Terry, who sat up, rubbing his palms on his trousers.

  ‘It’s your damn fault, so you’re taking the hit,’ Shorty cut in, tired of the slow dance.

  ‘You what?’ Terry frowned.

  ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. K said you rolled to the spot in a Porsche. How hot is that?’

  ‘It was a TVR. What’s the big deal? It’s a rental.’

  ‘It draws attention, Terry. What we do isn’t supposed to draw attention,’ Lamont added.

  ‘I’ve been doing this longer than you lot. I know the game.’

  ‘That means you should know what you can and can’t do. What we need to decide is where to go from here.’

  ‘If you’ve got a couple more boxes knocking around, we can do the deal now,’ said Terry. Lamont shook his head.

  ‘We don’t walk around with stuff—’

  ‘—Yo, you need to pay back what we lost before you talk about more business,’ Shorty snapped.

  ‘It wasn’t my bloody fault. Why should I have to pay for that?’

  ‘Are you retarded, you forgetful prick? Didn’t we just explain why?’

  Terry turned to Lamont. ‘Mate, call off your dog.’

  Grabbing Terry by the throat, Shorty dragged him from the chair and punched him in the stomach. Terry folded from the blow, collapsing to his knees and dry-heaving.

  ‘Shorty, that’s enough,’ Lamont pulled him back. Shakily, Terry staggered to his feet, pale and wincing. ‘You want to do further business, Terry, you take the hit. Not us. You need to pay the difference, plus an extra two thousand, as a reminder not to mess up again,’ said Lamont. Behind him, Shorty breathed hard, furiously eyeing Terry. Terry swallowed, his upper lip trembling.

  ‘Fine . . . only because I wanna do more business with you lot though,’ he glanced towards the door. ‘Wait here and I’ll go get it.’

  Lamont made a decision right then. He would finish the deal, then he would distance himself from Terry Worthy. His help with Blanka aside, the man was a magnet for trouble.

  Thursday 21 September 2000

  Lamont fiddled with the zip on his black jacket, looking both ways as he crossed the road and entered the Italian restaurant. He was shown to a table.

  ‘Would you like a drink, sir?’

  ‘A gin and tonic, please,’ Lamont replied to the waiter. He settled back, waiting for the man he’d come to meet, to speak.

  ‘Thanks for coming, L,’ the man finally said. He wrung his hands together and took furtive sips from a glass of water. He was sallow-skinned, with lank black hair and a wispy moustache. His eyes were a washed shade of blue, beset with reddish, crisscrossed veins.

  ‘You didn’t leave much choice,’ Lamont’s tone was mild. Colin Leary was a former heavyweight. Once upon a time he’d yielded power within the Leeds night scene, using money earned from cashing in on selling ecstasy to set up a nightclub. People flocked and money flowed. Colin made friends with up and coming young gangs, allowing them to sell discreetly for a fee within his club. Everything ran smoothly until recently, where it all exploded.

  Colin looked around the room, nearly jumping from his seat when the staff returned with Lamont’s drink.

  ‘Calm down,’ Lamont told him. Colin rubbed the back of his neck, wetting his dry lips.

  ‘They’re after me, L. They threatened to chop my kid’s head off if I didn’t give them eighty grand.’

  ‘So, why don’t you?’

  ‘No! I-I haven’t done anything wrong,’ Colin’s voice shook, several tears tumbling down his pale cheeks. Lamont signalled for the staff to bring more water and handed Colin a tissue.

  Colin had a point. All he had done was make friends with two rising hotheads, Parker and Blotto. The pair started out doing robberies, branching out to drugs, loans and whatever else they could get away with. Despite being reckless and temperamental, they made a cunning pair, skilled at staying out of trouble.

  When a West Indian gang hailing from Tivoli gardens in Kingston demanded Parker and Blotto start paying a percentage of their drug money, the pair laughed it off.

  A few weeks later, Blotto was leaving a restaurant with his girlfriend, when the pair were set upon by two men wielding knives. Blotto fought them off, but was stabbed twice. He lost a lot of blood and was taken to hospital. Parker refused to back down and shot up the house of one of the suspected gangsters. Unfortunately, he and his crew picked the wrong house, narrowly missing the six-year-old son of another
Yardie, this man a known shooter.

  Since then, the war had escalated, and Colin was forced into the conflict when his bouncers were shot at and jumped. He was also robbed and had his Porsche convertible set on fire. Parker assured Colin he would handle it, but he and Blotto were on the move, hiding underground and trying to plan a counter.

  In the meantime, Colin was left in the open, easy prey for the Yardie gangsters. Colin reached out to Lamont in his panic, and here they were.

  ‘That’s the life we’re in. Whether or not you’ve done anything wrong, you’re involved. Guilty by association.’

  Colin wiped his eyes. The waiters were hovering, but looked reluctant to approach. Lamont shook his head, and they dispersed.

  ‘Can you help me?’

  ‘How?’ Lamont leaned toward Colin, his eyes never leaving the man.

  ‘Talk to them, get them to leave me alone. You’ve got friends in that camp. I heard you do.’

  ‘You know what rumours are like.’

  ‘So, you’re saying you don’t?’ Colin demanded.

  ‘I’m saying, you’re asking me to get involved in a volatile situation that doesn’t concern me. Why would I do that? Would you?’

  Colin didn’t reply. Lamont steepled his fingers, letting the silence manifest until Colin couldn’t stand it.

  ‘What if I pay you? All you need to do is talk to the other side on my behalf. You don’t have to raise guns or anything like that. Just, let them know we’re friendly and that you’re watching my back. I’ll pay you ten grand.’

  Lamont hid the smile that threatened his face, steeling his features.

  ‘I want a piece of your business, and I want the names of the main people you do business with, along with an introduction.’

  Colin’s face paled further, if possible.

  ‘Are you daft? That’s worth loads more.’

  ‘Depends on how you look at it. You approached me. I’m not forcing you to be here.’