Origins- the Road to Power

by Ricky Black

Lamont and Xiyu watched Shorty pouring champagne down his throat as the crowd cheered him on.

  ‘He’s living it up,’ said Xiyu.

  ‘He’s earned it. It’s his birthday party after all.’

  ‘I hope he remembers he’s representing you out there.’

  ‘I’m not his boss.’ Lamont looked at Xiyu.

  ‘Whether you want to admit it, L, everyone knows this is your team.’

  ‘I don’t,’ said Lamont. Xiyu smirked.

  ‘Ask yourself this; does Shorty make any important decisions?’

  ‘We make them together.’

  ‘And, if it was just Shorty making them, would things run just as smoothly?’

  ‘It’s hard to say.’

  ‘You’re right, L . . . it’s hard saying that I’m correct.’ Xiyu took a smug sip of his Martini and Lemonade.

  ‘I don’t need to deal in hypotheticals. This is Shorty’s night and short of getting locked up, he can do whatever he likes.’

  ‘I thought Marcus would be here.’

  ‘He’s handling some business,’ said Lamont. He said no more and Xiyu knew not to ask.

  ‘How long are you staying out?’

  Lamont checked his watch. ‘Not too late,’ he motioned towards Shorty. ‘He’ll probably be out until the crack of down. I’ll be in long before that.’

  ‘I’ll probably finish this and go.’ Xiyu motioned to his drink.

  ‘Why? It’s still early.’

  ‘I haven’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours, L. I just wanted to show my love to the birthday boy. I bought him the expensive champagne that he’s currently spilling on the floor.’

  ‘Just let him have his shine.’ Lamont as always, played mediator.

  ‘He’s welcome to his shine,’ Xiyu locked eyes with a girl walking by. She smiled at him and he smiled back. ‘I’ll get my own. Catch you later, L.’ Xiyu moved towards the girl. Lamont chuckled to himself.

  ‘Mate, don’t you think it’s getting crowded?’

  Lamont turned to the sweaty man in the generic black t-shirt and trousers. His name tag announced he was the Bar Manager.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The VIP. There’s too many people squeezing in. Who is this guy? They’re acting like he’s a bloody pop star or summat,’ said the manager. Lamont smirked at Shorty being referred to as Pop. He doubted Shorty was even aware how many people were trying to gain access. His tongue was firmly down the throat of a random girl. Lamont couldn’t see Stacey, Shorty’s girl. He wondered if she’d shown up tonight.

  ‘I don’t wanna jeopardise the licence if something kicks off,’ the manager went on. Lamont tuned him out, thinking now might be a good time to leave. Xiyu and his companion had vanished.

  At that point, Lamont spotted an older figure watching him from across the bar. He couldn’t place the man, but there was something strangely familiar. The look on the man’s face was speculative. He was tall and thin, with hard-faced features and cool eyes. A minute later he was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.

  Lamont frowned, looking for K-Bar to let him know he was going when he heard a commotion.

  ‘Get off me!’

  A man was pushing his way through the crowds. Lamont didn’t recognise him at first, but when he saw the jagged scar and the wild hair, he realised who it was. Ricky Reagan forced his way to the middle of the VIP section, eyes narrowed. Lamont wondered if angry was his default mindset or if it appeared that way because of his scarred face. Looking around, Reagan spotted Lamont and bounded toward him.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Just having a few drinks. We’re celebrating,’ said Lamont. Three young goons appeared behind Reagan, each giving Lamont a hard stare.

  ‘Can anyone join, or is it a private thing?’

  ‘By all means, stay and celebrate.’ Lamont said with a small smile. The previous meeting around Marcus had irritated Lamont, and he’d vowed to control his emotions around Reagan in the future. Reagan’s face darkened for a moment, but he nodded and bullied his way to the bar.

  ‘What is he doing here?’ K-Bar appeared at Lamont’s side.

  ‘Looks like he wanted to party with his good friend Shorty,’ said Lamont dryly. K-Bar chuckled. Everyone else seemed to have gotten over Reagan’s brusque interruption, going back instead to having a good time.

  Lamont’s desire to go home abated. He ordered a bottle of water from the bar and chugged it, waiting.

  It didn’t take long. Twenty minutes later, Reagan stood near a booth telling loud stories to his cronies and a few stragglers. He was waving his arms wildly and gesticulating for effect. He knocked into a man walking from the bar, causing him to spill his drink.

  ‘Oi, watch it,’ the man said. Without hesitation, Reagan hit the man in the face. Lamont had a first hand-view and even he winced. Reagan was slim and slightly shorter than Lamont, but his power was evident. The man crumpled to the floor in a heap. Reagan grabbed a nearby bottle, ready to strike the man while he was down.

  ‘Ricky, don’t do it.’ Lamont vaulted forward and got in Reagan’s way.

  ‘Get the fuck out the way, let me teach that bitch a lesson!’

  ‘It’s not worth the aggro. He’s down, just leave it.’

  ‘Is he your fucking man or summat?’ Reagan shoved Lamont, causing an audible gasp from the gathering crowd. His eyes were red, almost popping out of their sockets.

  ‘I’m just trying to look out for you. It’s not worth the trouble,’ Lamont tried again.

  ‘Fuck you. I don’t need your help. I ain’t ask you to play Mother Teresa, did I?’

  The crowd watched the exchange. Lamont stared Reagan down, the intensity from his gaze almost palpable. Reagan wiped his nose, more cautious now. His crew of hyenas grouped closer to him.

  ‘Move,’ said Reagan. Lamont ignored him. He saw the bouncers approaching behind Reagan, but then someone else pushed through the crowd.

  ‘I know that’s not my brother you’re pushing.’

  Shorty stood next to Lamont, his voice radiating complete and utter danger. He met Reagan’s eyes, not backing down an inch.

  ‘Stay out of it, Shorty. This don’t concern you.’ There was noticeably less bass in Reagan’s voice now. K-Bar and Blakey stood with Shorty, eyeing Reagan’s goons with disdain.

  ‘If it concerns L, it concerns me. I don’t even know why you’re trying to beg it and be at my party, anyway. Fuck off.’

  ‘You fuck off. Don’t get lairy because you’ve had a few shots and a little dick rub, you little punk,’ snapped Reagan.

  Shorty moved forward. One of Reagan’s hyena’s blocked his path. Shorty caught him flush with a right hook so clinical it was heard over the music. He stepped over the crumpled thug, ready to rush Reagan, K-Bar and Blakey moving as well.

  ‘Enough.’

  Lamont didn’t raise his voice, but it had the desired effect, and everyone froze. ‘Back down. We don’t need the situation getting any worse.’

  Noticeably bristling, Shorty kissed his teeth but stayed where he was as the bouncers ushered Reagan and his cronies out of the section. Everyone stared at Lamont with awe. Most hadn’t even noticed him at the party, and none had ever seen anyone impose their will on either Ricky Reagan or Shorty.

  Walking towards the bar, Lamont got the attention of the shell-shocked staff.

  ‘Champagne for everyone. Get that music back up,’ he ordered, handing his black card to one of them.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  It was the day after Shorty’s birthday, and Lamont was lazing on the sofa watching him pace the room.

  ‘Shorty, calm down.’

  ‘Nah, he’s dead. He violated. The guy was ready to fight you, and then he wants to step to me? I don’t care about his rep. I’ll handle him and his team. Me and K will do it. Or Marcus even.’

  Lamont understood Shorty’s frustration. He took his reputation seriously, and the fact Reagan had tried speaking down to him was a blow. Lamont was thinking about the bi
gger picture though.

  ‘Reagan works for Delroy, Shorty. We can’t go up against that power.’

  ‘Course we can! Delroy’s an old man. Reagan and his other son Eddie are the best he’s got. We topple them, the other’s will drop too. Delroy can get it too if he steps in, the fat prick.’

  ‘You’re not thinking clearly.’

  ‘My head is always clear when there’s killing to be done. You know that. Let me off the leash on this one. He tried to punk you too, remember?’

  ‘He made himself look pathetic. He crashed your party, nearly got beaten up, then got dragged from the club. Think about it that way.’

  Shorty didn’t speak, his muscled arms folded as he breathed hard, nostrils flaring.

  ‘Anymore drama from him and he’s gone. You better speak to Delroy and tell him to get Reagan under manners, because it’s open season right now, and people are being shot at for less.’

  For days, Lamont considered Shorty’s words, and hoped Reagan didn’t do anything to make things worse.

  So far, 2001 had been Lamont’s most profitable year yet. Bill and Jonny were giving him more and more drugs and responsibility. Crack and heroin remained his biggest earners, but he made good money from other drugs too.

  Lamont’s investments were tiding over nicely, and he was in an excellent position. There was so much scope on Chapeltown at the moment though, and Lamont needed the gang wars to end. And quickly.

  Lamont kept it close to home, working through his people, making sure everything was in place. Lamont had considered taking another trip abroad. He’d travelled a little over the years, but never for long, needing to be close to the Hood just in case something happened. Lately, it seemed that would happen more than ever.

  Lamont’s phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ring me back from a phone box.’ Shorty hung up. Lamont sighed and grabbed his keys. Driving to the nearest phone box, he put a pound in the machine and dialled Shorty’s number.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Madness, blood. I was at Jukie’s having a drink. Do you know Neville?’

  Lamont did. Neville was a Jamaican who ran with a vicious gang. Lamont had met him a few times, but they’d never clicked.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He got stabbed. Some youths ran up and tussled with him, ended up poking him like three times. There was blood everywhere.’

  Lamont’s jaw tensed, and he clutched the receiver tightly. This wasn’t a good situation.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I dunno. The kids ran off. The old man called an ambulance and people just dipped. I was the first guy out of there. I was strapped, and I wasn’t waiting around for Police.’

  ‘Wait, you had a weapon?’

  ‘There’s war, Tef. You need to get a weapon too and stop messing around. I’ll check you tomorrow. I’m laying low tonight.’

  There was a click and Shorty was gone.

  After hanging up, Lamont made a few more phone calls to get an idea of what had transpired. It was early days though, and no one knew much.

  Neville was alive, but was in intensive care, and no one knew if he would pull through. After mooching around for a while and stewing on the situation, Lamont called Marcus.

  ‘I heard Neville’s already dead,’ were the first words out of Marcus’s mouth when he stepped into Lamont’s house later. He went to the kitchen and made himself a drink. Lamont trailed after him.

  ‘He’s still alive. At least I hope he is. Who did it?’

  ‘I heard it was Brandon. You know the name?’

  Lamont did. Brandon was a tearaway a year younger than Lamont, who was making a name for himself as a knucklehead. Lamont had heard his name in connection with the current conflicts, but hadn’t paid him much attention. Everyone wanted to get ahead. It was hard to keep up with every new face.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Dunno. Brandon’s not as deep as you, but he’s making good money selling crack. Maybe Neville thought he could set him up.’

  ‘What’s Shorty’s relationship with Brandon?’

  ‘They’re cool. You know what Shorty’s like. He gets on with everyone until he doesn’t. Him and Brandon are basically the same guy.’

  Lamont mulled this over. He was putting the pieces together in the way he believed an outsider would look at the situation. Neville and Shorty weren’t enemies, but they weren’t friends either and that would be enough to get people looking in his direction.

  ‘I might need to reach out to some of Neville’s people.’

  ‘What for? Why are you taking this so seriously?’ said Marcus, frowning.

  ‘They’re gonna blame Shorty and say he set up Neville.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that?’

  ‘Because it’s too convenient. No one really knows how this crap started, but Shorty is definitely cool with the English lot. Neville’s people are going to know this and they’re gonna move against him. I guarantee it.’

  ‘You don’t think you might be looking too much into it, L?’

  ‘Possibly. But, I’m willing to take the risk. I’ll tell you right now that if a hair on Shorty’s head is harmed, I’m in it. Whoever touches him, I’ll wipe them off the face of the earth.’

  Marcus grinned. ‘I like the fire, L! When you get like this, you’re like a different guy. Like when you boxed Tower that time. I heard he’s still locked up.’

  ‘Forget Tower. He’s old news. I need you to come with me to speak with Neville’s people.’

  ‘Who we looking for then? Courtney?’ asked Marcus. Courtney was Neville’s boss, and was a cool guy to deal with most of the time. Lamont didn’t know if that would be the case now though.

  ‘Yeah. We’ll take your car. Give me a strap too, just in case.’

  Chapter Twenty One

  Monday 20 August 2001

  It took a few hours and several phone calls to find Courtney, but they met him in the back of a house in Chapeltown. The spot was teeming with West-Indian men, talking in loud voices and eyeballing Lamont. He would have felt more nervous if it wasn’t for Marcus’s presence. Marcus strolled through the spot like he owned the place, daring anyone to say something. No one did.

  Courtney was in the kitchen, talking on a phone, pausing every two seconds to shout at an older woman who stood over a stewpot. He signalled for Lamont and Marcus to wait, telling the person on the phone to ring back. Washing and wiping his hands, he greeted them both.

  ‘How’s Neville doing?’ Lamont got to the point. Courtney’s jaw tensed. He was a squat man, wearing a loose shirt and jeans.

  ‘Bad. Doesn’t look like he’ll make it.’

  Lamont glanced at Marcus, but his friend was focused on Courtney.

  ‘What does that mean for Shorty?’

  Courtney rubbed his eyes. ‘Was he involved?’

  ‘Course he wasn’t. He’s had no dealings with Neville.’

  ‘This boy Brandon though. He knows him?’

  ‘I don’t know the extent of their relationship,’ said Lamont. Courtney smirked, but it was strained.

  ‘You talk nice. Smooth. Women probably chase you down the street.’

  Lamont didn’t reply. Courtney took a sip of a foul-smelling drink Lamont hadn’t noticed before. The old woman was still cooking, pretending she wasn’t listening.

  ‘My people think Shorty was involved. I can’t keep them back on this.’

  ‘Can’t, or won’t?’ Lamont asked. Marcus straightened, his eyes hard.

  ‘It’s war. My people are getting killed out there. Brandon ain’t the only one doing it. What am I supposed to think?’

  ‘You’re supposed to think that Shorty has nothing to gain from setting up Neville. There’s a lot of money on our side. We don’t need the drama.’

  ‘No one needs drama. Sometimes we find it anyway.’

  Marcus moved forward, scowling. Lamont waved him off, his eyes remaining on Courtney.

  ‘Do your investigation. You’
ll find that Shorty had nothing to do with it. You have enough on your plate with Brandon and the others. You don’t need more aggravation.’

  ‘You threatening me now, boy?’

  ‘My name is Lamont, not boy. I don’t need to threaten to make a point. Enjoy your day.’

  ‘You handled that well.’

  They were back in the car now. Marcus was driving, his weapon within reach. Lamont had a pistol too. He was still getting used to it, but in the current climate it was likely necessary. Lamont didn’t like how the meeting had gone. The Yardies seemed determined to blame Shorty, and he wondered if they’d orchestrated the attack themselves.

  ‘You think?’

  ‘No weakness. Those Yardies smell that shit. You handled it the right way. They know Shorty didn’t have nothing to do with it.’

  ‘So, they’re looking for the excuse.’

  ‘Course. Shorty’s cool with the kids they’re shooting at. It would send a message if they could clip him.’

  ‘Shorty needs to stay hidden then. If he comes out, it might give them a reason to touch him. I need your people all over this. I know you’ve got connections amongst the Yardies, but I’ll pay you well.’

  Marcus shook his head.

  ‘You’re my brother. Fuck the Yardies. My people will be ready; don’t doubt that.’

  Lamont was relieved. Shorty and K-Bar had teams of shooters to call on, but Marcus’s men were ruthless. If things escalated, they would need them.

  Thursday 23 August 2001

  Days passed. Brandon’s house was shot at, as was his mother’s house, and the house where his baby mother lived. Luckily, they were abandoned. The word was that Brandon had fled Leeds, avoiding the Yardies and the police.

  Shorty was chafing under his forced stay, wanting to get back out onto the streets. Lamont had heard nothing from Courtney, but Marcus and his team remained on standby.

  Lamont was at home flicking through the channels when his phone rang. It was Marcus.

  ‘Someone sprayed one of Shorty’s spots.’

  Lamont sat up. ‘Did they get anyone?’