by Ricky Black
‘This is about you and your son.’
Shorty nodded, his heart pounding as he walked into the front room. Dionte was playing Fifa, the same computer game Darren, and the others liked to play. Loud grime music played through a Sony speaker, and Dionte nodded his head in time to the beat as he clicked the buttons with dexterity. He looked up when Shorty entered, and his face changed. His eyes hardened, and he glared up at his father with the same surliness he’d last time.
‘How are you doing, D?’ Shorty started lamely after a minute, realising that his son would not take the initiative. Dionte stared a minute longer, not bothering to turn off the music. He unpaused his game and carried on playing.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You look fine. You’re growing up to be a strong young man. That’s good. Means I did something right.’
‘You didn’t have a thing to do with it,’ Dionte told him. Shorty felt the familiar spark of annoyance, but controlled himself.
‘You’re right. I could have probably done more, but I guess I thought as long as I was throwing money at your mum, you would be all right. Do you wanna know why I randomly came to see you last year?’
Dionte didn’t reply, but Shorty noticed he’d paused his game and turned the music down. Shorty took a seat next to his son.
‘My friend died a few weeks before I came to see you. I was outside the wake, drunk, when a man approached me. I didn’t recognise him, but he knew me. He knew my mum’s name. He even knew I had kids. When I asked who he was, he said he was my dad.’
Dionte still didn’t speak, but he looked at Shorty, imploring him to continue.
‘I hadn’t seen my dad since I was about four. He ran out on my mum, and he provided nothing. No money, no visits. He just ditched us. So, when he came out of the blue and started trying to be friendly, I knocked him out.’
Dionte looked like he was trying to hide a smile. His lip quivered, and there was more light in his eyes.
‘After I knocked him out, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Not to say I didn’t before, because I did. It was just easier to distract myself, and tell myself that you were okay in this big house with your mum and her man, and that I was doing you a favour staying away.
‘That was wrong of me though. I should have attempted to come and see you and stay a part of your life. There’s no excuse I can give for why I didn’t. I just want you to know that I’m sorry about that, and that I’m sorry that our relationship is like this.’
More silence. Dionte’s body arched towards his now, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Shorty patted him on the shoulder.
‘You’re probably wondering why I’m saying all this crap to you, and the reason is simple; I never want to be that broken old man trying to speak to my son, and I never want to be the reason that you put your hands on me. You ever need anything, tell your mum to tell me, and I’ll come to you. You have my word on that.’
Dionte turned back to his game and unpaused it, but his expression was different. He seemed sombre. Shorty stood and walked away, not wanting to push it. He almost bumped into Stacey, who stood in the hallway. She gasped.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have . . . I just wondered what you would say,’ she admitted, smoothing her hair.
‘It’s your house. You don’t have to apologise.’
‘Come and have a drink in the kitchen. I want to talk to you.’
Shorty followed Stacey to the massive kitchen. The last time he’d been here, he argued with Dionte for not wanting to look at a picture of Grace. The room had the same wide surfaces and light worktops that had been commonplace previously. Stacey poured coffee from a fancy-looking filter. It was very Lamont-esque.
‘I thought what you said to Dionte was sweet,’ Stacey started. ‘I’m not just saying that either. I’ve never heard you talk like that before.’
‘Like what?’
‘Honest. You’ve always been your own man, but I’ve never heard you speaking from the heart before. Even in the older days.’
‘Shit’s different for me now, Stace. You know some of the shit I’ve been through last year since Marcus died. It feels like everything in my world fell apart, and I’m just trying to pick up the pieces.’
‘I heard about Timmy. I’m sorry, Shorty. I went to his funeral and spoke to his mum. She was sweet.’
‘He should have never been in the life. He always wanted to be like me and look at the example I set. He should have been out going to college and trying to get laid, not running corners and selling drugs.’
‘Shorty, the circumstances weren’t the same. Timmy wanted that life. I don’t think he would have ever gone to college. Sometimes we have to live our lives the way we want to, regardless of what other people think. Timmy did what he wanted to do.’
‘I still could have done more. Do you ever feel like you’re realising shit too late in your life to do anything, but you can’t help thinking about it, anyway? Like, what might have been?’
‘In terms of what?’
‘What if I’d been more like L? Setting up businesses, thinking of the future instead of for right now. Things could have been so different. I could have been a proper dad to both of my kids.’
‘Focus on the fact you’re feeling these things now. That’s the important bit. You can still change your life.’
Shorty nodded, recognising the truth in Stacey’s words. He grinned.
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it. I’ve never known this side of you.’
‘I don’t even know what this side of me is. I just know that I think about Marcus daily, and I think about how abrupt his murder was. The world moved on without me, and it feels like I’m struggling to catch up to everyone.’
‘Like Lamont?’
Shorty again nodded. ‘L was always ahead of me in terms of thinking. He’s been preaching all this shit to me for the longest time, but it’s only making sense to me now.’
‘How is L doing? I can’t believe he got shot!’
‘Still the same. He’s just still getting used to shit. I guess we all are. How’s your man?’
Stacey gave Shorty a hard stare. ‘Don’t go back to being that guy.’
‘What guy?’ Shorty frowned.
‘The guy that tries to flirt with me in my house.’
‘I’m not flirting! I’m just asking you a question.’
Stacey laughed. ‘Fine. I’ll believe you. We’re okay, I guess. Marriage is hard work, and we’re both busy, so we sometimes struggle to communicate,’ Stacey shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I’m talking to you about this.’
‘I can’t believe that I’m listening.’
They both laughed, talking for another twenty minutes. Shorty had another coffee, showing Stacey photos of Grace. After a while, Shorty said his goodbyes, giving Stacey a hug and departing.
As he was climbing into his car, Shorty looked back. He saw Dionte looking at him from the window. Shorty nodded, inwardly gratified when Dionte nodded back.
Jenny was tidying the work area when the door clanged and she was face to face with Lamont. The silence lingered until she broke it.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Visiting my girl. I want to take you out tonight.’
Jenny grinned, raising her eyebrow. ‘What’s the occasion?’
Lamont laughed. ‘There’s a disconnect with us lately, and that’s my fault. Some time away to recharge will do us both some good.’
It was surprising to hear Lamont openly taking responsibility for the awkwardness between them, and Jenny cleared the distance and planting a long kiss on Lamont’s lips. They held each other for a moment, Jenny enjoying the strength of the man she loved.
‘It’s a great idea, L. We could go to a hotel, or we could just stay at home?’
‘Your choice, so let me know. We can do anything you like.’
Shorty drove back to Leeds with a smile on his face. He’d never realised just how tense his situation with his son had ma
de him until now.
For years Shorty had tried to make excuses about his lack of contact, blaming Stacey and her move away from Leeds. He saw now that she had done the right thing, and he was pleased with the life she had made. Dionte had grown up well and while he wouldn’t be as close with Shorty as he’d like, being civil was enough.
Driving into the Hood, Shorty parked outside K-Bar’s safe house and bounded inside. K-Bar was sat on the sofa. He looked better than the last time Shorty had seen him, but was still lying low. He nodded at Shorty.
‘Where are you coming from?’
‘Huddersfield.’
Shorty’s answer surprised K-Bar.
‘You went to see Dionte?’
Shorty nodded.
‘Did Stacey flip out again?’
‘I called ahead this time and arranged it. We had a long talk, I apologised, and then left.’
‘Are you two cool now then?’
‘We’re talking, so I guess that’s enough. Anyone else stopped by?’
‘Darren did, but he’s on a mission now.’
‘What mission?’ Shorty’s brow furrowed. Darren had a good reputation, but Shorty couldn’t imagine anyone letting him pick his own missions.
‘I dunno, fam. It’s summat for L, but he can’t tell me what it is, apparently.’
‘You try asking L?’
K-Bar nodded. ‘He just said it was personal. You know what L’s like. If he doesn’t wanna talk about something, he won’t. I just fell back.’
Shorty heard the anger in K-Bar’s voice, relating to it. It still annoyed him that Lamont wouldn’t put him back on the streets.
‘I tried speaking to him about getting back in, but he wants me to keep waiting.’
‘I see his point, but still, you’re not an amateur. You know what you’re doing.’
The friends sat in silence, neither in a hurry to break it. They had been friends for so long they recognised the other’s mood. Shorty thought about Dionte again, wondering if he would try to go professional as a footballer, silently vowing to support him all the way if he did. It brought Shorty’s attention back to Grace, and he remembered he still had a lot of work to do.
‘We ain’t chilled together much lately, have we?’ He said to K-Bar, who scratched his stubbled chin.
‘Different world nowadays, fam. When you were locked down and L was in recovery, the streets were on a different level. I had to step up in L’s place. People turned to me because they were scared, but I didn’t know what I was doing, so I had to do what I thought you or L would do. Everyone tried us. We took so many hits in a short space of time that they didn’t think we would survive. No one did.’
‘How did you?’
‘L. The guy had all sorts of contingencies in place. After he got shot, and we were running around, I had people getting in touch, leading me to stash houses I didn’t even know about. People were in place to do pickups, and everything on the business end was the same.
‘The connect sent his people to speak with me, the boxes kept coming, and the money was sent where it was needed. I had to keep shit in line and stop these dickheads on the street from taking liberties. I couldn’t just chill and play the background like I used to. People knew me and they needed me to sort shit out.’
Shorty was silent. He didn’t want to praise Lamont, even if he agreed with K-Bar. Lamont had always been forward-thinking and Shorty was man enough to admit that the money he made with Lamont was more than he would have made hustling for himself.
As frustrating as Lamont was, Shorty appreciated his business head.
‘What happened to Blakey?’ Shorty recalled asking when he first landed, but never getting the full story.
‘He quit couple’ months after you got remanded, saying he’d had enough of the streets. He works in a bar in town on Greek Street.’
‘Which one?’
‘I’ll remember when I see it. We can go tonight if you like?’
Shorty rubbed his forehead.
‘I’ll let you know.’
Winston Williams slouched on his sofa, dipping his hand into a packet of Big Eat crisps as he stared at the insipid action movie on the screen. He’d lost the plot of it thirty minutes ago, but it allowed him time to centre his thoughts.
There was a war on the streets, and Winston didn’t know how they’d gotten involved in it, nor what the endgame was. Over the past few years he’d taken control of most of his father’s business, with Delroy content to oversee.
Then, Lennox Thompson had made waves.
Lennox wasn’t a drug dealer, so Winston hadn’t understood. He’d tried reaching out anyway, and his offers were rebuffed. Lennox hadn’t fired any guns or laid a hand on any of their workers. Winston was sure he was behind the raid on one of their spots recently, however; a raid that Delroy had chewed him out about. Winston had dropped the ball and not rotated the spots frequently enough, allowing the complacency to be taken advantage of.
The streets were looking sideways at the Williams empire, and several amongst their ranks were whispering about how bad things were going. The links were looking elsewhere, and the money was dwindling. Customers were holding back repayments, and Winston was working overtime trying to get things in line. He’d sent a man to track down Lennox, but no one had heard anything from Spinks.
Mack, Spinks’ uncle, was in Winston’s ear every day asking where he was, and Winston didn’t know what to tell him.
Stuffing more crisps into his mouth, Winston nearly choked when he heard a loud bang from outside, followed by the smash of a car window. Leaping to his feet, Winston fumbled for his trusty baseball bat and charged outside.
‘C’mon, you fucking cowards!’ He yelled, tired of the neighbourhood kids and their antics. He saw a bunch of hooded boys running away. Winston jogged toward his Audi, panting. They had smashed the front and side windows, and the jarring alarm now pierced the quiet street. Out of breath, Winston again looked around the street, then trudged back inside to make some calls.
Darren poured another glass of champagne, acting like he was having the time of his life, doing his best to hide the nerves that were threatening to jeopardise his night.
Lamont’s mission rang loudly in his head, and Darren was playing up to it. Lamont hadn’t given him any sign of how long the task needed to take.
Darren was determined to do it properly, playing his position to the max. He’d quickly learnt the movements of Rashad. Akeem had complied a list of the young goons likes, dislikes and hangouts, and by checking out Rashad’s social media accounts, Darren quickly built an image of the man. He knew that Rashad had responsibility within Akhan’s team, similar to the role Darren had in Lamont’s. He supervised a crew and did a lot of running around, picking up money and making sure things were smooth.
From what Darren could gather, Rashad seemed to be decent enough at it.
At present, Darren was in a club near the train station with some acquaintances who knew Rashad’s people. They were serial ravers, so Darren had been going out with them for the past few weeks, trying to bump into Rashad.
This plan had been a bust so far. Rashad hadn’t shown, but Darren had met some other people including some game women, getting laid twice in two weeks. That wouldn’t pacify Lamont however, and Darren tried to focus. He hated what he was doing to Clarissa, but when the women were all over him, he couldn’t resist.
He was in regular contact with Akeem, giving him progress reports and explaining his plan to the bodyguard, who seemed satisfied.
Darren remained worried though, which explained his nerves. He needed something to show for his efforts. He had killed himself to get noticed, but now he didn’t know what would come next. Darren was no fool. He knew people had been murdered within the organisation.
Despite K-Bar’s cleanup of Chink’s murder, everyone knew that he’d been killed for betraying Marcus. None of it would deter him though. The plan would work out and if it didn’t, Darren would tweak it to ensure it did.
‘Next rounds on one of you lot,’ Darren said, holding his champagne glass aloft. His beaming, half-drunk acquaintances followed suit.
Behind Darren there was a flurry of noise. His friend Nathan was shaking hands with a well-dressed man. Feeling a flutter of relief, Darren realised it was Rashad. He wore a fitted white designer t-shirt with tight-fitting jeans and white and gold trainers. He was laden with jewellery, wearing two white gold chains and a gaudy-looking Rolex. His arm was around the waist of a slim Asian girl with the most alluringly dark eyes Darren had ever seen.
‘Rashad, this is my boy, D. D, this is Rashad.’
Darren shook hands with Rashad. He immediately sensed that Rashad was used to people flocking to him the way Nathan had.
‘You good? There’s champers if you and your woman want it.’
Rashad helped himself to a glass, leaving his woman to fend for herself. Darren filled her glass, and she softly thanked him. Nathan and Co were trying to chat up a group of girls now, leaving Darren free to talk with Rashad.
‘Its too packed in here. I remember when only a few people knew about this spot.’
Rashad gave Darren a measured look.
‘How long have you been coming here?’
‘Years now. My people are deep in here, so it was a good little moneymaker. Still is sometimes, when people don’t mess it up.’ Darren saw the gleam in Rashad’s eyes as moved away from his woman to speak to Darren. He noticed her scowl, filing this information away.
‘What kinda business are you talking about?’
Darren looked around, checking they weren’t being overheard. This was all for Rashad’s benefit, and it seemed to be working.
‘Can’t really say, bruv. You know what’s like these days. People talk too much. All I can say is that we were steady stacking. People are making it hot nowadays though.’
‘Listen, I’m not any guy,’ Rashad lowered his voice, talking into Darren’s ear. ‘I’ve got connections too, and I’m always trying to make money. Maybe we can work together.’