From Innocence to Arrogance
Page 1
From Innocence to Arrogance
Ezekiel King
Austin Macauley Publishers
From Innocence to Arrogance
About the Author
About the Book
Dedication
Copyright © Ezekiel King (2019)
Acknowledgement
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
About the Author
This book depicts the British underworld like no other. Generally when a poor child is intelligent he/she is not presented with the same opportunities that a child from a more affluent background may have.
It’s an awful shame that millions of intelligent children make the wrong decision and turn to crime, this book allows the reader to live in the shoes of a real British Gangster as he rises through the ranks of the British underworld. This book sheds light on what happens on the street at night and how easy an innocent child’s intellect can be wrongly directed rendering him an arrogant murderer. This book will allow the reader insight into a world they probably didn’t know existed.
About the Book
From Innocence to Arrogance is the most authentic British crime novel on the market today. This book takes the reader on the journey in first person as Cyrus Johnson lives his day-to-day life.
Every 15-year-old is somewhat the same, what makes Cyrus so different is his mentality and decision-making. Read this! It will open your eyes to a world you never knew existed right under your nose. The information to live this life is here, but after having it, would you still want to?
Dedication
For my mother and two beautiful daughters, M and D.
Copyright © Ezekiel King (2019)
The right of Ezekiel King to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528918763 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528918770 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528962438 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
A special thank you to Dr C Bassiri and Deborah B for always believing in me.
Foreword
To my beloved readers.
I would firstly like to extend my gratitude for the time you will spend reading the following pages. I hope they will provide every emotion I experienced writing this incredible book.
Please do not attempt to replicate, modify or undertake any of the activities depicted in this novel. This book is not a ‘how to’ book.
I wrote this book to show the world how ‘intellect’ as great as it may be can go nowhere if it is misdirected and does not have positive adequate mentoring.
I hope this novel will allow the world to see that there are millions of children around the world that have the qualities to succeed but are instead wasted engaged in negative activities. My quest is for these children to be enlightened as to what they should be doing to achieve and how to achieve – that, of course, being the polar opposite to some of the things depicted here. I hope bringing this lifestyle to the attention of the wider public and providing a deeper understanding will help us combat the problems we face within our communities globally.
This book has been written for you to reflect, contemplate and live the best lives you can.
I say this to any person stuck in a life of crime, the problem is not your willingness to work, your intelligence or anything else that you have tried to change. The problem is where you are expressing your energy, if you decide to put all your energy without respite into positive endeavours, you will succeed and achieve your objectives in business.
If an action is not positive for all parties involved, both present and vacant, then it is not the right action to undertake. Proof of this is being many an action is done in haste, lacking consideration for the future. These actions are often reflected on in the years that follow as futile.
I hope you enjoy the most-revealing, -authentic crime story ever written.
I love you all, all nations.
Ezekiel King – 2019
Prologue
I never could understand why people called me ‘Big CY’. I’m only 5’7", so it isn’t because I’m tall. Maybe it’s my heavy build?
I could remember the time people had started calling me Big CY though. It was around five years earlier when I was 21. I was ruthless. Hurting people had become normality for me. I didn’t enjoy it; to me it was purely part of the job.
I liked to run and maintain a tight ship, so anyone unlucky enough to be in the way of my smooth sailing was dealt with the only way I knew how—violence.
As extreme and calculated as the person on the receiving end needed to cure them of their stupidity of crossing me again, as long as god graced them with the blessing of life, my anger for anybody disrupting my work life or my personal life held no discrimination. ‘Shoot him’ and ‘shoot her’ were identical phrases to me. Why should I care if she has a vagina, and he has a penis? ‘Fuck them both’ was my attitude.
My life had been one big roller-coaster ride for the last ten years. It had been one big blur of cars, clubs, clothes, money and women amongst other things.
They say ‘everything has a price’. I had never agreed with that.
I would park my car outside my friend’s house and beep the horn of whatever car had tickled my fancy that month.
Nine times out of ten, I’d spot a slight twitch of a curtain before the house door would open. I’d watch whoever I had arranged to meet run to my car as I would wind my window down. I’d be given a double-bagged quantity of money, anything from £6,000 to £100,000 plus.
So, what was the price of that? Breathing air?
I would stare out of my hotel window at these lifeless ants rushing to work, like the death penalty awaited if they were ten minutes late for work. I’d think to myself, you really don’t have a clue, do you?
Robots, rushing to spend a lifetime breaking their backs to make a managing director they don’t know richer than he already is.
I used to laugh at the fact that if this doughnut with his Costa coffee running to his office job was to unfortunately drop dead, the rich MD they work for would be pissed off that he will now have to replace him at short notice. It probably wouldn’t even cross his mind to send a card to this doughnut’s family. How misguided is this twat, practically running for a guy they’ll never meet at 7:30 in the morning? I’d close my hotel room curtains to stop looking at the hundreds of lost ants, pushing other people’s dreams without even knowing it, before they made me an
ymore pitiful of their pathetic existence.
Premiership football players are among the few people that earn enough money to be running around at 7:00 in the morning, I thought to myself as I sat on the corner of the bed. I was careful not to sit on last night’s conquest’s feet who was sleeping off being shagged half to death.
“Baby,” I said softly to wake the sleeping fake-tanned brunette in my bed. I called her baby, because for the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name. When she told me the night before, I obviously hadn’t been listening. The loud music inside the club combined with the fact I was probably thinking what to say next to manipulate my way into her knickers made her name a ‘need to know’, and I didn’t. I wanted to fuck her, not marry her, but right now I needed to wake this bitch up so I could get her a taxi home.
Time was ticking. I needed to call my worker, Chris, and tell him to get the money from the stash house, so I could drop it to my friend Bob to pay for the cocaine. We were sure to be sold out by the time I left the hotel.
“Baby,” I said again in a kind and caring tone. I felt like throwing her out of the hotel window if it would speed up the process of her leaving. I gave up, I had to go. Plan B was to get dressed quietly, wash my face and leave without saying goodbye. The room had female clothes here and there. Thin knickers on the floor, a dress flung over the chair, a flat shoe here and a heel there. My jeans and T-shirt were folded in a neat enough pile. I never treated my expensive designer clothes like these sluts treated their cheap dresses and shoes.
I left the hotel room without saying goodbye.
I waited until I was back inside my car to call Chris. He’d been out with me the night before, but I knew he’d be awake. I’d punch his fucking lights out if he wasn’t.
I’d treated that girl sleeping upstairs like a fucking princess last night, just long enough for her to give me what will one day be her husband’s most prized possession; and more importantly, the hole that will bear her children.
The fucking idiot, I thought to myself as Chris’ phone rang in my ear.
“Cyrus?” Chris said as he answered trying not to sound hung over.
“Go get it, Chris, and make sure there is 130 grand there, all right? I’ll be with you in 30 minutes,” I explained.
I spoke quickly and slightly mumbled. A kind of slang I had developed to make a listening device struggle to have any clarity, also to make transcribing a nightmare.
“Wait, before you go. Did you take that sexy girl with the brown hair back to the hotel?” Chris asked.
“No, I went home and had a wank, you idiot. The silly bitch is sleeping in the Ramada Hotel in town. I left her there. Go get the money now, I’m on my way,” I replied.
“Big CY!” Chris shouted in a playful tone, paying homage to my immoral actions.
I’d arranged to meet Bob at ten o’clock sharp in a graveyard car park on the outskirts of town. I had just enough time to go to my favourite café and eat my poached eggs with hollandaise sauce before a big glass of fresh orange juice. Then I’d have to jump back in my expensive German jeep, drive to Chris’ house to collect 130 grand, then go straight to meet Bob to pay for the cocaine that would be delivered to Chris an hour or so later.
Yes, I guess I was ‘Big CY’.
What I’m about to tell you is how all this came to be, and how my innocence turned to arrogance.
Chapter 1
My dad never could stand my Aunty Delma. She saw straight through the façade that was him being a ‘changed man’. She knew he would always be a firearm-wielding thug that was quick to cheat on my mum.
My feelings towards my aunty were quite the opposite. I was 15, and she treated me like the rebellious 15-year-old son that she’d never had. More importantly to me at the time, this allowed me to be the rebellious teenager I was with no adult intervention.
When I was with my Aunty Delma, her only contribution in terms of authority or rule-making came in the form of her bright smile displaying her perfect teeth, and the look of contentment in her eyes as she observed whatever mischievous rule-breaking I was engaged in at the time. She didn’t care about what I did; as far as Delma was concerned, my dad had made the rules, so she took pleasure in seeing me go against them.
Delma’s daughter, Tanisha, on the other hand, had rules. Tanisha is an only child, very well behaved, and nothing like me.
It was a Saturday afternoon in the middle of July. As can be expected in England at this time of the year, the weather was not blistering hot, rather a warm affair that was T-shirt weather but not quite warm enough for shorts. I had just got home after walking my girlfriend, Olivia, home. I knew everyone on our estate. I had lived there for 15 years and spent the last six of those years running around the housing estate doing anything from having water fights to playing football against the side of someone’s house which drove them crazy.
I had planned to spend the rest of the afternoon visiting one of the older kids’ houses, sitting in his garden smoking weed while he drank beer. He would almost most certainly end up wanting to fight whoever was unlucky enough to be there when he’d had one too many. Usually, there would be four or five drunk people in ‘Mick the Prick’s’ garden, which gave me decent odds of not having to directly absorb the brunt of his drunken rage. The five-to-one odds in Mick’s garden were far better than the guarantee of my dad coming home and being the harsh critic to my every move. Plus, my older brother would still be out at his friend’s house where he would probably end up spending the night.
My older brother, Daniel, is three years older, and those three years came with a lot of desired freedom.
I opened the poorly constructed gate that my dad and his out of work friend built from some sort of wooden panelling he’d probably stolen from work. Credit granted, it was a gate, but the wood warped due to exposure to the rain, so it took a nudge to open and a little swing to shut it. I actually think it made the gate sturdier. Opening our front door, my mum was in the kitchen cooking; the smell of onions and garlic frying hung in the air. She would always start cooking around 5:30 in the evening in anticipation of my dad’s 6:30 arrival home.
“Hi, Mum,” I said cheerfully as I walked into the kitchen and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
I loved my mum dearly and always will. That kiss was payment for all the stress I’d put her through, and the stress I knew holding our family together put on her shoulders. She deserved a noble prize for the services rendered at home if the world knew.
I stopped in the doorway that led out of the kitchen and asked her the first question anyone with a brain asks when entering our house. “Where’s Dad?” I said in a tone that gave the impression I wanted to hear he was in the living room or upstairs. I used the cheerful, inquisitive tone purely for my dad’s benefit. I didn’t want him to think I was checking if he was out, which I definitely was. “He’s not back from work yet, and Daniel is at Lee’s house before you ask,” my mum replied as she lifted her head and looked at me in the eyes as if to say ‘there you go, you’ve got all the information you wanted, Cyrus’.
Without there being time for the next thought to enter my head, I heard the door knock and open almost simultaneously. “Claire?” bellowed a friendly female voice above the sound of shopping bags hitting the thin hollow walls in the narrow corridor that led from the backdoor to the kitchen.
My mum’s younger sister walked into the kitchen vibrantly and placed whatever she had brought with her on our dining-room table.
“Hi, Delma,” I said happily as I proceeded to give her a kiss on the cheek—a kiss only the most important women in my life warrant. “I’m staying at your house tonight,” I said before she had even had time to put her car keys down. Delma smiled widely as she looked to my mother to pass her verdict. My mum and I didn’t have to speak to understand each other. A simple look from her would tell me chapter and verse most of the time, or occasionally I would get a mixture; meaning she’d say something while giving me the ‘look’ as well.
This occasion was a mixture. “Well, I don’t mind,” she said as she gave me the ‘look’. “You know your dad might have something to say about you staying out, and you should ask him really,” was what the ‘look’ meant. I acknowledged that and gave it the full respect it deserved by reassuring her. “Dad won’t mind. If he gets back before we leave, I’ll ask him,” I said as I proceeded swiftly with another kiss to my mother’s cheek. I hoped I would be gone well before my dad returned home. He would only come home and make up some sort of excuse for why I couldn’t stay out. I could just feel him coming back to say something, like I need to give him a hand cleaning out the garage, or he needed help fixing the fence, or gate which he’d built broken.
Delma reached into a plastic bag she’d put on the table and took out a bottle of Alcho-pop. It explained the clanging and banging noise she’d made as the bottles hit the thin cardboard walls in our hallway. I left the two of them to talk while I went upstairs to get a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that were the closest thing I had to a set of pyjamas. Also, I had one cigarette I’d hidden in my room with some rolling papers that I had borrowed from my dad without his knowledge or consent. I filled a carrier bag with my make shift pyjamas and went back downstairs to linger in the kitchen. Delma knew exactly what this meant, as did my mum. Putting me out of my misery, Delma took the last sip of her drink before placing the bottle in the bin. I watched attentively as she picked up her car keys. “Claire, I’ll see you tomorrow then when I bring your little monster back,” Delma joked as she gestured me to leave. Little did the three of us know that I’d soon become a monster in my own rights. More precisely, the years that would follow would make me society’s worst nightmare.
As we walked outside, I still had visions of my dad pulling up. I got into Delma’s car feeling a sense of achievement mixed with freedom. Delma had a navy blue expensive German saloon with a grey leather interior. I was sure it was a present from her long-term partner, Mervin. Delma was a care nurse for the elderly. I don’t know how much money she earned, but I was sure it wasn’t enough to afford the car she drove. Mervin, however, had a really well paid job. I didn’t know exactly what his job title was, but he was incredibly intelligent. He always wore suits and spoke very good English. He and my Aunty Delma had been together for as long as I could remember. Mervin doted over Delma; her wish was literally his command.