From Innocence to Arrogance

by Ezekiel King

  Chris was probably my best friend. I had a few close friends; John and Tom were really close to me too. Chris and I had been friends for the last year; he was my brother and John’s age. He lived around the corner from the shop at the top of our estate. His mum and dad had their own business and would spoil him rotten. The whole household was overweight from eating fast food takeaways almost every night. Chris was 5’8" and must have weighed about 14 stone, mostly of soft bouncy fat. He had dark blonde hair that was a kind of a blondie brown colour, big cheeks and big blue eyes. He seemed innocent to look at, but we shared the trait of being mischievous. I think that’s what our friendship had stemmed from. We both were different from most of the other kids. Other kids knew where to draw the line, they knew when to stop doing something out of fear of getting in trouble, whereas Chris and I didn’t give a toss. If they didn’t benefit us, rules and regulations went out the window. It would be fair to say we were partners in crime before we knew what crime was. “John, could you just put Chris on the phone, mate; I’m going to stay in tonight, but I’ll be down tomorrow.”

  I could hear people in the background laughing and talking. I would have liked to have went down to the McBride’s, but I knew I’d have to be out a lot from now on; so the more I could stay at home, the better. I didn’t want to raise the suspicion of my dad until whatever I had to do, made me not give a shit about my dad’s suspicions, and this wasn’t it. “Yo, Cyrus, you forgot about your good mate Chris now, haven’t ya?” Chris’ bubbly voice joked. “Don’t be silly, mate. I’ve just been busy trying to make some money, need to sort some stuff out. I’m sick of having to rely on my mum and dad for everything.” It was true. I was doing this for independence as much as anything else, and money was the product needed to enable me to buy my independence.

  “True, mate. I’m sick of asking my mum and dad for everything too. I need to start making my own money too,” Chris said in a more serious tone. I hadn’t even thought that Chris might have been feeling the same. I had heard it in his voice; he meant it.

  “Shall I come and see you so we can have a chat? If this is the weed you can get, I want to get involved,” Chris asked.

  “I’d like you to; but I’ve been out the last two days, and you know what my dad’s like. Shall I meet you straight after I finish school tomorrow?” I replied trying to compromise.

  “Yes, definitely, I’ll come and pick you up from school, walk down to the chip shop; I’ll be there waiting for you,” Chris said. “Okay cool,” I said before hanging up. Chris had been driving for about two months. His parents had bought him a newish small two-door car to get to college, even though the college was only a 15-minute walk from Chris’ house; and he could have definitely done with the exercise. I planned to go to school in the morning only because I didn’t want school to call my parents. That would only put my actions under scrutiny, that’s the last thing I needed. I wanted to be under the radar, at least until I had enough money to do whatever I wanted.

  My birthday would be in three weeks. As soon as I’m 16, I can legally move out, I thought to myself.

  Phone still in hand, I called Olivia. I wanted to start to distance myself from her; so I concluded, the earlier I start to do it, the better. I didn’t want to use up precious brainpower thinking about her.

  “Hi baby,” I said trying to sound a little under the weather. She almost instantly noticed the groggy and ill tone of my voice.

  “What’s up with you, CY?” Olivia asked sounding concerned.

  “I’m not very well, sorry, I haven’t called. I’ve got a bad stomach bug, I think.” I lied while trying to sound poorly without over-doing it.

  “Oh baby, I hope you’re okay? Is there anything I can do?” Olivia asked. Knowing Olivia couldn’t get me any weed sales, I literally had no use for her other than sex.

  “No, babe, I’m okay. I’m just going to rest. I’ll meet you on Thursday though. My mum says it should take at least three days to pass. I don’t want you to catch it.” I was a great liar, and she bought it without a seconds’ thought.

  “Okay, babes. As soon as you feel better, call me. I miss your kisses,” Olivia said keen to comfort me.

  “Okay gorgeous, I love you,” I said. Happy to have convinced her, I had a valid reason not to see her for the next three days.

  “Love you too, Cyrus. Bye, babe,” I put the phone down feeling relieved.

  Darkness had fallen outside on our estate. My room had gone from light to dark, peering through my blinds without me even being noticeable. Trish’s living room light flickered, as her TV changed the brightness in the room. I felt at ease knowing I could just peer through the bedroom window to see my stash house.

  I worked out that after paying Jason, my brother, John and Tom, I’d have £300 profit for myself. It wasn’t the £590 Jason had told me I’d get because I wasn’t doing the work. After all, I had never expected them to sell weed for me for free, plus I wouldn’t have wanted them to. It wouldn’t have been fair. The money they made was their motivation; that’s the way I looked at it.

  I went downstairs for the best part of half an hour to physically show my dad I was still in the house, so he couldn’t moan the next day. I was already planning to be out. Before returning to my room to get my stuff ready for school and the day ahead, it crossed my mind to call Jason to give him an update, but I fought back the urge. I wanted to wait until I had £670 in full before I spoke to him.

  Having nothing to do for the rest of the night, I got undressed and climbed into bed. The little green digits on my digital alarm clock read 22:26; this was earlier than I’d usually go to bed. My body was tired though; my brain was still active, running over possibility after possibility, working out calculation after calculation. Eventually, I wore myself out and fell asleep.

  My alarm woke me up at 08:15, still feeling tired. I felt like I could sleep for another eight hours at least. It was light outside as I rolled out of bed to start the day. I completed my usual routine of teeth-brushing, face-washing, dressing and having no breakfast before leaving for school. Before I left, I glanced into Daniel’s room to find him sound asleep, wrapped up like a cocoon, exactly as I had found him on the morning before.

  I walked the same route towards John and Tom’s to get to school. The same amount of traffic and commuting people filled the roads and pavements. Mothers with brigades of children and pushchairs looking half-asleep, completing their maternal duties by taking their young children to school and nurseries.

  My slow walk was relaxing as I observed everyone around me, living there lives by having decisions being made for them. When at school, I said the usual hellos to the kids, most of which had no real concept of life—a bunch of fucking idiots really. Then I had the luxury of learning about things like human anatomy. Why? I’ll never know. We had the NHS (National Health Service) that provided free health care; they were human anatomy specialists, so why a bunch of 16-year-olds needed to know how a kidney works is beyond me; unless of course, I wanted to be a doctor, which I didn’t.

  The day continued to be wasted until 3:30 in the afternoon when I was released from school. Hundreds of different aged children with bags strapped over their shoulder, all disappearing in different directions, like ants. The noise of hundreds of unbroken voices filled the air outside the school. The day was warm and bright as I said, “Bye, lads.”

  Chapter 6

  The next month seemed to fly by as my status in the drug game grew from strength to strength. My shop was thriving. Everybody in a four-mile radius knew where to get the best weed from—thanks to my brother and the McBrides. From middle-aged builders and factory workers in their 40s and 50s to spotty 15 and 16-year-old kids, everybody came to score from the McBrides. At times, I would sit around the house for an hour or two in the chill out room. John would rarely get ten minutes to himself before either the door knocked or the phone rang or both. I would sit and watch with no expression on my face, almost as if I was oblivious to what was going on
. I would sit, talking to Chris or whoever I was with at the time, almost pretending I couldn’t see the droves of people that would keep arriving at the McBride’s house to buy drugs.

  I was very aware of what was going on, and inside I was bubbling with excitement. I was happier than I had ever been internally. The problem with always wanting more means that you will never be content; I definitely wanted more.

  I was making more money than John and Tom put together, it was important that I kept a shrewd poker face. If I started dancing every time I paid them their wages, then they may start to wonder why I was so happy. The way I saw it was that they were happy to sit at home and get paid £200 a week each to answer the front door or phone; and as far as they were concerned, smoking free weed all day was the best bonus they could have wished for. I didn’t feel guilty; technically, I was providing a pothead’s paradise. However, I was making a ‘killing’. I was getting through three batches every seven days, and this was netting me £900 a week, which was the same as a senior manager in a moderately successful business. In fact, I earned more than the man in the suit with a briefcase, because the taxman had no idea I existed, and this meant he kept his grubby fingers out of my pockets.

  I had just turned 16; my blue and red National Insurance card had arrived in the post sometime last week. “You can get a job now, Cyrus,” my mum had said happily, knowing I was now eligible to work. I had to summon up every ounce of deception in my body to smile at her and look happy that I could now get a job. I had a job, and a job I liked; my job paid better than my mum and dad’s jobs put together. As far as I was concerned, the piece of plastic called a ‘National Insurance Card’ was irrelevant to my life, I intended to leave that in a drawer in my room forever.

  Chris would come and pick me up every morning without fail. It was the summer holidays, so my dad didn’t ask where I was going. “Do you want some money, Cyrus?” my mum had asked as I was running out the door on a few occasions.

  “No, I’m okay,” I had called back to her as I was leaving the house. I knew this rose her suspicions, but I didn’t care. I started selling drugs for independence, so having to take pocket money from my mum defeated the object. Mine and Chris’ venture had taken off since picking up our first 40 ounces of cannabis. We kept our weed in a safe that Chris had been given for Christmas; God only knows why Chris’ mum and dad brought their 18-year-old son a safe. I imagined it was because they gave him so much that they assumed he would need a safe to hoard his accumulated wealth. The safe provided us with a secure location to keep our weed. Even if Chris’ mum and dad suspected he had drugs in the safe, they couldn’t open it; and there was no way that they would call the police on their golden child—we could guarantee that much.

  Chris lived a five-minute walk from my house on the estate. It was across the main road. Along the main road to the left a short distance, before turning into a residential side street, the crossing of that main road marked the division between the houses on our estate, and the houses that were double the price across the road where Chris lived. Chris’ house was a big, red-bricked corner house with a perfectly paved driveway. Tall conifer trees were planted around the house either side of the driveway. The house had posh dark-brown window frames with lead patterns on the glass. The house Chris lived in was more suited to my taste than the cardboard thing I had the pleasure of living in. Chris had kept to his word in fine fashion since our first conversation in the fast food restaurant’s car park. He had asked me to get 40 ounces which I had done. A month had passed since then, we were now getting 50 ounces every five to seven days, depending on the demand. Chris’ cousin was a good customer, as were some friends his cousin had. Also, some other dealers from the local area brought their cannabis from us to sell. All of the dealers tended to be a lot bigger and older than Chris and me, and this did worry me. I knew exactly what I was capable of, what worried me is the fact that they might not. If they thought I was a pussy, they might want to ‘fuck me’, and I couldn’t have that. I planned to do something to ensure everybody would know exactly what I was made of as soon as the opportunity arose. The person that steps out of line will be the person I used to make an example out of. I didn’t know who this person would be. I didn’t want it to be anyone, but at 16, I was wise enough to know the world is not made of daisy chains and buttermilk. I had already made plans to beat whoever crossed me half to death with a baseball bat or stab them or worse, depending on what the violation would be.

  I had spent the last week or two in the passenger seat of Chris’ car. From the ounces of cannabis Chris was selling for me, I had saved nearly £500. Added to the money I had made from my shop, I had saved nearly £2, 400, which meant I had gone from broke to having £7,150 in just over a month. Saving almost every penny made had its benefits; the money stashed at my aunt’s house, combined with the money hidden in my room meant if the worst were to happen, and Chris and I lost 50 ounces for any reason, I’d have enough money to pay Jason and Jabber and start again. Every time we picked up a new batch, it worried me sick. I wasn’t worried about the police or the risk of being court. It was just knowledge that the money I had saved was at risk. That was where the worry stemmed from. Fifty ounces of cannabis cost me £7,500. I had nearly saved enough money to cover that. My big brother and I had spoken about me giving him a little bonus. He was running the shop really well. Daniel made sure the McBrides never had to wait in between collecting a new load of merchandise to sell. Daniel picked the money up on time without fail and kept me up-to-date as and when I needed to make sure I had more cannabis to give him for the shop. It was only fair my brother reaped a fair reward for his hard work. Daniel was happy to make £300 profit a week tax-free. I had given him direct access to Trish’s house, which in turn gave me less work to do. It didn’t make sense me having to go there every time the McBrides needed cannabis. Trish knew my brother just as well as she knew me, so it wasn’t a problem for Daniel to go there. I surmised me doing my own dirty work wasn’t logical.

  It was a Saturday afternoon. I rolled over as I began to wake. I loved to wake up naturally, it felt unrushed and relaxing. For me it was the complete opposite to the sharp, noisy bleeping of my digital alarm clock. Waking up naturally suited my love of doing what I wanted to do perfectly. I rolled over and stretched gently as I prepared mentally for the day ahead. I didn’t have much on the agenda for the day, just the usual or what had now become the usual. I would wait to be picked up by Chris, after satisfying his forever need to eat. I would spend the rest of the day marketing my new drug-dealing enterprise. After I had made two trips to my shop (the McBride’s) and got my brother and Chris to call all of their contacts and customers, my day’s work was done.

  My time was now my own, with no school to go to anymore. Also I had successfully dumped Olivia, which made me a free agent, I was happier than ever. I lay in my bed wide awake just savouring the feeling of contentment before my phone rang. I had put it on the floor next to my bed and turned the call tone volume down, so my dad wouldn’t hear the fairly frequent calls I now became accustomed to receiving. The calls I received mainly came from either John or Tom, my brother, or the odd customer that was still calling me even though they knew I would just send them to the McBride’s or Chris. A few drug-dealers would call me to send Chris with two ounces here or five ounces there, but that was practically it. So, the name flashing on my phone came as a bit of a surprise to me. ‘Jason’ flashed on my phone which was unusual. What did he want at 11:30 in the morning? I had cannabis at Trish’s for John and Tom to sell, and Chris had about 30 ounces hidden at his house. He can’t expect his money yet, as I still had seven days before our usual ten-day deadline, so I had no idea what he could want. “Yes mate,” I said as I answered.

  “Yes, Cyrus, you okay, mate?” Jason asked. I knew Jason had not called me to see if I was okay. Jason wasn’t the type of person that gave people welfare calls.

  “I’m good, mate, what’s up?” I asked eager for him to get to the poin
t.

  “Are you busy today, Cyrus?” Jason asked.

  “No, why?” Jason didn’t seem annoyed, so I wasn’t worried.

  “Cyrus, my uncle wants to meet you, so he said he’s coming to pick me up; and then we are going to come pick you up, and then we’ll go and get some lunch?” Jason asked. I had seen Jason’s Uncle Jabber outside Jason’s house when I had visited my auntie over the years; he had a kind of army style haircut. Jabber was definitely overweight, but he had an equal mixture of fat and muscle. He had a kind of powerlifter’s physique.

  Jason’s Uncle Jabber had tattoos on his arms and wore a thick gold bracelet. Jabber looked mean and intimidating, big fleshy cheeks and a big red head. I didn’t mind buying the guy’s drugs. I appreciated the fact him and Jason were happy to give me cannabis on credit, but why would he want me to come for lunch? I concluded it would be rude to say ‘no’, and the fact I had told Jason I wasn’t busy meant I couldn’t exactly make an excuse up now. “Yes, I will come for lunch if you’s want; what time were you thinking?” I said reluctantly and purely not wanting to rock the boat.

  “My uncle will be at mine in half an hour, so we will be at yours in 45 minutes,” Jason explained.

  “Okay, pick me up from the shop at the top of my estate,” I said as I wondered if Jason actually knew where I lived. Jason knew a lot of people that were sure to know where I lived, but I had used this little bit of psychology to test Jason to see if he had done his homework on where I lived.

  “You mean the shop at the top of your road,” Jason said after a slight pause. He was letting me know he knew exactly where I lived. I did owe him just under £8,200, so I couldn’t blame him for finding out my address. It was the nature of the game I was in. If somebody owed me that sort of money, I’d camp outside their house and follow their every move. In any event, Jason had given me a subtle warning, it was also a warning I understood clearly. The only problem with what Jason had said to me was that it had been said to me. If Jason had said that to anybody else, it would have been perfectly reasonable. I knew I had read into what could have been said innocently. I knew that I had derived conclusions from something that could have been innocent. ‘You mean the shop at the top of your road’, I ran it over in my mind as I lay relaxing in my cheap metal bed.