From Innocence to Arrogance

by Ezekiel King

  “Cyrus, how are you, little fella. The weed I’ll have will be better not worst, don’t worry,” was basically what Jabber had said.

  As I left my house to start a slow walk to the McBride’s out of boredom, I turned right out of my back gate, walked between the stumps that prevented a car from taking the same route and started my journey. Taking this route was the shortest way to get to the McBride’s. It wasn’t a major shortcut, but a shortcut nevertheless. As I walked through my estate, I looked around at all the shitty council houses occupied by families on benefits and single mums. Nearly out of my estate, I saw one of two brothers at their gate. He was a heroin-addict and crack cocaine-smoker; it was common knowledge on our estate. I had known Luke all my life; the change in Luke had come as a shock to the other kids and me on our estate. One day he was smoking weed and had clear skin and fairly decent hygiene; the next day he had lost his mind through drugs and had the worst hygiene known to man. His fingertips were black; and for a white kid that stood out like a sore thumb, he was always sweating and grubby. Yes. Heroin and crack changed Luke’s life completely.

  Luke would shout and bully his mum’s last penny out of her purse to buy heroin. At times, he’d be violent and aggressive to get her to part with her cash for food and bills. Other times, he’d complain of stomach cramps and withdrawal symptoms, promising her in tears if she provided money for drugs to make him better, he’d get the help needed to kick his drug habit. I would still say hello to Luke in passing, but the days of us hanging about in his garden smoking weed were long gone.

  “Hi, Cyrus, I heard you’re doing well for yourself now, mate,” Luke said trying to look and act as normally as he could, considering his situation.

  “Yes, mate. If anyone wants weed, go and see the McBrides,” I replied quick to promote my business at every opportunity. Luke was standing in the gateway of his garden where the gate would be if it was closed. He was just standing there looking out at the street, scanning his surroundings, like a bird of prey on its perch. As I got closer, he stepped out of the gateway to come closer to me.

  “Cyrus, did you know at the bottom of this road some Turkish people or Kosovans have moved in?” Luke asked.

  “And?” I said, not quite sure what that had to do with me.

  “Well, yesterday, my mate, Doyle, seen them unloading of van full of big brown boxes into their garage. When they saw Doyle was watching, they started acting really nervous,” Luke explained. I understood exactly where Luke was going with this. Luke was suggesting I steal the brown boxes, and I can honestly say I loved the idea.

  "What was in the brown boxes though? I asked, trying to sound disinterested, but still wanting and needing valuable information.

  “I don’t know, you will have to get in there to know that,” Luke said.

  I thought for a minute before saying, “Fuck it, I’ll rob it. And you don’t tell anybody else that we’ve had this conversation!” I reached in my pocket and gave Luke £20 which he accepted without a murmur. We both knew his situation. The fact he didn’t even ask me for any money made giving it him justifiable to me. I didn’t expect a thank you, and Luke didn’t give me one. If Luke weren’t a drug-addict, he probably wouldn’t have accepted it. If he wasn’t a drug-addict, I probably wouldn’t have given it to him. We both knew this, so there was nothing to speak about. It was a conversation that need not be had.

  I kept walking to the McBride’s house without further interruption. Life was getting boring for me sitting around in John and Tom’s or driving around delivering ounces with Chris. I had money now, but I didn’t do anything with it. Even with all these people around me, I felt lonely. I missed having a girlfriend. Olivia had liked me for who I was, and I had dropped her, like a hot potato to sell drugs. I didn’t regret it though. I knew sacrifices had to be made, and Olivia was my first of many more to come.

  All the people around me seemed to have things to do. John and Tom took turns answering both their phones and serving customers. So when either of them were working, they had two phones that rang to the point it was actually ridiculous. Then they had a house phone that would call quite frequently, then answering the door, serving people and locking the door after them kept both the McBrides busy all day. My brother would be busy with his friends getting more customers. He would also have to pick money up once or twice a day from the McBride’s, then sort out their batch for the next day, make sure they had enough little empty drug bags and weigh up bags for John and Tom when they were too busy to do it themselves. Chris would drive around all day selling ounces when he wasn’t eating, sleeping or smoking cannabis, which seemed to be his favourite pastime, but me, I was bored because my job was to get paid when the job was done and commission the next job. In essence, I only had to work for one hour a week. I felt like something was missing. I had a void in my life that needed filling. I was too young to know that the void I had was greed!

  I got up from the sofa in the McBride’s chill-out room at about 9 o’clock at night. I had been sitting there for hours. Chris had gone to his house to get ounces of cannabis to drop to someone. I had decided not to go as Jason and his Uncle Jabber had told me to avoid being in a car when people are dropping off drugs, which gave me even less things to do with myself!

  “Stay under the radar,” Jabber had said. Understanding his point, I took his advice on self-preservation; therefore, I decided to only accompany Chris on certain sales when I deemed it safe. I said goodbye to the McBride brothers and the few stoned teenagers that John and Tom liked enough to let them stay and smoke weed in their house and left. The ten-minute walk back to the estate was quiet—I liked the quiet. At only 16, it felt like I had spent two lifetimes listening to people. The sound of human voices in general grated on me. Sometimes, I just liked to hear nothing. The setting of the sun left the sky cool and tranquil as I started the walk back towards my house. The sun had almost disappeared by the time I got back to the estate.

  A few of the older lads in their early 20s were in the street opposite my house listening to the music playing out of a car one of them had. Not wanting to go in so early, I went over to talk to them for a while. I had nothing better to do.

  “Hi, Cyrus,” one of the lads said respectfully. I had noticed the change in the way the group had spoken to me since I had started dealing drugs. They now treated me like one of their peers instead of just the little mixed race kid that lives in the street. It’s about time you fuckers started giving me the respect I deserve, I had thought. If I hadn’t started dealing and earnt that respect, one of them would have overstepped the mark one day, and I would have had to stab or shoot one of them so things hadn’t worked out too badly.

  “How are you lot? Are you lot okay?” I asked to make conversation.

  “We’re good, just hanging out. Have you heard about them Kosovans at the bottom of the estate?” the same lad asked.

  “No, why? What about them?” I lied to see what other information I could get.

  “Apparently, crackhead Luke’s mate. Doyle seen them unloading boxes into their garage,” one of the group said.

  I had a think for a split second before saying the same thing I had said to Luke, “Boxes of what?”

  “I don’t know, but we are going to check it out,” the same lad said. I knew the lads that dossed around the estate, a few of them had dabbled in crime. Although they were older than me, they were not hardened criminals. They were more talk than action, but as they had said they planned to rob the garage, I thought it fair game to give them the first bite of the cherry. After all, the boxes could have old clothes in them for all I knew.

  I stayed in the congregation for ten minutes before going home, feeling neither here nor there about the Kosovans’ garage. I was making good money, so I wasn’t bothered either way.

  It was my greed that gave me the restlessness that would never leave. It made me feel like I was always missing something. It was my subconscious that wanted to hoard all the money and women in the world
away for myself, and I would not be content until I did. If the last woman had the last pound, I wouldn’t feel content until I owned her and that pound exclusively. I didn’t understand the constant feeling I had as I walked into my room feeling tense.

  I waited until I was sure I was alone upstairs before I slid out the last draw of my big unit of drawers. I took the draw completely out so I could see the carpet underneath the cupboard. Then I took the money I had stashed there out and counted it. ‘£3,520’. I took my wages from John and Tom’s and added it to the pile. They had just paid me another £300. I took £20 out for spending money and put the rest under the set of drawers, slid the bottom drawer back into place quietly and sat down on my bed to relax. Purely out of boredom, I made a few pointless phone calls. Chris asked me if I wanted to come to meet some girls with him. Chris liked me to come to see girls with him as his weight made him nervous. He knew bringing me would be sure to lighten the atmosphere, as I knew how to have a laugh with girls. Although I almost always wanted to go and meet girls, I declined the offer.

  “Tell them we will meet them on Friday, mate, I want to go and get some new clothes on Friday. After, we will go and meet them looking fresh! What do you reckon?” I had asked the question spontaneously.

  “Yes, that sounds good to me,” Chris replied sounding happy about the idea.

  It was a Wednesday night. I didn’t feel like going out, and I had already decided to try to sleep off the restlessness and anxiousness I had been feeling for the last few weeks. It didn’t occur to me that the feelings of anxiety and restlessness had started around the time of my criminality.

  I hadn’t planned to go shopping before I had spoken to Chris, it just came out in conversation; but after I had said it, I had looked forward to it instantly. I planned to buy some dark blue Italian jeans, similar to the kind I had seen Jason wearing. A designer T-shirt, similar to the one his Uncle Jabber had worn with some designer trainers. I had the money to do it, so I might as well. I imagined the jeans would probably cost £150 and T-shirt and trainers may be £300; an expensive outfit for a 16-year-old. If I could pull girls in a tracksuit, wait until they see me after my shopping trip. I’ll have them queueing around the block.

  The prospect of pulling a new bird and a hotter one than I had ever thought would look at me lifted my spirits. Deciding to call it a night, I switched off everything electrical except my phone and went to sleep.

  Reggae music playing downstairs in the living room told me my dad was at home as I rolled over feeling well rested the following morning. My dad had a great taste in music; he’d listen to anything from jazz to reggae. My dad is definitely eclectic when it comes to his taste in music. The music my dad was playing gave me a nice feeling as I woke up. I got out of bed to start the usual routine of washing, brushing my teeth, creaming my hands and face. I needed a haircut, but I had planned to do that after my shopping trip on Friday. After getting ready, I joined my dad who was now in the kitchen in his dressing gown and slippers. “I’m making you some breakfast before you rush out, Cyrus,” my dad said in the most pleasant tone he’d use when doing a selfless act. My dad was a man of many moods. One day, he’d be as nice as warm apple pie and ice cream; the next day, he could be the most miserable nightmare anyone could hate to meet. It just depended when you caught him. At his age, you would have thought he would have learnt not to take his moods and problems out on other people, but he hadn’t. It was common practice for my dad to come home after a bad day at work. Come home in a foul mood; then mum, my brother and I would have to bear the brunt of his bad mood. I stood to watch my dad finish frying fish on the stove which was the breakfast he was making.

  My dad was born in Jamaica in the coastal town of Negril, growing up in the Caribbean; so near to the sea meant he had grown up eating a lot of fish, him doing so also meant I grew up eating a lot of fish. I didn’t mind as it was always so very tasty. “What are you up to today, Cyrus?” my dad asked as I stood next to him receiving a silent cooking lesson.

  “Not much really. I think I’m going to meet Chris for lunch and then probably meet some girls and chill out with them,” I replied trying to justify being out the house all day innocently.

  “Oh, okay, just stay out of trouble,” my dad replied. The fish was dry fried and had turned a kind of reddish. It was ‘red mullet’, a very meaty fish that has a slightly salty taste and leaves a slightly sweet aftertaste. It was one of my favourites. My dad had given me a piece of fish with some ‘hard food’ yellow yam and cassava.

  I sat down at our dining room table to eat. It was the kind of breakfast that was packed full of nutrition and taste. My dad left the kitchen to go upstairs, which allowed me to finish eating a little quicker than I would have had he still been there to tell me to take my time. Placing my plate in the sink, I started out the door. “Thanks, Dad, that was lovely,” I said as I pulled the squeaky door handle to leave. Outside the back of my house, I could see two of the lads that had been in the group, drinking beer and listening to music the night previously. I wondered if they had found out what was in the Kosovans’ garage.

  I did not want them to know that I had a direct interest in the matter, so I used my knowledge of manipulating to get the information I wanted. “Hi, lads,” I said to start conversation. I knew although these lads were older than me, they were light years behind me in terms of intelligence, so I used this to my advantage.

  “Yes, Cyrus, what are you up to today?” One of them asked.

  “Nothing really, mate, you seemed to be having a good night last night. What did you lot and up doing?” I asked innocently, as though I was just making conversation with no ulterior motive.

  “Nothing, we just had a few beers and went home about 1:00 in the morning,” the same dumb guy told me.

  Great, I thought. I knew these mouthpieces didn’t have the brains or the balls to carry out anything that didn’t involve killing brain cells with cheap alcohol.

  “Oh, yes, I will catch up with you guys later. I am just going to start work,” I said as I started walking in the direction of John and Tom’s. I smiled to myself as I walked. People are so easy to manipulate if you know how.

  If I wanted to know if somebody had eaten their dinner. I didn’t need to say ‘have you had dinner?’ I could simply ask ‘are you hungry?’ If you ask the right questions, it’s amazing the information people offer up without a thought in the world. Fucking idiots. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I searched for Chris’ number in the phonebook and pressed call.

  “Cyrus,” Chris said as he answered.

  “Fatty,” I joked in reply.

  “You idiot, what’s up? Where are you?” Chris asked.

  “I’m walking at the top of my estate on the way to Tom and John’s,” I replied.

  “Cyrus, I only have five ounces left, so we are going to need more tomorrow, mate,” Chris explained, quick to bring me up to speed on business matters.

  “How much money have you got there now then?” I asked as that was my primary concern.

  “I’ve got £50 under £8, 500,” Chris replied. We only owed £7,500 for our 50-ounce supply, but I liked to finish selling it all before paying everybody at once. Me, Jason, Jabber and Chris, all got paid together, then we would start a fresh batch. It saved the confusion or anybody having to wait for their money all wages longer than anybody else. “What’s your plans for Friday then?” Chris asked.

  “We will get paid tomorrow, then we can go shopping out of our wages and get fresh haircuts if you want?” I said, letting Chris know I had already mapped out our plans for the day.

  “Yes, that’s fine with me. I’ve got to go out for a family meal later today, so I will call you after that if it’s not too late. If not, I will come and pick you up first thing tomorrow,” Chris said.

  “Okay, I will see you later or tomorrow,” I said before putting the phone down. Next, I called Jason. I liked to use my phone as I walked down the road, it made me feel important, like a businessman tend
ing to his financial affairs.

  Using my phone while walking down the main road would give anybody that saw me the impression that I was busy and important—I liked that.

  I strolled leisurely down the main road on the footpath; arriving at the McBride’s house, I tapped the letterbox loudly. John and Tom’s mum and dad owned the house, but to me, I had an equal stake in this place as it was ‘my’ place of business.

  When the McBride parents were not at work or in the pub, they would either be drunk from the pub or tired from work. This combination mixed with their excessive-relaxed attitudes made them never a problem for me when negotiating the running of my business from their front door. I had told John, "Meet people at the top of your street when it’s really busy. I don’t want you pissing your mum and dad off, mate’. We had spoken about this on a few occasions. John answered the front door looking hungover from the night before; he had on his shorts and no T-shirt.

  “Morning, mate,” John said sounding like he had just crawled out of bed.

  “Morning mate,” I reiterated as I stepped into the house. It wasn’t morning; it was 12:10, but I chose not to get on John’s case. Under normal circumstances, I would have, but I had come to know when I pay John and Tom, they liked to have a knees up, drinking beer and smoking weed until the tiny hours of the morning, so I wasn’t surprised to have to wake them up on the morning after payday. “Where is Tom?” I asked anticipating being told he still in bed.

  “Sleeping, I will wake him up in a minute,” John replied.

  No shock there, I thought to myself. “Still asleep? The lazy bastard,” I joked as I pretended to be surprised he wasn’t up.

  I plumped down on the black leather sofa in the living room. There was something about sitting on a cold leather sofa that I had always liked. It was the same feeling as getting into bed and putting your head on a cold pillow. I just found it soothing to my senses. I had spoken to Jason during my slow walk to the McBride’s and told him I would need another 50 ounces for my bulk cannabis sales, and most likely another nine ounces for my shop at the McBride’s. He had told me he would have it ready, but it would all most certainly be ‘the new stuff’, much to my distress. I didn’t really have nothing planned for the day other than what I had already done, which was wake John and Tom up to make sure that my shop was open for business. As my mind wandered, the same sense of restlessness returned. I sat in the McBride’s and watched people start to arrive to score cannabis with the same regularity I had seen standing outside my local convenience store. I thought about Friday. I planned to wake up and call Chris. There was a designer clothes shop in the city centre. Jason had told me about the shop when I had told him where I had brought sportswear from in an attempt to impress him. He had frowned and said, “Cyrus, those shops are okay for sportswear, but you cannot get decent clothes from there. You need an up-market designer clothes shop.”