by Ezekiel King
“Good morning, Cyrus. Where did you sleep last night? Mum’s been asking where you were; she said you went to meet some girls with Chris,” Daniel told me as we walked through the kitchen.
“Come upstairs to my room,” I said as Daniel followed me upstairs.
We sat down on my bed constructed from hollow tubes of metal as I explained what I had done the night before. “I’m coming next time you go there,” Daniel said at the point I was telling him about the hot tub in the garden, and how pretty the girls were. I continued to tell my brother what I had done all the way up until walking through our back gate. “Where did you get your new clothes from, and your trainers are really nice?” Daniel asked before doing what everybody had done I had seen since I put them on—looking at me from top to bottom, then bottom to top.
“I got them from town,” I replied, “where is Mum?” I asked quickly to try and get a handle on where my business stood in terms of selling my stolen cigarettes.
“She is over Trish’s house,” Daniel said as he stood up and left me alone to get changed and ready for the day. The feeling of restlessness had returned to me much to my distress. It was almost a stomach-churning feeling of missing something, like a slight anxiety that I could never get a hold of. I concluded it was because I had £30,000 worth of cigarette sales to do. On top of that, I had to get a new load of cannabis for my workforce to supply.
“Hi, Mum, I’m back home now,” I said in a happy and cheerful tone.
“Okay good, Cyrus, we have sold another £5,000 worth, and the same guy will have another £5,000 worth later,” my mother informed me as I could hear her stop counting money and Trish’s voice in the background.
“Are there many cigarettes left?” I asked still finding it hard to believe I had generated so much cash in from them.
“Cyrus, there is absolutely loads, it’s going to take a while to shift all of these,” my mum replied as if she thought I was being sarcastic asking if there was many left.
“Chris’ uncle is going to come and buy £20,000 worth at 2 o’clock, then my mate is going to come for £10,000 worth later, will I have enough to supply their need?” I asked, hoping the answer would be yes.
“I will count them out, but I am sure there will be enough and a lot more,” my mother confirmed.
“Brilliant, can I give them your phone number to sort it out? They will bring the money with them, and can you sell them from our house as I don’t want anybody to know where they are being kept?” I asked and suggested.
“Okay, as long as they are not dodgy or idiots,” my mother replied. I always had a talent for delegating jobs.
“Mum, I will sort you out a nice chunk of money for helping me when these are sold, okay?” I said feeling very grateful for what she had done for me.
“Okay, Cyrus,” my mother replied in her ‘stop patronising’ voice. We both put the phone down, and I called Jabber directly. It didn’t make sense calling Jason to call Jabber. I only still called Jason about the weed because that was what I had always done. So, it made sense to just keep doing it; plus, he had gone out on a limb to get me cannabis when I had nothing, so I didn’t want him to think that I had just forgotten about him.
“Hi Jabber, how are you doing, my friend? It’s Cyrus,” I said in a solid and confident tone that demanded respect.
“Oh hi, Cyrus, I was just thinking about you, and you called me. Have you seen the new stuff yet?” Jabber asked assuming that was why I had called him. It was the only reason I had called him before, so he had fair reason to assume that was what this call was about.
“No, not yet, I’m getting it in the next hour, but I was calling you to see what time you wanted to come and buy these cigarettes as I have got them here for you?” I said in the same tone that demanded to be treated as an equal. Jabber paused for a few seconds while thinking.
“Have you got them there now?” Jabber asked in his deep and bass-filled tone.
“Yes, I’ve got them here,” I replied.
“I will come and get them now. I’ve got £10,000 here, so I will leave now. Your house is the first left after that shop on the main road, isn’t it?” Jabber asked.
“Yes, take the first left after the shop, then go straight down to the bottom of the road and turn right, and it’s the last house on the right,” I replied, with no care in the world that he’d know where I lived.
“Mum, bring 256 sleeves over to the house, please. My mate is going to be here in ten minutes,” I said as soon as my mother answered the phone.
“Okay, is he going to call me, or are you going to sort it out?” my mother asked. Trish’s house was directly across from the front of our house, and one house to the right if you are standing in front of our doorway.
While waiting for my mum and Jabber, in that order hopefully, I decided to have a shower. I was in and out in under five minutes. Two more minutes later, I was dry and mostly dressed. Back in a tracksuit, I felt comfy feeling the soft material against my body. The jeans looked nice, but they felt rigid, like they restricted movement slightly. Shit, I thought as I heard my dad’s voice downstairs.
“Cyrus,” my dad called to see if I was home.
“I’m up here, one second, I’m coming downstairs now,” I called down the stairs to my dad. I put my tracksuit’s jumper on and started down the thin creaky staircase. As I neared the bottom of the staircase, the front door opened that was directly at the bottom of the stairs. My mother and Trish came in holding giant bags. They put them down in front of the cupboard next to the stairs and went back out of the house. Why did my dad have to come back now and not in half an hour? I thought as I walked into the kitchen to see what he wanted.
“Good morning, Dad,” I said trying to act happy to see him.
“Are you all right? I’ve just been to the market. I’ve got papaya and honey mangoes, and I’m going to cook some curry mutton with rice and gungu peas,” my dad was suspiciously happy. (Papaya is a fruit from the Caribbean, and honey mangoes are bright yellow mangoes that grow mostly in the South East and are very sweet. Curry mutton is lamb curry with Jamaican spices, and gungu peas are little peas otherwise known as black-eyed peas.)
“It sounds lovely. I’m going to be pottering around the house today. I’m just waiting for my mate buy some cigarettes,” I explained to my dad. It was better for me to tell him instead of it surprising him. If I told him, he would have less grounds to start moaning and nagging.
I expected Jabber to arrive any minute, so it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. No sooner had I thought that then my mum and Trish re-entered the house with the last bags of cigarettes. My phone rang, with Jabber calling me. “Is it all right if my mate comes in to buy these cigarettes?” I asked my dad. He seemed to be in a strangely good mood, which would have made me an idiot not to take advantage of it. “Hi, Jabber,” I said sounding pleasant and innocent because my dad could hear me.
“I’m outside, mate,” Jabber replied.
“Okay, I will come out to show you which house it is,” I said purely for the benefit of my dad’s ears.
I put the phone down, started out the back door. I wanted to tell Jabber not to mention weed in front of my dad because he would drop me in the shit. I met Jabber as he opened our warped back gate. “Mate, my dad is in, don’t mention weed,” I whispered trying not to lose too much face.
“No problem, Cyrus, I won’t,” Jabber replied as he manoeuvred his wide frame through our gateway. Jabber followed me through the back door and around the corner into the kitchen.
“Fucking hell, son,” Jabber said as his eyes lit up at the sight of my father. My dad smiled at Jabber; no way near as happy as Jabber was to see him, but that was my dad’s nature—reserved and cold personified.
“Long time, no see, Jay,” my dad said as the two of them shook hands and gave each other a manly hug. It looked like a polar bear hugging a grizzly bear. Jabber’s big gold bracelet jingled as they shook hands.
“I can’t believe Cyrus is
your son. Now that I look at him, I can see it as clear as day,” Jabber said as he stared at me; then my dad in turn while shaking his head in disbelief.
“I know, small world, hey, Jay? Cyrus told me his friend was coming to buy some cigarettes, I didn’t expect that friend to be you,” my dad said. Jabber was standing there with a carrier bag that looked heavy due to the amount of money inside of it. The money was concealed in the bag though, due to being wrapped up in plastic and then put inside the carrier bag Jabber was holding.
“Cyrus knows my nephew, little Jason, that’s how I know him, Calv,” Jabber lied; well more accurately told half of the truth.
“Cyrus, why didn’t you tell me Calvin is your dad—he is the real deal,” Jabber said while looking at me. I was still standing feet planted to the spot they had been when I realised they knew each other.
“Just cool,” my dad said to Jabber. Letting him know blowing his trumpet was not needed. “Jabber, if you ever hear his name, let anyone know this is my little boy, and tell them ‘don’t fuck about’, all right, mate? I’m off the streets now, but I want you to watch out for him, okay?” my dad said to Jabber with the same stern look he gives me when I’m getting a warning. I knew my dad had been dodgy years ago, but I could never have imagined him giving Jabber a direct order. Jabber was about 18 stones and about 6’0" with a bald head; he wasn’t the type of guy you’d tell to do anything. I left the two of them talking and went around the corner into the hallway to get Jabber’s cigarettes that my mum and Trish had left outside of the cupboard by the stairs. Making two trips, I put them on the floor near the wall where Jabber was standing.
“How many sleeves are there, Cyrus?” Jabber asked, softer-spoken than ever before.
“There is meant to be 250, but I’ve gave you six extra sleeves for free, Jabber,” I said it like I had never done business with him before or had a decent conversation with him.
My dad was watching us out of the corner of his eye as he was putting things in the fridge and pottering around the kitchen. “Okay, looks good to me,” Jabber said as he flicked open the bags to give his goods a quick inspection. “Here is the money, mate,” Jabber said as he put the carry bag he was still holding on the dining room table which made the sound of a phonebook dropping on the table as it rested on the hard wooden surface.
“Cyrus, will you give me a hand putting these in my car?” Jabber asked. I hadn’t said much since he had come into my house; the fact him and my big black dad had known each other had put me on the back foot from the get go. “Calvin, nice to see you, pal. I’ll give your Cyrus my number. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call,” Jabber said as he picked up three large bags with ease and started around the corridor towards the back door. He placed the bags on the floor to get his car keys out to open the car. I wasn’t sure what to say to him if anything, and there was a slight awkward silence between us.
“Cyrus, I can’t believe that is your dad. He is one of the most feared men in this city,” he said as he threw the bags on to his back seat.
“Really?” I asked shocked he thought so highly of my dad.
“Cyrus, he’s a gunman and had been for years. I heard he got married and settled down years ago, I would have never guessed it was your mum he got married to,” he said timidly. His whole persona had changed in ten minutes—he looked smaller and weaker. Almost deflated, he generally had a respect for my dad that was verging on fear.
I wasn’t scared of my dad, so if Jabber was scared of him, then I wasn’t scared of Jabber, seeing him act like a scared puppy in front of my dad made me lose the little bit of respect I did have for him. “I knew he messed around with guns in the past, but I didn’t know he had major street cred,” I sympathised with Jabber.
“Cyrus, your dad is a fucking warrior on these streets, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a gun on him when he was in the kitchen cooking. He’s a fucking gangster!” Jabber said seriously as he climbed back into the driver’s seat of his car, which looked like a tight squeeze even though the seat was almost certainly all the way back.
“Nor me, to be fair,” I replied thinking well. I know he had a gun upstairs, so it was hardly impossible for him to have it in the kitchen, was it?
“All right, Cyrus, you take care, and call Jason when you’re ready to grab your new cannabis; and if your dad ever finds out, then this has got fuck all to do with me, okay? And tell Jason the same,” Jabber added before closing his door. I nodded to let him know I understood.
I looked at my dad in a different light as I walked back into the kitchen. I sat down at the table to open the carrier bag that Jabber had left on the table. My dad was chopping onions to cook.
“Cyrus, I’ve known that man for nearly 20 years, you know?” my dad asked.
“Really, I didn’t know that you two would know each other.”
“Cyrus, he’s a fairly big drug-dealer. I know anyone he speaks to is dodgy; so if you talk to him, I know you are dodgy, and you are up to stuff,” my dad continued. There was no way I was going to try to insult his intelligence. He was having a man to man with me, reasoning with me, it would be nothing short of disrespect to tell him he was wrong or had the wrong end of the stick. “So, whatever business you and Jay have, be careful; and remember, anyone in the drug game has only their own interests at heart, and only their own interests, so be careful and know what you are doing at all times,” my dad said as he continued to cook, occasionally stopping to look at me to check I was listening properly, and he had my full attention.
“Yes, I understand,” I agreed. I started to rip the bag of money open that I had taken my hands off when my dad had started talking to show listening to him was my primary concern.
“So, how many cigarettes did you steal?” my dad asked as he looked at the almost phonebook-sized pile of cash on the table. Jabber had put the money into thousand-pound piles with a £20 note around each thousand, then put a pile of 5,000 stacked high next to an identical pile. He had then wrapped Clingfilm around both piles, so it looked like a book made out of money wrapped in Clingfilm.
“Well, after Chris’ uncle comes to buy some, I’ll have £35,000, but I should have some left still, so I’m not exactly sure.” I said trying not to sound too happy and let him know I was aware of the risks.
“What are you going to do with your money?” my dad asked.
“I’m going to give it to Mum to look after for me, and I’ve promised to give her some for you both,” I said which I knew would make him happy. He earnt £400 a week at work, so I knew any large contribution of cash would be more than welcomed and appreciated.
“Okay, just be careful of what you are doing. I don’t want to put myself into trouble because someone wants to hurt you,” my dad said as he looked at me with a look that told me ‘you know what I mean’, and I did. What he meant is, ‘don’t make me raise my gun over your bullshit, Cyrus’.
“Dad, I will make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said as I tried to reassure him.
“Do you know anybody that has good weed? I know any 16-year-old who has 30 grand of illegal money and knows big Jay has weed to sell; your dad is not an idiot,” he asked. I had to respect him. He wasn’t nagging me or having a go at me. He was reasoning with me. I smiled as I thought about what Jabber had said. He’s a fucking gangster! I thought as I was left quietly sitting at the table in our kitchen.
“I will call Chris and tell him to drop a 20 bag off to the house,” I said as I smiled, being totally honest with him. He just stopped chopping vegetables and looked at me as if to say ‘don’t forget I shot you out the end of my dick, little man…don’t ever forget that’. My dad had earnt so much respect from me for how he had treated me; the only criticism had been about my safety and well-being, and I couldn’t exactly knock him for that. I felt like more of a man at home then I had ever felt in my house as I took my phone out to call Chris. “Yes, Chris, could you bring a 20 bag of weed to my house, please, as soon as possible,” I said as he a
nswered.
“Yes, but I will have to pop to the McBride’s house to get it because I’ve got nothing left here,” Chris explained.
“Yes, go there now then. I need it in the next ten minutes, and call your uncle; it’s 2:00 in half an hour,” I ordered.
“My uncle will meet me outside your house. I’ve already spoken to him. I’ll be there in ten minutes, we will speak then,” Chris said before hanging up.
My mum came from the living room into the kitchen with Trish and put on the act of looking shocked at the money on the table, purely for my dad’s observations. “Cyrus, you are not going to take that money out with you, are you?” My mother asked, knowing my dad was in earshot. I’d have to give her a sensible suggestion to what my plans were for the money.
“No, don’t be silly. I’d like you to look after it for me please, then I’ll have £25,000,” I said calmly and with no hint of being cheeky or arrogant.
My mother approached the table and picked up the piles of money I had just counted and returned to the living room with Trish. I got up from my seat to watch my dad cook. Always having a love of good food made me naturally take a keen interest to good cooking. I studied my dad as he browned onions in hot oil, turning them every 10 seconds. “You have to keep moving the onions and make sure you get to the bottom of the pot, so none of the onion sticks,” he had said when they had started to brown slightly.
“Hi, Calvin,” Chris said to my dad as he entered our kitchen.
“Hi, Chris, you all right? How you doing?” my dad replied as he turned to acknowledge Chris.
“Give that 20 bag of weed to my dad, Chris,” I said much to the shock of Chris.
Chris didn’t even flinch as he put his hand in his pocket to get the two £10 bags. “Here you go,” Chris said to my dad who had turned to face him. My dad took the two bags from Chris and lifted them to his nose as he looked Chris in the eye.