by Ezekiel King
“Cyrus, don’t be driving that car and crash it and hurt yourself, you know?” my dad had said the following morning as I walked into the kitchen.
“No, I won’t. I don’t drive it; I let Chris drive it… Slowly,” I replied trying to reassure my dad and get him off my case at the same time.
“Yes, of course, you don’t!” my dad said blatantly calling me a liar. I didn’t reply; there was no point. My dad was as stubborn as me when he had a view on the subject. He said I drove the car, so in his head I drove it; ‘end of’. My mum was dressed and ready to leave the house to go and do her usual visitations to family, and most likely a trip to the supermarket or grocer.
“Mum, wait five minutes, and I will come with you,” I had said sensing my dad’s mood and wanting to get out of the house. My dad was always bitter and angry about a job he had lost years before. He had said some guy fucked him over because he was black.
He had practically planned to kill the man in question, but in the end had used his better judgement to maintain a stable family life and decided against the idea. In sparing the man in question, he had not forgiven or forgotten, so quite often he would just be in a foul mood at home for this very reason. I think I would have preferred if he would have killed the man, at least then he would have been able to move on; or if not killed the man in question, at least forgiven him or forgotten about it.
Tracksuit now on and outside the house, I told my mum to drive my car. She was going to my nan’s sister’s street, which is also my Auntie Delma’s street and Jason’s street. I could show them my new car and kill some time before I called B. “This car is very loud, Cyrus,” my mother had said as she touched the accelerator to begin to reverse.
“I know, and it’s very, very fast, so be careful,” I replied as I smiled at my mother.
The car jerked slightly as my mother drove; she was clearly not used to the power of the car. The engine gave off a low grumble as she made it idle in two high of a gear for the speed we were doing. All in all, my mother liked my new car though. I convinced her to put her ‘foot down’ a little bit, but as soon as the power kicked in, she quickly changed her mind and said, “No, no, that’s enough,” after experiencing about ten percent of the cars actual potential. We were on my Auntie Delma’s street in under the usual ten minutes. My mother went into the house she parked outside of, and I headed 15 houses up the road to where Jason lived and crossed the road to go to see my Auntie Delma.
Lifting the letterbox twice and letting it slam back down, I knocked the door. No answer. I knocked again, still nothing. My Auntie Delma’s car was on the drive, so she must be in. I thought as I looked at the shiny, electric blue German car on the drive. Just as I was about to turn to go back across the road, the door opened. “Hi, Cyrus,” Delma said with what I can only describe to be a false tone. I could just tell it wasn’t genuine. Delma looked like she had rushed to answer the door but was making out as though she hadn’t. The pure fact I been standing outside for nearly five minutes meant she hadn’t rushed to the door.
“Can I come in?” I said as I wondered why she was still standing more or less in the doorway like I was a stranger.
“Of course,” Delma said as she moved away from the doorway as if she didn’t realise she was standing in the doorway. I took one step inside the house, and Delma walked back towards the living room that led through to the kitchen. “Oh, Jason is here, he came to ask if you have any cigarettes left,” Delma said as she walked in front of me towards the kitchen. Delma lied. Why the fuck would Jason come to see you about cigarettes when he has got my fucking phone number, hasn’t he? I thought.
“Really?” I said as I walked through to the kitchen. I found Jason sitting on a chair at the dining room table, smoking a cigarette.
“Yes, Cyrus,” Jason said as he forced a smile at me that looked pressured and rehearsed.
“Jason,” I replied with no facial expression. I couldn’t see my little cousin in the house or Mervyn, so alarm bells were calling in my ears.
“What’s up, Jason?” I asked as I tried to remain calm, although I felt like stabbing Jason to death.
“Oh, I just popped over to ask your auntie if you’ve got any cigarettes left for sale. I’ve got someone that wants to buy some?” Jason asked. He tried his best to act convincing but it fell on deaf ears.
“No, I’ve got none left, I told you that two weeks ago!” I said in an annoyed and pissed-off tone.
My Auntie Delma had left the room after our exchange of words. She looked nervous, and Jason was starting to see from the look on my face that I wasn’t buying his bullshit. “Sorry, Cyrus, I thought you might have had some more or something?” Jason said. I didn’t even reply or entertain his lies. I just stood there looking down at him, looking straight at him. I knew as I looked at him, I would eat this rat for breakfast. I told myself, and his face was full of fear and shock.
“In future, if you want me, then call me. Don’t knock this door again without calling me. I need to talk to my auntie now, so if you don’t mind, I will call you later,” I said in a constant emotionless tone with the same look on my face. I stepped to the side to let Jason leave without shaking his hand or smiling or anything; I just let him leave feeling like the piece of shit he was. Jason left the kitchen, looking like a dog that had just pissed on a new carpet that he had been told not to 100 times. I heard the door shut behind him as I turned to go into the living room where my auntie was sitting down, smoking a cigarette.
Delma’s body language looked like her whole world was going to end. She had on her grey valour tracksuit with the zipper almost all the way up. Delma didn’t look like she had taken a long time to get ready, as could usually be expected. My instincts were telling me to ask her where her daughter was, or where her long-term partner was, but I already knew the answer—they weren’t here. Instead of asking the questions I knew the answer to, I said, “Delma, how long has this been going on for?” I asked the question in a tone that was more disappointment than anger—how could I be angry with her? She was my favourite auntie. It was Jason who was the rat, not her!
I stood staring at Delma as she sat with her head held low, like she was being told off by a parent. “Nearly three weeks. When I picked that money up from your house, I met Jason at a bar. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done,” Delma said as she started to sob with her head in her hands. It wasn’t that bad, or else you wouldn’t have been fucking him in your house, you fucking idiot, I thought.
“Delma, don’t worry, just put a stop to it before you lose Mervyn over some drug-dealing little twat,” I said trying to give her advice and hope that things were not as bad as they seemed. I was subtly telling Delma that I was not going to tell anybody, namely Mervyn, and she got the point.
“You’re not going to tell, Mervyn, are you, Cyrus? Please don’t!” Delma pleaded with the same crocodile tears that women have used throughout history; and like every man throughout history, I consoled her. I put my arm on her shoulder.
“Stop being silly, everyone makes mistakes, it will be okay,” I said in a soft, caring and compassionate tone.
I was still thinking about how Jason had violated my trust and our friendship. I sat down on the sofa next to Delma and smoked a cigarette. I had about an hour left before I intended to call B, but catching Jason practically having sex with my auntie red-handed had me feeling like I needed a joint. I wasn’t going to let Jason’s actions impact on my day though; when I rang B, I wanted to have a clear head. After seeing that Delma had pulled herself together and another 15 minutes had passed, I decided to say goodbye. I reluctantly spared Delma the usual kiss on the cheek more for psychological reasons. If I acted normal with her, she would think everything is normal, therefore she would worry less; and I did love Delma. I didn’t want her to worry, especially because of Jason.
The whole reason I had decided to go with my mother was to show-off my new car to my Auntie Delma and Jason; now I felt like running Jason over in the car,
and I had no interest in what my Auntie Delma thought about it. I left Delma’s house and went back across the road. I walked past Jason’s house and knocked my mother’s elderly auntie’s door to see if my mum was nearly ready to leave.
After the same procedure I had been through over the years of visiting this street—which was leaving Delma’s house, coming to the house I was now at, saying hello to the elderly old Irish lady and hurrying up my mother—we were now back in the car and on the way home. I decided to call B. My mum had accepted the fact I was a drug-dealer, so I had nothing to hide from her. The phone rang and rang and rang and rang some more, until finally, the voicemail picked up ‘your call has been forwarded to the…’ I put the phone down and stared through the windscreen in disappointment. Leaning to the side, I slid my phone back inside my pocket and stared forward at the road. “Are you okay, Cyrus?” my mother asked sensing the change in my mood. Chris was my best friend, but nobody knew me better than my mother.
“I’m all right, Mum, I’m just thinking,” I replied; then my mother gave me the best advice anybody could have ever give me as long as I live. And much to my demise, I brushed it off as if she had said nothing.
“Just remain patient, Cyrus, you don’t need to rush anything,” my mum said. I ignored that advice, but it was that advice that would have made all the difference in more ways than I could ever begin to explain.
The phone started to vibrate and play the cheap version of the factory-set call tone. I took the phone out excitedly. B flashed in the middle of my screen. Not wanting him to hang up, I answered as quickly as my little thumb would allow me to. “Hi mate,” I said in the most mature and calm business voice I possessed.
“Who is that?” B asked in his noticeable out of town accent.
“It’s me, Cyrus, from last night,” I replied in the same tone.
“Oh, yes, the little lad with the rally car?” B asked.
“Yes, that’s me, mate. Are you still able to meet?” I asked trying to sound relaxed.
“I was just about to leave Coventry now to go back to Birmingham,” B explained.
“Well, my mum is driving my car. I can ask her to bring me somewhere to meet you,” I said trying to think of any solution.
“Okay, give me your postcode, and I’ll meet you,” B said. I gave B my postcode without hesitation before we both hung up.
“Who was that?” my mum asked as I put the phone down. She could clearly see I had been speaking to this guy different than I spoke to other people.
“Oh, it’s just my mate B,” I said as I smiled. My mum stopped at the grocer, and I waited in the car as she said that she only needed a few bits. I asked her to try and be quick as my friend was now on his way to our street to meet me.
My mum got back into the car and started the engine. My phone rang again.
“Yes, B,” I said as I answered.
“Cyrus, where are you? I’m in some crappy estate in a dead end,” B said sounding a bit unsure to where I was and where he was.
“Yes, that’s outside my house. I’m two-minutes away. My mum just stopped at the shop, but we are two minutes from our house now,” I explained.
“Okay then, try to be quick, please,” B said as he cut the phone off. As we pulled into our housing estate, I had butterflies in my stomach, and a slight feeling in the bottom of my stomach that was like needing to go to the toilet—excitement, mixed with nerves and anticipation. We turned left into the estate, then straight down to the bottom of the road before turning right at the bottom, so I wouldn’t know if B was actually there until we took that right at the bottom of the road. It took longer than ever to get to the bottom of the road; well, it seemed longer especially as my mum practically let the car just tick over in contrast to ‘flooring it’. We took the right to see a shiny, brand-new, German hot-hatch sitting outside of our house. B had positioned his car so he was facing the way out; we got closer as B moved to allow my mum to park.
I watched as B got out of his car. He had reading glasses on, or what I’m guessing were reading glasses as he hadn’t worn them the night before. His head was shaved at the sides, and the hair on the top of his head swept to the side with gel on the top. He had on a dark grey tracksuit with little metal tags on the chest and leg. My mother and I got out of my car, and B waved at my mum and smiled at her. His car was a spectacle to look at. “Mum, I’m going to chill out here with my friend. Pass me my car keys, we might go somewhere,” I said as she got her two shopping bags out of the back of the car.
“Okay, just be careful whatever you do, Cyrus,” my mum said as she looked at B and went in through our back gate.
“Nice to see you, B,” I said with a big smile as I shook B’s hand. I could see the metal tag on his jumper, and I knew that these clothes were very expensive. B had the same logo on his tracksuit bottoms and trainers.
“Yes, Cyrus with the red rally car,” B said in his Birmingham accent which was distinctive due to the fact he had a slight lisp.
“What kind of car is that? It’s much better than mine,” I said as I stared over to the small, white German hot-hatch that was probably the best small car I’d ever seen.
“Oh, it’s a special edition, that one is a 45,” B had said which had meant nothing to me. “So, Cyrus, this is where you live then?” B asked.
“Yes, that’s my house, and my mum just went inside,” I explained.
B then went on to suggest going for a walk around the block. He said everywhere he had seen in Coventry looked posh apart from my estate. He told me he liked the look of my area though, as this was the type of area he spent most of his time in. B asked me about my business, and I explained about the McBride’s and my brother and Chris. I told him what Jabber was like. I left Jason out of the conversation as Jason had pissed me off badly. B asked me, “Are there many dealers that are big drug-dealers around your side of Coventry?”
I went on to explain that, “Jabber has been around for years, and I know a lot of people. My brother knows some big drug-dealers, and Chris’ cousin knows a lot of drug dealers, so yes,” I had explained, but I wondered why he had asked that.
“Cyrus, have you ever thought about selling cocaine?” B asked.
“No, not really, I wouldn’t know who to approach to get it off. Also, because it’s just a white powder, I wouldn’t know how to tell if it’s any good,” I had explained as I thought about what I was saying.
“Well, Cyrus, you said you’d like to make at least £10,000 a week, you are not going to do that selling weed,” B said frankly.
B was right though, and this was my train of thought over the last few days. I had already ruled out expanding my current business. “Well, who can I get good cocaine from?” I asked willing to do whatever it takes to get where I wanted to go.
“Me,” B said with a slight smile. “Cyrus, do not tell anyone who I am, and get a phone just to call me and me only. I will show you how to make money, but once I do, you have to stay working with me. I’ll make you £20,000 a week if you can sell drugs properly,” B said seriously as we stepped back near to our cars.
The cars looked out of place in the shit-hole street they were parked in—a brand-new red rally car with black wheels, and big black spoiler next to a white hot-hatch with black wheels and black spoiler—and us two, a dodgy Asian guy covered in Italian clothes talking to a young mixed-raced kid in a tracksuit and the latest trainers. Yes, we looked dodgy, but we also looked dangerous, like people that you don’t fuck about with.
“B, I’ll get a phone for you; and if it’s possible to make £20,000 a week, I’ll do it. When can I start?” I asked keen to get the ball rolling. B took a deep breath of air in as he looked up at the sky thinking.
“Get your mate, Chris, to drop you to Birmingham tomorrow at 6:00 in the afternoon. I’ll get you a lift back home to Coventry, okay?” B suggested.
“Yes, that’s good with me. How long does it take to get there?” I asked.
“About half an hour to 40 minute
s maximum,” B answered.
“Okay, I’ll be there, I will call you tomorrow for a postcode before I leave,” I said realising that our conversation had resulted in a verbal contract. Worst still, I didn’t even know the details of the contract.
“Okay then, don’t eat before you come because I will take you to get some food. I’m going to go back to Birmingham now because I’ve got things to do when I get back,” B said as he pressed the fob to unlock his car which made the indicators flash. I wanted to ask B if I’d definitely be okay if I come over there, or if I can bring my big brother; but all that would do is make me look like a pussy, and I was ‘in it to kill it’, so there was no ‘pussying out for me’. I just walked to B’s door to say goodbye and shook his hand.
“I will become one of your best friends in time, and we are going to make a lot of money together,” I said as I looked at B in the eye.
The eyes never lie. If you look into someone’s eyes, it’s almost like looking into their soul; and I knew when B looked into my soul, he saw the good and the bad. The good being the friend I could be, and the loyalty I possess with in my heart; and the bad was the fact that I would blow his brains all over the leather head rest his head was resting on if he ever hurt me, my family or my money.