From Innocence to Arrogance

by Ezekiel King

  “Smell it,” Bob called out from behind Bubbles and me. I turned around momentarily to see Bob sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. Bob was clearly enjoying watching me receive my education.

  I leaned over and carefully put my nose near to the giant block of cocaine. “That absolutely stinks,” I said as a whiff entered my nasal passage that smelt like I had just sniffed high-octane petrol. It had a strong chemical smell. Bubbles put the block of cocaine down and walked into the kitchen, returning quickly with a big plastic lid, and what looked like an ice cream scoop. Bubbles put his instruments onto the workbench and went back to the kitchen. Bubbles came back into the room with a blue and new-looking, large washing up basin. He placed the large washing up basin on the floor underneath the workbench. Bubbles knows what he’s doing, I thought as he placed the clear tray on the big metal scales and turned them on after. He placed the block of pure cocaine from the brown package on the scales along with all of the bits that had gotten stuck in the packaging.

  “One thousand and twelve grams, Bob,” Bubbles said as he looked behind him for Bob’s approval.

  “Good, three grams over, just throw it in the blend, mate,” Bob said as he sat looking a mixture of bored and proud of himself.

  I stood and watched as Bubbles broke off 28 g from the block of pure cocaine and threw an equal piece, weighing exactly 28 g, in each of the four blenders. Bubbles then opened one of the big see-through bags of benzocaine and weighed out 84 g; and through a pile of benzocaine, weighing 84 g into each of the four blenders. Bubbles then turn on all four blenders. The noise was almost as loud as a broken hoover. Bubbles picked each blender up and manoeuvred it around, making sure it had blended all of its contents properly. A minute or so later, Bubbles turned all four blenders off, took out the big blue washing basin from under the table and emptied the contents of all four blenders into it. A small cloud of white powder rose into the air as he would take the top off each blender. “Will that get me high?” I asked Bob pointing at the cloud of white powder.

  “Yes, if you sniff it, why do you think I’m sitting here,” Bob replied as he smiled widely. I stood and watched Bubbles repeat the process another eight or so times. By the time Bubbles had finished, the large blue basin was practically full of the cocaine-benzocaine mixture. The blenders were all caked in white powder.

  “Finally,” Bob said as he watched Bubbles empty the last batch of blenders into the large blue basin. “Get my metal tin now, please, Bubbles,” Bob said to Bubbles. As Bubbles disappeared back upstairs, I stood and looked at the drugs factory that this living room had been converted into. That is when it dawned on me, I am fucking small fry. What I had just seen was another level.

  “Now, this is where the fun starts, Cyrus,” Bob said as he rubbed his hands together excitedly. Starts? I thought. What was all of that if that wasn’t the fun?

  “What do you mean?” I asked reluctantly.

  “Well, Cyrus, you can’t sell cocaine in large quantities in powder. People will think it’s shit if it’s in powder because anybody could throw anything into it. Cyrus, people mainly like cocaine in block form, so what we are going to do now is turn that powder into a ‘rock hard’ block. Well, not rock hard, but almost rock hard,” Bob explained. Bob had pointed at the large blue basin filled with the benzocaine/cocaine mix. How could you turn that into a block? I thought.

  Bubbles came back into the room with a metal box with thick metal walls. It was the size of a rectangle cuboid made out of DVD covers with one of the larger surfaces missing. It was made of steel. Just off cubed-shaped, a rectangular-shaped box with one side missing.

  “Cyrus, this is my favourite toy,” Bob said excitedly as he held the metal box. “Pass me some latex gloves, Bubbles,” Bob said. Bubbles walked into the kitchen and returned with a pair of latex gloves and gave them to Bob. Bob picked up the metal box and wiped it down. “Come here, Cyrus,” Bob said. Bob turned the box upside down on the workbench as I stood close and examined his favourite toy. When the box was turned upside down, two thick pieces of steel fell out of the middle of the box, making a distinctive thud as the heavy steel hit the workbench. They had been resting in the bottom of the box, two thick pieces of steel that fit into the box almost perfectly because they were smaller by a couple of millimetres around the edges.

  I looked into the bottom of the box. Now that these thick pieces of steel had been removed, I could see the base of the box had a coin-sized hole in the bottom of the thick steel that was the base of the box. I was confused. Bubbles had a big clear plastic bag in his hands. Shall I do them in half kilos?" Bubbles asked Bob.

  “Yes,” Bob answered as he turned the scales back on and weighed 504 g of the cocaine-benzocaine mix. The half a kilo was put into a clear plastic bag. A kilo is meant to weigh 1,000 g, but a kilo of drugs typically weighs 1,008 g. Reason being, one ounce weighs 28 g, there are 36 ounces in a kilo, and 36×28 = 1,008, so the half a kilo Bubbles had put in the clear plastic bag weighed 504 g. “You ready to see my magic trick?” Bob asked as he smiled at me, holding his metal box with his tight latex gloves on.

  “Yes, ready as ever,” I replied as if I was watching the best chemistry/physics lesson ever. Bob placed the metal box onto the platform of the metal frame within the 10-ton hydraulic press.

  Bob then placed one of two thick sheets of metal that fit inside the box back inside. There was just enough room for it to slot back inside of the box falling to the bottom with the slightest of nudges. Bob then took the bag of cocaine benzocaine mix from Bubbles containing the half a kilo of powder. Bob placed the bag of cocaine/benzocaine mix inside of the metal box as it rested on the platform. Then he took the second thick sheet of steel off the workbench and placed that on top of the half of kilo that was now in his metal box. Bob had effectively made a kind of ‘steel cocaine sandwich’. Bob then knelt down and started to pump the lever by the side of the machine. I watched as the small fist-sized arm moved slowly with each pump of the lever towards the top piece of steel. As the hydraulic arm reached the top piece of steel, it began to push the lid further inside of the box as Bob pumped the lever almost effortlessly. The gauge on the top of the machine had started to move as the pressure increased. I stepped forward to read it. It was a pressure gauge reading in tons. Every time Bob pumped the lever, the gauge went up as the hydraulic piston squashed the cocaine into the box further. “Five-tonnes, Cyrus, what I do is put five-tonnes of pressure onto it, then wait for a minute; the pressure will fall back to just over 4.5 tonnes, then I pump it a bit more back up to five tonnes, that way it will stay solid,” I could clearly tell that Bob took pride in his work, and the knowledge he had when operating his machinery.

  I watched as Bob completed the procedure he had explained, pointing at the pressure gauge to show me the pressure had fallen just as he had anticipated. He then turned a switch on the side of the pump to release the pressure making the hydraulic arm lifted back up and out until it was clear of the metal box. The last piece of steel Bob had put into the box was now pushed far inside the metal box.

  Bob lifted the box off the platform and turned it upside down on top of the work surface. ‘Clunk’ was the sound made as the top sheet of metal hit the work surface. I looked inside and could see the bag containing the half a kilo of cocaine was squashed into the shape of the box—a slab of cocaine stuck inside a thick steel box. Bob then looked at Bubbles who handed him a coin-sized cylinder that was slightly shorter than a pen, but a lot thicker and made from heavy-duty metal. Bob placed the box back on top of the platform of the hydraulic press, this time upside down.

  Bob had placed the cylinder Bubbles had given him into the coin-sized hole in the bottom of the box. He’s clever, I thought as I watched on. The cylinder piece of metal was perfect to put in the hole at the bottom of the box and push the last loose sheet of metal out, releasing the cocaine. Bob then used the same method by pumping the lever, but this time the hydraulic arm was pushing the cylinder into the bottom of the box. Bo
b released the pressure to lift the arm as the cocaine hit the platform, preventing it freeing the box completely. Then using rectangular blocks that Bubbles had given him, Bob put them under the thick rim of the box giving the cocaine room to fall onto the platform. Bob then released the pressure for the last time and removed the box from the machine. The cocaine block was still stuck in the box, but it was half out and half in. The edges of the cocaine block were square and hard, like a piece of white slab stuck inside a steel cube. Bob held the box over the large workbench while Bubbles hit the cylinder with a loose piece of metal from the platform of the machine. ‘Clunk, clunk’ was the sound made as the giant rock-hard rectangular block of cocaine hit the table, closely followed by the thick sheet they had used as the base of the box.

  “Have a look, Cyrus,” Bob said as he placed the empty box on the work surface.

  I picked up the block of cocaine; it was rock-hard and the size of a small slab of concrete. “That’s crazy,” I said as I examined their work.

  “No, that’s not crazy, that’s how you make money, Cyrus,” Bob said as he corrected me.

  Remembering what everybody had asked me, I asked Bob, “Is it any good?” I asked curiously.

  “Yes, Cyrus, it’s very good; and for the price you are going to sell it for, it’s great,” Bob explained.

  “Let’s sit down and have a chat for a while. Bubbles is going to finish pressing the rest of this cocaine. I don’t pay him to do his job for him,” Bob said as he took his gloves off and put them in his pocket.

  “Cyrus, I pay £35,000 per kilo of pure cocaine, so I’m going to charge you £45,000 per kilo of pure cocaine,” Bob said as we sat down next to each other.

  He wants £10,000 profit, I thought. I didn’t say anything, but that was my initial thought. “Cyrus, each kilo of cocaine I make cost me £8,750. I am going to sell you each one I make for £11, 250. I want you to sell each kilo for £20,000. When you have sold four kilos, I will have made £10,000 profit; and you will have made £35,000 profit,” Bob explained. My eyes were now gaping.

  “How long will it take to sell four kilos of what you’ve made roughly?” I asked trying to gauge how long it would take me to earn the £35,000 profit.

  “Well, I don’t know that, but you should be able to do it every ten days at least,” Bob replied. No wonder he’s got diamond chains and watches, I thought as I remained silent. I wanted to take in all the information that Bob had given me. “So, what are you saying then, Cyrus?” Bob asked as I hadn’t said much since sitting down.

  “I will take two kg, as long as you can guarantee they are worth £20,000 each,” I couldn’t believe what I had said. My greed and my balls knew no boundaries. I thought as my ears and brain interpreted what I had said without a second’s thought. Bob’s face was full of surprise. I was just as surprised with what I had said. Bubbles continued compressing cocaine using the metal box as we spoke. When Bubbles had heard me say I want two kilos, he had turned around to look at me. Fuck it though; ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ was my logic. The way I looked at it was; if I’m going to dip a toe in the pond, I might as well shout ‘cowabonga’ and do a cannonball. My days of playing games were long gone. I wanted what Bob had, in fact, I wanted more.

  “Cyrus, it’s a lot of money. I’d never give someone I’ve just met two kilos on trust, and you should never do that either, in fact don’t give someone an ounce on trust,” Bob said as he followed his head and not his heart.

  “I don’t want it on trust. I will pay cash,” I replied quick for a solution to any problem. Then the thought of parting with £22, 500 hit me, that’s when I decided to follow my brain and not my heart.

  “Well, give me a little piece as a sample to show people. If it’s as good as you say it is, I would buy two kilos for cash,” I said after having time to think. The smile Bob had when I said I’d buy two kilos for cash had turned back into a plain facial expression. Bob was thinking.

  “Cyrus, I’m going to give you a kilo. I want to see how you get on, that’s best I think,” Bob said. Bubble had stacked up four blocks in the time it had taken Bob and me to make one. They were all piled up on top of each other, like concrete slabs, but as white as the driven snow.

  I sat looking around at my surroundings. It was the strangest living room I had ever seen. Windows blacked out, giant workbench, shit thin blue carpet, four blenders and an oversized-pair of industrial scales with a hydraulic press and ice cream scoop trays. Washing basins and some fat guy sweating, absolute madness, but I loved it; and the best bit was, if I could sell four kilos a week, I’d make £35,000 profit every week. I turned to face Bob and smiled. “I’m on it, count me in.”

  Chapter 15

  The leather in the back of Yax’s jeep was cold against my back as I rested against it. Feeling the temperature through my thin designer T-shirt was soothing. Bob had dropped me back to the restaurant. We had drove back here to meet his two friends that would drop me home to Coventry. We had driven into the car park and then into the far corner next to Yax’s black jeep that was waiting for us. “Cyrus, don’t forget, do not tell a soul what I showed you, and don’t let me down!” Bob said as I opened his car door to get into the black jeep. I threw the ‘sports bag’ on the floor of the jeep and climbed in after it. The sky had changed from light to dark in the time I had spent in the house that Bob had taken me to mixed drugs in.

  Inside the jeep was so bright in contrast to the darkness of outside. Cream, leather-covered all the surfaces perfectly, beautiful cream leather stretched over all the upholstery, leaving creaseless bright surfaces wherever I looked. The driver of the black jeep was the Asian man that Bob had called ‘Yax’. Yax had typed my postcode into the car-satellite navigation system which was positioned inside a big screen in the dashboard.

  During our drive back to Coventry, the stocky white man called Luke asked me questions about Coventry and about the other drug dealers in my area. Luke had told me that him, and his business partner, Yax, ‘graft’ for a living. The term graft, Luke went on to explain, meant that he and Yax tie up drug-dealers and rob them for a living. This did not worry me as I got the impression Bob was the boss and the brains of this organised crime gang.

  I was Bob’s friend, so I felt safe in their company. “How much do you make from the average graft,” I asked as we drove down the more or less empty M6 motorway.

  “Well, we’ve had £100,000 in cash. We’ve had five kg of pure cocaine, it varies, but we do any work where there is at least £50,000,” Luke explained.

  Luke seemed like a really nice guy. He had olive skin and dark hair on the top with the sides shaved. Luke had perfectly white teeth and a bright smile, it would be fair to say I liked Luke from our first conversation. The driver, Yax, was a lot quieter than Luke. Yax just drove and added that odd ‘yes’ or laughed as Luke told jokes.

  “Let me know if there’s any work around your way, Cyrus, we will come and do it and give you a nice cut!” Luke said as we neared Coventry.

  “Yes, I’m going to find you two some work,” I said. I liked the prospect of getting free money, and I liked the prospect of getting anybody who pissed me off tied up and robbed even more. Any rival drug-dealers better be careful, I thought as I sat reflecting on what I had been told.

  I looked down at the sports bag at my feet. It was identical to the bag I had received when I had brought my latest pair of sports trainers; however, this bag had a kilo of cocaine inside. As we neared the exit to leave the motorway near to my house, I called Chris and my brother, telling them to meet me in my street. Bob had told me he wanted £11,250 for the kilo of cocaine I had at my feet. If I sold it for £20,000, I would make £8,750, and this is what Bob had suggested. I, however, had other plans. I worked out that selling it for £20,000 meant I would be selling each of the 36 ounces for £550. I would not be doing that. I wanted to sell each ounce of cocaine for £600, and that would bring me back £21,600. This extra £1,600 would be Chris or Daniel’s profit, leaving the f
ull profit Bob suggested exclusively for me. The blacked-out jeep whistled as it accelerated along the main road at the top of my estate. “This left here, lads, then straight down to the bottom and take a right,” I said as I directed Yax towards my house. Almost as soon as we took the last right into the dead end, I saw my red rally car parked up, with my brother and Chris sitting in the front.

  “Is that your car, Cyrus?” Yax asked.

  “Yes, I brought it last week,” I answered as I picked up the sports bag and put the string over my shoulder, like it was a pair of football boots or new trainers.

  “You are doing it, Cyrus, keep up the bad work!” Yax said as he parked next to my shiny red car. I exchanged phone numbers with Luke and shook their hands. “If you get any trouble, call us, and we will be straight down here, armed and ready for action,” Yax said as he made a gun gesture with his two fingers and his thumb.

  Yax looked more dangerous than Luke. I put that down to his shaved head and long shiny black beard. He had light brown eyes and the occasional Asian ‘twang’ that slipped into his English every now and again. I felt like a mob boss as I jumped out of the big, black, brand-new, blacked-out jeep in my Italian jeans with matching trainers and T-shirt. Both the sets of eyes in my car studied my arrival. Both Daniel and Chris smiled as I approached my car. I heard the jeep purr as it pulled off and out of our street behind me.

  I opened my car door and jumped into the back of my car without hesitation. I had promised Daniel and Chris £2,000 a week earnings if they both worked hard. I wasn’t intending on selling one KG a week; this first batch was a trial run, so to speak. So, paying them £2,000 each a week would be out of the question. I had already decided I would pay them £1,600 for every kilo they sold; and at the end of the month, I treat them if we’d had a good month collectively. I would be making nearly £9,000 profit for every kilo of cocaine they sold after paying them and Bob, so I was onto a winner. Suddenly, the £10,000 profit Bob would be making per kilo of pure cocaine seemed fairer than ever. “Yes, Cyrus, that jeep was wicked, who the fuck were they?” my brother asked.