Gangsta Rap

by Benjamin Zephaniah

  The next morning after very little sleep Ray got a taxi to the music shop where the whole crew were to be interviewed by the police. Ray’s original plan was to be as helpful to the police as possible, but, on seeing that the officers who arrived to do the interview were the same officers who had interviewed them after the stabbing of Fingers, Ray’s mood changed. To make things worse Detective Sergeant Horne greeted him in all too friendly a manner.

  ‘Hello, Ray, my mate. How’s it going?’

  ‘It’s not going, and I’d rather you not call me mate. Let’s face it, I’m no mate of yours,’ he replied.

  ‘Can we get on wid de interview? said Marga Man. ‘This is a difficult time.’

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ said the sergeant. He looked at the two bodyguards standing at the door of the shop. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Dem come from a private security firm dat we use from time to time,’ Marga Man replied.

  ‘Were they there when the shooting happened?’

  ‘Yes, they were there, and I believe dat they have submitted a written statement.’ As Marga Man spoke, he looked towards them, and the bodyguards both nodded back in agreement.

  D.S. Horne turned to Ray. ‘Now, mate, I believe the young lady was your girlfriend.’

  ‘Will you stop calling me mate?’ Ray shouted. ‘I’m not your bloody mate, don’t you get it?’

  ‘Calm down,’ said the sergeant. ‘There has been a serious incident here and we need to get all the information we can.’

  ‘Well, stop acting like me and you are friends,’ Ray said, spitting the words towards the offending officer.

  ‘Will you just ask the questions?’ said Prem.

  ‘OK. So, was she your girlfriend?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ray answered quietly.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘We just finished doing a concert at the Rex and we were driving to an after-show party on Bryant Street. We stopped at the traffic lights at the Broadway, and these two guys on motorbikes drove up and started shooting at us. We all ducked down, I’m not sure how many shots were fired, about four I think. One of them came off his bike and then they rode off.’

  ‘Now I understand that that’s not the time the young lady got shot,’ D.S. Horne said as he took notes.

  ‘Her name is Yinka, and no, that’s not when she got shot.’

  The sergeant turned to Marga Man. ‘Were you driving?’

  ‘Yes, I was driving. What happened den was we all got out of de bus checking dat everyone was OK, and den they came down de other side of de road and dem start shoot up de place again, dat’s when dem shoot Yinka.’

  Without looking up from his notepad the sergeant said, ‘When they came back the second time they were on one bike, I believe?’

  ‘Yes. Dat’s right,’ said Marga Man. ‘Do you have de motorbike?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So who does de motorbike belong to?’

  The officer who had been silent so far responded. ‘I’m afraid the bike was stolen a couple of nights ago in west London.’

  ‘So have you checked out the owner?’ Tyrone asked.

  ‘Yes we have, and we know it wasn’t the owner. The owner has a watertight alibi.’

  Marga Man pressed on. ‘How do you know? Sometimes watertight things spring leaks.’

  ‘We know,’ said the officer, sounding embarrassed and looking at the floor, ‘because the motorbike was stolen from outside a police station.’

  ‘Outside a police station? So who does it belong to?’ asked Prem.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ D.S. Horne continued, ‘but the owner is a police officer. He was in the station at the time.’

  There was muffled laughter of disbelief from the boys. Marga Man continued to question the police. ‘So, wait a minute. Yu mean to tell me dat somebody come an thief de big motorbike from outside de big police station and it belong to de big police officer?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the two officers in unison.

  The boys laughed again in disbelief.

  ‘Bullshit,’ said Marga Man loudly, bringing the room to silence. ‘Absolute bullshit. I know dat yu big police station would have big cameras all over de place.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ said D.S. Horne. ‘You’re right, but no one was watching the monitors at the time.’

  The boys began to verbally express their disbelief.

  ‘This can’t be true.’

  ‘It’s some kind of test guy, one of those questioning tactics.’

  ‘So there you go, the police can’t police the police.’

  The officers sank into a state of even deeper embarrassment. But Marga Man was still not letting up. ‘OK, so de big officer, who was supposed to be watching de big monitor fell asleep, big problem, but not so big. Let’s view de tape.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Prem, ‘good idea, let’s view the video tape.’

  The officers looked at each other nervously, then D.S. Horne spoke again. ‘Could any of you describe either of the two people on the motorbikes?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Tyrone. ‘They both had full-face helmets on.’

  ‘That’s our problem too,’ the sergeant said. ‘We have them on film, and we can see them taking the bike, but they were quick, and they had those same helmets on.’

  There were more sighs of disbelief from the boys and a strange disbelieving smile from Marga Man. ‘Me tink is time for yu to go,’ said Marga Man.

  ‘You lot are rubbish,’ shouted Ray. ‘You know that, don’t ya? You’re rubbish, and I can see that you don’t care. We will never get justice if you have your way, never. As far as you’re concerned we’re just black people killing each other. This is just another black on black statistic for you, ain’t it, and all you’re doing now is just going through the motions. This is just a job for you, but this is our lives. My girlfriend has been killed, we could have all been killed, and to you we’re just paperwork.’

  Sergeant Horne was putting his notepad away and the second officer responded. ‘We are not calling this a black on black killing, we’re not giving it any title whatsoever. As far as we’re concerned this is murder, and we will treat it as such.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s a dead black woman,’ said Ray. ‘And you got better things to do, haven’t you?’

  ‘I understand you’re upset,’ the officer said, trying to sound sympathetic.

  ‘It’s time for you to go,’ said Marga Man.

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said the officer. ‘But you must understand we may need to speak to you again. And if you have any leads, or you remember something that may be of interest to us, please let us know.’

  ‘Yeah, talk to those guys on the door. Maybe they can offer you some advice on security for your police station,’ said Prem.

  The officers left, without saying goodbye.

  Chapter 20

  Rhythm TV

  ‘It has just been announced that British hip-hop band Positive Negatives have called off their first major UK tour. The band had just started the tour when seventeen-year-old Yinka Molara, the girlfriend of X-Ray-X, one of the band members, was shot and killed. The fatal shooting happened in their hometown of Stratford, east London, after a concert. The band were driving from the venue to a party when two men on motorbikes rode alongside the band’s tour bus and started to shoot at the bus. The controversial rap band have been linked to a spate of gang fights that have been taking place between east and west London hip-hop fans. Earlier on this year a follower of rival west London band the Western Alliance was shot and killed in a West End nightclub.

  ‘The Metropolitan Police refused to speculate on rumours that the murder of Ms Molara was a revenge killing and said that they were following up several lines of enquiries. The managers and representatives of both bands would not be interviewed on camera but sources on the music scene say that many stabbings and minor affrays have been attributed to the band’s followers. The television presenter and music journalist Stella Bell
a said today that “There is no doubt that a great deal of animosity exists between the bands, and that this animosity has spilled over to their followers. However, whether the bands have actually done anything to provoke the hatred that we now see is debatable.”

  ‘Any tickets for concerts returned within the next two weeks will be refunded, and organisers of the tour say that at the moment there are no plans to reschedule the tour.’

  Chapter 21

  Ashes to African Ashes

  For the first time since its formation Positive Negatives halted all its activities and Marga Man closed Flip Discs ‘until further notice’. The boys spent most of their time in their respective homes but stayed in contact with each other by phone. Ray spent much of the time listening to Mallam reminiscing about how she and Yinka first met and how they grew up together. Ray was continuing to learn about Yinka after her death, and the more he learnt about her the more he was convinced that she would have been the woman for him. Now his biggest frustration was being so removed from anything to do with Yinka in his time of mourning. Her family had kept her body and had no contact with him. His only way of knowing anything about what they were thinking was via Mallam, and Mallam was being told very little.

  The phone woke Ray at six o’clock one morning. Looking at his caller display he could see that it was Mallam. He answered immediately – she had never rung this early before.

  ‘Mallam, what’s up, is there something wrong?’

  ‘You’re not going to like this.’

  ‘I’m not going to like what?’

  ‘I spoke to Yinka’s parents last night.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m going to the airport now.’

  ‘What do you mean, you’re going to the airport?’

  ‘You’re not going to like this, Ray.’

  Ray sat up in bed. ‘Come on, Mallam, I’m not going to like what? Tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘OK, please calm down.’

  ‘OK, I’m calm, now tell me.’

  ‘They’re taking Yinka to Nigeria.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re taking her to Nigeria.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘They say they want to bury her there.’

  Ray just could not believe what he was hearing. ‘Why do they want to bury her there?’

  ‘They say she should be buried in the land of her ancestors.’

  Ray went quiet as he thought. ‘But she’s British. Her family are here, what about her friends here?’

  ‘That’s what I said to her dad,’ Mallam said. ‘But he just said that this country killed her. I’m going to the airport.’

  ‘I’m going too,’ Ray said, getting out of bed. ‘Which airport and what time are they leaving?’

  ‘You can’t come.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the family want privacy and I’m not supposed to tell anybody anything.’

  ‘Please Mallam, please, tell me what time they’re leaving?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Ray began to plead like he had never done before and Mallam had tears in her eyes as she listened. ‘Mallam, please, you’ve got to tell me. I’m going to have nothing left of her, no grave, no nothing. I’m not asking for much, I just want to see her before she goes. It was my fault that she died, if she had never met me she would be alive now. It’s all my fault and I just want to say sorry. Please Mallam, tell me what’s happening.’

  There was a long silence. When Mallam replied she did so as if it was being slowly forced out of her. ‘They leave at eleven o’clock, from Heathrow Airport. There’s some kind of cargo place at Terminal Four where they send and receive bodies. That’s where Yinka is now. There will be a chance for friends and family to see her and then they have to leave. I think her mum and dad just check in as normal then. Everything has been arranged for her funeral in Nigeria the day after they arrive.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ray, moving around the room trying to get himself together. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ said Mallam.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Slow down and listen, Ray.’ Mallam was almost shouting now. ‘Not just anybody can go down to the cargo place to see her. I told you, only friends and family, and those have to be approved by her parents.’ There was another long silence.

  ‘You’ve got to understand,’ Mallam continued, more quietly. ‘They can’t just let anyone go there, and her parents are really upset because the press have been trying to speak to them.’

  There was another long silence and then Ray spoke. ‘What can I do?’

  Ray could hear Mallam thinking as she spoke. ‘I don’t know, it’s hard. I’ve got an idea. It may not work, it could go wrong, it could make things worse, but it’s the only thing I can think of right now. I’ll call her parents, I’ll have a word with them and see if they’ll let you join us.’

  ‘OK. Please do that. Tell them that it’s really important to me and that I will completely respect their wishes,’ said Ray quietly.

  ‘I’ll call you back.’

  Ray was relieved when Mallam rang back to say that Yinka’s parents had agreed to allow him to go to the airport. For his part he had to agree that he would turn up with Mallam and not bring members of the band with him. Ray had no problem with that. He put on the blackest clothes that he could find and went in a taxi to meet with Mallam on her way to the airport.

  They met at an underground station and from there the taxi took them to Terminal Four, where they were directed to a large unit where Yinka’s mother and father were waiting. Yinka’s parents stood silently surrounded by other many members of their family. Although no one acknowledged them, Ray and Mallam went and stood silently with the family members, not quite sure what would happen next.

  As they stood waiting, to Ray’s dismay his phone began to ring. Everybody looked towards him. Yinka’s father shook his head, and Mallam looked away in shame on Ray’s behalf. Ray struggled to find his phone and turn it off. As he did so, he looked at the caller display screen to see the number of the caller but all it said was ‘Withheld’. He put the phone back in his pocket and whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Five minutes later, two men dressed in black overalls appeared, pushing the coffin on a high trolley. They carefully opened the lid of the coffin before stepping back. Yinka’s mother and father walked silently up to the coffin, followed by the other members of the family. Ray and Mallam waited until last. Ray watched the others carefully and he couldn’t help noticing that although some members of the family wept and were obviously disturbed, Yinka’s parents seemed to show no emotion at all. They were silent and dignified – as dignified as parents could be, having lost a daughter.

  When Ray walked up to the coffin he felt as if he and the world around him began to operate in slow motion. He was aware of every step that he made and every breath that he took. And when he looked down into the coffin, everything stopped. Yinka looked as beautiful as ever. Her hair was plaited in the same way it had been when he first met her, her skin shone, and the bright, patterned traditional dress she wore immediately caused Ray to admire her beauty once again. It was a long moment, in which he realised that he was looking down upon a dead body but without the unease that he had expected. Yinka looked as if she was simply in a peaceful sleep, and for a moment Ray was convinced that if he asked her opinion on an important issue or kissed her forehead she would wake up.

  Ray tried to whisper, ‘Sorry.’ His mouth moved, he heard the word in his head, but it did not seem to pass his lips. Convinced that she still heard him, he snapped back into reality and realised that he had been standing looking at her for some time. He walked away, the men in black closed the coffin and Yinka’s father signed the relevant documentation.

  The family began to disperse and Ray could see Yinka’s parents heading towards the check-in area. He left Mallam and walked quickly towards them.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I know that sorry is not enou
gh, but I just don’t know what else to say. I really did love Yinka.’

  ‘We still love her,’ said Yinka’s mother softly. ‘We are sorry too, and we still love her.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Ray, bowing his head before them.

  ‘Listen, young man,’ said Yinka’s father. ‘We wished she had never met you, maybe if she didn’t meet you she would be alive today, but we also know that what happened was not your fault. I am being honest with you, this is how we feel.’

  ‘I understand sir,’ said Ray, head still bowed.

  After leaving the airport, Ray dropped Mallam off in a taxi and then continued the journey to his flat. He closed his eyes and began to recall the image of Yinka in the coffin, when his phone rang again. He looked at the caller display and saw that the number was withheld. Convinced that the caller was the same person that had called earlier, he answered harshly.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Your bitch is dead, now what you going to do?’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Listen dog, your bitch deserved to die. Long may she be dead, she was a slag anyway.’

  ‘Identify yourself, scared rat, identify yourself and let me come for you.’

  ‘This is a message from the Messenger. Your days are numbered,’ the voice said calmly. And the line went dead.

  When Ray got home the first thing he did was ring Marga Man, but Marga Man knew exactly why he was ringing – he had just been called by Prem and Tyrone who had both received similar phone calls to Ray. Marga Man played it down, but he had also had a call by someone threatening to burn his shop down.

  But Ray was finding it hard to contain himself. As Marga Man was telling Ray to lay low, Ray interrupted him.