Gangsta Rap

by Benjamin Zephaniah

  ‘Marga Man, we gotta cut the bullshit and deal with the enemy, this has gone too far. You know where this is all coming from, don’t you?’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Marga Man.

  ‘Come on, we all know it’s those Western Alliance boys. They killed Yinka and if we don’t respond they’ll kill one of us next.’

  ‘We don’t know dat.’

  ‘That’s weird, because everyone else does. Every time they’re on television they’re talking about how much they hate us and what they wanna do to us.’

  ‘Dat don’t mean anything, the phone calls could be someone completely different.’

  ‘It’s them, they hate us.’

  ‘Just be cool,’ Marga Man said, trying to calm Ray down. ‘We’ll talk about it some other time. Tings are too heated now.’

  ‘This is no time for being cool,’ Ray said sharply.

  ‘What is time? We can make of time what we will.’

  There was a pause. Ray knew what he wanted to say but he wanted to say it without causing offence to Marga Man.

  ‘You know I respect you Marga Man, and I don’t want to disrespect you, but I don’t think that this is time for your philosophy and your wise words.’

  When Ray called Prem and Tyrone later he found that their attitude was similar to that of Marga Man, but Ray had other things in mind. He waited until midnight, put on a hooded top and got a taxi to drop him at Piccadilly Circus. Then he sat on the steps under Eros watching people rollerblading and juggling. He sat and waited. The rollerbladers and jugglers were replaced by drunks, and as time went on the drunks were replaced by cleaners. The area began to empty and then Ray heard the voice that he had been waiting for. It came from over his shoulder.

  ‘Are you from up north?’

  ‘Do you really care?’ said Ray. As he turned he saw Midnight, the man who had approached him when he was last in Piccadilly Circus after leaving home. Midnight didn’t recognise him and Ray wanted it to stay that way.

  ‘You wanna make money?’ asked Midnight, wide-eyed.

  ‘No, do you?’

  Midnight looked Ray up and down thoroughly. ‘What, are you with Scotland Yard or something, Double O Seven on Her Majesty’s Secret Service?’

  ‘Are you for real or are you just a player?’ Ray said, trying to indicate his seriousness with his voice.

  ‘I’m for real,’ said Midnight.

  ‘If you’re for real, hear me. Let’s go for a walk, we both need some exercise,’ Ray said, and they headed down Shaftesbury Avenue.

  ‘So this is where you operate?’ asked Ray.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Midnight. ‘This is where I live, day and night, night and day, from midnight to midnight, everything happens around me.’

  ‘And how well do you know your community?’

  ‘I know everything down here, I even know the rats by name. So what you after, some weed?’

  ‘No, come again.’

  ‘OK, you want something harder – cocaine, women, driving licences, passports?’

  ‘It’s more serious than that. Look, I ain’t got no time to waste, I’m gonna get to the point. I need a master piece, and some missiles.’

  Midnight was unphased by the request. ‘Look, youth man, if someone’s upset you go and learn a few kung-fu moves and beat them up. No need to get murderous.’

  ‘Don’t call me youth man and don’t give me any advice. I told you what I want, now can you get it?’

  Midnight’s voice dropped. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘You can’t get more serious than me. Now what can you do? If you have no use, let me move on, if you know the world, let’s deal.’

  ‘If you’re serious just give me a hour and I can get you a wicked air gun or a pellet gun, no problem.’

  Ray threw his arms in the air. ‘Forget it,’ he said, turning around to walk away in the opposite direction. ‘You’re just playing man, I’d get better stuff in a toy shop. Thanks for nothing. Later.’

  Midnight turned and stepped behind him. ‘OK, youth man.’

  ‘I told you, don’t call me fucking youth man. Now can you do this shit or what?’

  ‘Calm down brother. I can do it, no problem. So what do you want, sawn off or a hand piece?’

  ‘I wanna hand piece.’

  ‘Any particular make?’

  ‘Look, all I wanna know is that it’s got no history and it fires missiles.’

  ‘OK, meet me here tomorrow, nine o’clock.’

  ‘Where, right here?’

  ‘Yeah, right here, you see where we are? The Gielgud Theatre.’

  ‘OK. Who’s Gielgud, anyway?’ Ray asked, looking up at the theatre.

  ‘I don’t know. Anyway, who are you?’

  ‘You don’t know and you don’t need to know. How much you after?’

  ‘A grand.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A grand. One hundred thousand pence,’ Midnight said slowly.

  ‘Forget it,’ said Ray, and he began to walk away again. And once again Midnight quickly stepped after him.

  ‘What’s up, man? That’s the going rate.’

  ‘Who do you think I am? Listen, talk to me proper, how much?’

  ‘Five hundred.’

  ‘Look,’ said Ray, ‘I’m gonna go home, ’cause you’re wasting my time, and I’m sure you’ve got better things you could be doing.’

  ‘Five hundred is the going rate,’ said Midnight.

  ‘You see,’ said Ray, shaking his head, ‘you just said a thousand was the rate, and now five hundred is the rate. I’ll tell you what, I’ll see you here, outside that Gielgud place at nine tomorrow, and you show me what you’ve got.’

  ‘I don’t know you, are you real?’

  ‘I’m real,’ replied Ray, placing his fist on his chest by his heart.

  ‘Are you coming with the money?’ asked Midnight.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll have money,’ said Ray. ‘Good morning.’ And he walked off to get a taxi home.

  The next day Ray was woken by more phone calls from Prem and Tyrone informing him of even more telephone threats they had received the previous night. A meeting was called at Flip Discs where Marga Man said that he was going to reopen the shop and try to get back to normality. He suggested that the band begin to think about rescheduling the tour and go to the record company with a suggested release date for the new album. Prem and Tyrone were willing to go ahead with Marga Man’s suggestions, but Ray wasn’t having it.

  ‘I don’t wanna do anything,’ said Ray.

  ‘Listen, man,’ said Marga Man. ‘It’s hard, it’s difficult times, but life must go on.’

  ‘Life is not going on,’ said Ray. ‘Death is going on.’

  No one had a reply. All Tyrone could do was suggest that they go away and think about it, and all Marga Man could do was agree.

  That evening Ray went back to Shaftesbury Avenue and waited outside the Gielgud Theatre. Nine o’clock came and went and as twenty past nine came he began to get nervous. Every time a police car went past it was as if they were looking at him. He wondered if it had been wise to deal with someone like Midnight, who was nowhere near low profile, and could be working for the police. As doubt began to set in a car pulled up.

  ‘Get in,’ said a voice from the back. It was Midnight, and he gestured frantically. ‘Get in, man.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ asked Ray, pointing to the driver, a twenty-something white guy, wearing a dark woolly hat that came right down to his eyes.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, he’s safe. Come on, let’s move, we’re holding up traffic.’

  Ray felt unsafe in the car and he let it be known. ‘Where we going? And I thought I was meeting you, on your own.’

  ‘You’re safe,’ said Midnight. ‘This is Rick, my driver. He’s cool, so be cool. And we can’t do business there anyway, this whole area is covered by cameras. You only work there if you wanna be on TV.’

  As they drove off, Midnight reached under the seat in front of him and pulled
out a plastic bag, from which he took a towel which he placed on the seat between him and Ray. Then he slowly unwrapped the towel to reveal a black gun and four small boxes.

  ‘There it is,’ Midnight said, savouring the moment as if he had his favourite meal in front of him. ‘That’s it, a twenty-two. It won’t let you down.’

  Ray’s heart raced at the sight of it. He reached out and stroked it as if it were a small pet. When he withdrew his hand Midnight picked up the gun and whispered, ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Ray shook his head slowly. ‘It’s not beautiful, it’s necessary. Is it safe?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Midnight in a raised voice.

  ‘Has it got a history?’

  ‘It’s safe, man. It’s not wanted, it hasn’t touched anyone, and it’s fresh on the streets.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Ray, reaching out and taking it from Midnight. It was surprisingly light and it fitted Ray’s hand perfectly.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Midnight. ‘This piece of iron comes straight from the cop shop, yeah man, this is from the source, the Metropolitan Police recycling service, and you can’t get better than that.’

  Ray turned the gun in his hands and looked at its details carefully. He had no idea what he should be looking for, but he thought he should look as if he did. He picked up one of the boxes and looked inside to find the bullets. He took one of the bullets out and examined it, caressing it with his fingertips, then he put them all back on the towel.

  ‘I’ll give you three hundred pounds for the lot.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ shrieked Midnight. ‘Do you know what the going rate is?’

  ‘Never mind the stupid going rate,’ said Ray. ‘The going rate is whatever you want it to be. Take three and be happy.’

  ‘I can’t, five’s the best I can do.’

  ‘OK, stop the car,’ said Ray. ‘Let me out.’

  The driver, who had just been driving round and round the block, saying nothing, pulled over.

  ‘No, keep moving,’ said Midnight. ‘OK, gimme four.’

  ‘No,’ said Ray. ‘Three, and if that’s no good let me out.’

  ‘Three fifty,’ Midnight said quickly, expecting a deal.

  ‘I’m going,’ said Ray.

  Midnight conceded. ‘OK, give me three. You’re getting a bargain, you know. You won’t get a deal like this anywhere else, but hey, I like your face.’

  ‘Never mind my face, forget my face,’ Ray said, handing him six fifty pound notes. ‘I just hope this shit works.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Midnight, ‘I told you, it came straight from the station, they got strict quality control there. Look, let me show you how to load.’

  Midnight gave Ray a quick lesson in how to load the gun, then Ray wrapped it up in the towel with the bullets and placed it back in the bag. He had no idea where he was but he ordered the driver to stop, and he got out and walked for a few nervous minutes before he found a taxi and went home.

  * * *

  Before Ray went to bed he unrolled the towel to have another look at his purchase. The killing machine looked innocent lying on his bed. Ray admired it. He picked it up, pointed it at an empty glass and looked down the barrel like he had seen it done in films. He was fascinated by the shape and form of the piece. For a minute he stroked it like he had in the back of the car, but then he realised the morbidity of his ways. Suddenly it struck him that the small piece of metal in front of him was built for one purpose only. He wanted it out of sight. After a moment of thought he decided to put it under the floorboards. He moved his bed, peeled back the carpet, then, using a screwdriver and a hammer, he levered up a single floorboard. He placed the gun in its wrapping in the space as if he were burying a small animal, then he whispered ‘Goodbye’ to it, and put everything back.

  Ray knew that he had taken a giant step. He wasn’t sure if the others would approve but he had no plans to tell them. He had no idea what his next move would be but he did know that his girl was dead and that he was being threatened; now he was ready to defend himself, by any means necessary.

  Chapter 22

  The Banned Band

  For a week Ray did nothing but listen to music and eat, mostly take-away. He did no writing and his only contact with the outside world was by phone. At a time when he knew that his father wasn’t around he made one trip to see his mother and Kori, who both tried to persuade him to come back for a few days, but he wasn’t having it. The house still brought back memories of his relationship with his father. He stayed for less than an hour, and to try and compensate his mother for such a short visit, he left a cheque for a sum twice her weekly wage.

  Marga Man could see that the inactivity of the boys could quickly bring the band down. He knew that Prem and Tyrone were easy and would go with the flow but he wasn’t so sure about Ray. Ray just didn’t seem to be recovering. Marga Man called a late meeting in his shop and this time he was making demands.

  ‘If Positive Negatives is over, tell me now so dat I can prepare de paperwork. If not, tell me now so dat we can get on wid de business. I tell yu guys already, me is a survivor, I pass through great tribulation, and right now yu have to make your minds up. Are yu going to survive, or are yu going to do de boy band ting and give up as soon as de going gets tough? Me is de manager, so me is going to manage, unless you’re going to sack me.’

  He stopped for a response but there was none, so he continued.

  ‘People still want Positive Negatives. Every day I’m selling your tunes, and every day people are asking about yu. Yu need to get back on de scene, but we can do it gradually if yu like. I’ve already spoken to Skelly and de record company are cool wid releasing a single from de new album, and that would be followed by de release of de album itself. And I’ve spoken to Tony Oldsmith and we feel dat when de album is out and penetrating de hearts and minds of de people, we should hit de road wid a tour. And listen to dis, de record company say dat after de tour yu should tek a break and den go to de States.’

  Tyrone and Prem quickly warmed to the idea. Prem punched the air. ‘Yeah, the States.’ Tyrone nodded positively.

  ‘That’s cool,’ said Ray.

  ‘Ray, what’s happening, man?’ said Marga Man. ‘You’re usually the motivator, get wid de project, man.’

  Ray responded angrily. ‘I told you, didn’t I, what did I just say? I said I’m cool.’

  Marga Man looked hard at Ray.

  ‘I’m sorry, man,’ Ray said, shaking his head. ‘You’re right, we need to get the vibe back.’

  They all agreed that Marga Man should get things moving and set up a timetable for rehearsals. As they were leaving, Marga Man pulled Ray aside.

  ‘I know yu can do this yu know, but do yu want to, do you feel dat you’re up to it?’

  Ray could see genuine concern on Marga Man’s face. ‘I’m all right,’ Ray replied. ‘It’s tough, man, but I’m trying to be like you, a survivor.’

  Marga Man reached out and put his hand on Ray’s shoulder. ‘However you do it, just be yourself, and don’t be afraid to ask for help.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll remember that,’ said Ray.

  The band quickly got back into rehearsals and it didn’t take long for them to find their old form. Ray added a new rap to the set, called ‘It Ain’t Da Same’. It was a tribute to Yinka that also referred to himself and the fact that he had changed. But soon they were making headlines again.

  The Newham Echo

  Local Hip-Hop Heroes Banned from Major Venues

  The Western Voice

  Venues Say Let’s Stop Hip-Hop

  Peckham Post

  Positive Negatives Get the Negative

  The Weekly Londoner

  London Venues Say No to Gangsta Rap

  As soon as Marga Man and Tony Oldsmith began to organise the tour it became apparent that many venues around the country had collectively decided to boycott the band. Tony’s office and Marga Man began working hard behind the scenes trying to find alternative ve
nues, but there were still some cities where the band had nowhere to perform. Marga Man tried to reassure the band by letting them know that the lack of venues available had nothing to do with a lack of fans, as the sales of CDs had increased and the venues that had booked the band were completely sold out. But it didn’t help when there were more media reports about more fights between east and west London gangs, and every time there was a report they never failed to mention Positive Negatives.

  Sam was openly spending more time with Tyrone and she would often listen in on rehearsals. Everyone was beginning to get excited about her giving birth and they were all watching carefully as Sam grew in size. Prem began to speak about Anita much more seriously and Kori had become a much closer sister to Ray. Mallam still kept in touch with Ray. Their friendship had developed into one in its own right. Having to concentrate on rehearsals and interact with the other band members helped Ray to take his mind off Yinka.

  By the time the tour was ready to hit the road Ray was raring to go, but there were still some major cities where no venue would accept them. Their plan was to do a tour that was so peaceful and so successful that these venues would regret their decisions. This time the tour started in Manchester at the Apollo. There was a small fight after the concert but this had nothing to do with the troubles down in London. As before, the first gig was a benefit fund raise for The Nation Foundation. Then they went on to perform in Liverpool, Newcastle, Birmingham and Leicester before going to London. No central London venues would book them but they did manage to get two venues further out: their friendly local venue the Rex, and another venue which would not have been their first choice. It was important that the band do more than one London gig but the only other large venue outside the East End was the Hammersmith Palais – a great place but it was right in the Western Alliance’s territory. As they always did, the band had a meeting to debate the pros and cons and it didn’t take long for them to agree that the west London gig should go ahead, but with even tighter security than they had been employing at the other gigs.

  As everyone expected, playing their first London gig at the Rex brought out the very best of the band. It was as if the audience had been going through everything the band had been going through. Now they were shouting not just words of encouragement, but also personal messages to Ray about Yinka. As Ray introduced ‘It Ain’t da Same’, an instant hush came over the crowd and the silence lingered as the band performed the rap, with hardly any dancing as the crowd listened. But that changed when the band performed the next tune, a noisy, uplifting track called ‘Da Revenge of da Good’. It was an unreleased jam from the new album, and although it was about poor people rising up having a revolution, most of the audience seemed to think it was about Positive Negatives rising up against the Western Alliance.