‘Look what’s happening here,’ Dragon shouted. He was looking straight ahead but speaking to his followers. ‘The children are having a party.’
‘What’s your problem?’ Ray said, carefully watching them.
‘The problem is you. If you got something to say, why don’t you say it up front?’
‘We got nothing to say to you,’ said Ray.
‘Are you running scared now?’ Dragon said, focusing on Ray.
Ray was the closest to the intruders, too close for comfort. Marga Man went and stood in front of Ray. ‘How yu get in here?’ he asked, glancing around at the security guards, who were taking no action.
Dragon pointed to a backstage pass hanging around his neck. ‘Hey old man, we got backstage passes, and that’s no way to speak to your guest.’
‘Yu are not wanted here, yu better leave now,’ said Marga Man.
‘That’s not what we heard. Look old man, we just come. This party has possibilities. It was a shit gig so let’s have a good time now.’
Marga Man looked towards the two security men who were also standing by the door. ‘These people are not welcome here, they should have never been allowed in here. Make sure they leave.’
Outnumbered, the guards began to speak to their colleagues using their radio links hidden under their jacket collars, but as they began to call for reinforcements, Dragon took a swipe and punched Marga Man in the face. It was so unexpected, and such a clean shot, that Marga Man went down. Dragon then went straight for Ray, and the rest of the Alliance boys streamed into the room and went for Tyrone, Prem and other males. Fists flew everywhere and screams rang out. Sam crouched down in a corner to protect herself, and Kori, Lizette and Thara tried to protect themselves as well as Sam, but Lizette and Thara were pushed to the ground.
Dragon and his gang were getting the better of the rest until the bouncers arrived. The bouncers were all too big and powerful for them. They just seemed to be picking the Western Alliance boys up and throwing them out of the room. But Dragon was still putting up a fight, until one of the band’s bouncers brought his knee up and connected it with Dragon’s ribcage and the fight went out of him. As Dragon went down, two venue security guards picked him up and threw him out of the door. Ray was still on the floor, and Dragon got up, took a step into the room and kicked Ray in the back as he lay there. Dragon then ran out of the building, with the others being chased and pushed on by the security guards.
Marga Man’s nose was bleeding, and he was in a rage. ‘How did they get in here? Who let them in?’
‘They had access all area passes, boss,’ replied one of the guards.
Everybody began to pick themselves up and check with each other that they were all OK. When Ray got to his feet the first thing he did was to let Marga Man know how he felt.
‘You just wouldn’t listen to me, would you? I said we should never do this gig, but you wouldn’t listen. All the tight security didn’t help, all these security people do is pose, all they do is look hard. I don’t listen to you any more, now I’m defending myself. No more Mr fucking nice rapper guy, now I’m getting pro-active, you know what I’m saying?’
Marga Man had nothing to say in reply. He looked away, then walked off gesturing to the security guards to follow him. Once he had gathered the main security guys together he questioned them as to why the Western Alliance members were able to get in, but he learnt nothing new. They had got passes, and no one knew where the passes had come from.
Most of the people in the room had been hit or pushed over but no one was in need of hospitalisation. Prem had a badly sprained wrist, and Tyrone was a little bruised. Ray was in the worst shape, but his anger cancelled out his pain.
Word had reached outside of the attack, so as the band and their entourage made their way from the stage door to the tour bus fans and media people were waiting. The band made no comment and the bus made its way back to east London.
There were heated arguments on the journey; one of the arguments concerned the next gig, which was to be in Cardiff two days later. There was a look of determination on the boys’ faces. They wanted to go ahead with the next gig but their girlfriends and relatives thought they should call it off. And then there was the question of the police; the band thought that it wasn’t worth going to the police because they would do very little about it, whilst others thought that it should be reported.
After being dropped home that night Ray had a long soak in the bath. He played no music, he was in need of silence. Once out of the bath he sat quietly and thought even harder. As far as he was concerned, it had all come together. The Western Alliance were making the malicious phone calls and they were definitely to blame for the murder of Yinka. The arrest of Reel Steel and the attack backstage confirmed everything he had believed. Now he wanted justice to be done, but this kind of justice could not be administered by people in uniforms. He wanted to administer his own justice.
Chapter 25
The Messenger
When Ray woke up the next day his mood had not changed. He lay in bed and continued thinking until the phone rang. The number was withheld, the voice was the same.
‘So how’s your recovery, boy?’
‘I’m gonna get you,’ Ray said calmly.
‘I was hoping you would say that, chickenhead. Why don’t we just meet up and let me kick the shit out of you. You need to die, you know that, don’t you?’
Ray was as cool as ever. ‘OK, three of you and three of us.’
‘No,’ said the voice. ‘One on one.’
There was a long pause. The Messenger broke the silence. ‘What’s the matter, little piggy, are you running scared?’
‘You don’t scare me,’ Ray said. ‘Just me and you. Name the place, I’ll show you what’s what.’
‘That’s what I like to hear. We should forget this east–west thing and go north, neutral ground, you know what I’m saying? So how about King’s Cross?’
‘Anywhere,’ Ray replied.
‘When you leave King’s Cross station and head down York Way, after about quarter of a mile you’ll see some large gates on the left. Go through the gates. You’ll see it’s a disused factory yard, an old freight depot. Be there at midnight.’
Ray thought for a while. ‘That’s OK with me, but how do I know you won’t have company?’
‘Don’t worry about that, this is a solo mission. Just make sure you have some way of getting home. I suggest an ambulance.’
‘Which one are you?’
‘All you need to know is who you are.’
‘I know myself,’ Ray said, still cool and calm.
‘OK. Midnight. In the yard, just the two of us.’
‘I’ll be there,’ said Ray and he ended the call.
Ray got out of bed and got dressed. He had biscuits and orange squash for breakfast. Then he pushed his bed aside and peeled back the carpet. Using his screwdriver and hammer he levered up the floorboard and carefully lifted out the plastic bag. He put the plastic bag on the bed and took the towel out, then he unwrapped the towel and took the gun in his hand. After he had familiarised himself with the weapon again he replaced the floorboard and put everything back into the plastic bag, then he put the plastic bag into a sports bag.
* * *
About midday Ray rang for a taxi. He was dressed in a blue tracksuit and his black, lightweight parka jacket. He took the taxi to Leytonstone station and then he took the underground train to Epping at the end of the line. He had been there before – it was where his mother used to take him and Kori when they were small and she wanted to get away from his father. Once out of the tube station he headed for Epping Forest with his bag slung over his back, looking like an athlete jogging to a training session.
Deep in the forest he found some cover and nervously began to do what he needed to do. He looked around to make sure there were no people, then, putting the bag on the ground, he unwrapped the gun without taking it out of the sports bag. Then he walked around the bag to check
for people. When he was sure that all was clear he bent down over the sports bag again and fumbled for one of the small boxes containing the bullets, and loaded up the gun just as Midnight had shown him. He put the gun down and circled the bag again. He still saw no one but he began to tremble. Suddenly he felt very hungry, suddenly he wanted to go to the toilet, suddenly he began to feel very light-headed and his bottom lip began to shake. He walked an even larger circle; he could hear every squirrel rustling in the trees for a mile and every bird watching over him.
Then the time came. He marched to the bag, picked up the gun, released the safety catch and fired it about ten yards away into the ground. He wasn’t happy. The moment he had pulled the trigger he had closed his eyes tight and bitten his lip. He had no composure, and he knew that that wouldn’t work in the real world. He stayed still for a while and thought about his effort. Although he didn’t know what to expect he knew he could do better. There had been a slight recoil and the bang wasn’t too loud. He was going to do it again. He waited for a moment and listened for any signs of people and then he shot the gun again and again. This time he relaxed his face and kept his eyes open and saw where the bullets were penetrating the ground.
Happier but still anxious, he then quickly wrapped up the gun, placed it back in the sports bag and began running back. About a quarter of a mile on he came across an elderly man and a woman walking towards him.
‘Training for the marathon, are we?’ asked the man.
‘That’s right,’ said Ray, running on the spot. ‘I don’t know why I do it.’
‘Charity,’ said the woman.
‘How did you guess?’ Ray replied, grateful for the suggestion.
The woman looked out into the distance. ‘Are they hunting again?’
‘It sounds like it,’ said Ray. ‘I just hope no one mistakes me for whatever it is that they hunt.’
‘No way,’ said the man. ‘We know who that is, it’s all done on private property. It sounds like they’re behind you, but they’re miles away. Good day to you.’
‘Take care,’ said Ray as he turned, jogged off and did the reverse journey home.
When Ray got home he could see on his phone that Prem and Tyrone had been trying to get to him. But he did not call them back, he just sat around waiting for midnight. At about eight the phone rang. It was Prem. Ray hesitated but then he answered.
‘Ray, what’s up, brother?’
‘Everything’s safe,’ Ray replied.
‘Hey, we’re going to get together at the shop for a mini meeting. Marga Man said he wants to share some ideas, you know how he is. We’ve been calling you guy, where have you been?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘We’ll come and pick you up.’
‘No,’ Ray said sharply, ‘I can’t come.’
‘What do ya mean you can’t come?’
‘I just can’t come, just have the meeting without me.’
Prem dropped his voice. ‘Are you all right man, have you got some hurts from last night?’
‘No, I said I’m OK, just go without me.’
‘We can’t, we need you. You’re one third of the band.’
Ray shouted, ‘Well I’m not coming, I got work to do.’
There were five long seconds of silence before Prem spoke. ‘What do you mean, work, where are you going?’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Ray, realising his slip-up.
‘So what’s this work, then?’
‘Nothing,’ Ray said, struggling for an excuse. ‘I got some rhymes I wanna write.’
‘You don’t need to stay in for a night to write rhymes, I know you better than that.’
‘You know nothing, Prem,’ Ray snarled down the phone. ‘Just leave me alone.’ Ray pressed his disconnect button, leaving Prem listening to the tone.
The phone rang a few times more that evening but Ray didn’t answer any calls. He was mentally preparing. The house was silent and he was focused. At eleven o’clock he replaced the spent bullets and put the gun in the inside pocket of his jacket. He took a taxi to King’s Cross station and began to walk down York Way. As he started the journey he was approached by a drunk who could hardly stand. The drunk waved his can of beer around, spilling its contents everywhere.
‘Yu wanna fight me boy,’ he said, simulating a headbutt and almost falling over in the process. ‘I’ll kill ya, I’ve killed people like you before, come on, I’ll have ya. Come here, let me sing you a song.’
Ray quickened his pace, leaving the drunk staggering behind him. Fifty yards down the road he spotted three women standing in separate doorways. They were dressed in the shortest of skirts. The first girl’s hair was so blonde that it was brighter than the headlights of the cars that were slowly circulating. Her legs were so pale and bloodless it was as if she had painted them white.
‘Are you looking for business, mate?’ she asked as he walked by. Ray just walked on.
The second was a black girl, she looked barely fifteen. Her hair was so straight and stiff and without movement that it could have been made out of wire. Ray looked down as he walked and saw that her legs had long scars on them as if she had been slashed with a sharp instrument.
‘Do you want it, Mister?’ she asked in a voice that made her sound like a ten-year-old.
Ray kept walking. He walked past the next girl, a well-built brunette who looked like a real prostitute. She had big hair, big legs and fishnet stockings. She stepped out on to the pavement behind him, put her hand on her hips and in a voice that was unmistakeably masculine shouted, ‘Hey, baby, if you’re not sure what you’re after I can do everything. You know, tricycle bicycle, hotel motel, import export...’
Ray took a quick glance back but kept walking.
Soon Ray had reached a quieter part of the road where there were warehouses and what looked like industrial estates. He slowed down to make sure he had made no mistake, then he saw the gates of the yard to his left. He turned back and walked for a few yards before stopping and moving the gun from the inside pocket of the coat to the right-hand side pocket. He released the safety catch and walked back with his hands in his pockets and his right hand firmly on the gun.
As he pushed open the heavy wooden gates and stepped into the yard the noise of the street faded away. It was dark, the only artificial light was that which leaked in from the streetlamps. It took a minute for Ray’s eyes to adjust, and when they did he could see very little – two large warehouses with smashed windows, bits of broken-down machinery and an array of scrapped heavy vehicles. Ray’s eyes darted all around for signs of another human being. He could feel his breathing getting shorter and shorter as he became more tense. Convinced there was no one around he took a deep breath in and a long breath out and he dropped his shoulders which had been coming up towards his ears with tension. Then a well-built figure stepped out from behind one of the scrapped vans. It was Dragon.
Ray nodded his head. ‘So it’s you.’
Dragon raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. ‘So it’s you,’ he said, punching his right fist into his left palm. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go home?’
‘Don’t ask me any questions,’ Ray said, without taking his eyes off him. ‘Just do what you gotta do, come with it.’
Ray’s plan was to get as close as he could to Dragon and put at least two missiles into his belly. Dragon began to walk towards him fearlessly. But it was nothing like he had seen in the films. Ray tried to do a fast draw but before his shooting hand even left his pocket a blow struck him on the face and his feet were kicked away from him. It was the previous night all over again. Dragon kicked and punched Ray as he pleased, and all Ray could do was roll into a ball. But then a powerful kick to the back of his head sent a rush of adrenaline running through Ray – it was as if a temper button had been pressed. He jumped up and punched and kicked wildly, and for a while Dragon went on the defensive. Then they both fell on the ground holding each other and exchanging very few blows. Dragon’s superior strength be
gan to show, as he wriggled until he was able to get his arm around Ray’s neck, and then he began to squeeze. Ray’s attempt to fight back was futile. He was getting weak, he was beginning to lose consciousness, but with the little bit of strength he had he tried desperately to find his pocket. All he could think was that the gun would turn things round. It wasn’t happening, Ray was losing it, he began to give in, he was just getting weaker and weaker. Dragon began to talk to his victim.
‘This is it, baby rapper, this is what you get when you cross me. You’re gonna die here, and you won’t be found until some prostitute comes to service a taxi driver. What a way to go, baby rapper, and I bet you wanted to die on stage.’
Just then there was a loud thud and Dragon’s grip loosened. It was followed by what seemed like hundreds of kicks and punches. Ray looked up. It was Prem and Tyrone, who were paying no attention to Ray, concentrating all their efforts on Dragon. Ray jumped up, shook himself back to life and joined in. Dragon rolled in agony. Now all he could do was curl up into a ball. When Ray was directly over him, he pulled out the gun and pointed it at Dragon’s head. The action suddenly stopped, as if someone had turned everything off.
‘What da fuck do ya think ya doing, Ray?’ said Prem, frozen like a dummy.
Ray was gasping for breath but he managed to spit the words out. ‘It’s called revenge, it’s about an eye for an eye.’
Tyrone shook his head. ‘Ray man, this ain’t the way to go. Let’s rough him up and go make some music.’
‘No way, the music is over,’ said Ray. His bloodshot eyes looked into Dragon’s.
Prem half laughed and stepped towards Ray. ‘Come on, Ray, let’s rearrange him and get out of here.’
Prem reached out. ‘Give us the gun.’
‘No,’ said Ray, keeping his eyes on Dragon.
‘Give it,’ said Prem, moving towards Ray.
‘No,’ Ray shouted, and then to their complete surprise he turned the gun on Prem, then from Prem to Tyrone. ‘Stand there.’ Ray nodded his head to a place just behind Dragon but no one moved. This time Ray deliberately pointed the gun at Prem’s head. ‘I said stand there, and you,’ he said to Tyrone.
Gangsta Rap Page 20