The door opened before I could knock. Inside, around a dozen of the Man Dem were waiting for me.
Drex was sitting on the very same settee. He had pain in his eyes. I resisted the temptation to look for Daggers’ guilty face. I wasn’t ready to look him in the eye. Not yet.
I was surprised to see so many guys in that small room. All the brothers were coming together to find out what was going on.
Badman was the first to speak.
“Daggers been telling some stories, innit. Why was you coming to man’s house late at night?”
“Said you came knocking near midnight.”
“See, we’re a bit confused. Thought you was with Drex? You’re his ting! Not inna da sket behaviour, blood! Tryna take man for ediot? Allow dat man!”
So this was gang justice. They were asking me to wage war against my own crew. This could break up a brotherhood. So be it. I told them the truth.
Once I’d finished, the room went silent. Stimpy, Gadget, Badman and Drex said not a word.
“She’s a bitch,” protested Daggers. “Man can’t trust her.”
I looked around at this band of brothers, the boys I was prepared to put my life on the line for, and wished for one of them, just one of them, to speak up for me. What about all those promises of having each other’s back? What about loyalty and standing strong?
“Anyone gonna stand up for me? Anyone gonna do anything?”
Everywhere I looked, I was met with a blank face.
Stimpy caught my eye, then looked away, embarrassed. The rest shuffled their feet and said nutting.
Gadget moved to the sofa, and took up the remote. Badman moved to the fridge.
“Well?” I asked the room. “Is that it?”
The room went completely quiet. Silent.
It was a guy I barely recognised who spoke up. He was one of Daggers’ friends.
“Well, man. Is it true?”
Daggers laughed in his face. “Fuck that shit. She’s lying, man, I’m telling you. Gyal comes over, says she wants it. Any man would bang dat, innit?”
He laughed again, more nervously this time.
“I know you, man. I know when you’re lying.”
The room remained silent. I was so angry I could barely speak.
“Well, unless you want anything else,” I declared, trying to keep my cool, “I’ve got things to do.”
With that, I left, but not before remembering to pay attention to the kind of locks Daggers had on his front door. I would be returning – next time there would be no witnesses.
Drex followed me outside. He caught me by the wrist.
“How could you do that?” I cried.
“Do what?”
“Not have my back?”
He looked upset. He had trusted Daggers, I knew that. I knew he felt betrayed too.
“What do you want man to do?”
That was the moment I realised. I shouldn’t have to tell him what to do. He should have just done it.
He was a boyfriend, a colleague, a teammate. If anyone was going to hold my corner, it should have been him.
Instead of defending me, he chose to do nothing.
“Leave it,” I said, shrugging him off. “Fuck people, allow it, I’ll deal with it myself. If something is going to be done to him, it’s going to be done by me. I’m going home.”
But Daggers got lucky. Turned out the Feds had already paid a visit. He was safely in prison and wasn’t expected out for a long time. Jail saved that coward. And he doesn’t even know it.
A lot of things changed after that. Respect was meant to be what it was all about. Where was my respect? I had been served an injustice, and I didn’t see no one stepping in to respect me.
These were the boys I’d run into a violent, tooled-up scrum to defend. I wasn’t asking them to kill or even maim him. A good beating would have done. Hell, a word in my favour woulda been something.
Maybe we weren’t so cool after all. How could I ever defend them again?
Some time later, I would hear another horror story involving two younger girls, who were taking the bus not far from Daggers’ flat. Some of the younger Youngers – boys who I’d seen growing up around the estates and recognised as some of the rugrats – pressganged them off the bus and into the piss-stinking stairwells of Angell Town.
There must have been ten, twelve of them. The schoolgirls were a few years younger than me.
One girl was locked in a derelict basement flat with nothing but a stained mattress and excrement smeared across the floor. The other was kept at knifepoint in the stairwell outside. There, the cheeky lads I had known, the kids who had grown up aspiring to be like the Man Dem, lined up and took it in turns to rape them. The High Court judge called it one of the worst cases he’d ever seen.
I couldn’t believe it. Word on road was that the youts said they were innocent. I didn’t think they were capable. But then again, you can’t vouch for no one again. I learned that the hard way!
I tried to imagine what those girls went through, and what those boys were thinking when the ringleaders urged them on. I imagined the weaker ones following the strong ones, all the good inside them wilting when urged on by the bad.
I’d had a taste of what it was like to feel powerless. I realised that pussy ain’t got no face. Whether you’re a hot gyal, ugly gyal, posh gyal or hood rat – once a yout has that intention for you, there’s not really much you can do.
I realised if it could happen to a brand-name like me, then it can easily happen to anyone.
Devils roamed round Brix City. It was getting harder to ignore that little voice, growing louder and louder inside my head, telling me that I roamed with them.
There was no turning back.
I became a loner, a female soldier. It had been a mistake to go to his house that night. I knew that now. It taught me one important lesson: no matter how streetwise you think you are, no matter how many knives you have or things you have done, you’ll always be powerless when you’re horizontal.
The Art of Stabbing
People don’t keep still. They don’t tell you that. They wriggle and squirm. There are occasions when you really want to get someone but it’s not happening until you hold them down.
Yeah, trust me, shanking takes skill. Sometimes, all it takes is quick reflexes. Sometimes, it takes strength. But it always takes heart. Above all, you gotta be quick.
What’s it like, stabbing someone? It’s like this.
There are times you don’t even know it’s happened till you get home and see the blood on your blade. But there are other times that stay with you, times that you replay over and over again in your head.
You can feel yourself breaking the skin. That’s the moment. That’s the moment that matters. Until then, it’s just like prodding a piece of meat. When you poke it you can’t feel anything back. It takes some force to get beyond that – you’d be surprised. That’s the hardest part. After that, it’s up to you. The possibilities are as long as your blade. What I do know for sure is that knives always slide out much easier than they slide in.
They slide out quick, man. That’s it. A split second, and it’s all over.
Thick, soft, surprising. That’s what it’s like when metal meets meat. Never wet. Blood comes later. And for the person holding it?
There was no mistaking that feeling. It was like sending a Bat signal straight up to the sky. I was sending a message. It said: I’m letting you know I have control. I have control over you. This shows what kind of character I am. I have the power to do something.
Instilling that fear was what I thrived on. It made me feel ten feet tall, a force to be reckoned with. It screamed my name loud without saying a word. The right jab at the right moment could beam my brand-name across Brixton.
There’s a saying: “Duppy know who fe frighten when night dark, dogs know who fe bite.” Ghosts know where to go haunting, dogs know who to bite. The strong will prey on the weak, but a ghost’s real strength is recogn
ising the ones who will spook the most. I was that kind of ghost.
Outgoing fire attracts incoming fire, and it was the same in gangland. Ain’t clever to go round stabbing just anyone. If you’ve got your own repertoire going on, and another blood has his repertoire going on over there, you stick to your own side. Duppy know who fe frighten.
But if a no-name starts making trouble, that’s when you have to act. And that’s what I did.
The no-name was known to certain men but didn’t belong to no one. Who his connections were, I don’t know. All I’d been told was that he was spreading rumours, and talking about all the things he’d do to me next time he saw me, how I’d better sleep with one eye open. All that shit.
“She thinks she’s bad,” he’d bragged. “When I see her I’m going to move to her.”
People think because you’re on the road and you’re wayward, there’s no code. They’re wrong.
When someone sends you a death threat, see, you’re in a situation. You’re going to do one of two things. You’re going to hide or you’re going to confront the problem. I ain’t never been a hider. Daggers knew it, the Man Dem knew it and now this skinny little runt knew it too.
I always had threats coming from somewhere. Often, it was rude girls relaying a message from one of their bloods, Chinese whispers that were never quite right when you finally caught up with the source.
“Never heard of him,” said Tyrone, shaking his head, when I asked him who this joker was. No one else seemed to know either.
But he certainly seemed to have heard of me. I wondered what he’d heard, and whether it had come from Daggers. I figured he wanted to make a name for himself taking on one of the Man Dem and reckoned the girl would be the easiest target. Fool.
We arranged to meet.
I’d hesitated over the kitchen drawer, wondering which knife to take. I went for an old, medium-sized one that Mum used to pierce packets before putting them in the microwave – no serrated edges, nothing big, nothing flash. No point taking one of my designer ones. I was only going to have to throw it away later. I might as well throw away one of hers. I left my favourite blade in my bedroom drawer and squeezed the kitchen knife into the rabbit foot holder. My lucky charm came with me no matter what.
It nearly fit. Near enough. I smoothed down my hoodie, checking my clothes were baggy enough so that it couldn’t be seen. I leaned closer into the mirror. One of my eyes had started to water, due to it being so cold. I laughed to myself. I looked like I was being attacked by a spider. I dapped my little finger on my tongue, and wiped away straying tears to neaten up my eyeliner. Better.
Nobody knew what I was planning. I liked that. The Man Dem didn’t need to know shit. All that mattered was they heard about it later. I knew I wasn’t trying to kill. No need to be so dramatic. I just needed to teach this fucking idiot a lesson.
We’d arranged to meet outside the barber shop around 8pm. I surveyed the shop from across the street. A pack of guys passed by, fists punched deep in their pockets, striding lazily down the road. Nah, it couldn’t be one of them. Too old, too relaxed. Besides, we’d arranged to meet alone. An Asian boy crossed the road, but he seemed to be waiting for someone else. Yeah, it wasn’t him. He stared straight past me.
As a few more minutes ticked by, I wondered if I’d missed him. At that moment, I saw a skinny frame, skulking up the street with that same swaggering limp of all the bloods his age. There was no mistaking this was my date for the night. He looked a little older than me, no more than 17, and stood a good few inches taller. His expression was cast in a permanent frown.
I stubbed out my cigarette. I’d been smoking a lot more of late – always menthol, always slim – and crossed the road, making a beeline straight for his direction.
Postcode celebrities were one thing. But beyond the brand-names, there were always the ran-on’s, the ones whose names would float about for a while if they were lucky, but soon disappeared. They were the ones who wanted to make their mark. When they missed their chance, they would fade out very quickly.
I called them hurry-come-ups. From his unconvincing swagger and the uncertain flicker around his eyes, I could tell this boy was one of them. Duppy know who fe frighten.
I walked up behind him.
“Come with me, I want to talk to you about something.”
If he was startled, he tried not to show it. He said nothing and followed me round the corner.
It was on.
“What’s your problem?”
I wanted to know.
“Don’t have no problem. Only Man Dem been talking, innit?”
“Oh yeah? Saying what?”
“Saying you banged your way to being a brand-name.”
“Is that so?”
As I thought. Daggers.
“Why do you think it’s OK to be sending messages my way? Did you not think I would find you? Do you not think I’d come and fuck you up?”
He bragged some more, hurling insults, but I wasn’t listening no more. I didn’t care what he had to say. There was no good reason behind his threats. That’s what got me angry.
He was just playing at being the big boy. My hand was warm around the knife handle. I felt a twinge of excitement. That familiar thrill began to pulse through my body. I waited for my moment.
“I ain’t taking no threats from no idiot chick, you’re not bad blood, you’re not on dis ting,” he laughed. He took a step forward; all I saw was a black bandanna wrapped around his wrist with a small blade pointing out. He punched me in the face, then tried to stab me.
I moved to him quick and plunged the blade into his leg. I felt the skin tear and muscle pucker before the knife slid free.
“Oh yeah? Now you’ve got something to do me for.”
He fell back, disbelief in his eyes. Run? Darling, I walked off, face straight. No sweat off my back. I know it sounds warped but I had to stab him for his threat to be valid. Remove the knives and what were we left with?
It would have all just been a waste of time. Without the blades, it was just playground insults.
It was the knowledge that knives were involved, that one of us was going to have to attack, that made it bigger. It made us serious. It made us adult.
As for remorse, all I felt was injustice. I had been picked upon for no reason, by someone I didn’t even know. That wasn’t fair. He had caused this. Anyways, I wasn’t aiming to kill. That’s why I stabbed him in the leg. Femoral artery wasn’t exactly in my vocabulary.
I crossed back over the road, leaving him to stagger back the way he came, with a real limp this time. I looked back to watch him.
He had stopped by a bench, holding himself up with one hand, and pressing the other down hard on his thigh. He was no longer paying attention to me. When I got on the bus and looked back down the street, the bench was empty. I felt satisfied.
I leaned my face against the bus window, and enjoyed the feeling of the cold drips of condensation against my skin. The streets of London blurred below me, with parade after parade of grubby shops, with their Fake Fried Chickens, betting shops, all-night grocers and Turkish off-licences, each one almost indistinguishable from the next.
I thought about his reaction. What had he been so shocked for? What was he expecting? Knives never quite had the same shock for me. Suppose that’s what happens when you’ve got a mum that brandishes a meat cleaver whenever she imagines the boydem are coming to lift her. You get used to being on edge, or at least the risk of encountering one.
I never heard anything from that little fucker again. No news meant good news. First, it meant I needn’t be worrying about any more threats. And, second, you only hear about the people who die.
I slept soundly that night. For the next few days, I heard from no one.
Playing Hardball
“Mrs Raynor. Could you please open up? It’s the police.”
It was late in the afternoon.
I pressed my back against my bedroom door. My chest was still heaving fro
m the sprint up the street. I felt faint. As I said, I ain’t never been no athlete.
“Who’s dere? What’s all dis noise?”
I could hear my mum on the warpath.
“Get off my doorstep, we ain’t done nutting to no one. Yuh tink me barn yesiday?”
I hurriedly whipped off my belt and shoved the stained knife under some dirty clothes. It wasn’t exactly the hiding place of a criminal mastermind but it was all I got. My heart drummed hard against my chest.
Mum was going down the stairs. I peeked through the door and saw a flash of her dressing gown. If she’d put on her dressing gown, it meant she was going to open the front door.
I opened my door quietly, slowly, to avoid it creaking. My niece was home, sitting on the bed, alone, watching cartoons.
“Sowa!” she called, throwing her arms up for a cuddle.
I shook my head gently. “Not now, Cheenie,” and pressed my fingers to my lips.
Then I slipped into the airing cupboard.
I slid the door closed and waited for Mum to open the door. I couldn’t hear exactly what the officers were saying but I had a good idea.
I tried to count the footsteps as they came up the stairs – two, maybe three of them? No, two.
Mum was still shouting.
“Dis is a disgrace. She not here, I’m telling you. Not seen her since she went out dis morning.”
There was a huge bang. They’d broken down the doors. Why did they always do that? It’s very bad manners.
They’d just made life very hard for themselves. Mum was going to go apeshit now.
I tried to quieten my breathing, but the more I tried, the louder it became. The feet stopped on the landing.
It was a woman’s voice.
“What are you saying, sweetheart?”
No, Cheenie. No.
The airing cupboard door slid open. Cheenie was pointing straight at me, with chocolate-covered fingers. I had been given up by a four-year-old, sucking her thumb, twirling a blanket.
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