Rise and Fall (6 page)

Reagan would have been happy to live in a shed; he didn’t give a shit where his flat was, he had just been chuffed that for the first time in his life he had a home of his own. He was used to shitholes, he had grown up in these kinds of places, so he knew he would fit in. 

Having a flat of his own, at such a young age, had made Reagan a popular boy and wanting his mates to stick around he had always encouraged them to treat the place like it was theirs too. Reagan’s mates had been more than happy to oblige; this place, where they could bring back the girls, was a pussy magnet and there had been many a crazy party until all hours of the mornings, tearing it up to the latest tunes whilst they got drunk and stoned.

The parties were great, but it hadn’t taken Reagan long to realise that he had been missing a trick. What he actually had was a base. If he was clever enough, this place would be perfect for him to use to start his own little money-making factory, where he could concentrate on getting some gear out onto the streets. He named his gang the Larkhall Boys and they had quickly started to become known on the estate.

The main thing Reagan cared about was that the boys he surrounded himself with respected him, and as he was the one who owned the flat and had set up the nice earner for everyone with the drugs he was pushing out, respect was something he had no trouble getting from them. He had relied only on himself: until he met Jerell.

Reagan couldn’t believe his luck when Jerell befriended him. A mutual friend had introduced them, and Reagan had instantly been in awe of the man. Jerell wasn’t some messed-up kid with a chip on his shoulder wanting to make a few pounds, he was a proper gangster. The man was unhinged, everything about him was intimidating. Reagan had quickly realised that with Jerell by his side, they were going to make some serious money. 

Reagan had fallen over himself trying to impress Jerell and had been prepared to do whatever the man asked so that he could get an in with him. When Jerell had finally taken him up on his offer of a place to stay, things had started to progress for the two men. Jerell moving in had been the opportunity Reagan had been looking for, and now he wanted Jerell to see what he was capable of. 

Jerell’s operation made Reagan’s little cannabis factory look like a pathetic gardening hobby. The first thing that Jerell had said, when he came on board, was that they were to stop selling gear from the flat. As far as he was concerned, that was a fucking capture waiting to happen. 

One of the Reagan’s mates, Louise, had also been given a place by the social around the same time as Reagan, just across the estate, so Jerell had moved all their drugs there. Louise had been apprehensive about having all the gear moved to her place, at first; it was a massive responsibility, and she would be in charge of overseeing the operation from her end. She was frightened that she would get caught, and be the one that ended up taking the rap. She was a smart girl, though, and knew that it was the only way the gang would take her seriously. If she was careful, then she would be okay. Jerell had assured her that if she did things his way then she would be fine and the generous cut of money he had offered for her services had helped her put any worries to the back of her mind.

Jerell was ready to flood the streets of Lambeth with more than just ganja. 

The set up was simple. Reagan made sure, as he always had, that his boys knew their roles. No-one was to go to Jerell for petty problems. Reagan wanted Jerell to know that he was capable of keeping everyone in line and letting the operation run as smoothly as possible. Jerell was the top man now and Reagan was his second-in-command, a role he was happy with.

 Jerell made sure that none of the other boys went in and out of Louise’s flat as they did in Reagan’s house. He didn’t want to draw attention to the place; he wanted it kept low-key. 

Louise had slipped into the role of the main courier. She picked up the gear and dropped off the supplies. No-one would suspect that a pretty girl like Louise was the main runner; with her big eyes, she looked like butter wouldn’t melt. Any of the nosey neighbours who spotted her frequently coming and going would just assume that she was some pretty young thing who lived there. 

Reagan was strict with the boys about taking drugs; Jerell insisted on it. At the flat, the most they had was a few spliffs on the go; they made sure that if the heavies ever suspected them for dealing and raided their flat, they would find nothing. 

“No one touches crack, man. Weed is fine; I appreciate that a brother needs to chill from time to time, but save the crack for the skanks on the street. If these boys wanna be part of dis operation, then they need to keep their heads clear so dat we make some serious money.” Jerell didn’t want to be working with scummy crackheads. As far as he was concerned, crack was for his customers not his crew. He knew he would be setting himself up to lose if he surrounded himself with addicts, it was something that he had witnessed time and time again with other bad-ass wannabes and in his book it was a guaranteed way to fail. This was a business, and everyone around him needed to keep a clear head and always be one step ahead of the game. Jerell had it all sorted: business as they say, was booming. 

Jerell tapped his foot to the music; it was the first time since he had arrived in England that he could put his feet up and chill out for a few hours. He listened to the boys sitting across the room, having a heated debate about the rioters who had terrorised the capital back in August. The boys talked amongst themselves like they were hard done by, and Jerell couldn’t help but grin as he listened to the conversation; the boys all spoke as if the country owed them something. Employment was at an all-time low, and judging from nearly everyone Jerell had met since he had been here, crime was the only thing that paid. These boys were young; they had a lot to learn. Most of them had been born into crime, working the streets from young ages: dealing drugs, carrying knives and some even using them. 

Jerell had the knack of being able to tap into the boys’ pent-up anger and twist it around so that they would use it to his advantage. They hung on his every word. Even now, as they sat there chatting shit to each other, they all thought that it was their right to make money by nicking cars and selling drugs. The system didn’t care about them, they said, they could only rely on the people in this room.

Only ignorant people were stupid enough to assume that gangs were just bored kids who had nothing better to do than to hang around causing trouble, Jerell knew. Gangs were an established part of organised crime in London. The boys may be kids, but they were part of the bigger picture.

Sitting down on the floor, bored with the conversation that was now going on around her, Louise interrupted Jerell’s thoughts. “Jerell, any chance I could have a little drag of that?” Leaning with her back against the sofa on which Jerell was sprawled across, his legs hanging off the end, Louise fluttered her eyelashes in the hope he would share his spliff with her. She waited patiently and ignored the looks she was getting from the younger boys sitting opposite her. One of them shook his head at her obvious flirting with Jerell. She smirked at them defiantly as Jerell took another long deep drag and then passed the spliff to her.

Jerell smiled, as he thought of another thing the boys back home had been right about. English girls were easy meat. Louise made it obvious that she had a thing for Jerell, she made constant advances towards him, and he knew she was available should he want her. 

The girl curled her lips around the spliff and looked at him as she took a long drag. He looked back. She was a pretty girl with her flawless white skin and long blonde hair. But he had no interest in her. She was too easy for his liking and as they said back home: easy come easy go. For his own amusement, he let her have a quick puff of the joint, before he snatched it back out of her grasp and lay back down on the sofa.

“Hey, I’ve only just got it,” Louise protested, miffed he had only let her have one toke and embarrassed that the boys had seen Jerell make her look like a prat. 

“Dat all you got to worry about, girl, smoking my gear?” He laughed at Louise’s expression, which conveyed her rejection. “You came round for your money, girl, buy your own gear.” He raised his eyebrows to let her know not to ask him again. Jerell paid the girl well, she had no need to ponce gear off him. “And you better not be robbing any of the gear over at your place either. You know what they do to thieves that steal off their own, back in my yard? They cut their hands off.” 

Louise was mortified. She had thought that, after all she was doing, Jerell would treat her with more recognition. She was practically running things at her flat. Unsure of how to save face, noticing that some of the boys were laughing at her now, Louise giggled, trying to pretend that she wasn’t bothered by Jerell’s rudeness. Feeling her cheeks burn red, as she pretended not to notice the mocking glance he sent her way, she realised that Jerell had absolutely no interest in her at all. She hadn’t really fancied him anyway. It had been the idea of him that she had liked. He had a presence about him, unlike all the stupid little rude boys round here. She was embarrassed by his blatant disrespect towards her, though. She wasn’t used to being rejected; in fact if anyone did the brushing off around here, it was normally her. 

Shamed by how easy she must have come across to him, and feeling stupid that she had been throwing herself at him Louise got up and grabbed her jacket. Taking the cash from Reagan, she let her hair fall around her cheeks so that she could mask the humiliation burning her face, as she made her way to the door.    

“Shut the door on your way out, girl.” Jerell laughed in amusement at how much he had got to the young thing. He inhaled some more of the spliff, thinking that he had no time for shit with young girls like that. They were more trouble than they were worth. Louise was another one who thought she was owed something. She was doing the lion’s share of the work, he knew that. But it didn’t hurt to bring the girl down a peg or two and remind her that it was he who was in charge. She would do well to remember that in future.

Closing his eyes, he let the music carry him back to simpler days of growing up in sunny Jamaica. 

Tapping his fingers on the table in the shabby little cafe, Gary couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

The normally busy greasy spoon was unusually quiet for this time of the morning, giving Gary more time to be alone with his thoughts, which right now he could have done without. In the cold light of day the worries that had kept him up all night seemed magnified. Gary lived by his intuition, and the fear that had kept him awake most of the night was sitting uneasily in his gut. 

What if they had bitten off more than they could chew? Maybe it was just nerves at what they were about to do, but he couldn’t suppress the feeling that they were getting involved in something that they should be leaving well alone. 

But a vote had been cast, and although it had ultimately been Gary’s decision to make, in the end he had seen no other way but to agree with Jamie that they would go ahead with their plan. Sitting here alone now, though, every bone in his body was telling him to call the hit off. 

What would Jamie and the others think of him if he did that, though; they were already acting like they thought he was losing his bottle. He didn’t want them to think he was going soft, but how could he explain what his intuition was telling him without sounding like a complete nut-job? They would think he was bailing out on them, and who could blame them for thinking that; after all, they were all more than aware of what this Jerell Morgan was capable of.

Wiping away the sweat trickling down his forehead, Gary tried to remain calm. The waitress came over, and he asked for a full English breakfast and a pint of orange juice. As soon as she had left, he wished he hadn’t ordered it; his appetite had gone. 

The others would be at the cafe in about ten minutes, and to show he was still in control Gary had wanted to be the first to arrive. He had wanted to use the extra time to think things through and get his head straight. 

He was glad when Shay walked through the door a minute or so later, as he realised that the more he sat on his tod, the more time he had to think things over and the more he was becoming certain that he was losing his nerve. 

“You alright, mate?” Shay asked, barely waiting for an answer, continuing to talk as he picked up a menu: “Tell you what, I’m bloody starving. I only got home about three hours ago. I met a right sort last night. She helped me work up a nice little appetite, if you know what I mean.” Shay smiled cheekily at Gary, not realising the annoyance that he was causing nor picking up on the fact that things clearly were far from “alright”.

Gary shook his head, although Shay didn't notice as he was scrutinising the menu, his rumbling belly the main thing on his mind. 

Gary was fuming; they had a crucial job to do today, a job that they had planned for the best part of a week, and Shay had decided to spend the night before shagging some bird until the early hours, treating their plan like it was some kind of joke.

The waitress came over and put a plate of steaming hot food down in front of Gary. He pushed it over to Shay. “Here, you may as well have mine.” 

Shay picked up a fork and then, giving the waitress a wink, asked her to bring over a pot of tea. Barely looking up, as he shovelled the food into his mouth, and with the yolk of the fried egg dripping down his chin, Shay was oblivious to Gary’s anger building across the table. Shay didn’t have a clue what they were about to go up against, by the looks of it, and once again Gary wondered if it was only him that had thought any of this through. It took every ounce of his restraint to stop him from leaning over the rickety cafe table and grabbing Shay by the scruff of his selfish, scrawny little neck.

Seeing Jamie and Gavin arriving, Gary tried to shrug off his mood. 

Jamie, taking a seat next to Shay, and as always quick on the ball, picked up on the atmosphere. “You alright, Gary?” A frown was etched on his boss’s forehead; he looked stressed. It had taken a lot of persuading by Jamie for Gary to go along with this plan; he wondered now if Gary was once again having second thoughts.