The Dirty South Read online

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE GIFT

  It was a long time until I saw Akeisha in the flesh again. Following the night of the poetry jam she didn’t pick up or return my calls for five weeks. I sent her a Christmas card and I wrote ‘sorry’ all over it. I even drew little red hearts all over it… But she still wouldn’t agree to see me. At times I felt like going around to her gates and demanding to see her but I knew if I did that then I might fuck everything up. I couldn’t bear to think that she might never want to see my black behind again. We did start to have long chats on the phone but this made me even more frustrated in not seeing her. I took to spying on her on a few occasions as she left her flat in the morning. Fuck! Was I obsessed.

  I wrote her a long letter, telling her that I behaved like a damn fool and the groping shit would never happen again. I told her that if I had to wait two months or two years for her then so be it. I won’t even consider linking with any other girls. I told her that I want us to be like my parents, who still love and care for each other after twenty odd years. I delivered the letter myself at some bitch time in the morning. After that I prayed like the way black people pray in the deep south.

  That Christmas Eve Noel took me out to a party to try and cheer up my sad ass. I didn’t even look at the bitches there. Didn’t even have a drink or eat any roast chicken wings. Noel got himself drunk up so I had to drive home. It was about 4 in the morning when Noel saw Santa Claus staggering up Tulse Hill. Santa Claus was obviously drunk, singing his yo ho ho shit and he was wearing all the right garms that stupid children like. I guessed he was making his way back from a party but Noel had a long hard stare at him and switched.

  ‘Stop the motherfucking ride,’ he said.

  I did as I was told and suddenly Noel leaped out of the car and started to sprint towards Father Christmas. I got out and followed him but I wasn’t quick enough to stop the beating. Noel pounded the fuck out of Father Christmas, shouting, ‘My mum always said I had to pray for your fat white ass! Pray to Father Christmas and he’ll come in the night to give you shit! Well, I didn’t get shit! Never got shit! You know how much I wanted a motherfucking Game Boy one year! Give me your fucking money, you pussyhole!’

  Noel jacked Father Christmas’s wallet, his black belt and his hat and I was just glad to get him back inside the ride before the Feds come. Shit! Only in Bricky…

  My bad mood stayed with me all through the Christmas holidays and after that.

  I was getting proper depressed and I needed to chat to somebody about this ’cos it was fucking my head up. Paps was out of the question ’cos he would offer his advice while giving me a fucked-up lecture that would last for hours. I was too embarrassed to reveal my chick problems to Mum and she would say shit like ‘My little boy’s in love! How sweet!’ So Mum was out of the question. Davinia would probably know all the answers to my problems and what I should do about it, but she would be too fucking smug with it. And I wasn’t feeling that so burn Davinia. So I ended up chatting to Noel about my Akeisha situation. I told him everything, even the groping shit in Akeisha’s kitchen. He laughed like a D-list celeb on a chat show.

  Noel thought I was crazy to still chase Akeisha and he tried to set me up a few times with ghetto chicks he knew. I was not on that and I told these girls that I wasn’t feeling no bitch who’s never heard of Marcus Garvey or Angela Davis. That was an excuse though. Basically, they were intellectually and physically light years away from how Akeisha was and in my world nobody else came close and nobody else would do. Simple as.

  It was a bitch cold February night in 2001 when I was in the passenger seat of Noel’s ride. I was thinking that Akeisha’s baby, Curtis, was now a year old. Akeisha herself was gonna be twenty later on in the year and soon I’d be eighteen.

  The heater in Noel’s ride wasn’t working and that just bottomed off my downer neatly ’cos I had asked Akeisha if I could take her out on Valentine’s Day and she gave me an automatic no. What fucked me off is the way she said no. It was blatantly brutal, the kind of no you would get from a male Jamaican dancehall artist if you asked him if he would consider sleeping with a man. Not even a moment’s thought. No! She then finished the call with the classic ‘I’m really busy so I gotta go’ line. What she really was saying is that she’s fucked off with my pleading, begging and shit. I tried to blast the rejection out of my mind but it hung around like a dog shit in a hard-to-find corner of Brockwell Park.

  Noel and myself were on our way to collect a debt when Noel decided to run his gums on the Akeisha situation and my nonexistent sex life. As always, Noel’s girlfriend, Priscilla Lane, was in the back seat. She was bopping her head to some Mary J. Blige tune in that ghetto way of hers while burning a cigarette. At least the smoke made the car feel a tiny bit warm.

  ‘What’s a matter with you, bruv?’ Noel asked. ‘All because one bitch doesn’t like you grabbing her crotch you’re going on like a baby! Akeisha ain’t feeling you, man. Get over it. You flopped… You messed it up when you made a peckish grope for her pussy. For some reason the bitch made you into a fucked-up sex fiend. You’re the Gary Glitter of Bricky, bruv. You should have neon signs on your motherfucking pervert ass so chicks know not to approach you. Shit happens like that when a man worships a pussy of a classical standard.’

  Noel said this all with a straight face. But what else could I expect? This was Noel. He continued. ‘And I can imagine you building a motherfucking altar for the pussy Akeisha’s got. What’s so fucking special about her anyway? Yeah, she’s got a decent face but she’s a bit on the slim side. Slim girls might be OK for woking in a world of positions ’cos they’re proper portable in a telephone box, but a man needs a pair of breasts to sleep on when he’s done. He needs to feel some Beyoncé-like curves of heat when it’s a bitch cold night. You get me? That Akeisha bitch couldn’t keep a dwarf warm in a sauna, bruv. She’s too damn skinny. She has to dance like James Brown in the shower to get herself wet… Shit! Weren’t James Brown a perv too?’

  ‘Yeah he was, Noel,’ Priscilla cut in. ‘Or was it Chuck Berry?’

  This was so embarrassing with Priscilla in the back, taking all this shit in. I could hardly tell Noel to shut the fuck up. After all, I did tell him everything and this was his way of being a ‘best bredren’. He was taking this agony uncle thing seriously.

  ‘It’s about time you woked a next bitch and you’d better do it quick ’cos if I go for a long time without woking a bitch then the next one that comes along I shoot my juices too rapid and can’t perform proper… That’s how men are. We gotta wok regular to perform proper. Trust me on this. Ain’t that so, Priscilla?’

  ‘He ain’t lying,’ nodded Priscilla, looking as serious as a BBC newsreader.

  ‘Course I ain’t lying,’ said Noel. ‘Listen to a man who’s woked a world of girls in his time.’

  Only Noel could say something like that in front of his present partner. But at the end of the day, I wanted Akeisha. I didn’t want no dumb ass ghetto chick who had never heard of Constantinople, Saladin and Paul Bogle.

  ‘And even if you did get to wok Akeisha,’ Noel continued, ‘she would have you under lock, bruv. You’d do anything for that Akeisha bitch… The way you go on anybody would think her piss is Frog perfume, bruv. It ain’t healthy.’

  ‘Not anything,’ I argued.

  ‘Stop lying, bruv! If she asked you to buy her period shit at the chemist or somewhere you would go if you was promised a wok. And she would definitely make you buy your own condoms.’

  ‘What’s wrong with buying a girl her tampons or getting your own condoms?’

  ‘Everything, bruv. It means she has you under some big bitch piece of medieval lock… You know it! This Akeisha bitch has got you locked down and you ain’t even woked it yet! What’s a matter with you, bruv? A stush girl has turned you into a pussy. Them kinda black girls always end up with white brothers anyway. Them kinda black bitches like all that wining-and-dining-being-a-gentleman-opening a door shit. Fuc
k that!’

  When inspired Noel could go on like this for hours. One of these days I’m gonna tape one of his rants and try and sell it as a radio play. He went on. ‘They make you spend nuff dollars on them before you even get to stroke a toe, bruv. And they don’t even consider linking with a brother if he ain’t earning more than her. If you weren’t shotting or working with your uncle Everton there won’t be too many girls who would want to wok your black ass. Trust me on this. If you wanna get to first base with them bitches you have to chat about what kinda schools will your children go to when you’re just dating and shit. Fuck that shit! You might as well go Upper Tulse Hill and pay for one of them east European hos for a wok. I hear that they’re so desperate they even take a fiver for a BJ. A brother I know takes some Kentucky clean wipes with him and he says to the hos they gotta clean their lips first before they give him a BJ. I’m feeling that ’cos it’s cheaper than taking some bitch out for a double bitch vodka and a Red Bull and all they can talk about is fucking EastEnders.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, Noel, but will you stop calling Akeisha a bitch…’

  ‘Hasn’t she got a pussy? That’s what she is, ain’t she? If it makes you feel better I’ll call her a Honey Thumby. In other words she lets you smell the honey but she won’t let you dip your thumb in it. She’s a cock sore, bruv, a prick tease. Men have choked their bishops so much ’cos of chicks like Akeisha that their dicks fall off. Trust me on this. You’d better drop that bitch before she sends you crazy…’

  ‘I think it’s sweet that Dennis really likes this Akeisha girl,’ Priscilla remarked. ‘At least he ain’t like them fuck-a-bush ghetto man who wok anything if it ain’t menstruating or crippled. At least he’s focusing on just the one girl. Not like some man I know.’

  ‘Who asked you to speak?’ snapped Noel. ‘Who even asked you in the ride? You can’t see this is a man’s conversation? And nobody invited you in it. So shut the fuck up and keep your Bricky fish market mouth under lock.’

  ‘Who are you talking to like that? I’m getting fucked off with the way you chat to me, Noel. Carry on and the only pussy you will get tonight is the motherfucking tom looking for scraps in them big council rubbish bins! Talk to me proper with respect, man. I ain’t no fucking muppet! I’m your girl.’

  ‘Three things,’ Noel said. ‘First of all, you are a proper living motherfucking muppet. Secondly, I have never, ever, in any way or form, referred to you as my girl and, Priscilla, I ain’t like Dennis and go on like a pussy when I have a scent of crotches. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t spread your pins for me tonight. I will just go to the snooker hall and play some pool with the white brothers. Make some P’s while I’m doing it too. Them white brothers love off the hardcore skunk and they always pay over the odds. Then I’ll go and wok a white bitch I know. Then I’ll sleep ’til afternoon ’cos I don’t do shit in the mornings. Simple as. With a white chick a black man don’t have to work too hard for the pussy. You just find a white bitch with a Croydon facelift, bring the liquor, bring some skunk, they sample it and they wanna wok your black ass off all night. Simple as.’

  ‘Wok a white bitch and you can chant farewell to my crotches,’ Priscilla retaliated, doing her head moving thing as the neck and shoulders kept still. ‘In fact, have you been woking any white girls, Noel? Tell me the fuck now! ’Cos if you have I’m stepping out of this ride and your sad fucking Jerry Springer life! Have you woked any white bitches, Noel?’

  ‘Course I haven’t, Priscilla,’ Noel answered, putting on his soft voice. ‘I’m just winding you up. You know how it is. I just want Dennis to get some sex. Any sex. He needs it. The brother’s gonna froth like Muttley soon. You know it!’

  I still found it hard to believe that Noel and Priscilla had ever knocked the boots.

  We pulled up in a council estate somewhere behind Stockwell tube station and close to the Wandsworth Road. A bitching breeze was picking up and I kept my hands in my pockets…

  ‘So, whose money are we collecting?’ I asked.

  ‘Nathan,’ Noel answered. ‘Nathan Taylor. The brother owes me a hundred and seventy pounds. He said he’s gonna pay me tonight. He better pay me tonight or I’m gonna give him a pounding.’

  ‘How did he get to owe you a hundred and seventy pounds? That’s unlike you, Noel. You’re slipping.’

  ‘I felt sorry for the brother ’cos his older brother joined the Feds. It brutally fucked up his road cred. He can’t walk on road anywhere without man shouting Five-O or The Bill after his black ass. Man on road won’t take him seriously if he tries to shot his skunk. They just laugh and whistle The Bill theme tune. It proper fucks Nathan off. Although his paps never lived with the family I hear he’s proper gutted about his oldest son joining the Feds too. The family’s going through a shit time so I kept on giving the brother free eighths when he was waiting for his P’s at the end of every month. He works on the twilight shift on the bakery section in Sainsbury’s… He usually paid me when he said he would but I haven’t seen no P’s from the brother for six weeks. So, Dennis, get your psycho face on, let go of some of that sentimental shit you always carry with you ’cos we might have to pound a brother tonight.’

  ‘Shouldn’t Priscilla stay in the ride?’ I suggested.

  ‘I ain’t staying in no ride!’ Priscilla complained. ‘Look how fucking cold it is and this is the estate where the government secretly put bare perverts and paedophiles in! No, man, I’m coming with you. Burn this under-lit car park.

  I looked at Noel, ‘I don’t really give a fuck whether she comes or not,’ Noel said. ‘As long as Nathan gives me my P’s.’

  We went to one of those tower blocks that architects in the 1960s thought was a cool idea… As usual the lift stank of piss and other shit that I couldn’t describe… We got out at the thirteenth floor and the wire-meshed windows gave us a neat view of Stockwell and the surrounding ends all the way to the Thames. There were eight flats on each floor and Noel wasted no time in knocking the letter box of one of them. After a while, Nathan appeared. He was a skinny brother with what seemed a permanent look of panic on his face. Seeing Noel, he quickly closed the door behind him, making sure whoever was inside the flat didn’t see or hear what was happening.

  ‘Where’s my P’s?’ Noel barked.

  ‘Yeah, where’s my man’s money,’ Priscilla repeated. ‘You’re messing with my man’s money and I ain’t feeling that.’

  Noel turned to face Priscilla and I wondered if I would have to dive in to stop him from pounding her. ‘Squeak again and your feet are gonna get their groove on with concrete and pavement,’ Noel warned. ‘Believe it!’

  Returning his attention to Nathan, Noel said, ‘I’m gonna ask you one more time. I ain’t gonna shout, I’m gonna be calm. Understand these lyrics. You done English at school and by all accounts the subject wasn’t as difficult for you as it was for the rest of us. Where’s my P’s?’

  Scared as fuck, Nathan stood with his back pressed against his front door. His mouth was open but no words came out. Why did he close the door behind him? I wondered… He glanced to his left and then to his right. Still no reply. Sweat appeared on his forehead. Noel slowly walked up to him, Lee Van Cleef-like. His eyes bored into Nathan’s face, never blinking. This shit was even scary for me. Priscilla was proper liking the vibe of it all, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her eyes alive in anticipation like one of them rich white people sitting ringside at a world heavyweight title fight.

  ‘Where’s my P’s?’

  ‘Just give me two more days, trust me! It’s gonna come all good. Don’t worry about nothing. You know me, Noel, have I ever let you down? I’ve always showed you love, bruv. Can’t we just reason about this like two proper bredrens? You know how it goes when someone fucks up. Well, someone has fucked up with my money but it’s coming in two days. If you can just—’

  Noel hit Nathan with a perfect right hook. He went down slowly ’cos his back was kinda supported by the door. Priscilla�
�s eyes grew big. Just as Noel was preparing to boot Nathan’s back with his Nike-covered right foot, I stepped in to stop the beating. ‘Not outside his gates,’ I said. ‘His mum might come out.’

  ‘Then tell the brother to get my fucking money!’

  I helped Nathan to his feet. ‘Can’t you give him something?’ I asked. ‘Just give him a gesture for now ’cos if my man wants to pound someone I can hardly stop him, bruv.’

  Nathan, caressing his left cheek, thought about it.

  ‘Yeah,’ shouted Noel. ‘Give me a gesture. A twenty pound gesture… Just to save your pounding.’

  ‘I dunno if I can ask my mum,’ said Nathan, almost in tears.

  ‘NATHAN IS GAY!’ Noel suddenly began to yell. ‘NATHAN IS GAY! NATHAN IS GAY! NATHAN IS GAY!’

  If it wasn’t so surreal I would have collapsed in laughter. But Priscilla proper lost her composure and she was on the floor in stitches as Noel’s chant echoed around the thirteenth floor.

  ‘To stop him you’re gonna have to get that gesture,’ I told Nathan.

  Nathan ran inside as Noel continued his shouting. ‘NATHAN IS GAY! NATHAN IS GAY!’

  A brother emerged from another flat, took a look and decided to go back inside. Noel, not giving a shit, kept on chanting.

  ‘NATHAN IS GAY! NATHAN IS GAY!’

  Moments later, Nathan appeared holding a twenty pound note. He quickly gave it to Noel… The right side of his face was now swelling. Noel snatched the money and stopped his chanting. He had this fucked-up grin on his face. He then, Michael Corleonelike, walked over to Priscilla, tossed the twenty pound note at her and said, ‘Now you can stop asking me to use my mobile. Put some fucking credit on your own motherfucking mobile!’