You Don't Know Me

Once he knew they could get to him even on the numbers, he had no choice but to make another deal. This time though he had to deal with his dealers and not Five-O. He didn’t have that much he could bargain with though. The money was all gone – what there had been of it. He didn’t have any power and he didn’t have any drugs. All he had was himself, which was basically a broke crack-addict dealer with nothing but his stones in his pockets. But these boys have a ways of getting blood from stones. And that is what they got from him. His blood. His sister. My Kira.

Okay, so I have forgotten what I am telling you all this for. This must be the reason these QCs write everything down. Well what it is yeah, is that I can write but my writing ain’t like exact for one thing and for another thing I write quite slow. For you, hearing that must be like, ‘Oh yeah he must be thick’ or whatever. Maybe I am a bit in terms of writing but not in terms of talking. Virtually no one in my school was good at writing, but most of them could chat shit for England. Then again you get what you pay for and what we paid for in that school was fuck all. I wonder what he paid for his schooling though? This prosecutor? Thousands I bet. So he can fuck off.

I mean if he went to my school and ended up where he is I’ll give him enough respect, I swear down, blood. Did he though? Or did he go to some thousands of pounds a year private school in a bow tie?

So this pisses me off, since we’re talking about him. He goes on about it was a tragedy that JC or Jamil, whatever you want to call him, was shot dead at the age of nineteen. That ain’t no tragedy, believe. You think even Mr Prosecutor believes JC’s death is a tragedy? Please … A tragedy is what happened to Kira. That girl had nothing. Nothing, you get me. She had a crack-dealer brother and that is it. She was living on her own when she was fifteen. Working in Tesco for whatever night hours she could – always with a book in her hand while other people had theirs hands in the till. And then this shit comes along and makes it worse. You show me a tragedy and I will show you her.

So yeah, I am sorry in a ways. But in another ways I can’t help feeling angry about it.

So where was I? I remember – Spooks. Spooks, sold his sister to save his own sorry-arse life. He should have rather killed himself than did anything to that girl. But that is it. You can’t change what happened. The boys he had been running with was some serious boys. They weren’t no plastic gangsters like JC and those kids. These boys were men. And they were proper hard mans. To give you an idea let me tell you what happened to some boy last year who didn’t know who he was playing with. And I know the Judge is looking at me like how many times are we going on diversion. But you need to know about this.

These guys that Spooks sold out to, ran all of North London. They sold heroin and crack on almost every corner of every estate from Camden to Seven Sisters and Tottenham. Yeah you can’t see it where you go because you don’t know your way round. If you go to Seven Sisters or wherever, you probably go on the main road and you will see the usual shit. McDonald’s, the shitty menswear shops full of some fucked up African clothing and big pointed crocodile skin shoes and you will think, ‘Oh poor fuckers, that is so deprived.’

But you need to get off the main roads to see what it is really like. Go around the back, where the roads run out and you will see these massive estates you hear about whenever they talk about gun crime on the news. They are hidden, which is a surprise considering how huge these places are, but they are only hidden from you. They ain’t hidden from us who live there.

Anyway all these estates in the North are run by this crew called Glockz. Kira’s brother Spooks was a member of this gang as it happens. Anyway Glockz don’t like strange faces on their patch. So this one guy pulls up in his Range Rover one day and starts selling draws out of his car window to anyone who wants some. It’s not five minutes before word gets round that some Pagan is on their turf.

You guys are looking at me with them blank faces again. So I’m guessing it’s something I said. Is it ‘pagan’? Okay, okay. So ‘pagan’ is like what you would call a rival gang member if you was in a gang. Which I ain’t. Obviously.

So Glockz hear about this guy and send some soldiers round to see what’s gwanning with this joker in his Range Rover on their patch.

Three guys tap on the window and the driver gets out smiling. He points a fucking MAC-10 at them and these boys run off, terrified. Big man thinks that’s the end of it. But that is not how this shit works round those ends. In another five minutes six cars pulled round and blocked off the Range Rover. Four men from each car came out and surrounded it. Then all the tyres are stabbed out and when the Range Rover drops six inches like it’s just had enough and collapsed, the guy gets back out of his car.