Thursday, April 07, 2005

Chapter 12

When Danny phoned, he didn’t ask me straight out. First thing he said was to ask if I was still sulking. He said Genius Or Lunatic was interested in what I’d been doing with the tapes but he was just saying it. Then he said, did I want to be in on the syndicate for the dealing. I said yeah.
It wasn’t the money. I wanted a good secret for once. It was the feeling of having something of me own. Something that other people wanted. Plus being in the middle of something. And the excitement a bit, getting paranoid about the D.S. and that.
I never moved much gear. Too shy with people. I started doing the odd eighth to Ron and Vince at work. Ron was in the Merchant Navy before, like Queenie. Liar reckoned he found a huge bag of weed once, tucked behind a bulkhead on a ship. I found out he smoked when I seen him having a sly puff behind a stack of tanalised batten in the yard. Vince just come up and asked. Probably heard off Ron.
Animal shifted the most, with all them brothers. Plus Alison had just started up the College so her mates used to have some. Patrick sold to his old mates from school. Danny flogged it to all the bands he was in. That was how come the others didn’t mind him drumming for everybody. Phil knocked most of his out at work. He reckoned it was the same as blokes who collected for the Pools or sold kids’ toys round the factory; just a sideline where you got a bit back for yourself.
The first time I went up Dunmore was the first time we got two ounces. I was nervous at first, just with meeting the Dunmore lot. I sat next to Binny. He was alright. He was a tree surgeon. Said he’d wanted to be a brain surgeon but he didn’t get the ‘O’ Levels. I couldn’t believe his glasses. Bottle bottoms, like out of a joke shop.
When he give us the gear Dennis said, ‘I’d cut it up here if I was you. If the D.S. stop you they’ll never believe a chunk that size is just personal.’
Dennis and Binny give us a lift back. It was grab a granny night at Deja Vu in Weymouth. They said they was going down there on the hunt for desperate divorcees. I thought I’d be jittery on the way back, with that amount, but I wasn’t. I felt really calm. It was great, sat in the back of Dennis’s station wagon, with the houses and the lights and the cars flashing past. For a minute there I felt like a fucking king. I had a weird thought in the car. Out of nowhere I started wondering about where that dope had been and where it was going. I thought about Ron, going home with an eighth to his fat hippy wife. I wondered what fairy tale he’d tell her about it, and whether she believed all the Walter Mitty bollocks he come out with. I wondered whether he believed it himself.
I thought about Vince. Imagined him going out to Radipole Lake for a smoke because he had to share a bedroom. I could see him there stretched out in the rushes, peaceful on his own, nobody taking the piss or giving him bother. I thought back from Dennis to the people he got it off. People in Bournemouth or Bristol or Southampton who never did out anything smaller than a weight. Would they have chains and steel plates on the door? Dogs maybe. A baseball bat in the hallway? People who did it for a job. And behind that who knew? Proper criminals who’d gone off armed robbery, hippies who’d got organised? And back again, somewhere in Morocco, some wrinkly little old brown bloke, making up the sandy brown slabs, as pissed off with his job as we were with ours. It was funny feeling part of all them different people, all connected up like in a sort of web. The feeling just hung there for a second in me head, then it went.
We got dropped off outside Deja Vu. Me, Danny and Phil got the bus back to the island. I still felt good. What it was like, was like a kids’ story-book. When they read us them sort of books at Underhill I never knew what it was meant to feel like. Couldn’t hardly feel anything properly then. But that was what it felt like that night, like having mates and having adventures.
In me room I fished under the bed and pulled out the box with me dad’s stuff in. I slipped the rocky under the two records. It was a crap place to hide it, but the way I thought was, nobody ever knew about the box so they wouldn’t find the gear. It all caught up with me a bit then. I went in the bog. I just got sat down in time and everything just dropped out of me. Near enough shit meself inside out. More scared than I knew.

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