The Dirty South by Alex Wheatle Read Free Book Online

Oh, one more thing. Make sure you have some bump and grind music on the go.
For real
.’
    â€˜OK,’ she laughed and ended the call.
    I was proper content ’cos I didn’t have to do that dating shit like take her to a wine bar or something and waste my dollars. Burn that shit and the idiot brothers who do it. When I link with a girl I just wanna give her a wok. Simple as.
    Next Friday evening I slapped on my deodorant big time and put on my name-brand vest and garms… I usually don’t step out with my gold rings and gold chains but what’s the point of buying that shit if you don’t wear them for occasions like this? I wanted to impress Ann to the max. I finished up dressing by pulling on my new Nikes after checking that they were spotless. Before I left I made sure I placed two condoms in my wallet; I didn’t get too much sex education at home but Mum always said to me not to trust no girl and wear a ‘jacket’ at all times. ‘I’m too young to be a grandmother and so much loose girls get themselves pregnant just to get a flat,’ she would bark as Paps would try to conceal a grin. It was embarrassing but her message struck home.
    I took a 37 bus to Peckham. There ain’t nothing looking sweet in Peckham. The place is a proper dump, well grimed, with dodgy people selling phone cards and dodgy people chilling around cheap chicken takeaways and shottas doing their shit in cab stations.
    As I made my way to Ann’s estate, I said to myself that if she wanted a regular wok she’d have to step down to my ends. The estate reminded me of Stockwell Park with its dirty yellow, brownish brickwork and its long walkways and little squares. I gave Ann a ring when I arrived at a forecourt where nuff cars were parked.
    â€˜Ann! Yeah, I just reach. I’m just standing near this big car park next to a kind of square.’
    â€˜OK, babes. I know where you are. I’ll just be a couple of minutes.’
    I had a half-smoked fat-head in my inside jacket pocket so I took it out and lit it. I had taken three tokes when this African brother appeared on a balcony in front of me. He was about sixteen so I didn’t really pay him any mind. Then this other brother got outof a car. He was walking slowly with his hands in his pockets and he was watching me, following my every move. He looked African too. One of the rules of the ghetto is that if a brother starts to stare you out you must return his gaze until
he
looks away.
    Maintaining my own stare at this brother who was walking towards me, I heard footsteps coming from my left. There were now three of them. I spat out my spliff. Footsteps were now coming from behind me. I spun around and saw the shit was up to my neck… A guy running towards me with serious intent. For a short second it all seemed so comical ’cos this brother was rushing towards me with his baggy jeans falling below his hips showing his Calvin Klein boxer shorts. It was after that when a cold fear struck me. It’s a horrible feeling… It starts with a cramping sensation in the stomach, then it spreads throughout your body until it gets to your brain. Your brain is trying to force you to make a choice. Run or fight. I didn’t do either. I still don’t know why to this day. So I just stood there, fucked up with fear. Rooted to the spot. The brothers rushing me seemed to get bigger and bigger. Their faces had a hungry look about them. Desperate. I couldn’t move.
    Reality hit me when I felt a punch behind my right ear. It dazed me because I didn’t see it coming. I was surrounded by four of them. I only had time to notice that they were all Africans before the kicks and punches pounded my black ass. I felt jolts of pain all over my body and it took me a couple of moments to realize I was on the ground. I opened my eyes and saw a Nike-covered foot aimed for my face. It struck me on the right side of my mouth and I felt the