The Know by Martina Cole Read Free Book Online

Jamaican dealer from Brixton.
     
    Sippy had rented this room for years and it was only ever used for business dealings. It was scruffy but clean and he had laid in a good stock of drink and puff; both essential requirements when doing any kind of planning. At least Sippy thought so anyway. Both of them had their phones turned off, another thing Sippy insisted on, and they were getting on like the proverbial house on fire.
     
    Sippy was a bona-fide Rasta; he accepted Jon Jon for the half-white Rasta he was trying to be, and they understood each other.
     
    Jon Jon was interested in the way Sippy incorporated his religion into his everyday life. He loved the Rasta philosophy even though his own line of work, drug dealing, didn’t really match up to the beliefs he wanted to make his own. Then there was the problem of violence. Look at the morning he had had for a start. But he could listen to Sippy talking about Marcus Garvey and quoting the Scriptures for hours.
     
    He wasn’t disappointed now as Sippy whispered while building a joint, ‘ ‘‘And the earth brought forth grass and herb yielding seed after this kind, and trees yielding fruit whose seed was itself after this kind, and God saw that it was good.’’
     
    He grinned at Jon Jon as he said louder: ‘ Genesis , man. The Bible, for fuck’s sake.’
     
    His thick Jamaican accent gave the words extra resonance so far as Jon Jon was concerned. Those words in a South London accent just didn’t hold the same appeal.
     
    ‘We need to sort out the finer points, Jon Jon, before we make any more plans. So ring me friend James Grey and ask him to pop over for a little chat.’
     
    He loved the slow drawl that was Sippy’s way of talking; it was quiet yet held far more authority than if he’d screamed out the words at the top of his voice.
     
    ‘Knowing you, Sip, your ancestors were the first dealers then!’
     
    Sippy laughed at the compliment.
     
    ‘We smoke to meditate. Remember that if you is banged up in Brixton! It’s a religious thing.’
     
    Jon Jon laughed. He turned on his phone and the texts rang out loudly. Peter Tosh was playing quietly in the background and the sudden noise was an intrusion into the little world they were occupying.
     
    He read the texts quickly before looking at Sippy and saying, ‘I got big trouble.’
     
    His friend shrugged.
     
    ‘You sort it, I ain’t going nowhere. The evening is young yet.’
     
     
Joanie cabbed it home as soon as she received the message from the parlour receptionist. Jeanette had phoned there in the end out of sheer desperation.
     
    As she entered the flat she dimly registered the police’s mess and swore under her breath. The Execution of Warrant notice was screwed up on the floor where as far as Joanie was concerned it could stay.
     
    She aimed the PC out of the door in minutes and then, grabbing her eldest daughter by the front of her jacket, bellowed, ‘Where is me baby?’
     
    Jeanette shook her head.
     
    ‘I don’t know, Mum. I can’t locate her.’
     
    ‘Have the filth took her? I assume you’d left her on her Jacksy, they might have done. Was there anything here from Social Services?’
     
    Jeanette shook her head.
     
    ‘No, nothing, just the warrant notice. Let go of me, Mum!’
     
    But Joanie was not listening; still grabbing her daughter’s jacket, she closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down.
     
    ‘What did Old Bill say?’
     
    She shook Jeanette’s jacket once more, nearly unbalancing the pair of them.
     
    ‘Will you answer me!’
     
    ‘She wasn’t here, Mum. Now let me go!’
     
    Joanie threw her daughter none too gently on the sofa. Then she punched her across the head, hurting her own hand in the process. It was a hard punch and it said a lot for her daughter that she didn’t even wince with the pain.
     
    The phone rang and Joanie made a dive for it.
     
    ‘Hello.’
     
    Her voice was strained.
     
    ‘Yeah, who’s this? Where the fuck is