The Dirty South Read Online Free Page B

ain’t gonna wok me without protection.’ Dumb-ass bitches.
    â€˜So you wanna buy an ounce of weed,’ smiled Red Eyes to Noel and me, his two gold teeth glinting. He was sitting in this cream-coloured armchair with a fat-head in one hand and a Bacardi Breezer in the other. He was wearing his hat indoors. Maybe this old school shotta was bald as that black brother in
The Matrix
, I thought.
    â€˜Yeah, man,’ replied an excited Noel. ‘But we call it an oz. And if we sell that, we’ll be back for more.’
    â€˜What do you want?’ asked Red Eyes. ‘Skunk, mersh or high grade?’
    We had reasoned before the meeting that we’d go for skunk ’cos you get more for your pound. Also, it’s mostly old school people like my paps who smoked high grade. Kids at school all smoked skunk; it hit the spot quicker.
    â€˜We’ll go for the skunk,’ answered Noel. ‘But I don’t want no contaminated skunk. I hear some shottas are lacing the shit with crack just to get us addicted so we’ll come back begging for stones fatting up your wallet…’
    I shot Noel a querying glance ’cos I’ve never heard of this lacing shit. Noel should know though, he lives in Tulse Hill estate… Red Eyes laughed. ‘You should think about the crack thing, man,’ he said. ‘Easy money. All you have to do is find yourselves three or four addicts. You sell them a hit in the morning and they’ll be back by lunchtime for another. And then another for their evening hit. They can’t help it. They always find the money from somewhere, even if they have to jack their own granny. A nice steady flow of money. Just don’t give them no freeness ’cos they will always expect it, always begging for it.’
    As Noel worked his brain on what crack addicts he knew, I said, ‘Burn that shit, man. Not into it. We ain’t on that, man.’
    Red Eyes laughed again, then went to go and get the skunk for us.
    â€˜Why did you burn the idea of selling crack, bruv?’ Noel asked in a whisper. ‘We could be driving convertibles by this time next year, riding with fit-batty chicks.’
    â€˜Maybe,’ I said. ‘But do you wanna crack addict banging down your gates at some bitch time in the morning wanting his hit? My parents would go nuts. Let’s not even go into what Cara will do to your black ass if she found out you were dealing in crack.’
    Noel thought about it. ‘Alright then,’ he said. ‘We’ll put the crack thing on hold ’til I get my own place and if the weed game does alright then I won’t have to wait too long.’
    We weren’t too sure where to get those little polythene bags but Noel’s cousin, Shemera, who worked in the rag trade, helped us out… She gave us hundreds of those little bags for buttons. We had no weighing or scales thing so we just cut up the skunk with my mum’s scissors and guessed the amount to place in the bags. Ten pound a bag.
    Now we were ready to start shotting but we had another problem to deal with. Skunk gives out a strong smell, more powerful than high grade, so we had to sprinkle aftershave all over our school rucksacks to merk the stench. That morning Mum gave me a funny look as I came down the stairs ready to leave for school. ‘A young girl take your fancy, Dennis?’ she smiled.
    â€˜No, Mum,’ I replied nervously. ‘I just wanna smell sweet. Don’t you always tell me that I must fling away my BO in a proper way and smell all fresh?’
    We met outside school and nodded to each other, the difficult part of the day over. Now we had to drum up sales. First lesson was maths and I sat next to Ronnie Taylor, a spotty-faced white boy. Ronnie had been smoking weed since he was eleven and his paps was a plumber. So Ronnie always had money on him ’cos those plumbers charge nuff notes just to get out of bed and Ronnie received a