the place; he wanted it kept low-key.
Louise had slipped into the role of the main courier. She picked up the gear and dropped off the supplies. No-one would suspect that a pretty girl like Louise was the main runner; with her big eyes, she looked like butter wouldn’t melt. Any of the nosey neighbours who spotted her frequently coming and going would just assume that she was some pretty young thing who lived there.
Reagan was strict with the boys about taking drugs; Jerell insisted on it. At the flat, the most they had was a few spliffs on the go; they made sure that if the heavies ever suspected them for dealing and raided their flat, they would find nothing.
“No one touches crack, man. Weed is fine; I appreciate that a brother needs to chill from time to time, but save the crack for the skanks on the street. If these boys wanna be part of dis operation, then they need to keep their heads clear so dat we make some serious money.” Jerell didn’t want to be working with scummy crackheads. As far as he was concerned, crack was for his customers not his crew. He knew he would be setting himself up to lose if he surrounded himself with addicts, it was something that he had witnessed time and time again with other bad-ass wannabes and in his book it was a guaranteed way to fail. This was a business, and everyone around him needed to keep a clear head and always be one step ahead of the game. Jerell had it all sorted: business as they say, was booming.
Jerell tapped his foot to the music; it was the first time since he had arrived in England that he could put his feet up and chill out for a few hours. He listened to the boys sitting across the room, having a heated debate about the rioters who had terrorised the capital back in August. The boys talked amongst themselves like they were hard done by, and Jerell couldn’t help but grin as he listened to the conversation; the boys all spoke as if the country owed them something. Employment was at an all-time low, and judging from nearly everyone Jerell had met since he had been here, crime was the only thing that paid. These boys were young; they had a lot to learn. Most of them had been born into crime, working the streets from young ages: dealing drugs, carrying knives and some even using them.
Jerell had the knack of being able to tap into the boys’ pent-up anger and twist it around so that they would use it to his advantage. They hung on his every word. Even now, as they sat there chatting shit to each other, they all thought that it was their right to make money by nicking cars and selling drugs. The system didn’t care about them, they said, they could only rely on the people in this room.
Only ignorant people were stupid enough to assume that gangs were just bored kids who had nothing better to do than to hang around causing trouble, Jerell knew. Gangs were an established part of organised crime in London. The boys may be kids, but they were part of the bigger picture.
Sitting down on the floor, bored with the conversation that was now going on around her, Louise interrupted Jerell’s thoughts. “Jerell, any chance I could have a little drag of that?” Leaning with her back against the sofa on which Jerell was sprawled across, his legs hanging off the end, Louise fluttered her eyelashes in the hope he would share his spliff with her. She waited patiently and ignored the looks she was getting from the younger boys sitting opposite her. One of them shook his head at her obvious flirting with Jerell. She smirked at them defiantly as Jerell took another long deep drag and then passed the spliff to her.
Jerell smiled, as he thought of another thing the boys back home had been right about. English girls were easy meat. Louise made it obvious that she had a thing for Jerell, she made constant advances towards him, and he knew she was available should he want her.
The girl curled her lips around the spliff and looked at him as she took a long drag. He
Louise had slipped into the role of the main courier. She picked up the gear and dropped off the supplies. No-one would suspect that a pretty girl like Louise was the main runner; with her big eyes, she looked like butter wouldn’t melt. Any of the nosey neighbours who spotted her frequently coming and going would just assume that she was some pretty young thing who lived there.
Reagan was strict with the boys about taking drugs; Jerell insisted on it. At the flat, the most they had was a few spliffs on the go; they made sure that if the heavies ever suspected them for dealing and raided their flat, they would find nothing.
“No one touches crack, man. Weed is fine; I appreciate that a brother needs to chill from time to time, but save the crack for the skanks on the street. If these boys wanna be part of dis operation, then they need to keep their heads clear so dat we make some serious money.” Jerell didn’t want to be working with scummy crackheads. As far as he was concerned, crack was for his customers not his crew. He knew he would be setting himself up to lose if he surrounded himself with addicts, it was something that he had witnessed time and time again with other bad-ass wannabes and in his book it was a guaranteed way to fail. This was a business, and everyone around him needed to keep a clear head and always be one step ahead of the game. Jerell had it all sorted: business as they say, was booming.
Jerell tapped his foot to the music; it was the first time since he had arrived in England that he could put his feet up and chill out for a few hours. He listened to the boys sitting across the room, having a heated debate about the rioters who had terrorised the capital back in August. The boys talked amongst themselves like they were hard done by, and Jerell couldn’t help but grin as he listened to the conversation; the boys all spoke as if the country owed them something. Employment was at an all-time low, and judging from nearly everyone Jerell had met since he had been here, crime was the only thing that paid. These boys were young; they had a lot to learn. Most of them had been born into crime, working the streets from young ages: dealing drugs, carrying knives and some even using them.
Jerell had the knack of being able to tap into the boys’ pent-up anger and twist it around so that they would use it to his advantage. They hung on his every word. Even now, as they sat there chatting shit to each other, they all thought that it was their right to make money by nicking cars and selling drugs. The system didn’t care about them, they said, they could only rely on the people in this room.
Only ignorant people were stupid enough to assume that gangs were just bored kids who had nothing better to do than to hang around causing trouble, Jerell knew. Gangs were an established part of organised crime in London. The boys may be kids, but they were part of the bigger picture.
Sitting down on the floor, bored with the conversation that was now going on around her, Louise interrupted Jerell’s thoughts. “Jerell, any chance I could have a little drag of that?” Leaning with her back against the sofa on which Jerell was sprawled across, his legs hanging off the end, Louise fluttered her eyelashes in the hope he would share his spliff with her. She waited patiently and ignored the looks she was getting from the younger boys sitting opposite her. One of them shook his head at her obvious flirting with Jerell. She smirked at them defiantly as Jerell took another long deep drag and then passed the spliff to her.
Jerell smiled, as he thought of another thing the boys back home had been right about. English girls were easy meat. Louise made it obvious that she had a thing for Jerell, she made constant advances towards him, and he knew she was available should he want her.
The girl curled her lips around the spliff and looked at him as she took a long drag. He
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