Chapter 11
Down below on the street, as always, life went on.
Dwaine sat looking out the window wondering if anyone would miss Kelly's presence.
He doubted it, she was well worn out even for a street worker, she probably wouldn't even have a regular punter who'd be disappointed.
No, nobody would miss her.
It was sad, he'd known her, and shared a laugh in the past but he wouldn't miss her.
Turkish Pete, the landlord who owned most of the house, would have a replacement tenant within days and life would go on.
The other addicts would chat about it for a few days, but that would be it.
Life on the Riverside, wouldn't, couldn't stop for anything.
The radio played in the background though Dwaine took no notice. Looking out at the street below he surveyed the early goings on, just gone half eight and already a hive of activity.
Shoplifters in their long jackets up and out to catch the early worm, prostitutes looking for a first, or maybe last, punter of the day and customers leaving the crack-house after an all night session. Addicts already loitered like a flock of vultures by the phone boxes at the junction, a fixture twenty-four hours a day. They knew the junction was where you might see someone if you were lucky. Normally there would be a gaggle of dealers selling their wares at the spot but it was too early. The reality was the addicts were killing time, lost souls at the crossroads.
Though minor, to top it all off Pete's illegal immigrant waitress was outside the café smoking a fag, unable to even speak a word of English.
It was a bad old world for sure, dog eat fucking dog.
Shaking his shaven head he looked at the familiar skyline. The single tower block rising amongst the smaller blocks of flats that dominated the horizon looking like a middle finger to the world.
"Fuck you too, he muttered.
Mixed race, Dwaine looked more black than white. Growing up the girls let him know he was attractive, well built and over six foot tall he stood out in a crowd. He didn't know his dad and doubted if his mum did for sure. Probably another junkie, maybe one who'd dropped by over the years to score or use drugs. When he was five his mum had hooked up with a small time dealer who got on a good roll. Got in with the right people and started making big money.
Bought the flat, which was owned by the council at the time, and the café over the road.
Brought in Pete, the Turkish bloke who now owned the rest of the house, to sort it out and sat back making a healthy income.
Something happened, Dwaine never did find out what, but his mum's bloke had to leave in a hurry.
That much of a hurry he didn't even tell his mum.
The café was flogged on the cheap to Pete as the boyfriend left.
Pete had done well from it too. Now on top of the café Pete owned numerous properties.
His mum was devastated and descended into drug induced oblivion. There was always food in the cupboards and cash when he needed it but she was smacked out of her head all the time.
Soon she started dealing herself at a lower level so for Dwaine growing up police raids became the norm.
Dwaine had toyed with drugs from ten or eleven, but then he'd been born and raised on the Riverside and kids experimenting with drugs was common. Their little gang hung out in a derelict house on Palmerstone Street sniffing solvents and smoking dope.
The drug use escalated for most of them, only Jarvey never went past pills and a little bit of charlie, he'd done okay for himself, the rest of them ended up ruined.
Thinking about the group for a minute Dwaine shook his head, out of all of them only Jarvey hadn't got hooked on smack.
Now they were either dead or in prison with the exception of himself, Jarvey and Charlene.
Ruby had got out but continued the same way, even robbing a couple of Jarvey's men. If it hadn't been for them being childhood friends Ruby would be dead, there was no doubt about that.
Charlene he didn't see anymore, when he got out she'd been married to Bailey.
Always at Jarvey's beck and call though.
He wondered for a moment if anyone would tell her about Kelly's death, Jarvey no doubt when he saw her.
Would she be bothered?
Who knew, they'd been close once but their paths wouldn't have crossed for years.
Bailey lived miles away and Jarvey had long since moved from the immediate area, there was nothing to bring Charlene over this way.
She'd gone and never looked back.
Looking down onto the street at the group of lads shoving each other he was reminded again of his younger years.
By the time they were fourteen they were convinced they were going to run things, be the main gangsters.
They'd own clubs, pubs, run the illegal fights and control the drug trade.
Stood in this very spot looking out onto the street excitedly discussing it.
It was theirs for the taking.
At nineteen they were splintered, gone their separate ways.
Some got on still, some didn't. They had the odd drink together but they weren't a crew anymore.
The dreams?
Local thugs, that had been as far as it got.
Jarvey was making good headway in the drugs game, he sold while the rest took as many as possible, his rise occurring shortly after Dwaine's arrest.
Since his release Dwaine chose not to associate with any of his old colleagues. When he'd first got out he'd hooked up with Jarvey, but they had nothing in common so after a few days Dwaine had drifted away.
Everything had changed.
The here and now was brought back into focus with the sight of a familiar, shambling, figure appearing from the alleyway behind the café.
Nutty Nigel, the local tramp.
This time tonight he'd be shouting the odds at anyone and everyone passing as he had been for the last fifteen years. Until either the old bill nicked him, Jean sent him home or he passed out, whichever came first. Occasionally he'd get a hiding, but most people tended to ignore him.
A group of school lads looked the prematurely aged man up and down before one said something.
The tramp retorted and the youth stepped forward.
As he shoved the homeless man stumbling backwards Dwaine leant out the window,
"Oi, numb nuts.
Everything stopped as everyone looked in his direction, including the teenagers.
"Yeah that's right, you, he continued, nodding his head in their direction so there could be no misunderstanding, "fucking leave him alone.
They didn't need telling twice, they were gone and Nigel raised an appreciative hand.
Dwaine nodded and seated himself back into his chair.
He'd given Nigel his fair share of shit when younger so it made sense to stick up for him now.
It was a wonder the tramp was even alive still, Dwaine thought watching the hunched figure disappear from view, there'd been others who'd long since died.
The street, after it's moment of hesitation, continued and Dwaine's thoughts returned to Kelly.
Her Dad, how did he feel?
No matter how unemotional he appeared on the subject in the media it was still his child. The media¦. the media who'd use it for five minutes to show how drugs affected all walks of life and then move onto the next thing on the agenda.
Nothing would change, if anything it only got worse.
Breakfast time, Dwaine decided.
