‘What your neighbours saying about smoking out here, some windows open?’ Said Justin, settling into a white plastic chair, one you’d find left in the park as it’s not worth the trouble bringing it home after a few beers.

‘Nothing, I wouldn’t worry, carry on. Stoner to the left of me who’s basically a walking plant and a spice head to the right on a completely different level. Already fucked by now, don’t worry.’ Said Smithy, pulling a matching plastic table between them, dirty with tea stains, ash and bleached from the sun. Taking his seat, he throws down a little lunch box full of tobacco and skins. He looks content, rather comfortable getting ready to prepare a joint. You wouldn’t have guessed at the day he's had. It’s because of Mondays, he doesn’t have to think of getting up at stupid o’clock in the morning. Who cares about getting the sack when you can retire from Monday for a few weeks at least?

‘You must see some mad shit with a spice head next door?’ Said Justin, sniffing heavily, wiping his nose that begins to drip.

‘That stuff is absolute poison, you wanna see the bloke sometimes, walking around the garden like an extra for the walking dead.’

‘Sounds fun to be fair, had a few tokes in prison but wouldn’t touch it with the cheese I’ve got to get me going out on the street.’

‘Get you going?’

‘Sometimes being a zombie a day keeps the insanity at bay.’

‘Doesn’t work very well then, I’ll stick to haze and throw a few chairs instead.’

‘Oi, enough of that, here’s your lemon shit, barely gets you high.’ Said Justin taking his little baggie from his Prada manbag, takes a sniff throwing it over.

‘I’m happy with this lemon haze shit, gets to me where I want, in a literal haze and not a rabid dog foaming on the floor. Said Smithy.

‘Rabid dog? You’ve just walked out on a job after throwing chairs all over the gaff. I think you need a few days foaming on the floor my guy, safer for us all.’

‘Oh, you can fuck off too. I did lose my shit, but my days that man was a grade A prick.’

‘Got to be a suppose supervising a bunch of stupid wetwipes like you.’

‘Nonsense, don’t need to be a bully to get shit done, even if you’ve got a fucking chimp brain like mine.’

‘In my business you need to wipe the floor with wetwipes like a chimp, dragging knuckles through the muck to get some brass.’

‘That’s true, but your average customer can’t get a job let alone keep it. Average lad in the factory is just there to do a day with no dramas and go home. We’re there to get paid and go home, go home without dealing with pricks.’

‘Ye, you don’t get paid enough for that shit. Heard from them?’

‘One week before payday? Ye, of course I did. Told I have two options.’ Said Smithy shaking his head and blowing an exasperated breath.

‘I’ve already worked it out, can I guess?’ Said Justin jumping in, then up and down in the plastic chair, barely able to contain himself and creaking the fragile corners.

‘Knock yourself out, like you’re going to let me finish after a line of beak.’

‘A line, hear this guy a fucking line. I do a line before I take a piss in the morning.’ Said Justin pressing his finger to his nose and sniffing. Smithy believes him, he’s had the form for a long time. Some people have a glass of water next to their bed. Justin will have a joint ready as he doesn’t like rolling in bed, a can of Fanta and a gram of coke. If he was up early enough for a McDonalds breakfast, it’s a double sausage with a coffee, if not, it’s off to Greggs for four sausage rolls and a steakbake. It’s usually Greggs.

‘You going to tell me my fucking story or what?’

‘Easy, lose your pay and that’s the end of it, or you keep your pay, and they send the police around?’ Said Justin rolling his shoulders like Frank Warren.

‘Said something about let me plan my finances if I want it but they’d recoup it through compensation after a conviction. Decided to end it then, bastards. Your brain works a little faster on that shit, doesn’t it?’

‘So, so does my dick.’

‘So….so I’ve heard.’ Said Smithy unable to contain his laughter he nearly fell off his chair.

‘Mate, I’ve got dollar and you need to worry about paying your phone bill next month. What some bitter random bird said one time doesn’t mean shit when you’re loaded.’

‘Hit a nerve there, going straight for the low blow. Some mate you are.’

‘You started it, that cow Amy went for the low blow. We’ll get to how good a mate I am in a minute. Remember, why have I wasted my evening and come here?’

‘Like you had anything better to do.’

‘I’m a busy man, you know that. That cow Amy didn’t completely ruin my sex life either, even if she tried really fucking hard.’

‘Don’t bring her up again, I feel you starting to switch, how’s the cheese?’ Said Smithy changing the subject. When Justin’s eye turns like he can see it now, anyone and everyone can feel his wrath without much of a warning. Thankfully, he never did take out his rage on Amy, even with her nasty mouth. He just took it out on someone else after another message from his jealous ex and ended up getting longer inside than the relationship itself.

‘Cheese is the fucking one mate, utter jaw fucking shit. After a spliff man, I’m going to be all talk, the second I’ll be on the sofa having a quick-time tommy tank.’

‘You’re not wanking in my house you weird bastard, all you’ve done is talk bollocks so far. Stick to weed, I’m not listening to you bark at me all night.’ Said Smithy with his hands to his head.

He’s spent too many nights listening to Justin bark until he’s ran out of lines and he really isn’t in the mood. Usually, his face is so numb from the joints he’d sit back listen, soak it all up like the trees out back and the setting sun. Not this evening, he’s had a bad day and wants to know how Justin is going to make it better.

‘I’m talking about prison man, my routine wankfest after the spliff.’

‘I’m throwing chairs and you’re talking about prison wanks, some day I’ve had.’

‘Is wankfest even a word?’

‘Only in your world, I don’t want to hear about your prison beat the meat sessions, or your soggy biscuits with your pad mate.’ Said Smithy for the hundredth time putting his hands to his face and wondering what he’s set himself up for tonight. Justin is in one of those moods, where he’d be forcing a key of his off the block rocket fuel up Smithy’s nose. It’s just a talk, a few joints and then fuck him off he thinks. If he wasn’t so poor and Justin wasn’t right about worrying about next month’s phone bill, he’d be upstairs playing Fifa and sucking a fat one, alone, just how he likes it.

This fucking guy, gumming his own beak snots in his garden can fuck off. He wants the work though; the easy money is calling him instead of the aching back come Thursday and sore head payday. He can feel it in his aching bones that he needs to explore those options. He hasn’t got anything to lose. Justin’s spent more time in than out since leaving school and he’s the one driving with new trainers, not Smithy. That hurts more than his back has ever done.

‘Rather go to prison than work in a factory for minimum wage.’ Said Justin coldly, sniffing and swallowing one of those beak snots.

‘Only, only what, like two weeks ago you complained about your pad mate’s late-night shits stinking out the cell and you couldn’t sleep. Sounds like hell.’

‘Easy as, little holiday park that occasionally smells like a fat man’s shit, spice and B.O, still better than dealing with mark the fucking what? Shark was it, fuck that. At least inside you can slap a prick.’

‘Slapping someone else’s prick alright, if not, beating your own with an audience. Like I said, sounds like hell.’

‘None of that shit, better chance of getting sliced up then sucked off.’ Said Justin grabbing a skin and putting a bit of baccy inside.

‘Some holiday park, a cross between Butlins and blade runner.’

‘More like razor on a toothbrush runner or boiling sugar water park. Sometimes, you gotta have your wits man, bare fools with too much spice in them for too long going nuts. I did have a close call getting hooked but I learned my lesson and calmed down.’

‘Didn’t mention that, one minute you love it, next you’re having close calls.’

‘Close man, only time in my life I could’ve ended up being a nitty but I didn’t, so not much to mention.’

‘I’ve seen enough of the mong next door to stay away from it, couldn’t imagine a whole prison on it, or a pad mate.’

‘Not all, just enough to make life interesting playing with idiots. Load up a spliff and fuck them up and have half your day in tears watching them shit their pants.’

‘Where’s the screws?’

‘They go hiding and leave the wing to fester until they need the riot team in. Entertaining though, in an odd way. Passes the time watching a man lose his marbles and his bowels.’

‘Like I said, some holiday park. Which one was that?’ Said Smithy looking away and thinking about kicking Justin out right now and updating his CV on indeed.

‘Every single one I’ve been in, not as bad as the youth offenders though. That’s the jungle for the criminally insane who always want to prove they’re the bigman while still being little boys. Still easy when you know people, enough of that place anyway. It’s all about the money, swerve the drama and I’ll stay out.’ Said Justin rubbing his mouth and looking away.

‘I always forget how long you’ve done? In and out since what, fourteen or fifteen?’

‘Not that young fucking hell, sixteen, just before GCSE’s man. How you forget I bashed that lad with the dotta from the bus?’

‘You were out of school though, suspended anyway, been a while too. Fucking hell, what was that mugs name again?’

‘Andrew something, fucking teacher now at my cousins’ school. Mouthy prick still, apparently. Scars faded, should’ve hit him harder.’ Said Justin laughing but not convincingly, to either himself, or certainly not Smithy.

‘Sounds like you want to wait at the school gates like old times to open them up for him.’ Said Smithy laughing and remembering the days of straight fights without a weapon in sight. That changed for Justin after he got a slap from Andrew. He was a few years older and used it well against Justin’s then weaker chin without prison weight. He never fought with his hands again if he could help it. Smithy knows he has a knife close by now and has no problems using it. He isn’t the only one around here though. Not carrying one would be the exception, not the norm. In Justin’s game and the enemies he’s acquired, it'll be pretty foolish for him not to have some sort protection.

Smithy seldom walks the streets after seven without a good reason after taking a hit to the thigh with a kitchen knife a few years ago. He only wanted to get stocked up on beer at the late-night garage when he ran out and was still thirsty. You don’t need enemies around here, just having the wrong face is enough. Too many Justin’s about in this street jungle, too many hyenas wanting something and it’s usually just to feel like a big man. ‘What you saying.’ is all the guy said and stab. Smithy still doesn’t know why. That’s scarier, not knowing why. At least Justin knows where his enemies are coming from, well, most of the time.

‘Nah man, no rush to go back. I went to the university of life, and I’ve finally learned it’s all about making money now and I’m too good at what I do to waste it. Anyway, where’s your grinder?’ Said Justin, as if he’s hiding something through the bravado. He was always a bit of a talker, somewhat exaggerator of reality to look the part. This is Smithy though, the friend since primary school. The familiarity exposing cracks in the so-called holiday park in those tired sunken eyes. He’s had more years in than out since sixteen, leaving scars only a few can see, and Smithy knows some of them haven’t faded and can see through his bullshit.

‘Here, got a new one from Ebay, collects the THC potent kief at the bottom, you see?’ Said Smithy, taking from his pocket a green metal grinder with different layers, he unscrews the bottom and shows the little collection of golden powder.

‘Kief? I call it rocket dust and you’ve got enough to send you to the moon and back, must be a few ounces worth there, give us a sprinkle.’ Said Justin reaching over and trying to grab the grinder.

‘Not a chance, that’s for my weekends, been saving it for a while and I don’t waste it. We need to chat anyway, remember? It’s the reason you’re here, that and pizza, where’s the fucking pizza?’ Said Smithy pulling it away from Justin’s sticky fingers and screwing it back together. Justin was right, it was a few ounces worth, and Smithy isn’t giving that kief aka rocket dust away for nothing, especially to the guy he already paid to fill it he thinks.

‘Order, I’ve got cash on me now. Give us a bit to go and I’ll buy a large just for you and another large just for the morning. You know that makes sense.’

‘I’m saving it, no.’

‘You’ve got a fucking ounce worth there you mug.’ Said Justin snarling. He isn’t used to being told no and there’s very few people he would tolerate saying it. He checks himself quickly and smiles as Smithy digs in. Justin’s already lost enough friends due to his temper; he’s started to reign it in as he gets older before he ends up having none. Youth offenders taught him only a few ways to deal with his problems, however minor, tend to be violence or aggression as a default. Some habits take a long time to die, especially when he needs it to make a living.

‘Order the pizza and you can have some to go. I’m saving it, so literally just enough to top a fat joint. I know what you’re like with powder, so I’ll sort it.’ Said Smithy, really saying he was saving it for Saturday night when he ought to be out getting lashed. He’d stay in, get the video games on and light up. He’d take a few hits and zombie out, be like Justin’s cheese on steroids. He prefers the haze to chill and the added kief to just die a little and just turn everything off.

He used to leave work on Fridays with his little payslip, in its cheap brown envelope and he’d just slot it into his wallet, thinking about smashing it up the wall. He’d sit there at home contemplating answering the texts, or sending some feelers out for what’s going on. Then, he’d just roll a joint, forget how much he wants to blow the fuck out his penny jar savings with a little kief sprinkle. He’d do this all weekend. He wakes up, forgets his troubles and plays a video game, rinsing and repeating all weekend until Monday. It’s either that or down the pub, keying cocaine like Justin, having them sprinkles of a different kind. A decent gram of coke is fifty and that leads quickly to the next. He can get seven grams of weed for that and set him nice for the week at least. It’s all in the math, and he gets to keep whatever shitty job he’s got as he isn’t dying in bed Monday morning on a downer, with every bit of cash he’s saved up the wall, or worse, a debt he couldn’t pay to someone like Justin.

‘Whatever man, I’ll order in a minute. You should liven yourself up and have a bump, good shit this. Got this off my connect in Coventry, straight off the block.’ Said Justin, taking a key from his pocket and inserting into a heavy-laden bag of white powder.

‘Lay off that, bump yourself when we’re done.’

‘I’ve never had a Dad and I’m not having you pretending to be mine.’

‘Fuck sake, I’m taking this inside it’s going to lash it down.’ Said Smithy as the dark clouds start to spray his hair.

His ready-made joint is thrown in the lunch box and taken inside. Justin didn’t listen and takes a humped key and sniffs vigorously, swallowing whatever trickled down his throat and then after licking the ridges of the key clean and rubbing his gums. Smithy looks away from the doorway and remembers not to start the habit off again. The keys opened nothing, other than dependency and pain. He’s got one habit, doesn’t need one he can’t budget for he thinks.

Justin didn’t realise Smithy was already pumped. Not just from throwing chairs at doors, or wanting to take on Mark the fucking shark. It’s all about money. Justin said it. He felt it. It’s what he wanted to hear before he’d even laid down a proposal. The one thing that stopped Smithy rolling around in Justin’s Audi, shottin’ gear and the like was the violence and ultimately prison. He’s never dipped more than a toe in the world, however, he learned one thing before Justin living on the ‘manor’, was the ones that lasted didn’t throw their weight around until they absolutely had to. Smithy even intended to get a job, or at least put himself through college. All in a day and ideas were pumping. The thousand in savings wouldn’t cut it though, well, depending how you mix, supposedly it does.

‘I’m the only one making it rain my guy.’ Said Justin slapping hands and mimicking flicking notes in Smithy’s face.

‘You need to calm down and have a toke.’

‘Your mom is anal as fuck man, she’d smell it and I know she hates me already.’

‘Thinks you’re a bad influence, who’d have thought that aye? Nah, she thinks you’re charming but turning into a loud knob. It’ll be gone by the morning and anyway, she’s on nights, got a twelve-hour shift wiping arses and probably still have that shit lingering around her nostrils when she’s back.’

‘Loud knob! Didn’t tell her it was the coke did ye?’

‘Nah, she’s half-drunk but she ain’t daft. I don’t think I would need to.’

‘Fuck sake, talking of wiping arses I’m going for the shit that’s been poking out my arse for the last hour.’

‘Use the brush you grub.’ Said Smithy calling out. He knew he wouldn’t.

Smithy picks up his joint and passes it under his nose. It wasn’t the green he was smelling this time, it was the money. Out comes the clipper and he sparks up like the neurons in his brain.

*

‘How the fuck, seriously, how the fuck you wash in there my guy? You need to sort that mould out. I feel dirty washing my hands man.’ Said Justin brushing himself down as he took his seat. That’s from a man that’s spent a long time sleeping next to someone else’s shit, it takes a lot to get that reaction but Smithy knew, it was as rank as it come.

‘Every fucking week I clean that wall and it comes back the same. Mom’s been on the council for the last six months and they don’t give a fuck.’ Said Smithy looking away dejected.

‘Potholes, rubbish all over the gaff and you think they’ll ever help you out without being forced? It’s not how it works around here man, thought you figured that out already. On your own, in these ends, on your lonesome. Learn to tile or something.’

‘I’ve been looking into the trade route, can’t be living on an apprentice wage for a few years though, I won’t have that shit, how do I buy a fucking Q on less than a hundred a week? Shit life man, I wouldn’t make it.’

‘Lot of loose plans for a man who throws chairs like a toddler.’

‘Throw you out in a minute.’

‘Never, look, my sister had a rash from the last place we were in, you remember that dump in Yardley man? Fuck, that was grim. I got my sister down the doctors, shown some pictures of the place and they made a report. Helped us out Dr Khan, had his brother-in-law who’s a lawyer write up some legal bollocks to the council.’

‘You didn’t say you moved.’

‘Dereliction of duty, don’t even know what that means, sounds like a movie but it got us a new place.’

‘You are special, where is it?’

‘Not exactly moving to the Ritz or anything to shout about man, not much better but at least my little sister can wash properly. Seven stories up in Stechford. I have to hold my breath in the lift because some piss-tramps think it’s a toilet but but at least we can wash at the end of it.’

‘Life at the bottom is rough. I’m not staying here long enough to care man, I’m sick of arguing with the old dear over it, it’s fucking exhausting with her drinking.’ Said Smithy pointing to a half-filled glass of red wine on the fireplace. He then points to Justin’s side and there’s two empty bottles of cheap red to the side of the sofa. They usually come in threes, so she must’ve managed to put the first in the recycling for a change thinks Smithy.

‘Two bottles? No my guy, fucking three nearly done here.’ Said Justin picking up one out of view. He sloshes around half a glasses worth. ’One bottle for my old dear still, I would’ve went ages ago, not like I don’t have the money to rent a place but need to make sure the sister’s fed and going to school. I won’t go into it now.’ Said Justin, understanding in a telepathic pain sharing of substance abuse mothers and absent fathers.

‘No need man, anytime you need to unload.’

‘I know my guy, light that fucking joint already.’

‘I’ve just took a hit and it’s gone out, carry on.’ Said Smithy passing it over.

‘You know what? Some tasty shit this haze, isn’t it?’ Said Justin taking a deep lungful.

‘I don’t think I wanna smoke anything else, or some of that fire sherbet. Oi, those flats, isn’t that where my man got fucked up last week?’

‘Which one?’

‘Some mug got thrown out the third story window, dealer I heard, broke a fuck ton of bones and is in intensive care.’

‘Danny, not a fucking dealer man, silly fucker got into debt with the Pakistani crew from Ward-End, he had it coming.’

‘Danny the lanky smack head who used to drive that yellow fiat with all those noncey stickers?’

‘Ye, lanky prick. Used to date my Mom when I was younger, belted me once and I stabbed him with a fork and nearly took his eye out.’

‘And you ended up in the same flat?’ Said Smithy rolling over his sofa laughing.

‘Oh, he got told I’ve got a long memory when he got in the lift a while back, used the stairs from then on, not like it did him any use.’ Said Justin belly laughing and making airplane noises.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me if you threw him out.’

‘Fuck that, leave it to them heroin shotters, crazy bastards would do anything for the rep, think they’re in a mafia the crazy pricks. I don’t try and kill them, dead people don’t pay. Stick them in the arm or leg, throwing out of windows is just stupid.’

‘Looks like suicide though, smart enough if you want rid of someone.’

‘Nothing smart about twenty-five years over a few notes. Those Asians from Ward-End have form for overreacting though, kicking off with their own brothers from Bordesley Green now, it’s going off.’ Said Justin pulling a trigger with his finger.

‘I wouldn’t know much to say anything about that. Hear the shots sometimes.’

‘The best way, last thing you want is to be on their radar.’

‘Anyway, wasn’t there a stabbing last week?’ Said Smithy and every time he thinks of stabbing, he remembers the kitchen knife rammed in his thigh like it was yesterday. One minute he’s been asked the time, next he’s dragging his leg to his nans to call an ambulance. His leg was saturated with blood with a small trickle followed on the ground all the way. He arrived at his nans, pulled his tracksuit bottoms down and the clean hole had already started clotting, only a small trickle that seeped down his leg when he flexed it added to his lost blood. Two hours later he has ten stitches and starting three months walking with a limp. He’s still got an orange sized lump of missing muscle and a tasty scar.

‘Always a merry-go-round of bullshit, everyday mental drama. I’m all about the money now, anyway, stabbing a day keeps the grot away man.’ Said Justin, stabbing with his outstretched hand and twisting.

‘I haven’t heard that one.’ Said Smithy looking away and thinking how much bollocks Justin is going to waffle about the glory of violence after a few keys of beak. It’s like with every line he loses an age of maturity until he’s dribbling like a toddler unable to speak. He’s going to have to get used it he thinks as the habit is growing. Smithy wants the work and Justin’s the gatekeeper, even if his keys got too much powder, it still works better than any he has at the moment.

‘Prison lingo, had to be there.’

‘Oh for fuck sake, nothing to be proud of spending your days wanking off into the toilet next to yah bed fella.’

‘True, so fucking true.’

‘How’s my roll? You had a few complaints last week.’

‘I can taste the weed at least. How much baccy you put in this one?’ Said Justin preferring a borderline blunt and Smithy liking a fifty-fifty ratio. The perpetual rant since their teens about what makes the best smoke.

‘Deal with it. What’s this job you got?’ Said Smithy.

‘Need a brew first. Get the kettle on my mouth is dry as, feels a good as a blunt, not a typical shit Smithy joint.’ Said Justin taking a drag and passing it over.

‘Like trying to bleed a stone man.’ Said Smithy getting up. ‘You take sugar?’ He continued entering the kitchen, banging cups and opening the fridge.

‘Three of the big ones, you should know that by now. Fucking TV is bollocks man, sticking the radio on unless there’s footy.’ Said Justin going through the channels until he finds Radio One.

‘I’ve already boiled the kettle I know what you’re like.’ Said Smithy shouting through from the kitchen.

‘You know it, hurry up man, parched.’

‘Here, now you going to start talking?’ Said Smithy slamming the cup down and taking his seat.

‘To the point? Ok my guy, fancy robbing a drug dealer with me?’ Said Justin taking a hearty swill, before another deep lungful, sitting back and laughing. He flicks ash to the already stained carpet after missing the ashtray.

‘You having a laugh? You’ve just finished a stint inside and you want me to join ye on the next one? Or get murdered instead?’ Said Smithy, and he must’ve said something funny because Justin started having problems breathing. He sat there, mouth open gasping like a fish out of water.

He then went silent. The scar rising from his top lip curls like a cleft-pallet, and he cranks a neck that’s had a couple years of collective weight training.

One of their city centre misadventures before he went away-for the first stint. Fresh trims and fake I-D’s, teenagers out feeling the wrath of angry men as banks imploded and everyone was fucked. He owns it now. Owns it like some people own a suit.

‘What’s your point? You take a mugs job, or you get your hands dirty for a change. There’s no fucking handouts in the street life, you’ll be putting a shift in. You think you’re piggy backing on my line without a serious lift? Nah man, no chance.’ He said with cold finality.

‘Mugs job?’ Said Smithy and he felt like a mug repeating the obvious.

‘Ye….i didn’t stutter….a fucking mugs job. I don’t know how many times I need to repeat it before you start listening to me man. If you can’t rent a house and raise a little family, it’s a fucking mugs job. No argument man, none.’ Said Justin sipping the tea and smiling as dark. Hook, line and sinker. He knows he’s got him, he’s got an employee.

‘Run me through your job then and where you getting it from?’ Said Smithy coldly, just like Justin putting him in his place. He couldn’t argue. It took a few years, but he’s come round to his reality. Twelve months ago he would’ve told him to fuck off and pass the joint, fuck, twelve hours ago while waiting for his train he would’ve said the same. Mark the shark though, weight limit exceeding on his shoulders.

‘I knew the grind would get to you eventually, you interested then? I’m still not sure man, you’ve always been a bit soft. Throw a few shapes after a beevy and a line but sober and with a bally on? It’s a different game. Are you sure you’re ready to get those clean hands dirty?’

‘Whatever man, nothing’s changing and I’ve had enough of this shit. Who’s the guy you want to bump off?’ Said Smithy and he didn’t quite believe he was ready himself. He couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, but he did believe them, no doubt about it.

‘He’s a dealer, my cousin sorted him out in prison, owes him a few coins but isn’t making the payment whilst he’s still in prison, so he wants me to take him out of business for a while.’

‘Simple is pushing it, what drugs?’

‘Man sells everything my guy, so it’ll be a like a sweet shop, at least potentially. I hear he had a grow on the go, maybe he’s got another. Never know when he’s chopping it down though man, so be just a lucky draw getting a room full of green. I’m not sitting on the house for months on end. The powder and rocks will be worth it anyway.’

‘Coke?’ Said Smithy rubbing his nose, remembering the innocence being lost before even finishing school. The pair of them caught in the toilet sharing a bag from the six-foot four PE teacher, peering over with a smile. He was always a prick. The spot he had doing his A-Levels was taken away, and before he knew it, he was fucked. Few years down the line of minimum wage jobs, no trades going as the economy was fucked and here, he is.

‘Maybe, I don’t think so though. Heroin and crack mostly. He’s part of some minor firm, got a few kids running for him as he’s too pissed to get behind the wheel. Doesn’t keep cash there I’ve heard, mainly a drug stash, has a different stash and no idea where that is. His boys boss about in Audi S3’s and Golf Gti’s, I couldn’t keep up if I tried.’

‘Sounds interesting but very dangerous, like we need to get lucky to be lucky man, bit risky to me.’

‘Everything worth doing is a risk. Taking a mugs job, no risk there, no reward my guy.’ Said Justin doing his best Frank Warren shoulder shrug again.

‘You wouldn’t be sitting there if I hadn’t figured that out. How you know it’s worth the risk?’

‘Look man, I’ve done a few of these in the past when my cousin was out, it’s always interesting what you end up finding. I found a butt plug under a bed next to three grand once.’

‘I wouldn’t even know what one looks like.’

‘Well, it looks painful.’

‘Ye, I don’t fancy getting shafted myself going in there, why this place?’

‘He owes my cousin four bags, and he wants it back, and I’m going in. If I know you’re selling you’re on my radar, if you think you can bump my cousin you’re fucked. I’m going in, depends on if you want a piece man.’ Said Justin rubbing his fingers together in the universal sign for money.

‘I don’t want to do shit for a few hundred. Is it worth it? I want to hear the numbers.’

‘Numbers my guy……. you wanna talk numbers? Hilarious, how much you earn a week?’ Said Justin and he takes off his little Prada man bag and rests it on the coffee table and unzips it. He doesn’t show the contents, only leaving it there with the dark alluring void inside hidden.

‘Two hundred and sixty-four pound a week.’ Said Smithy, taking out his brown payslip envelope and showing Justin.

‘Wow, I knew it was bad but wow. You missed a few days?’

‘Nah man, that’s a full month and they divide it by four. The weeks are broken down so hours can be checked. Fair play to them, at least they never tried t steal a few hours a week like the agency pricks.’

‘Fair play to them robbing you everyday man. I’m the criminal? As laughable as this toilet paper. You’ve been doing a full week’s graft for that? Like I said, a mugs job.’ Said Justin, throwing it to the floor. ‘I don’t even need to tell you that, you know, you know it already. It is not changing man, you know that. Get real man, you are mug in your mom’s council shit tip. Look at this place, this is it for you and me playing by the rules.’ Said Justin shaking his head and for a brief second his eye started to turn as if Amy was brought up again.

‘Rules for one, another set for us.’ Said Smithy pointing at them both and looking towards the payslip.

‘You understand, sort of. Make our own rules.’

‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’

‘Ye bro, and the clown with weed is better.’ Said Just taking another toke and passing the joint.

‘Thought you only listened to that RnB shit?’

‘You don’t know me as well as you think, fuck that, no time for jokes man I’m talking.’

‘Ok man, go on.’

‘Look, my cousin usually talks a lot of shit but this stuck with me, he said the fastest route to poverty is honesty man, and it’s true. If the politicians can take a backhander, why can’t we get our hands dirty and give a man one? Look man, if the crops there, you are talking twenty bags at least and then your off work for a year if you want.’

‘Twenty bags is a lot of weed.’

‘I’m talking twenty thousand.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you though? That’s treat your piss-head mom to a new bathroom money, and a new kitchen while you are at it and get a discount. New car, wardrobe and still have plenty of change and not penny jar savings.’ Said Justin emptying the manbag, all the notes mainly tens just fall out and he continued. ‘That’s just today, two thirds or so profit.’ Said Justin spreading them out and it was more than Smithy’s wage for the week covering the coffee table.

‘She always cries when she has a bath, probably looking up at that fucking wall.’ Said Smithy looking around his living room and the stains on the carpet from the spilt wine. ‘I’m in anyway, sales pitch is done. Fuck it. What’s your plan?’ Said Smithy thinking about a solution to his moms drinking, among other problems. He looks to the carpet and wonders how much it would cost to replace.

‘All we need to do is knock the door with the sledgehammer and walk right in, smash him if he’s there, it’s that simple man. A lot of problems solved.’

‘Then what?’

‘Has your brain gone to fucking mush inside that factory? Going to start calling you mushy mug if you carry on. You’d think you spent your time where I’ve been.’

‘You’re hiding something. What you thinking man? There’s more to your little scarred face then taking this fucker out, you don’t need me for that.’ Said Smithy looking into Justin’s dark eyes and he just smiles.

‘Oh, there’s more. I want to get on the crop man, I just need someone I can trust. I need you committed and investing.’

‘What? Growing one? I know how to smoke the green, not got a clue how to grow the shit.’

‘Ye my mushy mug. I need a man with a legit history for the venue, you get me? Some work history, no scars on their face and paid some tax like a mushy mug legit.’ Said Justin laughing, throwing his money in the air and blowing them across the carpet.

‘We’ll talk after, right now I need the coin.’

‘It’s not how it works with me. You don’t come with and take a share unless you’re investing your own money for the rent and bills. Decide man, I can get someone else for cheaper, much cheaper to take this dealer out. I want a partner after who I trust isn’t going to sell the crop to their pals, that is why I’m here floating this shit now. The biggest threat is the guy you’re working with selling you out. Take it or leave it man, trusted partnership, or take a fucking mushy mugs job.’ Said Justin, pointing to the notes on the floor.

‘Ok, I understand man. Bump this guy off, take his crop if it’s there and whatever we lift we use it to start a crop…….and you want me to front it on my name?’

‘It’s the way it is for me man, life cycle of the street, rob from the guy who has it when you don’t. Simple. You wanna start, you take some risks.’

‘And I take a fucking sentence with my name on the venue?’

‘Less than fifty plants and you get like three months, probably suspended with your record. Fifty plants every three months is forty to fifty bags. You doing the math’s yet peasant?’

‘Jesus, fucking hell.’

‘No god in the street life, every man out for themselves, just a bunch of freelancers waiting to fuck someone, or get fucked.’ Said Justin taking another hearty swill finishing it off continued. ‘You make a great brew, fucking hell that’s good. You in?’ He said slamming the cup down.

‘Only Yorkshire in this house. Piss-head mom gets that right at least.’

‘I said, are you in?’

‘You done many of these crops? I know you chopped a few down but do you know what you’re actually doing?’ Said Smithy thinking of all the lads he knows who’ve done it but never really shared the art.

The casual nature always intrigued him. One room, full of plants, water and viola in three months. He knows it’s not that simple and he never really thought too hard about doing it himself, he wouldn’t even know where to start. He’d smoke a Q a week getting it at a good price anyway. Not like he could start in his mom’s house. He couldn’t leave tenner around, let alone take a room and fill it with twenty bags.

A crop, if you’re scratching your head, is what the boys off the council estates sometimes call their grow. A little bit of gentry inside a spare bedroom for most. Perhaps an attic space that’s been tented off, blowing filtered hot air into the rafters for the more adventurous. Stepping over dusty fairy lights, to heat lamps and humidifiers, where Christmas really could come for once if you do it right. Unless you burn your house down because you can’t D-I-Y the electrics.

‘I haven’t done one myself, ye, I’ve chopped plenty down though. I told you, didn’t I? Got taken blindfolded and stripped naked and shit, ended up in a warehouse. I could’ve been down the street for all I knew, drove for ever.’

‘Didn’t tell me that, fuck, when was that?’

‘When my cousin was out, can’t get on it now as it was his connect and they’re funny as, for obvious reasons.’ Said Justin dejected, taking the lunchbox and starts preparing another smoke.

‘I swear you said a few times he had a crop on?’

‘He had his little crop of three plants in his house, had some banging kush actually. He taught me the basics, but that shit was just personal use.’

‘Why didn’t he get on it, you know proper?’

‘Not enough money for that man, he likes the real fast cash of the cocaine and hasn’t the patience to wait for the plants. One in three would fail because he’d just forget to water them, and he knew not to waste he’s time and money on a wasted venture. His lifestyle is a bit hectic, always snorting and moving about. He’d rather rob the poor bastards that have. He enjoys the violence of it, can be an animal.’

‘Done him no favours if he’s in prison.’

‘True that mushy mug, not a life for me in and out. Money for me now like I said. He can’t keep his hands to himself. Slapped his missus around, put her in a right state man, doing three years, silly bastard. I told him to get rid of the unnecessary drama and come along with me and just make some money. I think I said dump the bitch before you snap yourself into a sentence, and here he is, doing another one.’ Said Justin fingering the joint in his hand in a seamless move done thousands of times before. He offers it to his lips and seals the next one.

‘Ye, I seen he was a bit wild when I met him.’

‘He’s got his demons, had a harder life than me man. When he was eighteen, he was on the same wing his dad killed himself in when he was done for attempted murder. He wasn’t the same after that. He was doing shootings on license for fuck sake until he got done again. This was years back and surprised he isn’t in for longer doing life, or dead. Anyway, he isn’t waiting for his cash, so we need to bump this guy off.’ Said Justin and right then Smithy suspected there was more to this than his long-time friend was letting on. He averted his eyes and just took a few drags, passing it on without even looking at him, just the floor.

Smithy was thinking about the sniffle and how much of that ‘profit’ sitting on the coffee table would be just paying off his own debts. Right now, he didn’t give a fuck.

‘To be honest, I’ve had enough. You’ve sold me on this, bare minimum looking at it deeply.’ Said Smithy trying to change the subject and the negative path those neurons were starting to fire in.

‘Look at deeply, we’re going in within the week I can assure of that. I’ve looked at it deeply and I’m fucking drowning in the possibilities already.’

‘What’s the rush?’

‘Always a rush, when you know it’s hot you got to move on the guy.’

‘Who is this guy?’

‘Does it even matter?’

‘It does. I don’t fancy walking into a shallow grave for a few thousand.’

‘Give over, nothing’s going to happen.’

‘Mate, you know what I mean, I just want to be prepared.’

‘I’ll pick you up a bullet proof vest from ebay, I’ve got one myself at home already. Happy?’

‘It’s a start.’

‘You need a start. It will change everything for you, that’s all you need to be prepared for. You won’t be walking in there with your dick in hand, balaclavas on and beaters and we’re good to go.’ Said Justin, mimicking a bat as he slaps his palm into his fist.

A decision, if there ever was one, was to become a poacher of the concrete estate. There’s an acute problem with this kind of game though, there’s bandits at every crossroad. Someone is always watching someone. Eyes on the semi-detached house, and all the way to the nondescript warehouse where the players are counting serious cash.

‘It’s all about the bloody haze Justin, in a maze of craze man.’ Said Smithy as all the thoughts start to wither and die as he falls to the green, like he has nearly every day for the last seven years since his first puff at fifteen.

‘I can’t talk man, my jaws fucked after mixing fire beak and that shit.’ Said Justin closing his eyes, taking a long drag and stretching out his legs on the twenty-year-old sofa with more scars than his face.