Post Mortem by Gary Bell (inspirational books for students .TXT) 📗

for substantive counts instead of conspiracy. Possession with intent to supply heroin, and they’re adding intentional obstruction of a police constable, concealment of items, on account of the drugs going into the toilet.’

‘I ain’t no trapper, man,’ Andre grumbled. ‘Truly, only thing obstructed was some dickhead’s cosh by this.’ He tapped his skull.

‘Getting away without a conspiracy charge is one good thing,’ I said. ‘At least you’ll only have to account for what were allegedly your own drugs. How many were arrested altogether?’

‘Six,’ Zara said, ‘including Andre.’

‘Any particular reason why you’ve been held on remand for the past two months?’

Andre looked to Zara. She answered for him. ‘Andre has a previous conviction for failing to appear, which prevented him from getting bail.’

‘After what charge was that conviction?’ I asked.

‘Being an artist,’ he said petulantly. ‘Trying to have, like, an outlet for creativity when you come from ends.’

Bemused, I turned to Zara. ‘Is that a crime?’

‘It was incitement to commit violent disorder.’ She sighed. ‘Andre is a musician with a fairly big following on YouTube. Last summer his music got him into trouble.’

‘Look –’ Andre leaned forward, clasping his hands together as if in prayer – ‘I’m not even gonna lie to you. I dropped a couple of beats without thinking and shit got riled up, but it was supposed to be a joke. Like now, looking back on it, I know it was stupid.’

‘Andre’s lyrics were blamed for instigating an argument that ended in a violent confrontation,’ Zara explained. ‘It’s called drill music, a type of rap. Andre made a comparison between two opposing gangs and, well, I guess both parties felt like they had something to prove because of it. They faced each other off with weapons in a shopping centre, somebody got burned with a corrosive substance, Andre was charged with conspiracy and he failed to turn up to the magistrates’.’

‘I had a gig the night before court. I warned them about it. That didn’t finish until five in the morning, then this fit girl asked me back to hers. It was either that or court and, you know …’

‘Yes,’ I replied drily, ‘and here you are remanded in custody because of your record of failing to appear. I hope it was worth it.’

A slight grin broke his sulky expression. ‘You should’ve seen her.’

‘What about that charge for violence?’ I asked. ‘Did they claim that you were a member of one of those gangs?’

‘No, it was just the music,’ he said, his good eye turning glassy again. ‘Just words. I don’t have no gang affiliations. Just cos I talk a bit street, it doesn’t make me no delinquent. Not all rappers are criminals. Yeah, I’ve smoked a bit of green here and there, who hasn’t? I don’t use hard shit and I don’t sling hard shit neither.’

I nodded, neatening one shirt cuff. At that time, I had no reason to believe or disbelieve a single word he was saying. ‘What about drugs here at the prison? Have you seen anything of the sort?’

‘Here?’ He studied me questioningly. For a moment, I thought he was going to clam up, but he answered slowly, a little more carefully, lowering his voice. ‘Two months I’ve been here. By the end of week one I’d been offered charlie, brown, rock, you name it. Day and night, them wings are smoky with weed.’

‘What about Spice?’

‘Everywhere. Some of the boys call it Cloud Nine. Turns men into zombie-lunatics like The Walking Dead, for real. There’s three or four ambulances coming out here every day. Whenever one does, another screw has to go with it, meaning nobody’s watching the wing, meaning another eight hours banged up in pads. What else is man supposed to do? It’s easier to get loaded in here than it is back in ends and everyone is playing the game. Only thing is, you’re gonna find yourself in somebody’s pocket fast.’

‘Whose pocket? The officers? Other inmates?’

He turned to Zara, who offered no assistance, and then glanced up to the camera in the corner of the ceiling, almost flinching. ‘I ain’t no snitch, all right?’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘but a second application for bail requires a change in circumstances, and you look like you’ve had a rough week.’

He hesitated again, straining against pride. ‘You think it might get me out of here?’

‘I’m just exploring angles,’ I told him. ‘When you say that people are in one another’s pockets, how so exactly?’

‘Easy maths, innit? What costs you a fiver outside moves for a hundred in here, maybe two, but it’s all on tick. There’s no cash. Everyone’s got mobile phones to sort their money but even the phones are on credit for a grand apiece. Cons are ringing their mums and dads asking for cash transfers into the trappers’ accounts. Got junkies crawling from cell to cell begging for tea bags like tramps in the gutter. Grown men giving blowies for gear.’

‘And you know this how?’

‘Everybody knows this.’

‘What about members of staff who might have found themselves in the dealers’ pockets?’ I asked. ‘Have you seen any—’

‘Look,’ he whispered abruptly, pressing his hands flat onto the table in an exquisite gesture of finality, ‘I want out of this place. Couple of these fuckers they locked me up with are madmen. The ones taking Cloud Nine are even worse. Last week, one of them snatches a rat up off the floor at breakfast, right? This thing’s the size of a dog, I’m not even lying to you, just running around for crumbs. Man catches it by the tail, yeah? Lifts it up over his head and takes a bite out of it! Blood and fur and shit all over his face. Then the thing starts to bite him back, and these boys, they’re all just laughing, man. They’re laughing like it’s the funniest fucking thing they’ve ever seen. But I wasn’t laughing. Apparently, man who don’t laugh got something to hide, so …’ He pointed to his bruises, a movement that required no great