DEATHLOOP by G. Brailey

and export, community spokesperson, community liaison officer, entrepreneur, retail advisor, music producer, Notting Hill Carnival committee member, financial consultant, Jamaican in exile, man about town, steel band aficionado, cricket umpire, tour guide, expert on The Royal Family, parks and gardens, Caribbean cultural attaché,” the list went on and on, but if anyone mentioned drugs he would look fierce and rear back like he’d been winged.
    “Why you demanding illegal substances from yours truly, huh? Because I’m black? ”
    Years ago, Sid had tried his hand at day to day dealing but didn’t like the aggravation it caused him, nor did he care for the calibre of his clientele. These days he preferred to think of himself as ‘Mr Fixit’ and had toyed with the idea of having the title printed on the side of his old red van, because if the price was right there was not much Sid could not get you, and if he couldn’t, he knew a man who could.
    Zack had to be very careful of his links with anyone like Sid, but there were times when he wanted to put two fingers up to the world and couldn’t give a monkey’s if he was seen cruising along Ladbroke Grove in his Merc with the hood down, Sid beside him tugging on a big fat joint.
    Sam had told Zack he was playing with fire hanging out with Sid, and if he wanted to walk away from a six figure salary and a brilliant career then go right ahead but leave him out of it. So Zack did leave Sam out of it for quite some time which Sam found unbearable. Finally, Sam stormed round to Zack’s flat and read him the riot act, telling him that if he insisted on hanging around with Sid Johnson he would have nothing more to do with him because he wasn’t prepared to stand by after all this time and watch him crash and burn.
    Zack found Sam’s ultimatum extremely amusing but it worked and Zack fell back into line. So Sid had to take a back seat for a while, until eventually, Zack barely spent any time with him at all. Sid knew nothing of Sam’s ultimatum, but he guessed as much and it put him off the guy. Sid had always thought Zack to be his own man, but no, it seemed that his good friend Mr Fortune was under the thumb of some fucked up little Jewish troll with seriously suburban tendencies.
    When Sam told Clarissa what he had done, she was amused too. “I don’t know you boys, why can’t you share ?” she said tousling Sam’s hair, and waltzing off to read about Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, or cutlery or something. But Sam didn’t care because he had done what he had set out to do and that was yet again get Zack Fortune back in line, this time, away from the wiles of a twenty stone ‘Caribbean cultural attaché’ who scared the living daylights out of him.
    On the way over to find Sid, Zack decided to pop into The Mango Tree to get the gen on the old boy from last night, but when he got there the building was cordoned off, with a convoy of police cars parked up outside blocking most of the road.
    “What’s all this about?” he asked a couple of bystanders.
    “Some guy died in there last night,” said one.
    “Yeah, I heard about that…”
    “They should close the place down,” said the other, “it’s trouble in there… always was.”
    Zack had arranged to meet Sid in a dingy pub, The Vulture’s Perch, in Westbourne Grove, not far from Sid’s council flat. Usually lorded over by a bar maid called Maggie, who adored Zack, and who told anyone who would listen that if she had her way she’d get that man’s trousers down and show him what for. But it was Maggie’s night off tonight, and Zack was thankful for that because he found the perpetual sexual innuendos tedious.
    Sid had already made his presence felt and managed to intimidate a group of geeky students off the pool table, even though it was their turn. The table was set up and waiting for Zack to arrive. When Zack walked in, he and Sid did the usual black man’s hand shake and Zack got in the drinks.
    “Where