Rhinoceros: Ryon's story 5
Monday
Frank is all full of praise now. Needs a bit of tidying up, he says, still need to lose the swearing, he says, bring out the speech, he says, but we’re getting somewhere. This Mr Scope sounds alright, he says. Let’s have some more on him. Yea, yeah, Frank. Don’t keep pushing it.
As you can imagine, I was no angel, even when I calmed down a bit. I still had my moments, but some of school was OK. I had an advantage, in that I grew physically big quickly. There was always plenty of food in school to supplement my meagre diet at home, plus whatever I could nick. So I was a big boy. All I needed to add to my size was a bit of menace, the odd rabbit punch, and few carefully chosen words, and by the time I reached year 10 I was top dog. The teachers stopped restraining me – I was ‘managed’ out of the building when things got bad, or enticed away with a promise of a KFC. And always there was Mr Scope, wearing the same old sad jacket, with same sad disappointment on his face, but mixed with that weird sense of humour of his. He thought the oddest things were funny. And he took the piss out of my social worker no end, which was funny.
It’s a shame I got into other stuff, ‘cause I could’ve made a bit more of school. Not that it matters. No regrets. There’s still an essay I wrote on Mr Scope’s wall, above the door so no-one can draw a knob on it. It’s about a trip to Skegness. It’s a bit stupid, really, but he loved it. Right proud of it, he was. Said I could go places with writing skills like that. Well, it’s a bit late in the day now, Scopey. Might show him this one day. Perhaps.
Anyway I got into the smoking, and then the smoking weed. Well, you can’t avoid it in our area. You’re a pussy if you don’t. So I got a few highs, had a few good nights out, and had a few rough mornings to follow. I started staying in bed more. Get up in the afternoon, find some food to eat, find some mates, start smoking, etc etc. Sometimes I’d get up in time for school dinner, which was good, especially on a Wednesday when it was roast, but then I’d be expected to stay.
So my attendance dropped, the EWO started coming round, and mum and I started pretending we weren’t in.
Wasn’t too long before I moved on from nicking the odd Mars Bar or Red Stripe. I linked up with a kid called Gary Mitchelson. I wouldn’t call him a mate. No-one did. Psychos don’t have mates. The first time I met him he was hitting some kid with an iron bar. And I mean hitting. But if you stayed on the right side of him, played fair (according to his rules) he was just about OK. He still did his psycho act – he used to hold knives to me, pretend he was going to cut me up, but it was just a test. And I was good at looking not bothered.
Gary’s dad was some kind of middle man. An old bruiser, past his prime, but with a lot of nasty back up if he needed it. He could off-load anything, and he seemed to know where stuff could be nicked easily. I think he did a lot of his dealing to order. It’s thanks to him half the estate have got decent tellies.
So guess what? Ryon moves up the greasy criminal pole. Well it’s more like sliding down a slope, it’s that easy. One thing leads to another. The hardest part is saying no. And no-one’s ever done that with the Mitchelsons without going to hospital.
At first I was right cack-handed. I did a couple of jobs with a mate, but I hated that. Too dependent. I preferred my own company. No one to grass you up that way. So I became a lone operator, fairly reliable, kept my mouth shut, popped into school every now and then, didn’t flaunt my wares too much. And I let the Mitchelson’s do the fencing. I suppose I was being robbed by them for my efforts, but I didn’t care. I had a bit of money in my back pocket, and on some days, when I felt sorry for her, I’d give mum some, or buy her a pack of fags.
Easy money, money to spend. People go on about money. Makes the world go round. Doesn't grow on trees. Money talks. Yeah, I'll go along with all that. Only the rich pretend money doesn't matter. With 20 quid in my pocket I'm fucking king for the day. Don't have to cadge fags, can eat chips when I'm hungry, can get on a bus. Money is essential, man. And on some days I had plenty of it. I could pick and choose jobs, like a free agent. Best times, those.
So I don't know why I had to go and do Scope's flat.
