SURVIVING THE MADNESS

In the nineteen nineties Cocaine use began to boom in the UK. Naturally when the demand for a particular drug increases so does the supply. Many cannabis dealers switched over to the cocaine trade, largely due to the increased profit margins. With greater profits however comes increased risk and lengthier prison sentences. As I had already spent my fair share of time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, I decided to play it safe and stick to what I knew best - selling weed.

A few of my close associates made the switch and followed their ‘noses’ to the money. One pal set up a deal selling to a high ranking, organised crime family from Leeds. He agreed to sell a kilo of high purity coke at a very competitive price to get his foot in the door with the Leeds firm. The brothers apparently had Leeds on lock down at that time and the head of the family was a guy whose reputation preceded him - rumours circulating suggested he already had a couple of murders on his CV. 

As was often the case, the whole affair began with a night on the town. An associate of mine knew the Leeds family and had invited them down to Manchester to join us for the evening. I hadn’t met the brothers before, so I was quite looking forward to hearing what kind of a set up they had, and if there was anything I could get involved in.

Criminals regularly meet up socially with other criminals, usually over a pint or two, to discuss what drugs or loot they either have or can get their hands on. It’s a good opportunity to chat without worrying about telephone conversations being listened in to. It also helps in building a stronger working relationship, should any complications arise down the line, knowing who you’re dealing with can ensure a bit of trust which could save fallouts occurring - with potentially dire consequences. That’s the theory anyway.

The night out in Manchester seemed to work out well for everybody.

My pal sorted his deal to sell coke to the Leeds firm. Our other pal (the one that had arranged the gathering) bought in on my next consignment of cannabis, which was due in from Holland the following weekend and I agreed to buy just shy of £200k worth of jewellery from the head of the Leeds family for a nice price of £70k. 

A few days passed by and everything was going smoothly. My new buyer had been to pay for half of his consignment of cannabis upfront, as was agreed. He was to receive the cannabis the following weekend, he then had a fortnight to pay off the outstanding amount.

My jewellery had been brought down by a driver courtesy of the Leeds firm, and I was made up with my collection of beautiful diamond watches, bracelets and rings. I had a week’s grace to have them valued before I had to cough up a penny.

As I said, everything was going great.

That was until my good friend, who had laid on the kilo of cocaine to the Leeds brothers appeared at my yard and he was not a happy chappy. He told me that his driver had dropped the coke off and all seemed fine, but when he made the call, to ensure the brothers were happy with it, he had been told it was a load of shite and that they wouldn’t be paying the £25k that they owed. At that point my mate had apologised and offered to send his driver back to Leeds to collect the cocaine. He however was told in no uncertain terms that he wouldn’t be getting the coke back or any money for it.

He realised then that he had been ripped. He knew there was fuck all wrong with drugs, the brothers simply weren’t wanting to pay for them.

As he didn’t have quite the reputation I did, he had called in to see me in the hope I would help get the money he was owed.

Obviously the deal had nothing to do with me, but I wasn’t going to stand by and let my mate be done over by a firm of outsiders, especially as the deal had been arranged on our soil.

We walked to the local telephone box and I called the Leeds brother who had received the coke. His attitude had changed dramatically and he was giving it large, telling me that they weren’t paying for the gear as it was shit and they had been taken for mugs. Not only that there was fuck all anybody could do about it, blah blah blah!

After a bit of stomping over the same ground and listening to this clown mouthing off, I decided to call the head of the family, who I had got the jewellery from. The result was the same though. He didn’t seem happy about the whole affair but was standing by his brother.

I was clearly getting nowhere. It was like banging my head against a brick wall, there was no budging the guy. I told him that I was going to go away and talk to my mate. I finished the call by saying ‘Be Lucky’. It’s a phrase I like to use, it works as a way of masking what I am really thinking, and also to end with a passive aggressive kind of goodbye.

I asked my mate if he was sure about the quality of the gear, to which his response was “100% sure”. I then confirmed to him that he had definitely been done and he had no chance of getting his money back. I suggested (what is kind of an unwritten rule in the underworld) that the guy who introduced us to the Leeds firm should be held accountable.

The poor chap had very little option, when he was told he was about to be made £25k lighter (as I was still waiting to receive the cannabis that he had already paid half for, which was more than enough to recover the loss) I informed him that £25k of his money would be used to compensate the rip. Although not overly impressed, there was nothing really he could do about it. I softened the blow by telling him he could get in on another future consignment of mine, to help recover his loss.

I relaxed after doing my good deed for the week and focused solely on the finer details of my cannabis importation.

The weekend came and went, and finally so did the phone call I had been expecting, it was obviously from the head of the Leeds family, informing me that I was late with the £70k payment for the jewellery. The cheeky bastard actually demanded I settle my debt immediately.

This time, however, it was him who may as well have been banging his head against a brick wall. I told him that his diamonds were fake and that because he had taken me for a mug he wouldn’t be getting the money or the jewellery back.

I smuggly listened to his threats to kill me for a little while, before I interrupted to inform him that the quickest way to Salford was down the M62, but if he was planning on travelling by train then  to only buy a one way ticket, as a return would be a waste of money.

I hung up the phone and never saw or heard from him or his firm again.

A few years later I got word that two of the brothers were dead. One of them had turned to drink and drugs and the other had double crossed a ruthless South Manchester gang who didn’t let him off as lightly as we had. 

In the drug trade there is no such thing as a code of honour, especially if you are dealing with people from outside your own circle, or with criminals from out of town. But if you do stab someone in the back be warned; there’s more than one way to skin a cat.