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East of Hounslow. Khurrum Rahman
Читать онлайн.Название East of Hounslow
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008229580
Автор произведения Khurrum Rahman
Жанр Шпионские детективы
Серия Jay Qasim
Издательство HarperCollins
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Copyright
An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.
– Mahatma Gandhi
My name is Javid Qasim. I am a Muslim‚ a British-born Muslim.
Do you know how many times I have been pulled over by the police since 9/11? Once. And that was because I was nonchalantly jumping lanes without indicating my intentions to my fellow drivers. I got a ticking off from the fuzz who were quite happy to forego the paperwork and give me a friendly warning. They didn’t even search my car‚ even though the stench of skunk was unmistakeable. To this day I am proud to say that I have never had my fingerprints taken.
Do you know how many times I have been racially abused since 7/7? Not even once. I get called Paki every day‚ but not in the what the fuck did you call me? way. In my circle it’s a term of endearment. You see‚ we know who we are. And what some may see as an insult‚ we see as a badge of fuckin’ honour. The word Pak means pure and the word Pak means clean. And if you didn’t know that‚ then consider yourself educated.
I’m not stupid or naïve. I am aware of exactly what is happening around me but you’ve got to play the game otherwise you might as well carry a big fat kick me sign on your back. Don’t walk around wearing a sodding shalwar and kameez with a great big dopey beard and drive around in a fuckin’ Honda. That’s when you get pulled over and that’s when you get racially abused. But not me. Why? ’Cos I play the game.
I know the plight of my Brothers and I know the struggle of my Sisters and I feel for them‚ every fuckin’ one of them. But what do you want me to do about it? No‚ man. It’s not my war. Call it religion or call it politics or call it greed. It all amounts to the same thing: bloodshed‚ devastation and broken homes. Why would I want to get my head into something like that? Especially since my life has basically been one sweet ride – not too different from my latest acquisition‚ a black BMW 5 series. It’s only two years old‚ less than thirty on the clock and it’s comfortable as fuck‚ which is essential in my line of work‚ as I spend a helluva lot of time in my car. It’s my mobile office. I picked it up for a cool twenty G. I paid over the odds but fuck it‚ I could afford it as business was ticking.
I was sitting in my ride at the back of Homebase car park in Isleworth‚ West London‚ waiting on a customer. He was late which would normally piss me off but I was otherwise distracted by all the shiny buttons and gadgets on my new whip. The speakers sounded sik and my nigga ’Pac never sounded so good as he rapped about dying young. I clocked my patron approaching and I couldn’t help but frown. This was exactly what I was talking about. He’s wearing a plain white suit shirt tucked into his tracksuit bottoms‚ finished off with a pair of Bata flip flops‚ looking like he just stepped off the fucking boat. I know for a fact that he’s forever being targeted because he looks like a fucking freshy. No one likes a freshy.
He looked around the car park and I realised I hadn’t told him that I’d replaced my Nova. I flashed my lights at him and his smile widened at the sight of my Beemer. He approached and walked around it whistling appreciatively‚ taking special notice of my customised rims. I slid my window down and told him to get the fuck in. He did and he slammed the door‚ hard. I bit my tongue.
‘Salaam‚ Brother.’
‘You’re late‚’ I said.
‘Sorry‚ Brother‚ I just came straight from the Masjid. Didn’t see you there. Then I remembered it’s only Thursday. You only ever come for Friday prayers‚ Javid‚’ he said‚ laughing at the unfunny observation.
We shook hands and the deal was done. He left with a fistful of Hounslow’s premium and I with a fistful of dollars. He slammed my door and toddled off in his ridiculous outfit. I hate that fuckin’ sanctimonious prick. In the space of a minute he vexed me twice. Firstly‚ he took a swipe at me because I don’t go the Masjid day in day out. It doesn’t make me any less of a Muslim than he is. So what if he decides to grow a beard and I decide to grow marijuana? I’m still a Muslim. I couldn’t care less if you sit in Aladdin’s eating your Halal Inferno Burger whilst I sit in Burger King eating a Whopper. I am still a Muslim. I’ll drink when I want‚ I’ll curse and I’ll fuck and I’ll gamble and I’ll get high. So what!? Read my lips. I. Am. Still. A. Muslim. I believe in Allah and only He can judge me. Not you. Or anyone else who walks this land.
Secondly‚ he called me Javid. No one‚ but no one‚ calls me Javid‚ not even my Mum. No self-respecting drug dealer is called Javid. No playa is called Javid. Girls don’t wanna be giving out their phone number to a guy called Javid.
Seriously.
Call me Jay.
I woke up in my own sweet time. I rubbed the shit out of my eyes as I ran my tongue over my pearly whites‚ which were anything but. It was Friday. Day of worship‚ day off from my daily dealing. On Friday I should be clean and my thoughts should be pure‚ which is not easy especially as Katrina Kaif‚ Bollywood sex siren‚ was staring down at me‚ wearing a sheer sari which had obviously been soaked whilst she was out singing and dancing in the heavy downpour. Her sari clung to her every arc and her smile was greeting me with more than just a good morning. I resisted the urge‚ instead averting my eyes to Malcom X‚ looking dapper in his black suit. The quote emblazoned at the foot of the poster read: If you’re not careful‚ the newspapers will have you hating the people who are being oppressed‚ and loving the people who are doing the oppressing. – Boom. There you have it‚ what a fucking line. I don’t know much about Malcom X‚ but he was a Muslim and made shit happen and he was friends with Muhammed Ali. I mean how many cool points is that? I had a couple of books on his life knocking around somewhere‚ which I hadn’t got around to reading‚ but I have seen the movie a couple of times. Denzel Washington’s portrayal was on the button.
Prayers was at one. Sutton Mosque was only a mile away but I still had to allow myself at least half an hour travel time because Friday prayers are always packed and there’s always traffic as Hondas and Nissans jostle for parking spots. I stayed in bed for a touch longer and browsed through my phone‚ hungry customers requiring merchandise. Sorry‚ not today. Hit me up tomorrow was my token reply. There was a text message from my Mum asking me if I wanted eggs for breakfast‚ sunny side up? Oh yes please was my response. She came back with Well you better go to the shops and buy some eggs. I could just picture her downstairs in the living room chuckling to herself whilst watching Phil and Holly. My mum is pretty cool‚ she ain’t like the other Asian parents where it’s all education‚ education‚ education.
We’d lived in the same house‚ just the two of us‚ all my life. I’d be hitting thirty in a couple of years but I had no intention of moving out. Have you seen the house prices? Fucking obscene! No shame living at home with your Mum‚ especially if you’re Asian. It’s the norm. I may not be where I expected