The best thing about London was that it was just as bustling – if not more – at night as during the day, which was great for business.
Unfortunately, Elias was down to his last supply of coke, and he found the great drug users of London were fans of little else. His uncle Felix had taught him to bulk it out when stock was low, which essentially meant mixing the dreads with any plausible white substance that would pass. He wasn't a fan of it, but he had little say. They had to make money somehow.
The teen let out a sigh as he pulled his violently vibrating phone from his pocket. His uncle had 'generously' decided to put Elias at the face of their business. This meant while his uncle got to work the books and merchandise, Elias was stuck dealing with a wide range of meatheads desperate for their next hit. He'd been stabbed three times in the last three years, which was actually a pretty good run for him. It only took him two stabbings to invest in carrying a knife of his own.
His phone impatiently buzzed again. Addiction was not a fan of waiting.
Unknown Number: Where r u?
Shezza.
His height, his hair and his smell. Those were the three biggest identifiers of his newest client.
He went by Shezza, which in Elias' opinion was the dumbest fake name he had ever heard (and he'd heard a lot in his four years of business). Elias had picked EJ as his own alias – simple, and not so far from his actual name that he was likely to forget it. Besides, it wasn't like he could run around selling hard drugs with the name 'Elias James'. People would pin him as a snitch without a second thought.
He smelt Shezza before he saw him. He was dressed in the usual uniform of dirty sweats and a torn-up jacket that had likely once been blue. His mop of curls was greasier than Elias' favourite double meat surprise kebab. Just the run of the mill sort of customer they got at the den.
"You owe me an extra ten for the annoying texts," Elias challenged.
He had figured out a long time ago he needed to set a precedent of toughness. Even if most crackheads' noses were shot from snorting, they could still sniff out a pushover from a hundred miles away.
"Pushing it EJ, but I'm desperate enough. M'surprised you're still in stock. The den down Conney Street and a few others have run dry," Shezza mumbled as he mindlessly picked away at the needle-sized scabs on his arms.
"We have our reserves."
This wasn't exactly news to Elias. He briefly recalled his uncle having 'a very pleasant chat' with their supplier about certain 'concerns' with the low stock they received in delivery last week. He'd been told sternly that it simply wasn't his problem and to continue to run business as usual.
This is why he handed over a bag filled with roughly a quarter crack – the rest substituted with cornflour.
Shezza shifted the bag between his hands. "Feels heavier than normal."
"It's the same shit as last time, Shezza," Elias said, faking an impatient look to cover his anxiety.
Shezza didn't look convinced. Elias tucked his hand into the back of his waistband, resting it on the handle of the knife.
"Give me the money or piss off. If you wanna question our stuff, I'm sure Felix would be more than happy to have a chat." Elias' tone was stiff as he pulled out his knife, hoping the threat would be enough to stop the questions.
Something shifted in Shezza's face. His features seemed suddenly sharper. His usual downward or off-centre gaze was now narrowing in on Elias and his shifty demeanour seemed to stabilize unsettlingly fast.
Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong.
The next thing Elias knew, the knife was being ripped from his grasp and there was a sharp pain in his shoulder. Before he could even scream, his bones promptly handed in their letter of resignation, leaving him to fall hard against the rough pavement. Consciousness was slipping away from him fast as the hazy figure of Shezza was soon joined by another.
"My, my, my, little brother. You've been quite the busy bee."