Dean

Dean insisted wherever he was at midday he dropped his trousers to get some air. Not having his own watch and waiting to be reminded helped him avoid some embarrassing situations, but there were others that no one will ever forget. Along with seeing his impressive lung capacity which never failed in attracting women to hang around our little gang, though they only seemed to be interested in him. Most usually turned up around 11 in the morning. After the clock struck 12 they'd be keen to stick around. We'd all slope off sulking at feeling inadequate.

He'd arrived from nowhere with his hair cut like Terry Hall when he was in Funboy 3. A few older lads mumbled about how he changed all the time and remembered seeing him the year before looking like Phil Oakey from the Human League. I wondered how come his mum let him have short hair on one side and a flick down to his shoulders on the other. Maybe that's why he always slept on whoever's sofa was available. Except at my house; he was banned after burning the settee with a cigarette. Which just made hanging about with him more appealing.

I guess he became the leader when he bought a car. A rusty orange Cortina even though he didn't have a driving licence. Not bothering with tax, insurance or an MOT, all he needed was petrol money which was collected at a pound a time from anyone who got in it. These dribs and drabs kept the car moving most days, other times it just sat in the pub car park with tinny music blaring from the open windows, us inside tying to still look cool until some money turned up. Then we'd head to pubs that weren't really far away but we'd never been to.

I'd just been forced back to school, after a long summer of being driven about which had made me feel all grown up, when they set off on another day-trip. It had gone on longer than expected and Dean was in no state to drive. A girl, still hanging about from midday, said she'd had a few lessons, so into the car they got. She couldn't drive, but before they found this out a police car appeared behind them. The girl panicked and sped up, threatened from the back by Dean that she had to get away. It turned into a chase with the girl crying at the wheel. The tears are probably why she didn't see the slow down sign as she screeched round a sharp bend and up a lamppost.

At the hospital they refused to treat Dean until he stopped screaming and swearing. Which he was finding quite hard to do after being cut out of the car with both legs bent like pipe cleaners. There was a stand off before he was given some painkillers to shut him up. It was three days before we were allowed to go and visit, not being family. Not that any of his turned up anyway. Nobody knew what to say as we sneaked looks at the lengths of metal straining to pin his legs back together. He put on a brave face and tried to laugh it off but sounded unconvinced. The girl was the only one who didn't have to stay in hospital and hadn't been back to visit.

There were no more midday airings. It was too difficult with crutches. The plus side was he got more money as an invalid in his benefits each week to piss up. But found himself unwelcome in most pubs now; legless in more ways than one as he tried to blot out the looming court case. After getting convicted he also got compensation for his injuries. I never quite understood why, but reckoned someone, somewhere, hoped he'd disappear. Either go to ground or end up in the ground.

What he did do though was set up as a dealer. Not the pleasant sort where there's a few laughs involved in scoring something you'll have fun and memories with, he stuck strictly to brown. Tinfoil, needles and crime - the 2nd floor flat he'd been given, a cruel joke to someone who can hardly walk, was busy with them all round the clock. It didn't matter when you went or who was there, you could tell no one liked each other. There was just a need being filled.

He was generous to everyone at first. Letting them run up a tab, waiting patiently when a giro arrived late, kids could play - quietly - in the kitchen while mummy and daddy nodded out. Then he tightened the screws. Except there was no slack to play with. Unpaid debts festered till violence cleaned them up. Which just created a bigger need to forget the kicking; every bruise a reminder that you now owed more. Which had to be worked off shoplifting, burgling your neighbours or just through pure humiliation.

"You knock him out and I'll bum him".
Dean had dropped his trousers and had a hold of himself, like a flash back to those midday's of the summer. I didn't know which scared me more. The threats or realising I wouldn't be able to score.

I'd let myself get caught in his smokey trap, enjoying chasing my tail and other things. Somehow I'd seen glamour in paying to lose time, forget and do nothing, so took my eye off the debt that I'd been encouraged to build. It was a friend I was borrowing off and only a small amount though, so nothing to worry about. When the door had been closed behind me by someone I didn't see on the way in, I realised I was wrong about both.

"You owe me money. Where is it?"
I was wishing I could make it appear in my pocket like a magician. I even patted to check if it had.
"Think you can take the piss? You won't after you've been taught a lesson.
I'd had enough of school which was why I'd drifted into this. The days were too long in a classroom so I'd learned how to block them out. Now it was time to plead to teacher.
"I've got it at home. Most of it anyway" I lied. I didn't even know how much it was. "Give me 10 minutes and I'll be back with it"
"Not good enough", combined with a push in the back by whoever had been behind the door, which sent me crashing into the kitchen door frame. I'd just straightened when the next one did the same.
"We want the money now. Get in the room".

They were pointing at what was trying to be a bedroom. Inside a tatty mattress and a few bits of broken stuff they couldn't be bothered to drag down the stairs to the communal bins. A sheet sellotaped to the wall making a sorry attempt at being a curtain. Noticing the lock on the door while being pushed confirmed it wasn't a joke, and I started to struggle harder to push myself back out of the room. No matter what I said or offered now, they'd already decided what they wanted to do. A key turned and through the door I was told:
"We'll be back soon. If you've not got the money then, we're gonna kill you. If you try to escape, we'll find you and kill you".

The front door slammed and fading voices echoed in the corridor as they headed to the stairs.In a nearly empty room I was surrounded by panic. How could I get the money I didn't have when I was locked in a room? It was a no-win situation but I couldn't afford to lose. I had to get out and began looking for something to force the lock with. One thing about drug dealers; no matter how scruffy the house, they never skimp on locks. The door held solid against the wire from an old TV aerial I'd picked up which just bent then snapped. I started kicking the door till my foot hurt but nothing happened.

The window. After a few tugs on the handle it opened and I could lean out. Maybe I could shout and attract attention, but below was just the unused rusty playground and the usual pissy rain meant no was wandering about. I went back to kicking the door, but just got the same result. Frustration and fear bubbling into tears, I slumped into sitting, head in hands. Through my fingers I could see on the wall brown stains that the wallpaper refused to stick to. Below the biggest patch was a used needle and after wishing it was full so I could end this misery I decided it would at least make a good weapon, convincing myself I'd have the guts to use it when they returned.

It must have been over an hour when I heard them barge through the door screaming about time being up and asking if I was ready to die. When a dog barked and scratched at the door I knew it was Ste Williamson's pitbull. I fled to the back of the room when I heard them say the dog was coming in.

Hearing the whoosh of his lead as they whipped the dog into a frenzy, I grabbed at the handle on the window, pulled myself up and crouched awkwardly on the sill. As the key rattled in the lock I pushed on the frame and felt cold air rush by. Everything went bright, I glimpsed into the flat below, then hit the ground and flooded with cold black.