Man, he was tired. He’d been up all night watching dirty girls rub themselves up and down on boys’ knees, doin’ their ting, trying to impress and score. The music had been dope, though. And there’d been no blue lights disturbing the peace, though that was no surprise. On the Beacon Estate, nobody dared call the rozzers on one of their own. For years now, the police had avoided the hottest spots on the estate, and word had it that it was because somebody had done a deal with the law. Jackson said nothing. He’d seen them coming down and stopping and searching anyone looking like they were members – pretty much any male with a hoody – searching for drugs and weapons, but the visits had stopped a few years back and Jackson knew why. The pigs had a network of informers who traded in information. Maybe even the Cotton brothers were involved.

Say nuffin’.

Fresh drill music from London had flooded two flats for most of the night, and his head hurt like it always did after such events. He felt sorry for the other residents, especially the older ones, but that was the way of it and no one interfered. At the moment, he had good rap with the Cotton brothers. For the time being, they were in charge and Jackson intended to do everything in his power to stay onside. All street power was temporary – another thing they never taught in school – and it was only a matter of time before somebody else stepped up to the plate and the Cotton brothers were taken care of.

Members existed in the shadows of the estate, lurking in garages, flats and underground parking lots, their business mainly executed at night. During the day, the estate was fairly quiet and residents breathed a sigh of relief, going about their lives free of harassment. Jackson had once seen the Cotton brothers abusing an old guy, teasing him by taking his shopping away and tearing up his paper. Eventually the man had given them twenty quid and they’d shaken hands. The image stuck. It seemed heartless, but at least the guy had lived. It was nothing new: stamping your authority on a yard. The Cotton brothers were from Lancaster and had to get to know the locals properly. If anyone disagreed, they ended up in hospital.