Robyn Travis - Prisoner to the Streets

ROBYN TRAVIS

Published by The X Press Tel: 07565 483766 Robyn Travis 2013

Email: xpressbooks@hotmail.com www.prisonertothestreets.com

PRISONER TO THE STREETS DIGITAL VERSION
(PRISONER TO THE STREETS PAPERBACK VERSION
AVAILABLE AT AMAZON AND ALL GOOD BOOKSHOPS)

The right of Robyn Travis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in the UK without the authors and publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. No part of this may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior permission in writing from both the publisher and author, permitting restricted copying.

Distributed in UK by Turnaround Distribution, Unit 3, Olympia Trading Estate, Coburg Road, London N22 6TZ Tel: 0208 829 3000

WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I GOT MYSELF INTO? AGAIN.

This wasnt the first time in seventeen years that it crossed my mind as boi-dem chased us. I was having to ask myself that question on a weekly basis. If it wasnt one hype it was another. Armed robberies, street robberies, drug runnings, and all kinds of beef. I wasnt really into the drugs and the robberies, but where beef was concerned you could bet your life on me.

How do I get myself out of this?

A few of the brudders my age and older were goin in and out of prison. I wasnt planning on joining them but it sounded like we were surrounded. Sirens from every direction, flashing blue lights everywhere. No time to watch that. Run first. Think later.

Darker ran first. I followed. Boi-dem were only a long arms length away when I breezed. THE CHASE WAS ON.

We were opposite McDonalds, on a back street off of Dalston Kingsland High Road, when boi-dem first clocked us. Like theyd been clocking us all summer. Like they always do in Holly Street and Hackney in general. They had been circling the area for weeks. As if something was going down.

Something was going down, but nothing major. It was around midnight and we were just around the corner heading to Denishas yard. I was on my phone as Darker kneeled by a parked car. I could see he was up to suttn. He was either going to jack the whip or the stereo. I didnt really pay him no mind. Like I said, robbery isnt my ting. I continued chatting on the blower, minding my own business, until he was done with whatever he was doing.

I dont know where they came from but all of a sudden they were there. A police car, without its headlights on, pulled up right beside us. Then its sirens screamed.

Darker had already breezed by the time boi-dem jumped out. I was right behind, trying to catch up. Boi-dem were also trying. All I could hear was their footsteps. It sounded like there were two or three of them on my back.

Darker dusted down an alley that led into Kerridge, an estate on the border with Islington. That didnt trouble us. Hackney boys had no respect for Islington boys. It wasnt like they were going to argue about whose endz it was. They simply werent on our level. Most of us Hackney boys were full of ourselves. The only surrounding area we had respect for was Totty. We didnt have much ratings for Leyton, Walthamstow or Stratford. Even though the African boys in E15 could fight, we were the heart of East London. And the hardest too.

Boi-dem didnt care about our rep. They didnt respect any of us. All they wanted to do was dash us in the bully van before their shift was done. They chased us like their livelihoods depended on it. I chased after Darker hoping he knew what he was doing.

The further he ran the more I lost faith. By now my lungs were burning like someone was sparking up a spliff in my chest. Every breath was a painful reminder that there was more at stake for me than TDA. I was fully strapped. And that would cost me more than a shit and a shave at Her Majestys Pleasure.

More time I had my gun on me to make sure I didnt get caught slippin. AGAIN. I had MAD beef dem times so I carried my strap to beef with anyone and everyone who wanted it. This wasnt beef, but I was slippin into doing time for a fully-loaded over some fuckery. So I kept on running.

By now I was fed up with the chase. I mean, I dont even run from my enemies. I couldnt understand how boi-dem had me shook. They werent even strapped. To be honest, I had more respect for dem Islington boys than I had for boi-dem.

The stubborn side of me wanted to get ignorant:

STOP. TURN AROUND. FACE EM LIKE A MAN.

The sensible part reasoned:

BOI-DEM DONT EVEN KNOW YOURE STRAPPED. WOTS THE USE IN MAKING YOUR PROBLEMS BIGGER? DASH THE BURNER BEFORE THE CHASE GETS LONGER.

Darker bussd another corner, past the communal gardens and the football cage. Round the bend I dashed the gun into a bush. Fully loaded. Still running. I wondered if boi-dem had seen what I had thrown into the darkness. Man didnt have time to watch that. I had a 5 draw tucked in my socks. But that was a minor, still.

What the FUCK have I gotten myself into? The question still ringing in my head. Boi-dem were on to us DIFFERENTLY. Refusing to give up. We breezed round a next corner. All that kept me going was the need to sleep in my own bed. At seventeen Id already spent way too many nights sitting on a blue rubber mattress in a cell. Who knows how many times its been pissed on. A warm bed and a spliff was all the motivation I needed to get home safe.

Mans freedom was always at risk, but the more we got away with it the cockier we became. Getting caught by boi-dems a no-no. Man cant come back to the manor and big up mans chest bout getting shift by boi-dem. All it means is that you got caught. Bad bwoys aint supposed to get caught. Especially black boys.

Me and Darker were easily up there amongst the fastest our age in Hackney, so we didnt have to worry about each other on a chase. We run from police for fun on a regular. With smiles on our faces. I was a big weed smoker dem times so this chase was no joke ting. I was still boasy of my chances in a sprint with boi-dem, but I wasnt sure about going the distance before we ran out of road.

Ah shit. Spoke too soon. Darker coulda turned left or right. He turned right, which was wrong. I followed regardless, hoping he had a plan. Then we ran into a brick wall.

Boi-dem were getting closer and closer. We were on our way to Feltham if we didnt make it over - FAST. Darker didnt hesitate until he had climbed to the top. Only when I reached there myself did I realise why. The wall we had climbed was nothing compared to the straight drop on the other side. It was like we were on the roof of a three or even four-storey house, staring down at the train tracks below.

We looked at each other. Shit, were gonna need a parachute. Darker was probably thinking the same. The sound of heavy boots and walkie talkies focused our minds.

We looked at each other, and then down. I was thinking, Olders first. Darker looked like he was thinking, Nah, bro, youngers first.