Dropping in at teatime

Last night I went to meet my friends, my closest pal Ricky, and another friend, his girl Kelly. We'd scored at lunchtime, did so again after I left work and then we made our way to Kelly's. We were in a huge hurry as I had other commitments, Ricky did also, and Kelly wanted to get to her Mum's house. It's always the way though, isn't it, that when things have to be done quickly, and on a tight schedule, something happens to throw everything off kilter.

We pulled into Kelly's driveway, got out of the car and went to the door. There was major damage to the door and to the frame, a new lock had been fitted and a note was taped to the door in an evidence bag explaining that the new front door key was available at the local police station.

The drive to the police station was pretty dispiriting; we were trying to work out why the door had gone through, why a new lock was fitted and what the hell was going on. The most likely thing,  after all had been considered, we thought, was that the Electric Board had forced their way in to disconnect the supply and to fit a pre-pay meter. But in that case, why was there no Electric Board tag on the door?

Clearly, Kelly was a little apprehensive at the possibility of being arrested and spending a night in the cells, so we fixed up and she went to face the music and collect her keys. The police gave them to her and said nothing about why the door had been put through. She asked if there was any record of what had happened and why, but no reason was forthcoming.

The drive back to Kelly's was much more relaxed. Having not been arrested, having been told the police had no information on what had happened, the assumption was that the power had been cut. We got back, opened the new front door and were shocked to see the house had been spun that afternoon. Things were all over the place, and there on the table were papers explaining a warrant had been carried out pursuant to the Misuse of Drugs act; the police had been looking for controlled drugs. They found none, but Kelly's home was a mess. They had found a Cash Converters receipt though, which was seized as evidence (clearly they're desperate for some sort of result). Naturally, Kelly was greatly upset, and we tried to reason why the raid had happened.

There are a number of factors, none of which we feel are directed at Kelly. She is a well known user, and is seen everywhere. Her phone was seized recently and some texts from people were on there. The police tried to push this as her being knowingly concerned in the supply of drugs, but searches found nothing and there is no real evidence.

Her neighbours have called the police explaining that some black men from London stayed at hers (she lives in the country and black men are a real rarity) . The local paper is full of stuff about how blacks from London control our heroin and crack supply, so as well as having racial prejudice about a white girl and black men, the locals feel they are doing their civil duty.

Ricky is a black man from London. He's her boyfriend, but has a long criminal record. He was released from jail only recently and the local police believe that he is a major, active criminal. He is not, but the police are trying to pin something on him; there have been regular searches and so on.

The upshot is that we believe the police are trying to get something on Kelly to use as leverage against more important people.

Of course, we could be wrong. We could be paranoid and attaching to much importance to ourselves; we're little guys who use, nothing more. Not even Ricky (who has tried very hard to leave his past behind).

This whole thing was a visceral reminder on why this life is unsustainable for me. I like gear. I cannot afford to be busted though, and as much as I feel sympathy for Kelly, part of me is annoyed at being exposed to this. Not annoyed with her you understand, but a much more impotent sense of frustration at my life being at the mercy of others.