ALEX WHEATLE
East of Acre Lane
This novel is dedicated to the life
and musical legacy of
Dennis Emmanuelle Brown
Contents
13 The Teachings of Jah Nelson
P.S. Ideas, Interviews & Features …
Unfinished Stories: Joanne Finney talks to Alex Wheatle
If You Loved This, You Might Like …
27 January 1981
It was 3am and Biscuit found himself being driven through the bad lands of South London. He was in the back seat, his heartbeat accelerating, flanked on the right by this big grizzly thing called Muttley, who looked like a young George Foreman with untamed facial hair. On Biscuit’s left was the evil cackling dread nicknamed Ratmout’, whose face would crease into a mask of sadism if anything humoured him. Nunchaks, the Brixtonian crime lord, was behind the wheel, displaying perfect calm. How de fuck am I gonna get out of this? Biscuit thought.
He wondered what he’d done to warm Nunchaks’ wrath, and regretted leaving the party without Coffin Head and Floyd. It had been a dread rave. Plenty girls to dance with, strong lagers free flowing, and Winston, the top notch selector of Crucial Rocker sound, spinning some dangerous tunes.
‘Jus’ ah liccle drive to tek in de sights,’ Nunchaks said, smiling.
‘Forget ’bout de herb, man,’ Biscuit suggested, ‘I’m too busy nex’ week to do any selling, an’ I was riding a serious crub wid a fit girl at de party.’
‘De bitch can wait,’ Nunchaks responded grimly.
‘Don’t fuck about, Chaks,’ Biscuit fretted. ‘Lemme outta de car, man, I ain’t in de mood for one of your jokes.’
‘Who de rarse says I’m joking. An’, more time, I don’t like yout’ who joke wid me.’
The