Free Slow Burn by Conrad Jones

of fear that the drug dealers were only too willing to encourage.

     Salim knew that it was not a problem confined to the North of the United Kingdom. The previous year, police in London smashed a huge crack and heroin dealing operation in the East End of the capital city that controlled a trade worth millions of pounds. The gang, based on several large Asian families, had run a twenty-four hour operation supplying drugs to thousands of the capital's users. Tower Hamlets, which has a large and deprived Asian community, had slowly become the 'heroin capital' of the country. If he could progress through the ranks of the organisation, and make money for his boss, then he would eventually be given his own area to manage. Drugs were everywhere, and where there are users, there is money to be made.

     Successful Asians left the rundown areas, as did the educated ones. Once they achieved a degree course at university, they up and left for pastures new, using their qualifications to escape the ghettos. What they left behind were poor, vulnerable and isolated communities: places that were easily invaded by gangs. They brought with them a culture of extreme violence and ostentatious wealth that seemed more at home in the ghettoes of Los Angeles. Salim knew who his role models were, and they were not his parents. They spent their lives slaving away in a small corner shop, which they called their family business. Salim could make more money in one night than they did in a week. His role models were the gold-chain wearing drug traffickers with their new BMW cars, souped-up hi-fi systems and latest designer sportswear. The only way he could achieve his material aspirations was through crime.

     Salim was a street dealer, near the bottom rung of the ladder, but he was highly thought of and he would soon reach the next level. The 'next level' is a violent place, where the culture of 'saving face' among drug gangs can lead to the slightest perceived insult being punished with horrific violence. Salim wanted to be as rich as his boss Ashwan Pindar was. Aspiring to be at that level, was like standing at the bottom of a mountain, and looking up at the peak. Malik Shah was the man at the top of this particular mountain. He controlled several successful crime families across the country. His gangs were highly organised and stretched from the inner cities of Britain to the poppy fields of Afghanistan. At the bottom of the pile were the 'runners', usually young teenagers who make drug deliveries on specially bought mountain bikes. Then come street dealers like Salim, supplying runners and customers with their fixes. Above him were the murky upper echelons of the gang world, often using family ties with Pakistan to arrange the courier routes that bring the drugs back to Britain.

    The callousness of Malik Shah was staggering. He groomed girls as young as thirteen to be mules, bribing their families to be complicit. He sought the financially destitute people of his communities, and pressed them into service. Malik would offer them loans at impossible interest rates, and then force them to act as mules in order to repay their debts. Those that refused were terrorised. As his gangs grew, they became more sophisticated. Over the past months, Salim noticed crack cocaine make its first appearance among the Asian gangs. It led to friction with other drug gangs, but the potential profits were just too great to ignore.

    “Salim,” a voice behind him disturbed his train of thought. He turned to see one of his young runners approaching from the blackness of the alleyway on his bike. He was a skinny Bangladeshi kid known as Rozzo. Rozzo looked up to Salim in the same way Salim respected his superiors, hoping one day to be working in his shoes.

    “What?” Salim was angered by the fact that Rozzo had arrived unannounced. The rules of the business were clear. The runner sent a text message first, and then came for the drugs, carrying the buyer`s payment.