East of Hounslow. Khurrum Rahman
Читать онлайн книгу.
all frequent visitors. There are other eateries close by‚ but between Ali’s famous Volcano Burger and the Tawa Chicken Wrap they have no chance of long term survival.
Shishas‚ normally lined up against every wall‚ had been removed and replaced by more chairs and tables. Ali knew it was going to be a busy one‚ and Ali wasn’t one to miss a trick.
He was right‚ the place was rocking. Packed to the rafters. Ali usually flies solo but that day he had a small team of three assisting him. The stench of grease and meat attacked my senses and put me off my fried chicken. It hadn’t even turned eight and there we all were. United. And evidently hungry. The door opened with a jaunty chime‚ all eyes moved in sync towards it and the draught blew in the self-titled badass that is Khan Abdul. He was flanked by two equally mean-looking characters known as The Twins. They weren’t actually twins. In fact they couldn’t have looked more different. It was just a moniker that sounded vaguely cool based on the fact that they did everything together. Khan stood at the door and waited for everyone to take him in. Some of the older lot got up and heartily shook his hand and the younger lot looked up at him in awe‚ not yet having earned the respect to approach him.
Personally‚ I thought he was a twat. I wanted to share that thought with Parvez‚ who was sat opposite me‚ but with the way his mouth was open and his eyes twinkled‚ it was as if a Paki Father Christmas had just walked in.
Khan approached the counter and Ali greeted him with a masala chai. He took it in his meaty hand and sipped from it‚ scoping the room over the rim‚ ready to address his audience. The three of them were dressed almost identically‚ black baggy clique jeans and market-bought black leather jackets. There was enough leather to offend the Hindus and embarrass McDonalds. They looked like they had just stepped out of the nineties. That was my problem with Khan. He had never quite left that era‚ he had never quite grown up.
Around maybe the mid-nineties‚ Khan Abdul was part of the SL1 Crew. A gang mainly comprised of Muslim youths‚ some students and others on the dole. They operated out of Langley‚ Slough. The Holy Smokes and the Tooti Nungs‚ who ran Southall at that time‚ were comprised mainly of Sikhs and Hindus. So‚ not to be outdone‚ some dumb Pakis formed the SL1 Crew and like some fucked up Robin Hood and his Muslim Men‚ they got up to all sorts. But unlike the Smokes and the Nungs‚ they had no agenda. Well‚ no‚ that’s not true. The SL1 Crew did have an agenda. Trouble and Strife.
Local Muslim business encounters non-Muslim competition.
They stepped in.
Mixed relationship between a Muslim and a non-Muslim.
They stepped in.
Racially motivated attacks‚ protection rackets‚ joyriding‚ stabbings. You name it‚ they indulged in it. With pride.
Almost twenty years later‚ in his late forties‚ married with kids‚ Khan is still at it‚ desperately trying to hold on to his reputation. The SL1 Crew had long been forgotten about but Khan still waved the flag for thug mentality. Idiot.
The only reason why Khan is still respected‚ and will be until his days end‚ is because he stabbed the leader of rival gang who had raped a Muslim girl. Instant fucking hero status. It came to light after that it was actually consensual‚ and she only cried rape because she didn’t want her parents to find out. But that’s just details.
I watched him as he stood in front of the counter at Ali’s Diner‚ larger than life and twice as ugly. Ready to hold court.
‘Brothers‚’ Khan started and the room was excited.
‘Soldiers‚’ he continued and the room just about exploded.
I scoped the room and all around me people were hyper‚ some on their feet‚ thumping their chests with their fists‚ others thumping the table. Parvez shouted ‘Allah hu Akbar’ and that just seem to rile them even further and it was continuously repeated and echoed off the walls. This was the kind of reaction you would expect at the end of a decent speech not after two words. I could tell Khan was trying his hardest not to display a shit-eating grin. With open hands he requested for the room to quieten.
‘Our way of life has been compromised. Our religion has been attacked‚’ Khan said‚ clearly pleased with his obviously rehearsed opening gambit. He scratched the side of his stubbled face. ‘So‚ what do we do?’ Khan looked around the room‚ milking it. The question was clearly rhetorical‚ so no suggestions were forthcoming but the anticipation was palpable. ‘Do we continue our peaceful existence and hope that it doesn’t happen again? Or do we send a message out‚ loud and clear? All we want is to abide by the five pillars of Islam. We don’t want any trouble‚ we don’t want to bother you. We just want peace.’
What the fuck did Khan know about the five pillars of Islam? I bet he couldn’t name them. The closest Khan had ever got to Mecca was driving past the Mecca Bingo Hall in Hounslow High Street. I wanted to stand up and challenge him. Embarrass him. But I didn’t because I had grown fond of my teeth.
Idris was right‚ I should have stayed away. I looked at Parvez who was hanging onto every word‚ every letter that was coming out of Khan’s mouth. I looked at my watch‚ aware that I had to see Silas in a few hours. With time to kill‚ I sighed to myself and sloped down in my seat as Khan continued.
‘It wasn’t us that flew into the Twin Towers. We were sitting at home watching Jeremy Kyle or whatever when that shit happened. But yet they continue to blame anyone of colour. That is our bleak future and that is now. This will never end‚ we must stand together side by side‚ hand in hand and build an unbreakable chain. The power of Allah reigning through us‚ and if any of those fucking pig lovers try to penetrate us‚ we will drop them where they stand. Without fear and without consequence‚ because we are protected by the Almighty. No one can touch us. We will no longer be governed by rules and by laws which are designed by the Kafir for the Kafir… So my message to them is simply this: You touch us… We’ll touch you back.’
I could sense that the room was about to overreact again and explode into madness. Khan was counting on it with his whole plastic prophet speech‚ wanting to add another notch to his legacy. But before anyone had a chance to react‚ Shariff‚ a local community worker‚ stood up and‚ much to Khan’s annoyance‚ turned his back to him and addressed the room.
‘Brothers‚ I would just like to say that today I am proud to be a Muslim. The support and unity was evident at the clean-up at the Masjid… And look! Look around you right now. Taking time out of your busy lives to help find a better way. But… This is not it. We must use our heads‚ Brothers‚ and find a peaceful way forward. Violence does not resolve violence.’
‘Oi‚ Gandhi‚ sit the fuck back down‚’ Khan countered‚ but for the first time the dynamic of the room altered. Partly because Khan spoke rudely to a valued member of the community‚ and partly because of what Shariff had said – find a peaceful way forward. People started to fidget in their chairs as silence descended. Shariff turned to face Khan‚ staring at him challengingly. One of The Twins stepped forward with intent but Khan held him back.
‘You make a good point‚ Brother…’ Khan said.
‘Shariff.’
‘Shariff‚ right‚’ Khan said‚ making a mental note. It was clear that Shariff wasn’t going to be on Khan’s Eid card list. ‘We have tried and failed to find a peaceful way forward.’
Shariff snorted. ‘Khan‚ don’t be a fool.’ I swear the whole room took a sharp intake of breath as that word bounced around from ear to ear until it reached Khan and verbally slapped him in the face. ‘There is not a peaceful bone in your body. You came here only because you saw an opportunity. What is it with you? Why are you trying to corrupt our minds with revenge and violence? Is there not enough of that already? Like so many of us‚ you are a husband and you are a father. Think about our families‚ think about how they would cope if something happened to us… to you. And for what? Huh‚ for what? We