Kendi Estate heaved with fretting residents, who pinpricked the plaza with glaring phone screens. Sermon had pulled himself onto the central plinth, standing where the old statue once fell, to take control of the crowd. After much effort, Jason lifted his heavy frame over the concrete edge too, wielding an angry fist at his rival male.
“This is supposed to be what you’re good at, ain’t it bruv? Why don’t you get the Reds on it like last time?”
The crowd backed Jason with a chorus of praise. Sermon stomped down.
“You muppets don’t understand the world at all, do ya!? You don’t just call up the Reds up and get soldiers delivered to your door. They’re not a fuckin’ pizzeria!”
“Well why else are they 'ere!? Ain’t they supposed to be helpin’ us citizens?”
“With what, your rent!?” They already risked their lives to help us and still none of you bothered to join up! Now shit hits the fan again and you suddenly remember who they are!? Bollocks! You lazy fuckin' gypos, look after yourselves for once!”
“What about your mates in the Panthers then?!” a voice called from the surrounding audience. Sermon clutched at his heart and howled with defeat.
Kasia dipped into the crowd, found her neighbour, and asked what was going on. Imany tutted.
“Some shit about the landlord puttin' our service charge up. Apparently what we already pay won't cover the damage those vagrants did and there’s a deficit.”
Kasia tensed, “do I wanna know how much it is?”
“Three thousand.”
“For the period?”
“Per month, for the period.”
There it was. The next upper class punch to the stomach. News Kasia always anticipated but could never prepare for. Her every financial burden struck her at once, as another parasitic cash grab forced its way in from above. Another unfair and unavoidable truth of inequality.
How would she manage? The things she could give up had gone; the things she could take on, taken. Riese payed her £25000 per month - minimum wage, earning her envious scorn from the majority on zero hours. But once debts and bills hacked at her bank balance, no freedom remained. She had nothing more to give. All she could think to do now was shake her head vigorously.
“They can’t do that. They won’t be able to justify it.”
“They already have,” Imany crossed her arms and watched the men argue pointlessly on the plinth above, “they said that because we fought back, we 'provoked' the vagrants to do more damage than they otherwise would have, and the liability's on us. To be reviewed in January, with all due considerations made.”
“I can’t… I'm living on a razor's edge Imany… most of these guys are on less… we can’t even afford heating…” she continued muttering, trying to form a workable excuse. Imany gripped Kasia's bicep and gave it a small tug.
“I know luvvie. We’ll find a way to fight back. We need to get all the info together in one place, after these prats tire themselves out.”
One of the residents pointed up at Jason.
“It was you and Sermon what riled them vagrants up in the first place, why're we ‘avin to pay for it!? You should cover it!”
“How dare you!” Jason shoved his way in front of Sermon and boomed over the crowd, “we were fightin’ off a hundred pikeys to defend your homes! Where were you!?”
“Someone should share it online and do a petition!” an anonymous voice called out, meeting vocal approval from the crowd but no volunteers. A second voice shouted over everyone.
“We should all refuse as one! Together! The landlord can’t do us all! We need to come together and show solidarity, now more than ever!”
Once solidarity was mentioned the crowd groaned, immune to the platitude after a lifetime of hearing it. Imany rubbed her brow and smirked.
“We can’t refuse anyway. They don't need our permission to charge our bank accounts.”
The chatter died. Everyone dived into their devices to confirm if Imany was right. Phones crinkled with furious typing. A single, shy voice rose, testing itself.
“Whatever you lot do, I’m not paying it...”
A few locals took a moment to scoff before returning to their phones. Kasia carried on.
“We fought and defeated the biggest vagrant gang in London, twice! And in return we get a bill for something we already have a bill for? I’m not paying it, I can’t, and you shouldn’t. And I know it will work, because if it didn’t, it wouldn't be illegal.”
“We’re all upset darlin’,” Chanel offered Kasia a sympathetic frown, “Ah dunno ‘ow ahm gonna afford it naiva, but we can’t kick off wiv’ service charge, they’ll ‘ave you on the streets – think of your daughter!”
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The crowd mumbled with agreement, brushing aside this silly girl’s resistance. Kasia would have stopped, if she hadn’t seen Jason and Sermon watching from above, expecting her to continue.
“We keep trying to do things the proper way and it never works! Isn’t there a point where we have to say we're not obeying the rules any more!? As if the people up top don't!? You reckon Ali Hogarth respects the law!? How many politicians have you seen get away with a hundred times worse than what any of us have done!?”
Someone raised their phone with an excited cry. The advocate of solidarity had started a petition challenging the uplift, and had received their first a pledge of support - a name and an email opting in for future updates. The crowd turned its back on Kasia. She stepped outside of it, humiliated. Sermon hopped off the plinth, flagged her down, and beckoned her away.
The top floor flats were bigger and pricier than those underneath. Sermon’s had a separate bedroom, half occupied with a caravan mattress along the floor. Next to it, a slatted and padlocked crate full of illicit produce - cigarettes and vapes, baggies of weed, and knock-off electronic components.
Unlike Kasia's partitioned wash corner, he had an actual bathroom, complete with a shower cubicle running hot water. His lounge he had flanked with a faux-leather sofa and a wall-length TV. Pan-Africana merchandise adorned every wall, and there was a lone hook by the door to hang whichever hat he wasn’t wearing - currently his beret.
He let Kasia in and gave her a catty hiss in honour of her new attitude. Kasia swatted him away with a childlike, giggling protest, and threw herself onto the sofa, spreading out over the rare luxury.
“I need to come and use this sofa more often,” she poked at the cracks in the fake leather and smiled, “so if the banks won’t let us refuse the charge, we gotta have a chat with the letting agent ourselves.”
“Yea...” Sermon perched on the TV stand and rested his chin on his hands, “give ‘em a little nudge towards waivin’ the fee.”
“Do you reckon Ali's pro-Red?”
“Doubt it. Landlords are prime Blue material. Wouldn’t want any change, would they?” he produced his phone, “I’ll give Luca a bell.”
“I bet you would. But we can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“It’ll make us look bad, leaning on them to help us with our personal lives. Imagine if we handled it on our own and then told him! It’d make us look well good.”
Sermon faltered. Scenarios played in his head.
“And if it goes to shit?”
“I’m not saying I’m gonna stick a knife in her! We’ll keep it clean,” Kasia pulled herself up, “come on Panther-man, we saved Joey from two hundred pikeys!”
“Yea, then he got stabbed to death in an attack we are payin’ the bill for!”
“I know! But... would he have done any better if we’d left him underground?”
“Alright alright!” Sermon pinched his brow, “let’s look up Plasticky Hogarth and see what we find. We don’t commit to anythin' unless the data says we got a chance, yea?”
Kasia agreed. They pecked at their devices. Finding anything on the letting agent page was impossible, with one obscure FAQ leading them anywhere but a contact form. Sermon whined that the ordeal was ‘Kafkask’, which Kasia didn’t understand, but she recalled a similar word being used to describe her employers.
They tried locating their landlord directly, their advantage with Ali Hogarth being a single-headed hydra. Even so, finding a profile on mainstream social media was futile.
Kasia puckered her lips. This was hard, but in trawling the social clouds she was on home turf. She tried a final trick. Sermon, however, had run out patience. He threw himself back and flipped his hands in the air.
“Nah nah it’ll be impossible to get to her. All her goons will get in the way anyway. Nah.”
His phone pinged. Kasia covered her grin with her hand. He swiped the message and looked up at her.
“It’s from you…”
“Yea I know mate, I sent it.”
He showed her the phone screen.
“It’s the landlords address Kash!”
“I know Sermon! I sent it!” Kasia saw something else and jumped forward, “oh my god you’ve been messaging Luca! Show me!”
“Nah!” Sermon held his phone behind him and rolled away. Kasia glimpsed his last message: ‘ye ye wicked’, and two thumb-up emojis.
“Yea yea wicked?” she pulled a horrified face and held her thumbs up.
“Leave it out sista I was bare anxious!”
“You’ve swapped numbers with Luca then. You better not get promoted over me. I already lost out to a dick-sucking coworker at my last job...”
“I’m just a bit jealous of you and Varma izzit!”
Kasia tried to look ambivalent and scratched the side of her face. Sermon saw through her and burst into laughs.
“Oh Matron would you look at the state of her! Will she keep her captain’s helmet polished!? Will she fire his cannon on parade day!?”
“Oi piss off Sermon!” Kasia leapt up to defend herself, “I’m only awkward 'cause you’re staring me out!”
“I’d believe it if you weren’t goin’ so pink! Jesus Christ!” he pinned himself against the wall and threw his hand against his forehead, “Ohh barja dobja Cahpteen, cover me een boot polish ahnd leeck eet off me curva maj Cahpteen!”
“Lucah bruv, ah know we gotta faight a war yea, but laihk, you make me feel bare wicked yea you get me yea iss sick bruv yea?” Kasia scowled and hid behind her phone, “anyway with all that boot polish on I’d still be less black than you. Ciotka! Help me find this bitch landlord then.”
She fell back into the sofa and busied herself on her device. Sermon loaded a street view of the address.
“Great she's in Islington. How we gonna get in?” he zoomed out to an overhead view. Islington was a gated zone, walled off and dotted with police towers daring the poor to look past them. Any good behaviour, let alone bad, would be archived online for all of time. He put a red pin on the house.
“We’ll need to go in smart right? A couple of us in a believable ride. If we found a gig-driver...” he paced around, “if we get a car from a depot, and drop it off before morning, we won’t need to order one from an app. Less evidence you see?”
“Can you drive one?”
“Not well enough to risk it.”
“We could ask Zenia or Curtis?”
“Thought you wanted to keep this one Red-free?” Sermon sniffed, “I reckon Jason would do it.”
“I dunno if I wanna trust a fat angry guy who could fix shit, but always finds a reason not to.”
“What’s the problem? All he’ll need to do is drive a car no one’s askin’ him to turn it into wine. Besides once we get there he can stay at the wheel and leave the gaslightin’ to us.”
“And the car?”
“He’s a mechanic ain’t he? We’ll go through his contacts.”
“Yea but he does drones, and I’m not flying into Islington stood on one of them.”
“But! He’s an ex-union man. Proper fought back when that old Reform party banned them. I’ll bet you he knows some old gig-drivers still in the game,” Sermon pinched his lips, “I'm just wonderin’ if we could do it the three of us, or…”
They thought it at the same time. Kasia held her thumbs up.
“Wicked.”