Leroy Jerome

A Jamaican mobster and leader of Trench Town Borretorz.

Chapter 1
In 1951, a ruthless hurricane swept Jamaica into an abyss poverty and disaster. The hurricane was branded the name ‘Hurricane Charlie’, but whoever witnessed this storm would know that such a gentle name cannot live up to its ferociousness. One man, whose name is Lionel Watson, had once been a wealthy politician, but like many, the storm had destroyed their lives, careers and dreams. Lionel was forced to take refuge in one of downtown Kingston’s most dangerous government projects, the Trench Town garrison. Violence was a usual occurrence in Trench Town, with disaster came instability, with instability came hunger for stability, and hunger for stability meant hunger for power which created war. Each garrison (turf) had its own political party it’d support in an election, and if someone supported what the other garrison didn’t, it meant war. Violence was so congested in downtown Kingston, that often single road-ways would be the no-man’s-land of Downtown Kingston’s unforgiving battlefield. At night there’d be watchers equipped with AK47s and M16s, some in which not even Jamaican’s army had, for possible ambushes from the rival garrison. This was the life of a typical Downtown Kingston life.

Downtown Kingston

After sinking to bottom of the social ladder and of his career, Lionel decided to give up. He remained unemployed for the next 10 years, living of the charity of the local Methodist church. In 1971, he married Rose Roaper, a maid of an MP. The couple then spent the next year together planning a family, but sticking to their strict Christian background, they decided to wait for marriage. In 1975 they finally married and then Rose conceived in 1977 at the age of 22 and Lionel 56. Their child was to be called Leroy, and by God what a terror he’d cause.

Leroy never went to school as due to his family’s lack of money, he forced himself into a life of drugs and gang culture. By the 1980’s when he was in his childhood, an economic crash plummeted Jamaican into violence and poverty. At this time, the only thing that was selling was drugs imported from Columbia and picture of a gunshot in your enemies head. Leroy caught onto this and by the time he was 17, he’d become the youngest ‘Gully man’ in the history of the Trench Town Borretorz. His job was to traffic the drug-money from the soldiers dealing, and delivering it to the Don, ‘Bunja’, Leroy's best friend. ‘Bunja’ was the most respected guy in the garrison. He protected the residents, and he delivered the gold of the community, cocaine. But then one day, everything changed..

Jamal O'Shane

Bunja : Ay’mon, a’when mi dead’did, mi’wan fi get cra’mated. Leory : *Laughs* Don’be chupid Bunja, you is immar’tal. Only you can be da’don fah’twenti’ud years an’nuh die. Bunja : Tha’tip is pickney, fi’always love ya’- Bunja stares at Leroy extremely frightened, but not afraid. Leroy looks back at Bunja, and then creeps out of the hideout. Leroy then spots a man equipped with an M-16 rifle from within a bush. Leroy : Bunja Ru!-
 * Bob Marley – I shot the sheriff* Plays on the antique radio in Bunja’s hideout
 * BOOM BOOM* From outside the house.
 * Boom* Leroy falls to the floor.

The Hut

Two weeks later, Leroy wakes up in the hospital, with his mother, father, grand-father and grand-mother around him.

“Mummuh’, whar’um? Why am’a ear?” Leroy questions. Rose then begins to place his soft hand upon his forehead, and smiles. “God bless Selassie! Your a’right!” his mother replies. “Mummuh’, tell me whar’um”, Leroy looks around the room, beginning to understand his surroundings. “You was shot, shu’in’a’ya chest, it miss ya’eart by own-ly a whiska’.” Says his mother, but Leroy can see in her face, she is holding something from him. Then he realises what. “Mummuh, wha’appen to Bunja, he gaht’ away right?”, Leroy looks around at his family, expecting a smile, but he is returned by bowed heads. “No! Bunja nuh’dead! No no no!”, Leroy then begins to twist and turn frantically. Water tubes are ripped from his arms. Legs fly. Tears pour. Still no answer. Two hours later, when Leroy had calmed to just minor tears. ‘Mous’ a shotter and also a close friend of Leroy walks into the room. Both do their traditional hand greeting and then Mous hands Leroy a note, and then he leaves. All this without a word. All eyes watch Leroy, and as Leroy opens the letter, he can’t help to think whom it may be from.

Dear Young Leroy.

''Since the time you were born, to the time you are now, I’ve watched you. In no other youte I’ve seen what you’ve got. That’s why I’ve written this, so I know things will keep in check if I ever pass, and I suppose now your reading it, I’ve passed. I don’t want you to run the garrison, I want you to go to Los Santos, and there you will start some business connections. This is a much bigger task, you’ll traffic people in, to do the work on the streets, and keep a good supply.''

Good luck.

Brother love for ever.

Chapter 2
Chapter II

During the 20 years between the 1970s to the 1990s, power of area East Los Santos (ELS) had shifted between the biggest street gangs ever seen in Los Santos, from Los Santos Vagos, Grove Street and most recently The Ballas. For many years, this area had been the criminal capital, heart and heaven; where mafias such as San Fierro Rifas and the Russian Mafia joined in on the fun. Possibly the most successful was The Ballas, who flooded the area with narcotics and were making serious money. They also used this ‘hood’ to launch attacks on Grove Street with sometimes dyer destruction. But as they say, all good things come to an end.

Two weeks after Leroy’s arrival in Los Santos, and after many nights sleeping rough in the underground car-park of East Los Santos, Leroy finally received his money via Western Union. Before he’d left, he had made his mother promise to send him his money his mum had saved for his University fees. It was just about enough to buy himself a room at Jefferson Motel, permanently. But like a stray cub, he felt dragged from his den. Somewhere, even in the god-forsaken times of sleeping rough in the car-park of East Los Santos, he’d made a connection with the area of East Los Santos, where something was there which reminded him of home.

3 Years later, September 1992. Since his arrival, Leroy had built his reputation up slowly but securely. He’d trafficked people into the country on illegal documents in order to join him in the quest to take in some money. For many months, he’d worked closely with ‘The Ballas’, working in their factory and commanding pushers into different legions. Leroy had been clever, instead of joining ‘The Ballas’ and have to take orders, he’d shadowed their winnings, and took his shares. He’d watched the underworld closely, he watched the rise of Grove Street and the Aztecas and he had chosen his cards wisely. After the big-raid of The Ballas’ factory, and ultimately the collapse of the gang, Police interest in the area had increased, and therefore it’d been wise to hold back his illegal activities, which others did. But soon, the police began to draw back, as crime decreased. By 2009, Police impression on the area was a stranger, no-one knew it. The area had returned to its 1990s ghetto but crime stayed low as no-one pushed it. By 2010 Leroy knew it was time, he called home for some more people to be trafficked to work as pushers. He brought his old friends to Los Santos. Then the party started.