By Any Means

by Kurt Ellis

  Before Amia could answer, and in a second of insane bravery, Kyle chipped in. “I can walk you home … if you like.”

  Amia laughed. “But I hardly know you. You could be some kind of a serial killer.”

  “Only on weekdays. I take the weekends off. So you’re safe with me,” Kyle smiled. “But seriously: you can’t walk home by yourself, and I would be happy to … escort you.”

  Amia gave Paula a questioning look. Paula nodded and turned to Kyle. “You’re Captain’s cousin, right?”

  Kyle nodded. “Yup.”

  “If you kidnap my friend, I will fuck you up.”

  “And what if your friend kidnaps me?”

  “Yeah, right. You wish you were that lucky.”

  11

  Kyle and Amia said their goodbyes to Paula and began their walk to Sherwood. Amia was spending the weekend at her friend’s home in the leafy neighbouring suburb. As they strolled, he joked and she laughed. They chatted about anything and everything. The topic somehow turned to books and reading.

  “I love to read,” Kyle said.

  “Don’t lie,” she sniggered. “Coloured guys don’t read.”

  “I’m serious. I love books.”

  “Which ones?”

  “I read all kinds, like Jeffery Deaver, Stephen King … Paulo Coelho is great too. But the truth is, I love the old English writers, like Shakespeare and Marlowe.”

  Amia laughed out loud. “You like Shakespeare?”

  “Of course I do. I think the way he wrote is absolutely beautiful. They don’t write like that any more. I wish people would talk like that now.”

  Amia smiled. The streets of Sherwood were quiet, and the large trees that lined their route cast dark shadows over them.

  “Me too,” she finally said. “I must admit, I thought Romeo and Juliet was particularly romantic. Especially that part about lips doing what pilgrims’ hands do … or something like that.”

  Kyle stopped in his tracks, his mouth agape. “Are you serious?” He laughed. “How do you know that line?”

  Amia laughed too. “We studied it last year. I actually really liked it. I just wish you guys could be that poetic. Instead, you’ll come with throw-up lines, like ‘Your father is a thief, because he stole the stars and put them in your eyes.’” She giggled. “Or ‘There’s a phone call for you, it’s your boyfriend.’”

  Kyle blushed and his mind raced. Should I do it? he wondered. I could, and it might impress her … Or she might think it’s corny and I’m just a nerd. Could I be so bold?

  You miss a hundred per cent of the shots you don’t take …

  He reached out and gently took her by the arm, turning her to face him. He stared into those beautiful, smoky brown eyes of hers. With a deep breath, and in the clearest voice he could manage, he quoted: “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear – Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows as yonder lady o’er her fellows shows. The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand, and, touching hers” – Kyle gently slid his fingers down from her forearm and took her hand in his – “make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight; for I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”

  They stood there in silence and Kyle thought that this would be the perfect moment to taste her lips. That is exactly what a smooth guy would do, but his courage had abandoned him. Instead he gazed at the astonishment in her eyes, until she smiled and cocked her head slightly to the side, the way she always did when she smiled that intoxicating smile of hers.

  “Are you trying to charm me, Mr Kyle Shakespeare?”

  “Depends.” He smiled. “Is it working?”

  “Maybe.”

  Maybe. They continued their walk.

  “I must say, that was beautiful. And you memorised it?”

  Kyle shrugged, but he could see she was blushing slightly as she swept another curling strand of black hair from her face.

  “I told you I like that stuff. I even write that kind of stuff. Or at least I try to.”

  “You write?”

  “Again, I try.” Kyle blushed. “If soccer doesn’t pan out for me, I hope to be a writer one day. Maybe revive the classic Petrarchan love tradition.”

  “The what?”

  Kyle smiled, and explained that his grandfather had many Shakespearean works and study guides that Kyle had claimed as his own. That is how he had learnt the term.

  “Well, I think it’s beautiful,” she said. “And you can speak like that to me any time you like.”

  They stopped outside the large grey gate that opened into Paula’s yard. With nervous smiles, they said their goodbyes. And with fear and hope wrestling in his throat, Kyle took his shot. “Do you think I could give you a call tomorrow?”

  She smiled a sly little smile. “You can try, but it may be tough, considering you don’t have my number.”

  Kyle grinned nervously. Was she telling him that she was interested or that she wasn’t going to give him her phone number?

  A heavy silence hung in the air, casting shadows on his bravado bigger than those of the yellowwood trees around them. Finally she asked, “Do you have your phone with you?”

  He almost coughed with relief. “I do.” He pulled it from his pocket. To his horror, the battery of the thing, which he’d bought secondhand, had died. “That’s okay,” he said. “I guarantee you, I’ll remember it.”

  She smiled. “Okay. We’ll see. 2-0-8-0-1-8-9. That’s Paula’s number. And if you can remember it, then call me tomorrow.”

  She gave him a hug and his knees trembled at feeling her body touching his. He watched her disappear into the house, then turned and sprinted down the road. His body was humming with bliss.

  “2-0-8-0-1-8-9!” he sang the number out loud.

  12

  The party was growing louder as the minutes went by. People were getting rowdier and more boisterous with every drop. The Godfathers had relocated to the street and were congregated around the Toyota. Captain put the bottle to his lips and savoured the crisp bite of beer in his throat.

  “I’m chooning you, ek sê,” he said to Spider and burped. “The snow is gonna make us rich. No more selling only the cheap shit. The witous smaak the powder, and they are the ous with the big bucks.”

  Spider shrugged. “The ous in Jozies have bigger bucks, Captain. This Joburg move could set us up for life.”

  Captain grimaced. “I know, I know. You are preaching to the choir. But it’s not my call, it’s Lazarus’s.”

  “Talk to him, Captain. You can convince him.”

  Captain took another sip of the beer and passed it on to Lester. “I’ll try, ek sê.”

  A rolled-up marijuana cigarette was offered to him. Captain put it to his lips and pulled on it, hard. He felt the heat spread in his lungs, touching every corner of his chest, before he exhaled. A flash of blue lights on his right caught his attention. The white van with blue and yellow lines had somehow managed to sneak up behind them and was parked across the road. The word “Police” was written on the bonnet and on the door, and two uniformed officers in the front glared out at the Godfathers.

  Captain smiled and flicked his head at them as if to say, “Wassup?” The van idled for a few more seconds, then moved off.

  Captain pulled at the cannabis again as he watched the van disappear around the corner.

  There was a tap on his shoulder. “Who’s that?” Bruge asked.

  Captain followed Bruge’s eyes to a guy standing and talking to a group of people at the corner of the house, by the driveway of the property. The guy was wearing a thick black-and-orange American football-style jacket with a horse’s head on the back, as well as a matching beanie on his head.

  Captain and the Godfathers had no interest in interfering with strangers just for entering their turf. It made no sense to them, and it hindered business. But this stranger seemed shifty. His
eyes were constantly darting over his shoulder, as if he expected somebody to come up to him. His face was damp with sweat, yet he did not take his heavy coat off. And Captain could think of only one reason a person would do that.

  It was then that the stranger made the deal. His hand snatched the R100 note from one of the boys in the group and slipped it in his pocket. In one smooth motion, his other hand darted out from his other pocket and handed the purchaser a packet of what looked like pills of some sort. Probably ecstasy.

  Captain dropped the marijuana cigarette on the ground and ground it into the tar. He sauntered down the stairs with Bruge and a few other Godfathers in tow.

  When the group that surrounded the drug dealer saw the Godfathers approaching, they evaporated. Confused and suddenly alone, the stranger turned around to look into the whites of Captain’s eyes.

  Captain smiled. “Howzit, ek sê.”

  The dealer responded with a flick of the head. His eyes flitted with nerves and he took a step back.

  “Relax, bru. I’m just looking to choon. Where are you from?”

  “Port Shepstone.”

  “Your name?”

  “Craig.”

  Captain nodded. “Aight. I’m Captain. So I guess you are new here?”

  The stranger nodded.

  “Then clearly you don’t know. But you can’t just come here and sell your product, bru.”

  “Why not?” Craig furrowed his brow and puffed out his chest.

  Captain let the smile slip from his lips. “Because this is our market. We sell here, ek sê. Where do you get your supply from?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Captain’s right fist shot out and cracked the stranger on his cheek. The guy stumbled back and crashed into the earth. His eyes widened with surprised, then narrowed with anger. His feet scrabbled against the dirt as he scrambled back to his feet. His right hand shot behind his back and he pulled out a pistol.

  Captain had expected him to be armed. Why else would he be wearing such a heavy jacket, but to hide a gun? The black eye of the weapon was pointed right at Captain’s forehead.

  There was a medley of sounds from behind Captain. Metal on metal clicking in unison, like steel thunder. All the Godfathers behind Captain had withdrawn their guns and cocked them.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Captain said calmly.

  Craig’s eyes darted from Captain to the number of barrels that were pointed at him.

  “Be smart, ek sê,” Captain said. “Put it away, Craig, or this won’t end well for you.”

  Craig hesitated, and then, as if the gun in his hand had suddenly got heavier, it began to lower.

  Captain took a step closer to him. “Look, I don’t have a problem with you wanting to sell your product here. Get rich and be happy is what I say. But you will get your product from us from now on. And trust me, with our prices, you will probably be coining much more than what you are at the moment. And if you don’t …” Captain shrugged. “Then I guess you will just have to learn to live with it. Understand?”

  Craig did not respond, so Captain continued, “I suggest you waai, ek sê, and think about my offer.”

  Craig licked his lips nervously, then slid the pistol back into the back of his pants and left.

  13

  His alarm shrilled to wake him. Captain’s head was throbbing and he was exceedingly nauseous. The stink of beer and dagga clung to him and made him feel even more queasy. He squinted at his watch – it was ten o’clock. Gingerly, he eased his head off the pillow. It felt as if it had swelled to a few sizes bigger. Sitting up straight in bed, he fought the urge to rest his pounding skull back down. He had a meeting with Lazarus and Tyson within the hour, so with all the strength and fortitude he could summon, he pushed himself out of bed.

  He noticed that Kyle had already left for soccer practice. As dedicated as always. He wondered how last night had ended between Kyle and Amia. When he’d come home in the early hours of the morning, his cousin was already fast asleep – with a huge, moronic grin on his face. He would have to wait for Kyle to come back from practice to fill him in on all the details.

  Captain fetched the large pot for his bath water. He hoped that Kyle had gotten a positive response from Amia. Lord knows, he deserved it. He himself, though, had to turn his thoughts to other, more pressing matters. He had a meeting with Tyson and Lazarus in a few minutes and he could not walk in there tired and hungover.

  After his water had boiled on the stove, he had a quick bath, then swallowed four headache tablets. He made himself a jam-and-peanut-butter sandwich and a cup of tea. Before he left, he pulled out his wallet and left a R100 note on the kitchen table for his mother. She could buy bread, milk, cigarettes and a box of wine for herself.

  Saturday morning sunlight was always brighter and whiter than that of any other day to Captain. Squinting, he hurried over to his car, got in behind the wheel and turned his key in the ignition. The upholstery reeked of spilt beer. He’d have to clean it before he picked up Nazneen that afternoon. She wouldn’t like the smell. He slipped a CD into his frontloader and found the track he was looking for. Tupac’s “Starin’ through my rear view”. He turned his stereo on max and rapped along: “Now I was raised as a young black male/ In order to get paid, forced to make crack sales/ Caught a nigga so they send me to these overpacked jails/ In the cell, countin days in this livin black Hell, do you feel me …” He eased his car onto the road.

  The drive itself was short. Lazarus’s impressive mansion was no more than a ten-minute journey away, even if you were caught at every traffic light en route. Captain pulled up to the gates and turned the music down. He reached out of the window and pressed the buzzer. The great wooden doors, like the gates of a mediaeval castle, slowly creaked open and Captain eased into the driveway. He parked his car between a Land Rover and the BMW 325i from the deal on the beach with José. He looked at these vehicles and thought to himself: One day, Captain. One day you will have all of this.

  The house itself was completely out of place for Sydenham. It was a massive structure. Six bedrooms, double garage and a pool in the back yard. It was gorgeous, yet a little scary. It loomed over Captain and sent a shiver down his spine. He quickly dismissed this feeling of foreboding and climbed the four tiled stairs leading to the front door. He knocked, wondering what the meeting would be about. Would Lazarus tell him he didn’t want to work with him any more? Was he going to say he wanted to give the business to Tyson and the Natural Born Killers again? Impossible. Lazarus was no idiot. He had to know that if he gave the NBKs and Tyson the work, he would be making a huge mistake. Captain and his crew had made him a lot of money since Tyson was jailed. There was no way Lazarus would want that to end.

  The door opened and Captain greeted Kim, his ex-girlfriend and Lazarus’s daughter. Short and plump yet pretty, she inspected him from top to toe with disgust, then rolled her eyes and walked off without greeting. Captain smiled. Kim hadn’t talked to him since he’d dumped her for Nazneen over two years ago. But he didn’t care. She had actually cheated on him before he’d even asked Nazneen out. Cheated on him with Wesley, of all people. So it was no skin off his nose whether she greeted him or not. Good riddance, actually.

  He walked down the entrance hall and turned into the sitting room. The room was huge. White Italian tiles shone on the floor and he could smell fresh upholstery cleaner from the peach lounge suite. A large flatscreen TV was mounted on the wall – the biggest television he had ever seen – and three men sat on the peach couches watching the Super 12 Rugby match between the Natal Sharks and some or other New Zealand or Australian team.

  Lazarus saw him and smiled that crooked smile of his as he got to his feet. It was at that moment that Captain had another thought. There was the slight possibility that Lazarus didn’t just want to talk. That this was a hit, and Lazarus was about to kill him. He racked his brain, trying to think of any reason that his life might be in danger, but he could find none.
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  Lazarus, short and skinny, walked up to Captain and stretched out his hand. Captain took it and shook it as firmly as possible. Partly to show his strength, but mostly to keep his own hand from shaking. Lazarus’s sharp, rat-like features were distorted by a grin. He always had a smile on his face.

  “Come on in, Tony. We’re just watching the game. You want a beer?”

  The last thing Captain wanted was more alcohol, but he said yes anyway. As Lazarus walked off to the kitchen to get another glass, Tyson got to his feet and walked over to him. The first thing Captain noticed was the number “26” tattooed on his cheek. The second was that Tyson looked more muscular than he had before he’d gone into prison.

  Tyson smiled, two gold slits in his mouth, and stretched his arms out wide, as if he was welcoming back an old friend. Technically, they were old friends. “Captain, my boy!” he exclaimed and grabbed Captain in a rough hug, grinding Captain’s face into his hard chest. It was more of a headlock than a gesture of affection.

  Captain instantly felt afraid. He could not help but shudder. But then, just as quickly as it had sprouted, he killed the fear.

  “Hey, Tyson. How you doing, bru?” Captain pulled his face away. He raised his gaze to look at Tyson with belligerence glittering in his eyes but a smile on his face.

  “I’m good, bud,” Tyson said. “Just feels fucking good to be out. Pull up a chair. Have a seat.” Tyson spoke as if he owned the house, and that made Captain uneasy. Why is Tyson feeling so comfortable? he thought. What does he know about today that I don’t?

  Captain sat down on the double couch next to the third man in the room. Neville Coles, Lazarus’s bodyguard. It was actually Sergeant Coles, or some other rank like that, if he had to be technical. He was a policeman who worked at Sydenham police station, but who also moonlighted for Lazarus. Coles was one of many policemen in the drug lord’s employ. They provided Lazarus with information, and impounded guns and confiscated drugs for him when his supply was late. And to keep Lazarus and his associates out of the grasp of the law, they also overlooked a lot of what happened in Sydenham.