by Kurt Ellis
“I don’t know.” Captain gave a wry smile. “I really do love her, so much. And the thought of having a family with her is a beautiful thought. But look at me, bru. I’m a gangster. I’m a killer. I’m a drug dealer. Fuck, my product is probably the one that put Jimmy here. Nobody deserves a father like me. No one.”
“You don’t have to continue with what you’re doing, Captain.”
Captain gave him a meek smile. “I have to play the hand I was dealt, Kyle.”
“No, you don’t, Anthony. Killing people is not a game.”
“Don’t you think I know that, cuz?” Captain spat. Then he sighed. “I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m going to hell for all the shit I’ve done. You know, once you make peace with that, once you know that you are beyond redeeming, then it’s easy to do what needs to be done. I’m doing a lot of shit, I know that. But in the end, I take peace from knowing it’s for the greater good.”
“Greater good?” Kyle felt his anger rising. “Like Jimmy in there, getting his stomach pumped?”
Captain rubbed his forehead and walked to the other side of the waiting room before coming back.
“I wish I could take back what I did to Wesley,” he said. “Cunt that he was, I’d take it back if I could. I hope there is such a thing as karma – I deserve to be punished for what I’ve done. But you know what, Kyle? I will kill a million Wesleys if it meant that that boy in there gets himself out of the sections. I will sell my soul to the fucking devil for that boy to make something of himself.”
“But what about you, Cap? Why don’t you get yourself out?”
Captain smiled. “We all have to play our parts, Kyle. This is mine.”
“Bullshit, Anthony. You’re smarter than you think you are. You are better than this.”
Captain sighed. “Look, I see the world as it is. Our world, the coloured world, trying to survive in a world that looks down on us, and it’s fucked up. I want to change it, but I’m not arrogant enough to believe that I can. But I may just be that arrogant to believe that I can spark the mind of a person who can.”
“That’s nonsense, Anthony. And you fucking know it.”
“Look, I didn’t make this bloody world we live in. I was given it. I do many things that I’m not proud of, but can’t you see that I am the lesser of two evils? I didn’t make these fucking people drug addicts. I don’t make them buy the shit. I don’t advertise and I don’t market nothing. And if I don’t sell it to them, then they’d just go get their fix somewhere else. From some Nigerian, or Pakistani, or some other fucker who would use the money they make to fund the other shit they do. Robberies, murders, prostitution. The Godfathers are involved in none of that. We do none of it. Ours is a victimless crime, bru. We aren’t thieves or pimps. I have a bigger vision for us. A greater good.”
“What vision, Anthony? What kind of damn good can come from this?”
“The vision is to one day go legit, bru. And to be able to have enough money available so I can even offer smart lighties with no crown a bursary to study further, ek sê. Like Jimmy. Or to offer some smart ou or stekkie a loan to start their own business. To live their dreams.”
“And you say I live in a dream world,” Kyle scoffed.
“Fuck you!” Captain said, looking furious. He squared up to his cousin. “It will fucking work.”
“But at what cost?” Kyle stood his ground.
“By any fucking cost necessary. You know that. We all know that.”
“And Jimmy’s life? Is that a price you are willing to pay?”
Captain scowled and shook his head. “That is not right, bru. That is unfair, and you know that.” He turned and paced to the far end of the room.
Kyle searched for something else to say. Something profound that would change Captain’s way of thinking. “Bru, you have no clue how much influence you have on those around you. You can be a voice for good in the ’Nyms, cuz. A positive influence. You talk about potential being wasted all around you, but you’re wasting yours. All the things you mentioned, like being a gangster and drug dealer, can all be changed. You can still become the father that you always wanted. The father we both should’ve had.”
Captain sat back and ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe.” He sighed hard, then smiled. “Come, ek sê. We’re getting too emotional here. Let’s go play a few games of pool. Then we can come back tomorrow and smack that dumb bastard Jimmy for being so dof.”
Part 2: Consequence
31
Wahied was feeling terrible. His mouth was arid and his tongue felt grotesquely swollen. He sat in the booth at Club Zoom and felt a tide of tiredness wash over him. Drown him. He had taken two ecstasy pills earlier in the day, but the moment his high started to subside, he’d begun to feel nauseous and woozy. The flashing lights of the club only added to his feeling of queasiness. He burped and tasted the bite of bile in the back of his throat. It was a warning from his stomach, and Wahied took the threat seriously. He turned to tell German that he was off to the toilet, but German had his tongue in the mouth of a girl he’d met earlier that afternoon. So Wahied squeezed past their devouring mouths and their groping hands and made his way around the dance floor. The people were beginning to thin out, but it was the false lull that occurred in the late afternoon every Saturday at Zoom. The crowd would start growing again between the hours of nine and ten.
Stumbling slightly, he made his way down the passage and into the same toilet that Jimmy had almost overdosed in. Jimmy overdosing – if Wahied had not been there to see it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed it. Trudging over to the dirty basin, he opened the tap and sucked in as much cold water as his stomach could take. It felt refreshing, flowing down his gullet. Suppressing the urge to regurgitate, he cupped his hands and washed his face with the cold water. He did it twice more. The water was cool on his skin and ran down the tip of his nose. And he began to feel much, much better.
When Wahied straightened again to look at himself in the mirror, he saw Tyson behind him. Tyson grabbed a handful of his hair and drove his face into the looking glass. It shattered against his skull.
Wahied felt a numbness mask his face. That deceptive lack of pain that he always experienced a few seconds immediately after he’d got hurt. He couldn’t feel the cuts, but he could feel the blood meander down his numbed forehead. He slumped to the floor, dazed. But he was not left there long before he was hoisted back to his feet by two of Tyson’s cronies.
“What kind, Wahied?” Tyson greeted him with a casual smile. “Long time no see, ek sê.”
Still confused, Wahied tried to wipe his face, but Tyson’s two companions restrained his arms firmly. His nose was clogged up and he struggled to breathe, so he blew it, hard. Blood and mucus splattered his T-shirt, like a spray of red paint.
Tyson winced. “Hey, bru! That is fuckin’ disgusting, ek sê.”
“What the fuck do you think you doing, Tyson?” Wahied blurted.
“What do you think I’m doing, lightie?”
Wahied’s eyes widened with panic as he struggled against those holding him. “You can’t do this, bru. Lazarus said you can’t. Lazarus said –”
“Sssshhhh,” Tyson interrupted. “Lazarus is well aware of what’s going on here, lightie.” He sauntered closer to Wahied and pulled out a blue-and-white bandana from his back pocket and wiped his hands. “Did you lighties really think you would still be running things when I got out?” He sniggered. “Come on, ek sê. I’ve been waiting very long to do this. Ever since I walked out of that fucking Westville prison, I wanted my shit back. The shit your boy Captain took from me. Then your boy Captain goes and stabs my cousin Wesley. Tsk, tsk. Not fucking smart. Look, I barely knew the skybird, but hey – family is family, right? A dead cousin is all the reason I need. And besides, who am I to turn down a gift like this from Captain?” Tyson smiled and stretched his back. “Now it’s time for me to become the top dog again, bru.”
Movement made Wahied’s eyes dart over Tyson’s
shoulder. The bathroom door creaked open and Spider put his head around the corner.
“Spider!” Wahied called, hugely relieved. “Fucking help me, ek sê!”
Spider’s hand gripped nervously at a small silver handgun. Tyson turned to him, and smiled, as the grim-faced second-in-charge of the Godfathers walked in.
“I thought you got scared and chickened out,” Tyson said.
“I don’t get scared,” Spider snarled.
Tyson laughed. “That’s good to know. Well, what are you waiting for? Take care of him.”
Wahied’s eyes grew large with panic as he struggled more frantically to free himself. “What the fuck are you doing, bru?” he said to Spider.
Spider raised his gun. “Whatever I need to do,” he said. “As Captain always says: by any means necessary. I’m tired of being his number two. Of having to give away my money, my hard-earned cash that could be in my own pocket. Instead, we must donate a share of our crown to his fucking noble causes. Now he has us making desks and shit. What the fuck, Wahied? Come, ek sê. It’s bullshit, and you know it. But no more, bru. No more. I’m getting my full share. My full worth. Nothing personal though, hey.” He began to apply pressure on the trigger. “I take over the Godfathers and we enter into a deal with the NBKs and Lazarus. And not only drugs, ek sê. Larazus doesn’t want to move product in Jozi, but he wants to move cabs over the border. And so do I. Under me, the Godfathers and the NBKs will become one again. There’s more than enough cash here to go around. Just not enough for you and a few of the other ous. I’m sorry, outie.” The hammer of the pistol threatened to snap forward.
“Wait!” Tyson ordered. “You can’t shoot him. Too much noise. Use this.” He held out a butterfly to Spider.
Spider looked at the pocket knife with its long, thin, gleaming blade, an expression of fear and anxiety etched on his face.
“Take it!” Tyson hissed as he pushed it forward.
Spider wrapped his skinny fingers tentatively around the handle.
“Spider, you fuck!” Wahied shouted. “You can’t dulla me like this. We are brus, ek sê. You can’t … HELP! HELP!!” Wahied screamed at the top of his lungs, praying for another person to peer around that door.
Tyson hurried behind Wahied and wrapped the bandana around his neck. He yanked back hard and choked the words from him. Wahied could not find the air to breathe and he could feel his head throb with restricted blood. Tyson was much taller than him, so when he leaned back, Wahied’s feet dangled off the floor, and he began to kick wildly.
“Do it!” Tyson ordered.
Spider stepped forward towards Wahied and looked into the red, pleading eyes of his friend. The blade rammed into Wahied’s stomach. Then again in his chest. Wahied’s screams were muffled by lack of air as Spider stabbed him again, and again, and again. The sound of the blade hitting bone and slashing through flesh brought a smile to Tyson’s face.
32
German’s legs pumped like pistons as he sprinted down West Street. His chest burnt like hot coals with every inhalation of oxygen. His right hand was stinging and his knuckles dripped blood. Did they really believe that he wouldn’t put up a fight? That he’d just roll over and take it? Of course he’d fight back. He was a Godfather.
German had left the club after he’d searched all over for Wahied. He had assumed he’d gone to the hospital to check on Captain and Jimmy, which he himself had planned to do, but his plans had changed. He’d been in the zone that day. That afternoon, he had kissed two girls before he even met Sabrina. Within an hour of meeting her, his hand had been down her pants in the corner of the nightclub. She was from Mitchells Plain in Cape Town and she had come to Durban for a holiday with her cool 29-year-old Aunt Carmel who lived in a flat on Marina Beach. Big Earl had her Aunt Carmel twisted like a pretzel in the back of her car, so German took Sabrina back to her flat where he took her in every position he could. Or rather, she took him. She was insatiable. He would have stayed a lot longer, except her aunt’s husband had come home. So German had taken her number with the intention of getting as much sex from her as possible before she went back to the Western Cape.
It was during his walk back to the taxi rank that he was confronted by Tyson and his crew. They cornered him against the wall of a clothing store on Market Street, but with wild punches he managed to beat a hole into their ranks. An escape hatch in the circle of assailants that he rushed through. And he ran. He ran as if his life depended on it, because it did. He could still hear their footsteps behind him, stomping on the tar as they chased him down the quiet, wet streets.
German took a sharp corner into a side alley and hid behind a large dumpster. He was exhausted and suffered for air, but he held his breath. He feared they would hear him rasping and find his hiding place. To his relief, he heard their footsteps get louder, then gradually get softer as they ran past the alley.
He gasped out loud once he thought he was safe and got to his feet. He put his hands on his haunches and sucked in as much cold, refreshing air as he could. When his heartbeat had slowed, he smiled a smile of relief. His hands slapped his chest, torso and sides, searching for wounds or the telltale pain of being badly hurt. Apart from a sore ankle, he felt perfectly fine. No injuries. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. It was then that he noticed his hands. Bloodied and shaking. He forced himself to chuckle. A chuckle intended to dismiss as a joke the terror he felt. He patted himself again, this time looking for his lighter. He could not wait to get back to Sydenham and tell the guys that Tyson’s boys had made a move on him. That they had tried to dulla him. And that he had stood his ground.
He decided to take a longer route back to the Workshop Shopping Centre and the Sydenham taxi rank. And he cursed Lester and Wahied for leaving him behind. Then himself for not travelling in his own car.
He had the cigarette gripped between his teeth as he flicked the lighter and sparks flew, searching for fuel to feed the flame. It was while he was crossing the black tarred road that the lighter finally produced a flame. He touched it to the tip of his cigarette and did not see as a Nissan Sentra came charging towards him from behind. He began to turn when he heard the roar of the engine. It was only a few metres away by then. The vehicle cracked into his knees from the side and his head slammed into the windscreen as he tumbled over the top. His body bounced on the cement. The car skidded to a halt and the last thing German saw was the red brake lights switch off and the white reverse lights switch on.
33
The raindrops in Sydenham that evening freckled the glass of her window. Amia stared through the transparent pane to the top of the wet road. The spot where Kyle always turned around when he was leaving to blow her a kiss. He had telephoned her earlier to let her know of Jimmy’s condition and that he would not be coming over that evening, but she still hoped to see him lope over that hill. She loved to watch him come over that hill. He was mostly unaware of her watching eyes, and like a conservationist watching a wild beast in its habitat, she learnt so much about him. She would watch his mouth moving as he sang to himself when he was in a good mood, or how he frowned when he was in a bad one. She loved to watch him when he left as well. He always had a huge smile on his face when he left. And when he stopped at the top of the hill and looked back. He always stopped at the top of the hill and looked back. And he always seemed to capture her longing eyes, and give her a smile to caress her heart.
“What are you looking at, sexy?” Amia was startled and then disgusted to see Barry outside her door.
“None of your damn business,” she replied curtly.
Barry had his hand extension with him, a glass of liquor. Amia could see by his glazed expression that he was drunker than usual. He smiled that cocky smile of his, his yellow teeth an advertisement for poor oral hygiene. Amia walked away from her window and slammed the door shut in his hideous, grinning face. She turned to go and sit on her chair again, when she heard the click of him opening the door.
“You, my dear g
irl, need to learn how to respect your elders.” With a grotesque grin, Barry stepped through the open door and into her room.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Amia spoke loudly and forcefully.
He placed his glass on her nightstand and looked at her with those bloodshot eyes. Savage eyes which were crawling up and down her body. “My, my, my. You are a sexy little thing, aren’t you?” He licked his cracked lips with his pink tongue. Horror engulfed her.
“Where’s my mother?”
“She’s sleeping. The bitch can’t handle her dop any more. I think it’s time I traded her in for a younger, sexier model, hey? What do you think?” He walked slowly towards her, and she involuntarily took a step back. “Come here, sexy,” he said. “I have something nice to tell you. Let me whisper it in your mouth.”
Amia felt her back press against the cold bedroom wall. “Get the fuck out of here!” she said, before screaming out, “Ma!”
“Shhh.” He put a finger to his lips. “There’s no need for all of that.” He lunged forward without warning and grabbed her roughly against his stinking body.
“Let me go! LET ME GO!” she screamed as loud as she could as she tried to wriggle free from his grasp. But he held on tight. He grabbed her cheeks with one hand and tried to steady her face. He attempted to kiss her with those hard, chapped lips and reeking mouth. She felt nausea overwhelm her. She battled and struggled to free herself, but she could not get out of his grasp.
Fighting her revulsion, she did the only thing she could think of: she took his bottom lip in her mouth and she bit. She bit as hard as she could and he screamed as he tried to push her away. The blood acted as a lubricant and he managed to free himself, his swollen lip now shining red.
“You fucking bitch!” he screamed at her.
He threw her onto her bed and pinned her down with his body. His hands grabbed roughly at her breasts through her top. She screamed and kicked and scratched at him. He let go of her breasts and restrained her by the wrists. She fought against his hands, but she could not free herself. His mouth again came searching for hers, but she twisted her head left and then right to avoid those disgusting lips that were dripping blood on her cheeks. Then it dawned on her. It had finally occurred to her what was actually happening. He was trying to rape her.
