Incredible Journey
Page 1
Incredible journey
By
R P Bezuidenhout
Published by
R P Bezuidenhout
Copyright 2015 R P Bezuidenhout
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Incredible journey
It is dark and apart from the noise in my right ear and a dull thud at the crook of my neck, I feel at peace.
The sharp pain under my left ear brings me flashing back into a world overexposed by the harsh South African early summer sun. “Give me your wallet and your cell!” the large man shouts at me. I suppose he is Nigerian or maybe he comes from Zimbabwe, aren’t everybody committing crimes in South Africa foreigners these days?
“Get your hands of me; I am not giving you sh…!” I was rewarded by a teeth shattering blow on the right side of my jaw. My head tries to lull to the side but the sharp pain of the little knife at my throat brings me back quickly.
The cars behind me are hooting at me to move forward, or out of the way. God forbid my ordeal makes them late to get to the office. In the review mirror, the guy behind me is actually flashing his lights, BMW drivers, almost as bad as the taxis. I would love to get out of your way buddy, unfortunately the thug and his friend standing next to my car pretending to be selling newspapers took out my car keys the moment I stopped at the intersection.
I have a revolver under my seat, but shooting one of these guys is the fastest way to end up in jail in my country. You can murder or rape and still get away but shoot a robber and you are going to the big house. I suppose stealing has become a huge part of our economy. Paying insurance so you can get your own back, the less fortunate getting your old stuff, the robber getting coin for the repossessed loot, which means they can buy drugs and the drug dealer has money to send his kids to private school so that they do not get robbed, the circle of life and so on. The reasoning behind the protection of burglars’ are as follow; you own nothing worth the robbers life, thus if you find him robbing you, you cannot stop him. He knows it and he also has a gun. I suppose it is to enforce the law regarding you not trying to stop him, unfortunately there is nothing stopping him from ending you. I suppose in an ideal world we can one day have laws like; there is nothing worth more than my family’s life, not even the life of a scumbag burglar.
“I really do not have anything, look at me”, I was a sight to behold. I was dirty and looked like I escaped from a barroom brawl. My shirt was ripped and I did not have shoes on. “Give me your cell!” the guy shouted at me again. I grabbed the hand holding the small knife, small so that it could easily be discarded if the police ever showed up, they rarely did.
I saw the other gentleman leaning in to stop me from making a move. I held onto the knife hand and launched myself toward the passenger seat. I used my legs to kick myself away from the door. As always something has got to give and I could feel the tendons tear in the thugs shoulder. His shoulder dislocated with a satisfying pop. The idiot was screaming and his fair-weather-friend was already showing the bottoms of his shoes as he was making a B-line for the other side of the road. His friend, the running one, had great form, his head was tucked in his ears were pulled back he looked truly aerodynamic as he was owned by a speeding motorist.
The shouting bandit dropped the knife and also fled into the traffic. I climbed back into the driver seat and picked up the car key that was dropped on the floor by my feet. As I started the car I looked back and the BMW guy behind me was on his phone, he was looking at me and I had a strange feeling that he was reporting me to the cops for assaulting a would-be carjacker.
The pile I was driving was making the same sound a goose makes during mating season, when I pulled into an abandoned chop shop, in Honeydew. I had gotten the address for this place from a tweaker that I saw standing near the bar from where the matchbook came. The matchbook and a note was left for me when I awoke, also my wife was gone. I suspect they took her. The reason is unclear, but I will get to the bottom of this. When I awoke the bed was made and as always when you think about the way somebody looks you start to forget, the curve of her mouth the slant of her nose, they say you must try and remember situational. Picture them at a place in time, how your wife looked the first time you saw her, the way she looked when you told her about your big promotion.
I however could not picture her at all except that she was gone. I was filled with righteous rage at the world, the thugs that took her and everybody that ever harmed my family. I wanted to hurt, kill and maim, I wanted to get justice for my confusion. I once heard somebody say; for mine I would burn the world… and I had a big box of matches.
Getting the info from the tweaker was messy work. When I started questioning him he was reluctant and kept playing dumb… but I soon loosened his tongue, and his teeth.
The fat and oily Greek guy standing behind a makeshift reception counter looked at me, his bushy brow furrowing into a cheap imitation of a quizzical look. “Hi guy, I need to speak to Gerrie.” The Greek shouted something in his native tongue or heavily accented English I cannot understand foreigners anyway, and two more greasy looking fellows entered from a door behind him. They carried guns.
“Wait a minute friend, I need info not target practice.” My joke was lost on them and the Fat one said: “Are you a cop?” “Do I look like a cop?” He eyed me and said: “Yes, you do, you guys are always trying to close down my body shop.” I took the revolver in my right hand and cocked it, “Don’t you mean chop shop?”
The first shot took me by surprise and ripped a hole in the car seat behind me. I fell on my belly and kissed the floor. There were a few people shooting at me from concealment but I guessed it must have been more than two. I crawled to the car and fished the 357 from beneath the seat, where I had dropped it when the first shot pierced the silence. As I turned I saw a man in a red t-shirt running in a crouch toward the back of a white Corolla. I dropped him. His left temple exploded and instantly his legs turned to wet newspaper and he went down in a boneless heap.
That was the one that sneaked in, the fat guy and the other two was pretty much in front of me. They were shooting at random in my direction, amateurs. Shooting at a firing range and shooting at somebody that is trying to kill you, is completely different. At a shooting gallery your eyes are open for one thing; also you stand in a shooters stance. In real life you shoot at the general locality of your assailant and depend on the bullet gods for accuracy also you are in whatever position gives you the most cover, and this is the norm for all except the most hardened gunslingers, even well trained police rarely have to live through a fire fight.
They were taking shelter behind the reception station, and contrary to popular belief plywood does not stop bullets. I aimed low and shot the redheaded henchman in the left knee, as he went down I saw his chest from underneath the car door I was hiding behind and aimed centre mass. He slumped over and gurgled until he went quiet a few seconds later.
In the meantime the other two started shooting at me with more purpose and I was forced to take shelter behind a big toolbox on wheels. I took note of the fat guy ducking behind the reception stand and shot at where I thought his head would be. I was almost correct. He bounced upright with a skull flap opening at the top of his head. He was dead but the rest of him did not know it yet. He did a few off-centre bounces and made horrible noises with his mouth in a wolfish grin.
“I need to speak to Gerrie, for fuck sakes!” I shouted at the remaining man, that was when he decid
ed to flee. He started toward the far door at the other side of the building. You better run, better run, out-run my bullets. He could not. His chest exploded and he fell sliding into the wall at the far end of the garage. His neck twisted in an unnatural angle. That was my best lead to get to Gerrie.
I almost lost hope, which is when I saw a pair of keys that attracted my attention. They looked familiar. I took the keys of a peg from behind the reception stand. The fat Greek was still doing a horizontal mambo and I being a humanitarian exited him from our world.
There were cars all over the garage and I found the one I was looking for by pressing the remote until a car responded. It was a late model Nissan Sentra. I opened the door and got in and inside I found a second remote. I also recognized this remote. My father had one just like it. It was used to open the gate at the police station, where the officers left their private cars during shifts. My father was a cop.
Why did Gerrie have a remote for the police