‘You want something?’ He addressed the tall one, ignoring the others. He took a step forward, rolled his shoulders again. The tall one fell back. Adrian moved in again, facing him head-on. They backed away fast. He hadn’t bothered to show them his gun. I wondered, if Sibusiso had been his brother, would Adrian have run away? He looked disappointed that the boys had fled so quickly, then he turned back to me.
‘I hate those little shits,’ he said. ‘They’re brave when they’re with their mates picking on innocent people. It’s them mugging people and stealing handbags. They’re like these little lapdogs some people have, you know. Bark, bark, bark. Full of shit. Need to show them who’s boss.’
‘You look like you wanted them to stay and fight.’
‘I want an excuse to arrest them, that’s what. And I wouldn’t have minded if I’d got to throw a few punches in the process.’ He ripped a piece of paper from the notebook he kept in his shirt pocket, and scribbled a number down on it.
‘My cellphone number,’ he said. ‘If you see Letswe again, call me. I’ll drop in tonight. I want to show you something.’ He gave me a thumbs-up sign. ‘Don’t worry, bru, I’ll be careful. I know how you don’t like being spotted with a cop.’
I studied the piece of paper Adrian gave me. He did not have neat handwriting.
His sixes and zeros looked alike. I shoved the note into my pocket. Adrian headed back to the market. I liked him, although he could be so stupid. He was a cop, but he didn’t know how it worked on the streets. If I saw Letswe again, I would not phone Adrian. I would not cross that man in any way. I had not forgotten about the dogs.
19
DAVID WAS QUICK to find the Modise boy and he found him through watching the Nigerians. Progress was only too happy to bring Letswe the news.
‘I have been following one of Abaju’s men,’ Progress said on Monday morning – they always met on a Monday morning to report on the weekend’s action, unless they did a late job on Sunday night.
‘I asked my friend David to follow another one. He’s sharp, David. He came to tell me that two of Obembe’s men are watching this boy. They are tailing him all through the city.’
‘And why is this important?’ Letswe asked. He sat at the table, one hand holding a coffee mug, the other hand clenched into a fist. Every few seconds, Letswe would flex his fingers and form a fist again.
‘Because it is the boy we saw in the market that Saturday. The one you spoke to. Siphiwe Modise.’
‘He works for the Nigerians?’ Letswe stared at him, eyes narrow slits.
‘I don’t know,’ Progress said. ‘I don’t know why they are following him. He lives in a shelter and works at a charity and he walks all over the city by himself, or with a little boy.’
‘Raymond Modise’s cousin,’ Letswe said. ‘I remember those boys, two brothers, the older one was good with his fists, but not smart. He often came with Raymond, asking for work. Now Raymond I remember because of his sister.’ Letswe rubbed his hands together. ‘What was her name? Eh, William, you must remember her. Tall girl, long legs. Eh, she was something else, that girl. Hot, hot, hot. You remember her?’
A slow smile spread on William’s face.
‘Ah, my man,’ Letswe laughed. ‘No one forgets a woman like Raymond’s sister. Siphiwe Modise? Smart boy. Shy. You know what we will do, Jackson? William and I will speak to this boy and find out if he works for the Nigerians. If he does, he will die. You must keep watching the Nigerians. Discover what they are up to. Joseph and Thabo will go back to Standard Bank. I want to know how many guards, their names, what time they show up for work. Find out if one of them will take money. We’ll need someone to deal with the metal detector.’
Yesterday he’d shot a man for no reason. Only because Letswe had said so. He did it without hesitation for he knew it was another test, but last night he lay awake over it. It was not the first time he’d killed a man, but the first one had asked for trouble, and the second one tried to stab him. This man did nothing other than drink too much and talk too much. Letswe was wrong: it was not easy to kill a man. Next time he’d make sure the man deserved to die.
Progress stood outside the door of David’s house. He had helped David to build it with bricks they had stolen. It was only a small square house, but it was sturdy and the roof didn’t leak. David had two younger brothers, who would soon need more room. They would have to steal some more bricks.
David’s brother Benny opened the door and went outside to keep an eye on Progress’s car. He was a good lookout and he’d earn five rand for his trouble.
David’s mother gave Progress a mugful of coffee. Progress noticed that she had given him the best mug and not one of the chipped ones. He also noticed that the bricks showed through the thin layer of paint and that one of the kitchen window panels was cracked. One of the boys, no doubt. Boys and windows didn’t mix well. They would have to come and do some DIY.
David showed up, smelling of aftershave. At least he was wearing a plain white shirt and jeans, not one of his bright shirts. Progress had told him to dress down. Progress finished his coffee and thanked David’s mother. She had always been very kind to him.
They had parked the car down the street under a tree and were now walking to Lucille’s house. The wind was blowing and the scent of rain was in the air. Progress looked at his friend, looked him up and down.
‘David, what is that you’re wearing?’
‘Eh?’
Today was a big day for Progress. He’d introduce David to Letswe. He had told him about David and said that he was a good shot and a very good driver. Letswe had asked to meet him. David didn’t seem to realise how important that was.
‘Roll up your trousers,’ Progress said.
‘Eh?
‘You cannot wear pink socks. What are you thinking?’
‘Why not?’
‘Letswe will think you’re a homosexual.’
‘Because I wear pink socks? He’s mad.’
‘You must watch your mouth, or he’ll shoot you. Take off those socks. Throw them away.’
David grumbled while he removed his shoes and socks. ‘Why do you work for this man? Why can we not go on as before? We did well.’
‘Stealing cars? No, we must take risks. High risk, high yield.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means we will become rich.’
‘No, it means we’ll get killed,’ David said.
‘If you are scared, tell me now.’
‘I am not scared. I shall go with you and watch your back.’
‘Good.’
‘My feet will stink if I don’t wear socks.’
‘Shut up. Let’s go.’
20
THE NEXT TIME I went to the cemetery, I took Msizi with me, only because he was nagging me and I knew he would come anyway, even if I told him to stay. I didn’t use the same route as before. Instead, I circled round to the back where I found the loose piece in the palisade fence Lucky had told me about. I made sure that no one was watching before I pushed it aside for Msizi to crawl through. I followed him. Once on the other side I brushed the dirt off my clothes and hid in the bushes to check for danger.
When we got to Lucky’s shack, I told Msizi to wait outside. He had to keep a lookout from under the trees and whistle twice if he saw anyone approaching the shack. It gave him something to do, to keep busy, but not only that, it was safest to have a lookout. Lucky was being careless. He shouldn’t stay in one place for too long and he should not tell all his girlfriends where to find him. People would become suspicious if they saw a row of pretty girls walking in and out of the cemetery all day.
Lucky was sitting outside the shack on an upturned paint drum, with a can of Black Label in his hand. He wore sunglasses in which I could see my own reflection.
‘My friend,’ Lucky greeted me. He got up and shook my hand. ‘Come inside. We must have a drink.’
I sat down on the chair and wiped the sweat from my forehead. Only one o
f the windows could open and Lucky left the door open for fresh air, but it didn’t help much. Lucky got a beer from under the bed and handed it to me. He sat down on the bed and tossed something in my direction. I ducked and it landed on the floor. Lucky laughed. It was a blue cap with a gold star on the front.
‘You can have it,’ Lucky said. ‘I got this one.’ He showed me a black cap.
‘Did you steal it?’
‘I am not a thief,’ he said. ‘I bought it. Cheap-cheap. You can have it, Siphiwe.’
‘Thank you.’ I took the cap and put it on my head.
‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘You are my friend.’
I told him that his mother was well. I told him that I had gone to Kempton Park with a friend of mine. I didn’t tell him that my friend was a policeman. He said he’d been to Durban for work once.
‘What kind of work did you do there?’ I asked.
‘I used to work for the Nigerians,’ Lucky said. ‘I used to work for Sylvester Abaju. He often does business in Durban. You must know Sylvester. He’s the one with the white suit.’
‘I saw him once,’ I said. The man who had been in the car that day the Nigerian had jumped out to scare me. I wasn’t happy to hear Lucky had worked for that man. That was where all his trouble had started. Grace always said you should choose your friends with care. She wouldn’t be pleased if she heard that I was friends with Lucky. She’d think him a show-off and she would be right to think that.
‘He’s the boss, Sylvester,’ Lucky said. ‘But it’s that other one, Obembe, who caused all the trouble for me. He told the boss that I stole from them. He lied.’
‘You didn’t steal his money?’ I asked.
‘I did, but not then. I only stole the money after he had started to tell lies about me, because I knew they would try to kill me anyway.’
‘Why didn’t you leave the city?’
‘It’s not that simple,’ he said. ‘I only managed to take a little bit of money. Five thousand bucks.’
My mouth dropped open. ‘That is a lot of money, Lucky. You stole five thousand rand from them, they will kill you. You must take your mother and sisters and get out of Johannesburg.’
‘That is not a lot of money, Siphiwe,’ he said. ‘You don’t know the world. Let me tell you, Sylvester Abaju has a place in Jeppe, and in his office there’s a safe. In that safe he keeps his cash. He needs a lot of cash for his business. The safe is this big.’ He stretched his arms wide. ‘It is stuffed with money. Every weekend people bring him cash from all their sales.’
‘Doesn’t he take the money to the bank?’
‘What will he say to the bank, Siphiwe? Where does the money come from? You don’t put that much money in the bank without the police hearing about it. The taxman too, he will hear about it and ask questions and make you pay.’ He rubbed his fingers together. ‘Everyone wants a piece of the action, Siphiwe. You know what the cops will do? They will go to court, they will say he made all that money from selling drugs. They will take it.’ He blew over his fingers. ‘Phew, gone.’
‘They will be right to do that,’ I said. ‘They will be right to say he made it from selling drugs too. That is the truth.’
‘But it doesn’t matter how he made the money,’ Lucky said. ‘The cops will take it and some big man, some high-up policeman, will buy a new house. That’s how it is, Siphiwe. I can use that money to buy a house for my mother. I can buy a car, a boat –’
‘A boat!’
‘Yes, rich people, they all have boats. I’ll buy a house near Hartbeespoort Dam, buy a boat and go fishing.’
‘You’re mad.’
‘A red Mercedes, that is what I want, and a speedboat.’
‘Can you drive?’
‘No, but it’s easy,’ he said. ‘I can learn.’
‘Or you can buy a licence,’ I said, angry, because I saw he wasn’t just talking.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s a good idea.’
‘Lucky Mosweu,’ I said, ‘I don’t know how you plan to steal that money, but you will not get it. You will get killed. You are not thinking this through. What will happen when you steal more money from the Nigerians? They will come after you.’
‘They can only kill me once, Siphiwe. I’ll rather be killed over a million rand than over five thousand.’
‘I’d rather be poor and alive,’ I said and got up.
‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘Listen to my plan first. You will see how clever it is.’
He was sitting up straight and his eyes were shining brightly. He’d had too much beer. It was not good to sit around with nothing to do, that was what Grace said, and that was why she liked handing out work. Everyone at the shelter had a job to do, from the oldest to the youngest children. The chair creaked underneath me as I sat down again. I should go, I told myself. I should not be listening to his nonsense, but I thought to hear about this plan first. It could not be much of a plan, because if it was, he would not be here, living in a shack in the cemetery.
‘Sylvester is a clever man, Siphiwe. Every Monday he comes to the house in Jeppe to count his money. He gets in his BMW and his driver takes him around the city. Then he drives into a warehouse and Abaju gets out and another man in a white suit gets into the car. The BMW drives straight out again. Inside the warehouse Abaju gets into another car that has been waiting for him there. If the cops follow him, they will see the BMW leaving and not know Abaju is not the man inside. That’s why he has the dark windows, so no one can see him. He is smart. The cops will never catch him.’
I just nodded.
‘And then Abaju goes to count his money. Usually, by nine or so he has finished counting and he locks the safe and the office. Then he goes downstairs where he talks business with people who work for him. He leaves all that money in the safe.’
‘Yes, you told me.’
‘The safe is not a problem,’ he said. ‘It’s not a safe that opens with a code. It’s a simple safe that opens with a key and the key is on a chain around the boss’s neck, but there’s another key. In his office, under the red carpet. I watched them all the time. Once I saw Obembe kneeling there by the carpet, hiding the key. I pretended not to see, but I did.’ Lucky locked his hands behind his head and he leaned back, looking happy with himself. ‘The problem is not the safe, or the key. It is getting into the office. The door of the office is always locked. There are guards.
‘I have drawn a plan of the house,’ he said. ‘Here.’ He unfolded a piece of newspaper and handed it to me. ‘The office is upstairs at the back of the house. I have marked it on the plan.’
It was a good drawing. A floor plan of a double-storey house, drawn with a black pen, showing a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room and another room that must be a bedroom. A large house. Only two doors. One at the front, one leading to the kitchen. The second drawing showed the top floor, two bedrooms and the room marked office.
‘The safe is next to the door that leads to the toilet.’
I studied the plan. ‘Is there only one door leading to the office?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the toilet. Does it not have a window?’
‘Too small,’ he said. ‘And it is on the second floor. Too high as well. There’s a dog in the yard, a vicious one, and there is a high wall and a camera.’
‘A camera?’
‘Yes, there is an alley running behind the house with a door in the wall where they put the garbage out once a week, if they remember. The camera points at that door. If anyone tries to come through there, they will know.’
I shook my head. ‘It does not help to know where the safe and the key are, if you cannot get into the office, and you cannot get into the office because to get there you will have to walk through the house, which will be full of people with guns.’
‘I shall create a diversion,’ he said. ‘The best time for that will be around lunchtime. Usually, after he has concluded his business, the boss sends someone to get pizza. I often went to get the pizza. While
they eat their pizza and drink beer, that will be the time to draw their attention away from the house.’
‘Haw,’ I said. ‘That’s your plan? They will not leave the house. They will start shooting at you.’ I folded the newspaper in half, then in quarters and handed it back to him.
‘Keep it,’ Lucky said and tapped his head. ‘It’s up here. I know that house inside out.’
‘There’s no way in,’ I said. ‘Unless you can climb through the toilet window, and you can’t. You should forget about this plan and think of a plan to stay alive.’
‘Where is your little brother?’ he asked.
‘Outside.’
Lucky stood up and walked out the door. ‘Eh, little man,’ he shouted and he came back inside, his hand on Msizi’s shoulder. ‘Have a Coke,’ he said and he also gave Msizi a Bar One chocolate.
‘Say thank you,’ I said, but Msizi could only mumble because he already had too much chocolate in his mouth.
‘You are a brave boy, aren’t you?’ Lucky asked.
Msizi nodded and raised his fists in the air. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘I hit Vuzi. Vuzi’s big.’ Another bite of chocolate.
I wondered what Lucky was playing at.
‘And you are good at climbing,’ Lucky said. ‘You look like a boy who can climb well.’
‘And running,’ Msizi said. ‘I am good at running. I’m fast.’
‘That is good,’ Lucky said. ‘Let me tell you why I am asking this. On the top floor of the Nigerian’s house in Jeppe there is a small window – no burglar bars. Inside that window is an office with a safe –’
‘Msizi, go outside.’ I came to my feet.
‘Small window for a little man,’ Lucky went on.
‘Msizi, go outside,’ I shouted, glaring at Lucky.
‘Why?’ Msizi stood very still, can of Coke in one hand, Bar One in the other.
City of Blood Page 14
