By Any Means Read online

  Captain’s vision was to create an empire to rival the Italian Mafia he so admired from films, and it was bearing fruit for the Godfathers as well. Captain and his gang were making more money than they had ever dreamt of. In some cases, the Godfathers were earning over a R1000 a week each, which was more than some adults in Sydenham earned. Captain used that money to pay the bills at home, but he had also bought himself his baby, his blue Toyota Conquest.

  But it was not easy being in a gang. Captain had been shot and stabbed already for his activities, but it was the stories of what he did to others who crossed him that Kyle found the most disturbing. Captain would not talk about it, though. The most he would say was that sometimes, some evil must be done for the greater good. Or he would repeat the motto their grandfather, a former member of Umkhonto weSizwe, had taught them: By any means necessary. Whatever his true feelings were, he kept them to himself.

  Of late, Captain seemed to have entered a new level of stress and concern, and Kyle believed he knew why. Tyson was being paroled soon.

  Kyle had his eyes fixed on the black leather of his shoes as he forced them forward. He could not shake an ominous feeling that buzzed around his heart.

  “Hey, are you coming to Carmen’s party on Friday?” Jimmy asked excitedly. He almost tripped – he’d tried to kick another stone, but it was held firmly by the earth.

  Kyle sniggered at his cousin’s clumsiness. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, come on, Kyle!” Jimmy groaned. He lowered his voice. “You never come out with us.”

  “That’s because I don’t like y’all,” Kyle smiled.

  “Don’t be like that. I will do anything. I will iron your clothes for a week, just come to the party.”

  “I’m working on Friday.”

  This was partly true. Kyle had a weekend job as a waiter at the little coffee shop in the Durban Playhouse where Charlie’s wife worked. But if he was honest with himself, he knew he was only using this as an excuse not to go. He preferred being by himself. He did not like or want to be surrounded by people, as they always made him feel uncomfortable. Like a stranger. He always wondered whether they knew what had happened to him. Whether they knew what had happened to his mother and his father. CNN could not compare to the Gossip News Network in Sydenham. Word spread faster than wildfire, and he knew that his parents had been the headline news a few months ago.

  But he glanced at Jimmy’s downcast face. Jimmy’s eyes were filled with disappointment, and it tugged at Kyle’s heart. Then a small, mischievous smile snaked across his lips.

  “Will Sarah be there?”

  Jimmy’s face turned bright red with a vicious blush. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Kyle laughed. “Don’t lie to me. She’s gonna be there, isn’t she?”

  With a shrug, Jimmy replied, “Probably.”

  Kyle wrapped his arm around his cousin’s shoulders and tugged him closer. “Okay, check this out,” he started. “I will come by after work, for a few minutes. But only if you talk to her.”

  Jimmy looked up, his eyes glowing with fear. He shrugged Kyle’s arm off his shoulders. “Come on now,” he protested. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can. Why can’t you?”

  “Because …” Jimmy searched for an explanation, but found none. “I just can’t.”

  “Forget that nonsense.” Kyle wrapped his arm around Jimmy’s shoulders again. “Look here. You are a very good-looking guy, but more than that, you’re just a straight-out great guy. You are smart, you are funny, and if the girl can’t see that, then it’s her loss. Not yours. But you need to at least make a move, Jimmy. You miss a hundred per cent of the shots you don’t take.”

  Jimmy tried to hide an embarrassed smile.

  “Jimmy, it’s the only way I will be coming. All you have to do is talk to the girl. I’m not saying ask her out, but just talk to her … And then maybe, just maybe, you will get your first damn kiss. Finally! Do we have a deal?”

  Silence.

  “Jimmy, do we have a deal?”

  Jimmy let a small, nervous smile spread across his face as they entered the wire gates of Bechet Secondary School, just in time to hear the school bell ring. “Fine.” He sighed hard. “We have a deal.”

  5

  Captain opened the rusting refrigerator and sighed at what he saw. One half of a tomato in the beginning stages of mould, a pot with week-old baked beans, a colander of dried-out rice and three solitary eggs. He closed the fridge and pressed his forehead to the cold door. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes, Captain fought his anger. I fucking gave her R1 000 last week to buy food, and this is what there is?

  Dressed in his school uniform, Captain struggled to contain his desire to scream out loud in frustration. He could guess where his grocery money had gone. It had gone to fund the drinks and cigarettes of his mother’s friends. Most meals, Captain ate at Nazneen’s house or he bought take-aways. A roti from Johnnies, a platter of chips from Wrap-it-Up or a bunny chow from Aunty Betty. But he always made sure his mother had enough money to buy food for the house. Always.

  Rubbing his forehead, he removed a clean coffee mug from a curtained shelf above the sink and carried it to the boiling kettle. He added coffee, sugar and powdered milk, then filled the mug with hot water.

  He took the coffee over to his mother’s room. The odour of stale cigarette smoke was strong in the small space. His mother lay beneath the duvet, a large photograph of a painting of Jesus above the headboard. Captain placed the mug on a side table, next to a packet of cigarettes.

  “Why aren’t you in school?” his mother asked, opening her eyes, her voice heavy and deep with sleep.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  “Are you late?”

  “A little, but it’s fine.”

  She sat up in bed and took a sip of the coffee he’d brought her.

  “Ma,” he started. “Why is there no food in the fridge?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Captain gritted his teeth. “I mean, there’s no food in the fridge. I gave you money to buy food, but there’s no food in the fridge.”

  “Oh, Aunty Edna borrowed some money so she can get her lights switched back on.”

  Captain almost lost it. “Edna? Who was sitting outside and drinking with you last night? Who’s got money for alcohol, but doesn’t have money to put her own lights on? That Edna?”

  “She’ll pay it back.”

  “When?”

  “When she pays it back. I didn’t raise you to be selfish.”

  Captain took a deep breath. “I’m not being selfish. That woman is going to take that money and buy drink with it. And her lights will stay off, Ma. She already owes you money. She’s going to drink your money away, and now we’re left with no food in the house.”

  “She’ll pay it back, Anthony.”

  Captain realised it was pointless to continue arguing. He sighed. “Okay, Ma.”

  His mother took another sip of coffee while he dug into his wallet and withdrew a R20 note. He laid it on the table.

  “For bread and milk,” he said.

  His mother nodded. “Are you being careful?”

  Captain forced a smile. “I always am.”

  She gave him a look of concern. Captain and his mother had an unwritten agreement between themselves. She would pretend that she did not know where the money was coming from, and he would pretend that she did not know what he did to make the money. The arrangement worked pretty well for both parties.

  “Bye, Ma.”

  He got to his feet and walked out of the house. Under the metal awning and down the cement path that led to the front gate. His car was parked on the side of the road, but he walked past it. He needed to calm himself down. To get the tension from his shoulders and from his jaw, because he desperately wanted to walk in the opposite direction. Away from school and to Edna’s house. To get that money back. He did not doubt for a second that the money he�
�d given his mother had been spent on beer.

  He wouldn’t have this much of a problem if the money had been lent to a person who would use it for what they said they were using it for. If it went to feed a family, he was fine with that. To switch on the electricity for someone who was going through hard times – he was okay with that as well. But to give money to fucking Edna? Edna, who was too lazy to go out and find work? Who would take that money and find herself in a nightclub on the weekend? He could resist it no longer. At the top of his voice he screamed out, “FUCK!”

  His breathing was rapid and his heartbeat raised, but he felt a little less tense. Nostrils flaring, he continued his trek to school. The only reason he didn’t go to Edna’s place was because he knew that his mother would be upset. He didn’t want to upset his mother, so he would not go looking for Edna. But God help her if he saw her in a club or shebeen any time soon.

  6

  The sun was furious and it poured its anger out upon the earth. The air was thick with heat and humidity. This sticky soup was filled with the clamour of loud voices from the pupils of Bechet Secondary School, enjoying their fifteen-minute break between classes. The school itself was made up of a single brick building and a number of cardboard prefabs that were like ovens in summer and refrigerators in winter. These classrooms were occupied by the lower grades: the reward for getting to Grade 10 was to move into the brick-built main building. Captain joked that the history books at the school were so old that they read, “Ten years ago, when Jan van Riebeeck landed at the Cape …”

  Captain liked making jokes about his school, but deep down he loved this old place. And he respected the teachers here greatly. It couldn’t be an easy job, teaching this rowdy bunch, many of them involved in gangs or drugs. Many of them not believing they were good for anything except becoming a taxi driver, boilermaker, welder or some other artisan, if they were lucky. So if they were not going to be more than call-centre agents, why should they bother with studying trigonometry, or biology, or literature? And yet these teachers were still trying to mould these young minds that were already flaking and hardening in the heat of this community. A tough job. A thankless job, most of the time, but a job they did with passion.

  The corridor was quiet. Captain raised his knuckles to the door and knocked twice.

  “Enter, if your nose is clean.”

  Captain smiled as he pushed the door open.

  “Anthony,” Mr Williams said, hunched over his work table. “What did you do wrong this time?” The woodwork teacher was a slight man with dark skin and thinning hair.

  Captain smiled. “Me, sir? We both know I’m an angel.”

  “An angel of disaster,” Mr Williams said, wiping wood dust from his hands and onto his green plastic apron. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, it’s almost time for the final matric exams and the desks are –”

  Mr Williams did not let Captain finish. “Tell me something I don’t know. I know most of the desks are broken and there isn’t enough for all of you. That’s why I’m staying behind after school to make our own desks. We can’t wait for the Department of Education to pull their finger out and come to the party.”

  “That’s why I’m here, sir. I’d like to donate some money for the materials you need.”

  “Really?” Mr Williams raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Yes, sir. How much money do you need?”

  Mr Williams looked through the mist of wood particles that always hung in the air in the woodwork room. At the tools that were neatly hanging on the walls. At the model boats, spice racks and bird houses that students, past and present, had built within these walls.

  “Thank you, Anthony,” he said. “But I’m sorry, I can’t accept your money.”

  Captain was dumbfounded. “Why not?”

  “Because we both know where it comes from.”

  “Does it matter?” Captain asked. “I mean, who cares where it comes from. All that’s important is where it’s going.”

  Mr Williams untied his apron and hung it on a nail in the wall. “You are smart enough to know that is bullshit, Anthony. It’s the principle. I can’t accept the money you make from doing what you do. And that’s final.”

  Captain felt hurt, and then he felt anger rising out of that hurt. But he fought it. With a shrug he said, “I was only trying to help.”

  He turned and began to walk out of the room, but Mr Williams called to him, “If you and your boys want to help, come by after school and help me make the desks. I will accept any offer of manual labour.”

  Captain turned. “You do remember that you gave me a D in woodwork, sir? I’ll start making a desk and end up making a toothpick.”

  Mr Williams smiled. “You weren’t that bad. And you got a D because you kept bunking. I’ll see you and your boys after the final bell.”

  Captain smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  7

  “Building desks?” asked German. “Why the hell are we doing that?”

  “Because it needs to get done,” was Captain’s curt reply. After his chat with Mr Williams, Captain had joined his friends in the shade of the middle entrance of the main building. The group was made up not only of Godfathers, like Spider, Bruge, German, Lees, Wahied and the rest, but also non-members who floated around the periphery of the gang. Although they chose not to have the letters “GF” tattooed on their skin, they were still welcomed as friends by Captain and his crew.

  “The desks are for our benefit, bru. We are the ous that are struggling with broken desks and shit when we’re trying to do our tests,” Captain continued.

  Spider added his voice in support. “It’s an hour or two a day, gents. Not a lot. Let’s not be lazy.”

  The decision was made and they agreed to meet after school to get started.

  Shivas laughed. “I bet fifty rands German takes a finger off before the end of today.”

  “Fuck that,” responded German. “I will gooi a hundred rands that Shivas causes a flop and makes a peg bag by mistake.”

  The Godfathers laughed. All but Captain.

  “Why so serious, ek sê?” Bruge enquired.

  Captain shook his head. “Gents, even with the time we put in today, it won’t be enough. When is the last time our library had any new books? Or even the last time the rugby poles got painted. Only one toilet is graafing in the boys’ toilets ever since we came to this school, bru. We need some proper money to make a difference here.”

  “José offered us proper money last night,” Spider said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s not an option,” Captain said firmly.

  “What’s not an option?” enquired Lester.

  Captain sighed. “José wants to start taking cars from South Africa to Mozambique. He’s offering twenty thousand to thirty thousand rands. Per car.”

  The amounts of money mentioned piqued everyone’s interest. “Are we talking about stealing or hijacking?” asked Wahied.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Captain replied. “We aren’t doing it.”

  “Bru,” started Bruge, “think of the money, ek sê –”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Captain repeated. “We don’t steal. Ouens, what we do now is a victimless crime. Supply and demand. Druggies want our shit, so we provide our shit. Simple. But if we start stealing cabs, it isn’t right. First, there’s a victim that’s going to go to the police and report it. If we start hijacking, we’re talking about putting guns in innocent people’s faces. Accidents happen. We could end up shooting an innocent ou just trying to protect his shit. I don’t want that. Plus, what are the consequences if we get caught? Those are serious crimes, ek sê. I don’t want to go to the tronks and become the wife of some 28 called Big Daddy.”

  “What about the Joburg plot?” Spider asked. He went on to explain to the Godfathers José’s desire to expand into Gauteng.

  “That is a plot I am interested in,” Captain said. “But it’s Lazarus’s call, not mine. And speaking of which, I got a cal
l from Lazarus this morning. He wants to have a chat with me and Tyson once he is released.”

  “On top of?” asked Bruge.

  “I can think of a few things he wants to talk about,” smiled Captain. “But I’ll find out for sure after our little chinwag.”

  “I think I should come along,” stated Bruge. “After all, you need someone to watch your back.”

  Spider slowly shook his head. “That might not be wise, Bruge,” he said, in that soft, monotone voice of his. “It might be seen as a sign of weakness. It could show Tyson that Captain is scared to meet him alone. That he needs backstops.”

  Captain shrugged. “I know what you mean. And you’re right, Spider. There’s no need for backstops. I’ll be fine one-out. I’ll go alone.” Captain knew he was making the right decision, because Spider agreed with him. He trusted Spider just as much as he trusted Kyle and Jimmy.

  8

  Kyle was a little annoyed that Jimmy had come looking for him. He had been sitting quietly at the back of the empty classroom, frantically scribbling across the back pages of his algebra book. It had started as a sonnet, but had just begun to evolve into a free verse poem when Jimmy walked in. Kyle had quickly closed his book. He didn’t want Jimmy to know that he was writing an angry poem asking his mother how she could have abandoned him. He was grateful that Jimmy hadn’t asked to see it, as he didn’t want to talk about it. Both Jimmy and Captain knew of his passion for writing. Be it poems or stories, Kyle loved to write. It was an escape for him. He wrote stories with characters leading lives like he wished he could lead. Stories with happy families. Stories of financial freedom, and of seeing the world outside South Africa. But these stories were for his own eyes only. Private thoughts and dreams that were to be shared with no one but the white pages and blue lines of his books.