I saw Ian hurry into the hall and walk to one of the bookmaker’s stalls. Knowing that he was unlikely to stay in the hall for long as he probably only had enough money for one bet, I went outside and waited on the pavement not far from the entrance. As I had suspected, within a few minutes, Ian came hurrying out of the stall looking down at the yellow betting ticket in his hand. He was still looking at the ticket as he reached me. I grabbed the ticket out of his hand and tossed it away. Ian looked up in surprise, an expression that immediately turned to fear as he recognized me. I grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him against the wall of the building. He stared at me, his eyes filled with fear. I leant towards him, my face inches from his.
“Listen to me and listen carefully, you skinny bastard.” I said quietly. “I’m not going to wait any longer for the three grand that you owe me. If I don’t have it in cash by twelve noon tomorrow, I’m coming after you, and when I find you I’m going to hurt you badly! I don’t care how or where you get the money; just get it! Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Ian stared at me and nodded, too terrified to speak.
I pulled Ian away from the wall, turned him slightly, and shoved him away from me. He stumbled and fell onto the pavement. He scrambled to his feet and ran away, glancing fearfully over his shoulder to see if I was following him.
I turned and walked back into the betting hall.
When I walked out of the betting hall later that afternoon I saw Ian, Bruce and Vic standing on the pavement a little distance away. It was obvious that they were waiting for me and from their aggressive postures and the hatred on their faces it was clear to me that they had violent intensions.
As I walked towards them I tried to analyze the situation. No matter who they were, fighting three people at the same time was a no-win situation. I had no idea as to what experience my three adversaries had when it came to physical violence but I imagined that Bruce was the most dangerous of the three. Short and well built, it was obvious to me that in the past he had been subjected to a great deal of bullying by men bigger than him and that he had stood up to them, and in the painful process that it must have been, had learnt to look after himself. His skew, flat nose was obvious evidence that he had taken a great deal of punishment and his scarred and somewhat deformed knuckles indicated that he’d given as much as he’d received.
Vic was also short and stocky but his poor eyesight and his timorous demeanour told me that violence wasn’t something that he would be happy to become involved in and that if he was directly confronted by an aggressive adversary he would quickly capitulate.
Ian, I knew, was just so much hot air. I had seen the fear in his eyes earlier in the day when I’d grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. While the odds were in his favour, Ian would appear to be brave and aggressive, but if the odds turned against him, he would be the first to give up. At the moment I could see that he believed that the odds were in his favour. Three to one were good odds.
I realized that it was very important that I prevent any of the three from getting behind me. I had heard that experienced street fighters know that if they can get behind an opponent they’ve as good as won the fight. No man can win a fight if he has one opponent in front of him and another behind him. If I could keep all three in front of me then the one person that I needed to focus on was Bruce. If I could take him out then I felt sure that the other two would lose heart and probably run away.
As I approached Ian, Bruce and Vic I made sure that I kept as close as I could to the wall of the building so that none of them could get behind me. I stared at Ian and ignored Bruce and Vic.
“You guys looking for me?” I asked as I reached the spot where Ian was standing.
“Yes. We’re looking for you.” Ian replied. “We don’t like being threatened by a little shit like you. So, we’re going to teach you a lesson that you’ll never forget.”
I moved back slightly until my back was almost touching the wall. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Bruce move slowly to my left but Ian and Vic stayed directly in front of me. I had been right. Neither of them knew much about fighting. Bruce did though, so I made sure that he stayed within my periphery vision.
“So, go ahead and teach me the lesson.” I said to Ian and made as if I was about to lunge at him. I saw Bruce move quickly towards me, obviously thinking that my attention was totally focussed on Ian. But as Bruce got within my range, I quickly changed the direction of my fake lunge and punched him as hard and I could in the mouth. I felt his teeth cut into the skin of my knuckles before they collapsed with a faint crackling sound. Bruce’s feet shot out from under him, his head snapped back and he flipped onto his back, his head striking the concrete pavement with a frightening thud.
The expression on Ian’s face changed from arrogance to shock in a flash. He turned and stared down at Bruce who was lying on his back on the ground next to him with four or five white and bloody teeth sprinkled around his head. Blood trickled out of his mouth and ran down both sides of his face before pooling on the concrete. His arms were flung out from his sides and his eyes were closed.
“Jesus!” Ian whispered. “You’ve killed him!”
“Yes. And you’re next.” I said quietly as I began moving slowly towards him.
Ian’s eyes darted back to me and whatever he saw in my face drained the blood from his head. His face turned a ghostly white and I thought that he was about to faint. Then without taking his eyes off me he turned and fled along the pavement, dodging between the spectators who had been standing watching us. I turned my attention to Vic. He raised his hands with his open palms facing me.
“I give up, Garth.” he said. “I’m not a fighter.”
“Fuck off!’ I said quietly. “And if I haven’t got all my money in cash by ten o’clock tomorrow morning I’m coming after the three of you and you’ll be lucky if you only end up in hospital! In fact, if I don’t have my money by then, the three of you are as good as dead!”
“You’ll get your money, Garth.” Vic said, his voice shaking with fright. “You’ll have it by ten o’clock tomorrow. I promise!”
I looked down at the unconscious man at my feet as Vic hurried away. Bruce lay on his back and I could see that was choking on his own blood. I grabbed his left arm and rolled him over so that he lay face down on the concrete with his right arm under his chest. The choking sounds stopped and a thin stream of blood and spit continued to trickle out of his mouth onto the pavement. His breathing was regular but shallow. I heard one of the teeth crunch under my shoe as I stood on it. I turned and walked away, ignoring the stares of the small crowd that had gathered.
The following morning I woke at just after eight. I got out of bed, showered and dressed. The custom of having four or five days of unshaven stubble on your face was just coming into fashion: the macho look. The tough guy look. And, having just chased off three guys intent of beating me to a pulp, I felt that I had every right to consider myself to be a tough guy.
I opened the curtains in the lounge and look out at the street. Ian and Vic were standing on the pavement near my front gate and staring at the house impatiently. I looked at my watch. Nine o’clock. Let them wait. I went to the kitchen and had breakfast of cereal and a mug of coffee. At half past nine I went to the front door, opened it, and walked casually to where Ian and Vic stood watching me approach.
“I really hope you’ve got my money. I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt Bruce.” I said.
Ian nodded.
“Here it is.” he said, handing me a wad of tatty one hundred dollar notes. “Count it.”
I took the money and counted the thirty notes slowly. I sensed Ian and Vic watching me intently.
When I had finished counting, I nodded and put the wad into my shirt pocket.
“Thanks.” I said, turned and began walking towards the house.
“Bruce’s in the I.C.U. at the hospital.” Ian said. “He’s in a coma. Concussion and a brain haemorrhage.
They say that he might die.”
I stopped walking and looked over my shoulder at Ian. I shrugged my shoulders.
“You guys were going to try and beat me up.” I said. “There were plenty of people who saw the whole thing. I had a right to defend myself.”
I walked along the garden path, climbed the steps onto the veranda and went into the house, closing the door behind me.
***
I continued to play the horses every Wednesday and Saturday. The number of successful bets that I had been achieving rose marginally but most of them featured favourites where I had to lay out large sums of money to collect a small return. These returns never came close to covering my losses and within two weeks I had lost the three thousand dollars that I’d got from Ian. The fact that I was winning more bets encouraged me and I began studying the form of the horses more diligently and factoring in as much other information such as jockey and trainer ratings and where the horses were drawn.
I kept reminding myself that knowledge was power and the more I knew about horse racing the more successful I’d be. But I was running out of time and money. I had by now halved the amount of money in my aunt’s investment account that I’d inherited and it wouldn’t be long now before the bank queried this and informed Misses Phillips. I had to replace the money and the only way to do this was to win more bets more regularly. Alternatively, I had to have one big win that would bring the investment account back to its original balance in one fell swoop.
One weekend I spent the whole of the Sunday working on my bets for the following Wednesday and, as they looked to be certain winners, I eagerly went to the betting hall early on the Monday morning, knowing that the odds were likely to shorten on the horses that I’d backed by Wednesday. The betting hall hadn’t yet opened by the time I got there and I realized that it would be nearly an hour before it opened. As I stood on the pavement on the opposite side of the road I saw the door of the hall open and Mister Eksteen, the book maker that I placed all my bets with, hurry out carrying a bulky leather briefcase. As he hurried away I decided to follow him.
Mister Eksteen hurried to the bank, less than three blocks from the betting hall. He went inside and fifteen minutes later he came out again and I noticed that the briefcase was now far less bulky. Obviously the bookmaker had taken the cash that he’d taken in during the Saturday’s race meeting to the bank. When placing my bets with Mister Eksteen I had noticed a large black safe at the back of his cubicle. As the banks were all closed by the time the Saturday race meetings in South Africa ended the book makers all had to leave their cash takings in their safes until they could take them to the bank on Monday mornings.
When the betting hall finally opened I went in and placed my bets. I left the hall and walked home. I made myself a mug of coffee and went into the lounge. I sat down on the couch and began thinking about what I’d witnessed before the betting hall opened.
I acknowledged to myself that I had been stupid and reckless by relying on gambling to make me rich although I still believed that if it was done diligently and with patience, betting on the horses could yield the wealth that I wanted. The problem was that I didn’t have the time. I had lost almost three quarters of the money that had been in my aunt’s investment account and I had to replace it urgently. If Misses Phillips found out what I’d done, the Child Welfare Board would limit my access to the account severely or even stop it completely. I would then be forced to find a job, and with my limited academic qualification it would inevitably be a menial job; something that I found impossible to accept.
The more I thought about my predicament, the more obvious it became that I had to do something drastic. Either I had to take a huge chance and bet what was left in the investment account on one do-or-die bet and hope and pray that it would come off, or I had to resort to something illegal such as stealing something valuable. And the only valuable thing that I could think of was the money that Mister Eksteen took to the bank on the mornings after each race meeting. I tried to analyze the two possibilities.
If I used what was left in the investment account on one big bet and it didn’t come off, what was the worst that could happen? My income would be severely curtailed and monitored and I would be forced to find employment. I would still own the house and, if I was patient, I could take out a bond on the house when I turned twenty one. And owning the house meant that I wouldn’t have to pay rent, usually the biggest monthly expense facing people who didn’t own a house and rather rented their accommodation. And, who knows? The Child Welfare people might find me a nice easy job that paid well and that I enjoyed doing.
On the other hand, if I resorted to crime and got caught I would end up going to jail. Unless, of course, there was no violence involved and I appeared before a lenient judge who treated me as a juvenile and a first offender. Then I would probably get a suspended sentence and I would still have the money in the investment account and the house. And if the Child Welfare people found me a decent job, I wouldn’t be all that badly off. And if I wasn't caught I'd have everything that I wanted.
I gave myself a week to come to a decision.
***
“Your Honour.” Paul Greave, my attorney, said, addressing Judge Warren Bester. “Once again we would like Garth Gilmore to step down from the witness stand and allow Cindy Bedford to continue with her testimony.”
The Judge nodded.
CHAPTER 7
“Cindy.” my attorney, James Foster, said after I’d made myself comfortable on the witness stand. “You were telling us about your having left school and starting your job as an assistant accountant at Checkers. You also told us about the start of a more meaningful relationship with Garth Gilmore. I’d like you to continue from where you left off, please.”
***
It was now the year two thousand and seven and I would be turning nineteen in June. I continued to work diligently at my job and when my birthday finally arrived, I received the salary increase that the Checkers management had promised me. The increase helped a great deal as, although my father had demanded a similar percentage increase in my rent, I was still determined to leave home the minute I turned twenty one and needed to get as many household items of my own before this happened. I was also determined to save as much money as I could as I was resolute that I would avoid any kind of debt.
My relationship with Garth flourished, although the effort that it took came mainly from me. Garth showed a disturbing indifference to our relationship which often left me frustrated and unhappy. He seldom showed any real affection for me, even during our love making and, if we went anywhere together, I was always the one to take his hand. And as the weeks went by he seemed to become more and more pre-occupied and withdrawn, and whenever I asked him what was bothering him, he became angry and dismissive.
One Saturday afternoon after we’d made love and were lying on the bed in Garth’s bedroom, I tried once more to break through the invisible wall that was steadily growing between us. Garth was lying next to me staring up at the ceiling.
“Earth to Garth. Earth to Garth.” I said. “Come in Garth.”
Garth glanced at me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Well, you seemed so far away that I thought you were in outer space.” I said. “What’s bothering you?”
“How many times must I tell you that nothing’s bothering me?” Garth said.
“Come on, Garth.” I said. “I can see that you’re worried about something. You’re becoming more and more withdrawn and distant. You know, I’m not just your lover; I’m your friend as well.”
“I told you; there’s nothing worrying me.” Garth said.
“You can say that until you’re blue in the face.” I said. “But I know that something’s wrong and it’s worrying you. I may not be able to help you but it’s often helpful if we talk to each other about our problems. Is it me that’s causing the problem?”
I could see that Garth was becoming angry.
&nb
sp; “What’s wrong with you, Cindy?” he asked. “I keep telling you that nothing’s wrong but you won’t believe me. Watch my lips: There is nothing bothering me.”
“Okay.” I said.
Garth got off the bed, pulled on his trousers and walked out of the bedroom. I felt devastated and so helpless. I wanted desperately to get closer to Garth, and yet, by doing this, I seemed to be driving him away. All my life I had tried not to anger people and now I had inadvertently angered the one person that I really loved.
I heard Garth go into the kitchen and open the fridge. He cracked open a can of beer and walked along the passage and into the lounge. He switched on the television and I heard him sit down on the couch. From the sound of the commentary I could tell that he was watching that afternoon’s horse race meeting.
I climbed off the bed and got dressed. I went to the kitchen, got myself a beer and went into the lounge. I sat down next to Garth. A race was in progress.
“Which one did you back?” I asked.
Garth glanced at me quickly and then looked back at the television.
“What makes you think that I backed one of them?” he asked as he continued to stare at the screen.
“Garth.” I said. “I’m neither blind nor stupid. You never used to have the slightest interest in horse racing but now you watch the races every Saturday afternoon, there are race meeting programs on the table in the kitchen, on your desk next to your computer and even on your bedside table. I know that it’s your life and your money and I have no right to interfere with either of them but I’m your friend and I care and worry about you. Anyone can see that you’re worried about something. All I’m trying to say is that, if I can help in any way, please tell me.”
Garth was watching the television screen so intently that I felt sure that he hadn’t heard a word that I’d said. As the race ended he sighed.
“Damn!” he said.
“Your horse didn’t win.” I said.
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