by Javi Reddy
12 Yards Out
Javi Reddy
Austin Macauley Publishers
12 Yards Out
About the Author
About the Book
Dedication
Copyright Information ©
Chapter 123 September 2013. 10:13 AM
23 September 2013. 12:58 PM
Chapter 223 September 2013. 1:30 PM
4 June 2013 (A few months ago). The Artists.
23 September 2013. 1:57 PM
Chapter 323 September 2013. 2:07 PM
4 April 2002 (11 years ago).
Comfort is not courage.
23 September 2013. 2:32 PM
Chapter 423 September 2013. The army
Chapter 524 September 2013. Tequila Sunrises
5 June 2013. Click, click
24 September 2013. 2:03 PM
Chapter 618 September 2013. 4:41 PM
Chapter 718 September 2013. 6:28 PM
18 September 2013. 9:02 PM
25 September 2013. 1:12 PM
Chapter 825 September 2013. 8:13 PM
Chapter 926 September 2013. Morning in the afternoon
Chapter 1026 September 2013. 3:58 PM
13 September 2004. Under the stands
26 September 2013. 4:17 PM
15 August 2011. 8:57 PM
26 September 2013. 5:22 PM
16 August 2011. 6:03 AM
26 September 2013. 5:56 PM
Chapter 1126 September 2013. 6:13 PM
12 June 2013. Game-time
26 September 2013. 10:15 PM
Chapter 1219 September 2013. 3:27 PM
16 June 2013. Two become one.
19 September 2013. 4:01 PM
Chapter 1327 September 2013. 2:56 PM
16 June 2013. 7:05 PM
27 September 2013. 3:21 PM
17 June 2013. Dr Pillai
27 September 2013. 4:58 PM
19 September 2013. 5:05 PM
Chapter 1419 September 2013. 5:17 PM
27 September 2013. 6:03 PM
Chapter 1528 September 2013. 1:13 PM
19 June 2013. Is that our number seven?
28 September 2013. 2:04 PM
22 July 2013. Miss me?
28 September 2013. 1:58 PM
Chapter 1629 September 2013. 1:12 AM
18 July 2013. Holiday
September 2013. 2:21 AM
Chapter 1730 September 2013. Earlier than ever
13 July 2013. Sunrise Mall
Chapter 1830 September 2013. 8:02 AM
14 July 2013. The next product
Chapter 192 October 2013. 9:08 AM
20 July 2013. 9:08 AM. A new world
2 October 2013. 8:22 PM
2 October 2013. 8:43 PM
Chapter 2030 September 2013. 8:22 PM
2 October 2013. 9:20 PM
4 June 2013. Reunion
Chapter 212 October 2013. 10:01 PM
23 July 2013. City Hall
Chapter 224 October 2013. 7:05 PM
25 July 2013. Chains
4 October 2013. Hope
Chapter 234 October 2013. 8:00 PM
10 August 2013. Two Roses in a cup
Chapter 2414 August 2013. Dream a little dream
6 October 2013. The present
Chapter 256 October 2013. 10:29 AM
24 August 2013. The semi-final
Chapter 266 October 2013. 11:03 AM
24 August 2013. The semi-final. Extra-time
6 October 2013. 11:15 AM
Chapter 276 October 2013. 11:50 AM
28 August 2013. The Tab
Chapter 286 October 2013. 12:11 AM
28 August 2013. The alley
6 October 2013. 12:11 AM
Chapter 294 September 2013. Dr Linder
7 October 2013. 2:44 PM
5 September 2013. Play, Jay
Chapter 307 October 2013. 7:50 PM
7 September 2013. 7:50 PM. The final
Chapter 319 September 2013. Monday
7 October 2013. 9:13 PM
7 October 2013. The photograph
Chapter 327 October 2013. 8:14 AM
8 October 2013. 10:24 AM
8 October 2013. 11:35 AM
Chapter 338 October 2013. 2:01 PM
8 October 2013. 2:27 PM
Chapter 348 October 2013. 7:39 PM
9 October 2013. 6:12 AM
Chapter 359 October 2013. 12 yards out
Chapter 369 October 2013. Reunion
Chapter 379 October 2013. The artist
About the Author
Javi Reddy has spent most of his career within the business communications realm as a communications manager. He has written on various platforms within a corporate environment. His career has seen him work at companies such as IBM, the Shoprite Group and Telesure Investment Holdings, whilst also freelancing for a few sporting and entertainment publications. His story ‘Sit Down; You’re Brown’ was awarded runner-up in the ‘The SA Writers College 2019 Annual Short Story Competition’. 12 Yards Out is his debut novel. Javi lives in Johannesburg, South Africa.
About the Book
What’s worse than having your father murdered? Working with his murderer to save yourself…
James Tait can do no right. He drinks too much, he’s always in trouble with the wrong woman and he cannot get a job. He’s also just murdered someone.
Jay Chetty can do no wrong. He’s a high school soccer star, he’s adored by everyone and he’s as humble as they come. But Jay’s been living his life from merely 12 yards out. When he’s thrust in deeper, closer to fears and threats he’s avoided his whole life, his world begins to burn down. After his girlfriend, a beautiful dancer, is kidnapped, Jay soon realises that the only person who can help him is James Tait – the man who has murdered his father.
Together they plot on how to stop Vinny De Silva – a man whose evil knows no boundaries…
Dedication
To my father who gave me this beautiful game… and all of life’s valuable lessons.
To my mother who believes in me when I cannot believe in myself.
To my grandmother who keeps me in her prayers.
And to all of those who fall.
Do not be afraid to get up.
Copyright Information ©
Javi Reddy (2019)
The right of Javi Reddy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528953351 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Chapter 1
23 September 2013. 10:13 AM
James’ father taught him many things. His old man may not have come into his room to preach to him, but the lessons grew on him. The rapid refilling of a whiskey glass, the inability to stay away from the wrong woman, the pure and unfiltered cynicism. James took all of these to heart and brought them to life more than his beloved father ever did.
But his father’s lessons never prepared him for this.
James closed his eyes. His pupils tossed around in every possible direction, as
his eyelids begged them to calm down. He splashed cold water from the kitchen sink’s tap against his taut face before taking a brief sip. His fingernail fiddled in between a grooving of the white and yellow tiles. He was stalling. Eventually, he crooked his neck towards her. The couch, on which she splayed on, was good enough for him and him alone. Yet, she lay there like it was where she belonged. She beckoned him with her tiny black eyes. Foolishly, he joined her. She pressed her nose against his cheek and coiled herself around him like a serpent.
“It’s my birthday today,” she breathed lightly into his neck.
“I know. I’ve got the whole day planned out.”
“Really?”
“Of course, gorgeous.”
“Even though my birthday is actually tomorrow?”
This was a scene his beloved father surely found himself in on many occasions. James didn’t sit up straight or look her in the eye. As his mouth slowly expanded, no words came to him. Only what he felt was absolutely necessary at that moment. A burst of laughter.
“Where was our first kiss?” she pulled her nose away from his stubble.
“I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me. I was actually sober, for once, that night in Melrose Arch.” She crinkled her forehead and narrowed her eyes.
“I’ve never been to Melrose Arch with you.”
“That’s okay. I plan to take you there tomorrow. For your birthday. Pity, it’s no longer a surprise. If only you hadn’t pried…”
Finally, she was off the couch. The back of her moppy blonde hair bobbed around as she hastily slid into her skinny black jeans. James lit up a cigarette and puffed out lethargically towards the ceiling.
“Stop being a drama queen. Come back here and I’ll give you an early birthday gift, down under, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.”
She swung around, before biting her lower lip.
“You think this whole quirky and sarcastic display is charming?”
“It worked on you.”
“I was drunk.”
“Something I wish I was. Have you seen the 1818 anywhere?”
He twisted from side to side, scanning the room for his beloved bottle. “I cannot believe I thought of moving in with you.” She opened her mouth wide, as if an unlimited source of profanities were about to flow from her. Then, she took a deep breath.
“Fine. Be alone. Stay here all cooped up in this crummy flat, smoking a pack a day and finishing every and any bottle you can get your hands on. I’ve been sleeping with you for over a week now and you’re still a stranger to me. Who…who are you?”
He had encouraged her to talk more during coitus. A man of words like himself appreciated a bit of oral exchange during intercourse. Instead, she’d given him a mouth-full like this in the morning when all he wanted was another cigarette, the day’s first cocktail and a good Ian Fleming novel. She fidgeted with her bra as she got fully dressed. James caught the last glimpse of her skin, as he spoke through the smoke he’d blown in the room: “So, tomorrow then? Wining and dining with Joburg’s finest?”
A nearby sandal hurtled towards him. It crashed against the bumpy cream wall behind him, barely missing his face. He lit another Stuyvesant Blue.
“Why are you throwing Rebecca’s sandal at me? She’ll die if I lose it.”
Her eyes were wider than the Great Wall. “Who the fuck is Rebecca?”
He dug out some dirt from underneath his fingernail. The tears began to fiercely flow down her rosy cheeks. James rubbed his temples and then pulled in extra hard from the cigarette. He slinked off the couch and moved over to the white wooden dresser sitting in a corner of the room. He picked up a pot plant of the brightest violets he’d ever seen. He held them up to her. Her anger wilted away. “I…I… thank you.”
“Look. Just take this with you. I don’t know how to keep them alive. Also, you can slam the door on your way out. It doesn’t close properly, otherwise.”
Claire left before he could light the next cigarette. Claire. He didn’t even know her surname, although he did know that her birthday was tomorrow. He hadn’t exactly planned for Melrose Arch, but the fairly average chocolates under the couch meant that he’d half cared for her. But she’d become needy which is exactly what James Tait didn’t need. He removed the gold ribbon from the chocolate box and gazed upon the little brown spheres on his lap. At least breakfast was sorted.
After munching on half a dozen of the chocolate balls, he staggered towards the kitchen disheartened to find that there was no orange juice in the fridge. He cringed, trying to figure out what his vodka would go with. This now meant going to the store. Which meant wearing trousers. Which meant giving a shit. And that defeated the purpose of his earlier performance in front of Claire.
When he thought about spending the rest of this beautiful and serene day sober, he realised that he would, unfortunately, have to leave the flat. He did not flush the toilet after urinating, lying to himself that he was conserving water. He sat in the empty bathtub and Claire flashed through his mind. Just as well it was over with her. The witch-hunt would soon commence, which didn’t give him much time.
He ran the tip of his finger over the marking on the side of his head. It was the most beautiful yet brutal scar ever—an expertly carved circle with the letter ‘V’ in it. He buried his wet and weary face into a towel that was barely dry itself before tossing it on the floor. In the living room, he threw his t-shirt onto a carpet that had a mass of other dirty clothes sprawled across it. The rest of the floor was decorated with food stains, ash and some sort of dried substance.
It was not yet noon when he returned from the store with his orange juice, looking over his back cautiously as he turned the key into the flat door. Time to start the festivities. He downed his first screwdriver and let the vodka burn his mouth. Time dragged as he stared aimlessly at the ceiling. He poured some vodka on the floor, in a circle, watching it moisten the ash on the carpet. He made his way to another plant sitting neatly near the bathroom window. He smiled warmly at it. He yearned to trim it but never did. He looked up at the wooden clock, which was the only thing hanging on the walls.
11:42 AM: An hour to go. There was nothing but a couch in the living room, along with an old table, decorated with stacks of useless classifieds, brochures and crinkled up magazines. There was no bed anywhere in the flat. James slept, read, ate and touched himself on the couch. He looked at the ceiling again. It was time to close his eyes. He wasn’t as restless this time. He closed his eyes and thought of Jay Chetty.
23 September 2013. 12:58 PM
James could barely feel the wind, yet knew that it was there. Its gentle breeze swayed the ferns that crept over the front walls. The green was inescapable outside the house. The lawn was extremely luscious, and the plants below the ferns sprouted out the liveliest of shoots. Even the gate was covered in plant life—large pale, purple flowers had taken residence over the steel. It was all part of an orderly chaos; a rich man’s jungle.
James cautiously peered through the black gate. The spikes above did not deter him; and they could be easily scaled. The problem was the suit loitering around the front porch. James noticed the man’s Beretta sticking out of the side of his trousers, nestling snugly in its gun pouch.
There were at least three different ways to break the suit’s neck, two of which would be fatal. There were five ways to crack his ribs. And another two ways to break his nose, ensuring that he lost enough blood to be rendered unconscious. All the violence running through James’ head was something he hadn’t been able to switch off recently. This is what he’d become. The crisp air and the chirping of starlings gave him a moment to relax. This was Rosebank, bright and blooming Rosebank.
At exactly 1:00 PM, the gate shuffled to the side. The suit made his way out. James crouched down behind the nearby bushes. He had exactly three seconds to get in before the gate closed again. If he moved whilst it closed, the sensor would pick up his movement. The gate would move back open and the suit would turn a
round. And that would be game over. James scurried through in time, panting—thanks to his nicotine-filled lungs.
Inside, the bricks sat neatly together to form the walls of the house, with a tidy little steeple-like roof overbearing it all. The pathway leading to the front door was cobblestone and steered him past petite chrysanthemum bushes and another smooth lawn. It all seemed fairly quaint, yet one shouldn’t be fooled. This was a wealthy area. He had seconds to spare on the porch before the next suit made his entrance. He danced around in his mind with what he was going to say when he was inside.
He tossed his cigarette aside and turned the cold brass knob of the front door. He trudged past rooms, not even bothering to look in. He knew where to go. He had a shabby sports bag strapped across his shoulder. Inside it was the simplest of objects. An object very much like the world: black and white. There was good and there was evil. But what of all of those in-between? What were they?
This mini-world was right within James’ grasp as he slowly placed his hands within the bag. He caressed the leather of the object with his rough hands, his nails exploring all its grooves. He could not decipher which was more chapped—his palms or the object. He walked through the kitchen and opened the back door to step out onto the veranda. The back garden was ovular, with a host of trees and plants decorating its borders. It was cornered off with fences much like a tennis court. The boy was in the same place as always. Jay sat on a swing, gazing towards the ground and the oak leaves that were scattered below him. He was wearing a gown with a sports jacket over it. As James encroached, Jay spoke without looking up: