By Any Means

by Kurt Ellis

  Captain nodded a greeting at the man. Coles ignored him and turned his eyes back to the game.

  “Shit, man,” Lazarus said as he walked into the room, glass in hand. “The fucking Crusaders are killing us.” He handed Captain the glass and instructed him to pour himself a drink.

  “So how are things your side, Big Man?” Tyson asked.

  Big man? Captain thought, but said nothing. “All good. You know, just trying to survive.”

  “Yeah. Surviving can be tough, lightie. Trust me.”

  Captain noted this vague threat, locked it away in a memory vault and smiled back.

  There was silence for half a minute. All eight eyes looked at the television set as the Sharks prepared to take a line-out.

  “I hear business is good?” Tyson continued.

  Captain turned back to look at Tyson and shrugged. “Yeah, working hard. Doing the best I can. Doing well.”

  “From what I hear you have been doing very well. It makes me proud.”

  Proud of what? Captain thought. You had nothing to do with this.

  Tyson laughed as if he had just remembered a private joke. “When I went in, you were just a little lightie who could stand his ground. Now look at you. The big chief. The nduna.”

  Lazarus spoke up. “Tyson here is looking to make some money. He’s looking for a graaf. I don’t have anything available for him right now. But I asked him to talk to you, see if there is any way you can hook him up with something with your crew. You know?”

  So this is what the meeting is about, thought Captain. This bastard is looking to get back into the game. Into my game.

  He took a sip of his beer, giving himself a precious few seconds to word his response smartly. “Hell, I would be happy to hook him up, if I had a place. Right now, I got the ous working a very tight ship. The money split is just right for everyone to be happy, and the workload is just right for all the ous to earn that crown.”

  Tyson leaned back in his chair and nodded, “I see. I see.” He sucked at invisible food stuck in his teeth.

  “But if something does come up, bru, you know, I will definitely bring you in,” Captain continued, knowing full well that he would do no such thing.

  “I know you will,” Tyson smiled, but his look told Captain he knew he was lying.

  Lazarus turned the volume down on the TV and faced them. “Okay, now listen up, gents. I can understand that you guys have a little … uncomfortable situation going on here, but shit, the truth is that it’s not my problem. I don’t deal in the past. I deal in the present.” He initially spoke to both Tyson and Captain, then turned his focus mainly on Tyson. “Now, Captain and his crew work for me. And they do some bloody good work, and I don’t want that work to stop. I’m looking to bring in some high-class stuff. Coke and H. Serious shit, to start getting into the white boys. So I don’t want no bullshit and drama. I don’t need the cops looking at me right now. Understand, ouens?”

  Tyson tossed out a crocodile grin. “Of course there’ll be no drama, ek sê. Captain and I are thick brus – right, Cap?”

  You lying fuck, thought Captain, but said, “Of course.”

  Lazarus leant back in his chair and turned the volume back up. “Good.” He reached around the blind side of his chair and, without looking, tossed a small kit bag at Captain. “I need you to take this to Big Dre in the ’Burgs. Can you get it done today?”

  Big Dre sold drugs for Lazarus in Pietermaritzburg. Captain guessed the bag was filled with the cocaine they had picked up from the fat Mozambican, José. He remembered that Lester and Wahied were going to Pietermaritzburg later that afternoon. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Good.” Lazarus turned to the off-duty policeman sitting next to him. “Like I was saying, Coles, eight thousand rands should be fine.”

  Coles shrugged. “We talking about a murder docket here, Lazarus. It costs more than eight thousand rands to make it disappear.”

  Lazarus smiled, though there was nothing friendly in his grin. “You and your fucking like are really milking me here. Fine. Ten thousand. But I want his murder docket gone. I need him out ASAP.”

  Captain finished his beer in one gulp and got to his feet

  “You don’t have to go now,” Lazarus said. “Park and watch the rest of the game. Henry Honiball will kick us to the win, bru. I just know it.”

  “That’s cool. I’m not much of a rugby fan. Besides, I got a few things I need to do today. You going to pull up to the tournament next weekend?”

  Lazarus frowned. “That fundraising five-a-side shit?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll see.”

  Captain responded with a nod and began to make his way out of the room, but just as he got to the doorway, Tyson called out, “Hey, Cap.” When Captain turned, Tyson gave him a wink. “I’ll check you later, bru.”

  14

  Kyle sprinted for the ball, but Dumisani had got to it first. Kyle did not dive into a tackle but instead just held his ground, keeping his body between the ball and the goal he was defending, as any decent defender would do.

  Concentrate. Keep your eye on the ball. Focus. Watch the ball, not the man. Watch the ball, not the man. Watch the ball … I wonder what she’s doing right now?

  Dumisani stepped over the ball once and slipped it through Kyle’s legs. Kyle groaned out loud in frustration and tossed his head to the sky. He had been hoodwinked. He chose not to steal a look over at Charlie, who was certainly glowering at him. Charlie Reed, from Liverpool, England, had been the coach of Villa Park’s first team for the past seven years. When Kyle was just fifteen, Charlie had played him in the senior first team. He was a boy playing with men, some twice his age and most twice his size. A former professional football player himself, Charlie thought Kyle had great potential and talent, which was why he pushed to get the footballing scouts out to see him.

  Kyle was annoyed with being dribbled by Dumisani, but the funny thing was, he was not that angry with himself for his lapse of concentration. In fact, the entire training session had been far below his standard, and he’d struggled to care. He was not running as fast as he could, he was not shooting as hard and as accurately as he normally did, and he was not playing this practice game with any energy, strength or intensity. And it was all because of her. She had colonised his thoughts and had made them her own. All he could do was remember her eyes – those beautiful eyes that were like two pools of liquid gold. And those lips of hers, that were like …

  The sharp shrill of Charlie’s whistle broke through his thoughts. “That’s it, guys,” he said in his strong Scouse accent. “Hit the showers and call it a day.”

  The Villa Park players made their way to the brick building at the halfway line. Charlie walked up to Kyle. “Mind tellin’ me what the fuck that was?”

  Kyle smiled. “Sorry, coach. Just have a lot on my mind.”

  “Really? A lot on yo’ mind, you say?” the Englishman repeated. “Well, get whatever is on yo’ mind off, or you’ll have to get my boot outa yo’ ass. Understand me, son?”

  Anyone who was familiar with Charlie knew better than to take any offence at how he spoke and the words he chose.

  “Sure thing, coach,” Kyle answered with a grin.

  Charlie continued to scold Kyle a bit longer, using some of the most entertainingly creative foul language Kyle had ever heard, before he finally said, “I spoke to Danny last night.”

  “And?” Danny was the Birmingham scout from the previous week.

  “And he liked what he saw. You are halfway there, son. But only halfway, so don’t be countin’ any fuckin’ chickens now. He’s a comin’ back in a few months with the head o’ development and their youth coach. They’ll be settin’ up a game between their youth team and the Natal under-seventeens, just to see how you perform.”

  “Just to see me?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Well, they were comin’ on tour to Johannesburg anyway. Just got them to agree to an extra game.”

  Kyle smiled and
looked at the brown grass of the field. His dreams were becoming a reality. Both of them.

  “Which is why,” Charlie continued, “I can’t have you runnin’ about like a blind man in a brothel. Get focused.”

  “Sure thing, gov’ner,” Kyle said in a fake Liverpudlian accent of his own.

  Charlie growled. “And about next weekend’s five-a-side tournament for yo’ cousin, all the coaches have confirmed that they’ll be there.”

  “That’s good,” Kyle said. “It’s going to be great.”

  “You just better make sure you don’t get injured.”

  “I won’t,” replied Kyle and ran off to the change room so he could have a shower. He had something very important to do when he got home.

  15

  2-0-8-0-1 … Kyle slammed the receiver back onto the cradle. His chest expanded as he took in a deep breath, sucking in all the bravado that the air could offer. He picked the receiver up again and punched 2-0-8-0 … and hung up once more. His heart was pounding so loudly that he struggled to get air into his lungs. He took a few steps back and tried to shake out the tension from his body, the way he did before a match. He trotted on the spot and slapped himself hard once, then a second time for good measure. He forced oxygen into his system and felt the adrenaline beginning to take effect. “I can do this, I can do this. I can do this,” he whispered to himself.

  He picked up the payphone receiver again. He jabbed 2-0-8-0-1 … and felt that urge to hang up once more. He punched the 8 and the 9 as hard as he could. The silence was dead and loud, then there was a burst of ringing at the other end. He longed for her to answer, and yet, at the same time, he prayed that she wouldn’t. The rings were torture, each one causing the voice of self-doubt to murmur a little louder in his ear, Hang up. Hang up. Hang up.

  “Hello?”

  Kyle’s knees trembled. “H … Hey. How you doing?”

  An agonising silence followed. “I’m good Kyle, and you?”

  Kyle was taken aback that she’d recognised his voice. He was flattered.

  “I’m great. Just finished training,” he said, lifting his black Liverpool FC cap from his head. He nervously ran his fingers through his freshly showered hair.

  They chatted, and with each second that passed, he began to feel more and more relaxed, until he was confident enough to ask if he could come over to see her. For the most unbearable few seconds of his life, she contemplated his request, before eventually saying yes. He had to restrain himself from yelping out loud in joy and relief. They agreed to meet in half an hour, and he rushed off to the Sydenham taxi rank and climbed into the first available kombi. This taxi had no sound system, but the roar of the engine was enough to rouse the sleeping serpent of self-doubt that nested in his gut. What the hell am I doing? he thought. What makes me think that a girl like Amia could be interested in a pathetic, homeless orphan like me? She can have any guy she wants. Guys with more money than me. Guys that are better-looking and have more to offer her than me. What the hell am I thinking?

  The taxi slowed to a stop and Kyle got out. He looked to his right, along the route to Aunt May’s house. Then he looked across the street, which was the path to Sherwood. To Amia.

  You miss a hundred per cent of the shots you don’t take, he heard Charlie say in his head.

  He raised his eyes to the bright blue Durban sky and whispered a prayer. Perhaps the first proper prayer he’d said since it had happened. “Please, Lord. Help me, please, Jesus. Let this happen.” Then he crossed the street and walked briskly into Sherwood’s fabulous green streets. He walked as fast as he could, as if to outpace the hiss of that serpent. That snake that always told him he couldn’t. That always told him he was not good enough and he would never be good enough.

  He reached the grey gate, and there she was. Sitting on the verandah, her legs folded beneath her, as she paged through a tattered copy of Romeo and Juliet.

  She looked up, as if she could feel his eyes on her, and smiled a smile that made the midday sun blush. “Hey, I was just looking for that passage of yours.”

  Kyle smiled back. “Really? Did you like it that much?”

  Amia unfolded her legs and walked up the pathway towards him. Kyle’s eyes slid over her body. She was wearing blue denim shorts that showed her sculpted legs, and a pink top that fitted her snugly. He felt embarrassed by his hungry thoughts and turned his disobedient eyes to the earth.

  “It was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”

  Kyle blushed. “Maybe I should write you something similar.”

  “Can you?”

  “I can give it a try.”

  She unlatched the gate. “You want to go for a walk?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  They ambled down the quiet street, to the park at the end of the cul-de-sac.

  “I used to play on these swings every day when I was young,” Amia said as she climbed onto a wooden board suspended from a rusted chain. “Until it was almost completely dark.”

  “That couldn’t have been too safe.”

  She smiled as she rocked the swing into life. “It was, back then.”

  There was more silence, which Kyle had the burning need to fill. “I used to read a lot when I was young.” Why the hell would he say that?

  Amia laughed. “Wow. You really are quite a nerd, huh?”

  How he wished he could press rewind and erase that statement. Replace it with something a lot cooler. Something better.

  Perhaps she saw the look of mortification in his eyes, because she said, “I think it’s cute. You’re a nerdy jock. Very unusual.” He saw her face redden and he too felt the warmth of a blush in his cheeks.

  He changed the topic. “So where’s Paula?”

  “Bradley took her with him to his friend’s place. Who also happens to be my ex, so … ja.”

  That snake of doubt in his gut now had company, as the green-eyed monster of jealousy agitated within. But he fought both beasts back down into submission.

  “OK. So how long ago did you two break up?”

  “About three months. He’s a total ass. I don’t know what I was thinking. I like your hair.”

  Kyle burst out laughing.

  Amia blushed again. “I’m serious. It makes you look like a Latino or something.”

  “Well, in Joburg they believe I’m Indian, so they may disagree with you.”

  “Well, they don’t know what they’re talking about.” She took his cap from his head and ran a quick hand through his hair, and his ears tingled at the contact.

  After he’d regained some composure, he asked, “What is it with coloured people and their obsession with hair?”

  Amia laughed. “I really don’t know, hey.”

  “My mother had a saying for me regarding dating. She used to tell me, ‘If she can’t use a comb, don’t bring her home.’”

  Amia howled with laughter. She flicked her gorgeous curly locks and said, “Well, I can use a comb.”

  He was now certain that she was flirting with him. His nerves vibrated with fear, excitement, anticipation and confusion. How was he supposed to play this situation?

  “So, you and Captain are cousins?” she asked.

  “Yes. Been so all our lives,” he joked.

  “Do you also …” She searched for the right words. “Do you … do … what he does? You know. Are you …”

  He smiled. “No, I’m not a gangster. That’s his business. Me, all I do is a kick a ball a bit, or read a book or two. That’s it. Kinda boring.”

  “Not at all. I think it’s smart. You have a plan to get outa here. Others don’t.”

  “But most people have the wrong perception of Captain.”

  She cocked her head to the side, disbelieving. “Really.” Half a question, half a statement.

  “Yup. He’s not as bad as most people like to think. Or as he makes himself out to be.”

  “Well, I find that hard to believe.”

  He laughed softly. “I’ll give you an example. Do y
ou know how he got his nickname, Captain?”

  Amia shrugged.

  “We were still in primary school and we had a lesson on pollution or something like that. The lesson had a huge effect on him and from that day onwards he waged a personal war against litter. He would go up and down the street picking up trash, and then he even tried to get his mother and everyone else to recycle. The whole neighbourhood.” Kyle laughed. “So we all started calling him Captain Planet, like the cartoon. And … well, the Captain part has stuck ever since.”

  Amia smiled. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Very few people do.” Kyle smiled. “Do you have a plan? About what you want to do next year?”

  “Yup,” she smiled. “I want to study overseas. Go to the United States or to Europe to be an au pair, and while I’m there, study Child Psychology.”

  “I like that plan,” Kyle smiled.

  Amia eased off the swing and they walked over to the wooden beams that surrounded the green grass of the playground. They sat down side by side.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  Kyle was hesitant, but how could he ever say no to her? He nodded.

  “Is it true what they say happened to your mother? That your father killed her?”

  Kyle’s eyes dropped to the ground, and he studied a line of tiny red ants as they scurried to and from their home. Home.

  “Oh, God!” Amia exclaimed, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have …”

  Kyle forced a fake, brave smile. “It’s fine.” He swallowed the seeds of tears. “He didn’t kill her, although eventually he might have, the way he used to hit her.” He cleared his throat. “I came home from school one day and I found her in the bath. She’d swallowed sleeping pills, then cut her wrists. That’s it. I saw my father again that evening at the police station, but never again. I have no clue where he is now, and I actually don’t care.”

  She reached out her hand and took his. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I know how you feel.” She checked that statement. “Or I think I do.”