by Kurt Ellis
“Then why … ?”
“Howzit, Captain.” The car door opened and Spider got out.
Captain felt a shudder of relief at the sight of his friend, but the smile on Spider’s face revealed all. Captain’s anger flared. He tried to get to his feet. The heels of his tackies slipped on the wet grass and Spider back-pedalled as fast as he could. But the retreat was unnecessary. Tyson’s goons quickly grabbed Captain and punched him back down into submission.
Captain licked his numb, bloodied bottom lip and spat red saliva onto the grass. “You fucking bastard, Spider. What the hell are you doing?”
“Whatever I have to, Captain.”
Captain’s head itched with confusion. “I don’t understand. How could you? I …”
Spider shook his head. “I knew you would be pissed off, Cap, but I know you fucking understand, bru. I know you do. I can’t keep being your punk, Cap. I can’t be your fucking dog, taking whatever scraps you give me.”
“Scraps?” Captain’s anger flared. “What fucking scraps do I give you?”
“Bru, it’s bullshit that we’re giving away so much of the money we make. It doesn’t make sense. We started the Godfathers so we can get the crown, bru. Me and you. To make big money.”
“We are making big fucking money, Spider. You know this. And we could make a shitload more in the future.”
“Fuck the future!” Spider spat. “I want my fucking money. Now! And I will do anything that I need to, to get that. And if that means killing you, or Wahied, or whoever else, then I will fucking do that.”
Captain gritted his teeth. “I will get you for this. I promise you, I will fucking tear you to pieces. I swear.”
Tyson laughed. “Well, that is assuming you live past tonight, outie. And let me choon you the waar.” He frowned in mock sadness and slowly shook his head. “Chances are you won’t.”
“Captain?” Jimmy sobbed softly. He sounded terrified. One of Tyson’s cronies slapped him hard across the cheek.
Captain’s fury soared again. “Don’t you touch him!” He tried to get to his feet once more, and yet again he was greeted with an onslaught of punches that sat him back down. “Look here,” he shouted, once the blows had stopped raining down on him. “Do whatever you want with me, but let the lightie go. You ous know he isn’t involved in this shit. Spider, you bastard! You know Jimmy was never involved in anything I did. Tell him Jimmy has never done anything against him. Let him go!”
Spider remained silent.
“I must say, Captain,” Tyson said, “you have a lot more fight in you than I expected. And I like that.”
“Tyson, don’t fuck around here, bru. You have me. Do the right thing. The lightie is not involved with anything. Let him go.”
Tyson raised an eyebrow and sauntered over to the boot of the car. “I bought something hectically lukka yesterday, bru,” he said as he popped the trunk. “It’s a sniper’s rifle. Like the ous use in the army. With this bitch, ek sê, I can shoot the dick off a fly, with ease.”
“Tyson,” Captain implored, “just let the bloody boy go, man – please, ek sê. I’m begging you.”
“Calm down, Captain. You and I are brus, ek sê. You should know I’ll give you a fair shot to get out of this.” He cackled to himself, his mind visibly ticking over. He pointed to the far end of the soccer field and the cement stands that stood there. “You see those stands? If you and the lightie can get there in what … ten seconds …” He seemed to do a quick estimation in his mind. “Yeah, that’s about right. It looks like a ten-second sprint to me, and if you can do it, I’ll let you go. If not …” Tyson concluded the sentence by cocking the weapon and driving a bullet into the chamber.
“You are out of your fucking mind, bru,” Captain said. “There ain’t no way I am playing your sick game.”
“Tyson,” Spider said softly. “Los this bullshit. Just shoot them now, quickly, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Tyson turned to him. “Hey, I’m being nice. I’m giving them a shot. If you don’t like it, then I’ll make you run too.” Tyson turned back to his captives. “But you make a good point, Spider. If you don’t want to play, Captain, then fine. I’ll just shoot y’all right now.” He pointed the barrel of the rifle straight at Jimmy’s face.
“Captain!” Jimmy screamed as he covered his face with his hands.
“Wait! Stop!” Captain shouted. “We’ll do it!”
Tyson laughed and propped the rifle on his shoulders. “Lukka. So up you get. To your feet, ouens.”
Captain tentatively got off the ground. Jimmy was far too scared to move, so Captain had to drag him off the earth. They were roughly pushed forward until they stood on the white stripe of the touchline.
“Are y’all ready?” Tyson smiled.
Captain replied, “Ek sê, bru. You said ten seconds.”
“I know what I fucking said. I am a man of my word.”
Jimmy whimpered. “Captain …”
“Shut up, Jimmy. We are going to make it. You just keep on running, you hear me? Don’t look back, no matter what. You just keep on running, and don’t you dare stop for nothing!” Captain ordered.
Jimmy’s breathing already sounded laboured, as if his lungs were tightening with stress.
“Go!”
Captain reacted fast. He bowed his head and he sprinted. Jimmy was startled by Tyson’s raised voice and started a step slower. One second. Captain already had about a three-foot gap between himself and Jimmy when he began to slow down and look back. Two seconds. Jimmy closed the gap and they were now side by side. Three seconds. Captain’s legs pumped like pistons. His lungs burnt as they devoured the early-morning air and his stomach boiled with last night’s alcohol. Four seconds. The tears from the crisp air ran down his cheeks and his heart strained to provide the blood needed for the sprint. Captain was running directly behind Jimmy now. He had put his body between Jimmy and the barrel of Tyson’s gun. They passed the halfway point. Five seconds. He placed his hand in the middle of Jimmy’s back and nudged him on. “Go. Go,” he puffed in a whisper. “Faster. Faster.” Six seconds. Their legs seemed to find another level of energy and moved at a greater speed. They pumped harder. Seven seconds. They were going to make it. Captain could smell the delightful scent of piss from people who had urinated against the stand walls. They were almost there. They were going to make it.
The gunshot was loud and echoed in the silent night sky. The initial impact felt as if someone had punched him between the shoulder blades. He felt a sharp, burning sensation in his back, followed by a warm wetness. His legs stopped responding to his wishes and gave way. He crashed face first into the wet grass and slid across the surface. Captain felt his consciousness slip away. But he managed to look up to see Jimmy still running. He saw him disappear into the abyss of the stands. Into the pitch black of the shadows. He had made it. The thought gave Captain a sense of peace knowing that although he’d die, Jimmy would live. His eyes were beginning to close when he spotted a blur running towards him out of the shadows.
“Captain!” Jimmy called as he came running back.
Captain’s eyes swelled with horror. His mind screamed at Jimmy, “Leave me!” but his mouth would not make the message audible. Jimmy grabbed his cousin by the arm and tried to drag him across the field. A second shot rang out and whistled past Jimmy’s face.
Still Jimmy continued to pull at Captain with one hand as he raised the other to Tyson. “Please! Don’t! Wait!” he pleaded as tears streamed out of his brilliant blue eyes. “Please don’t! No! Please …”
The third shot cracked and Jimmy’s head jerked back. An explosion of bone and gore sprayed out onto the grass. He fell backwards with a thump and stared up into the dark sky. His right eye was gone. His left eye was still open – still blue but no longer brilliant.
Darkness engulfed Captain’s mind and he descended into an abyss of blackness. The last thing he saw were the words “Size 8”, written on the sole of Jimmy’s tackie.
He held his right hand in his left to stop it from shaking, but that just made his left hand shake harder. In fact, his whole body was trembling. Kyle looked up at the image of the young man, his arms outstretched and nailed to a piece of wood. His bearded face hung, looking down upon the body of Jimmy. The body of young James Michael Marsh. And just as Jesus gazed on the young teenager, so did the rest of the congregation of St Michael’s church in Greenwood Park.
Kyle sat in the front of the church, tears steadily running down his face, but these tears would not relieve his guilt. He should have been there. He shouldn’t have left to get water. Maybe if he was there, he could have helped. Maybe he could have saved Jimmy and Captain. The possibilities were endless, but all he knew was that he should have been there.
Captain was still lying in intensive care with tubes and machines keeping him alive. The doctors gave him no hope of surviving. It was inevitable, the doctor had said. They were actually amazed that he had survived for so long already. He was a real fighter, but this was one battle that he was going to lose. It had been a week since they were shot. A week in which Kyle had never felt more guilty or more alone.
The organist struck up a hymn that was familiar to Kyle, but he could not place it. The churchgoers got to their feet, formed a queue and, in turns, proceeded to view the body. Kyle was in the first row and he too walked over to the corpse of his baby cousin, his fair skin even whiter than usual. He could still see the damage caused by the bullet that tore into Jimmy’s head, despite the mortician’s efforts to conceal it. Jimmy looked like he was in a peaceful sleep. As if he’d open his eyes if Kyle shook him roughly. The loss gripped his soul. He leaned into the coffin and kissed Jimmy on the ice-cold forehead. He kissed his cousin goodbye.
Kyle, his eyes sodden with tears, turned quickly and left the church through the side door. He needed to get some air. He needed to be alone. But as he walked out of the building, he was met by the rest of the Godfathers congregated outside: Bruge, Earl, Gary and Spider. He walked into the impromptu meeting just in time to hear Bruge say to Spider, “Fuck you. We’re going after him.”
“What’s going on here?” Kyle asked, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“We know where Tyson is,” Bruge explained. “He’s staying at some stekkie’s pozzie in Sydenham Heights, and we’re going after him.”
“Wait.” Spider spoke with authority in his voice. “Let’s not rush into any action here. I’m in the process of negotiating a peace, ouens.”
“Fuck peace! And what the fuck do you mean, wait?” Earl said. “The ou shot Captain. He killed Jimmy. Fucking Jimmy, bru! No ways is he getting away with this. There will be no peace while that bastard is alive.”
“I am coming.” Kyle whispered it at first. He looked each one of the Godfathers in the eye, and then repeated himself with more force. “I am coming. Today we kill him.”
Spider tried to protest, but the rest of the Godfathers ignored him as they walked on to the parking lot.
“Kyle.”
It was a familiar voice. He turned to see Amia walking up to him.
“Can we please talk?”
The Godfathers all stopped, but he said to them, “Get the car. I won’t be long.”
Kyle turned and walked back to her, but dared not look into her eyes. He did not think he would be able to handle it. He focused his glare on the entrance of the church over her left shoulder, and his mind on the thought of Jimmy being laid to rest.
“What can I do for you?” He was surprised at how frosty he sounded.
Amia sighed. “I just wanted to say … Kyle, I am so sorry. I know …”
“Thank you.”
“Please, Kyle. If you need to talk to someone, I’m …”
He heard a car roar to life in the distance. “I’m fine. I need to go.” He turned to leave and she grabbed him by the arm.
“Where are you going?” She looked suspiciously into his face. “What is going on here, Kyle?”
“I’m going to take care of some stuff.”
“Kyle, what are you going to do?”
“What do you care?”
“Please, Kyle,” she pleaded, close to sobs. “Don’t do anything that you’re going to regret. Please.”
He pulled his arm back. “This is no concern of yours. Remember, you don’t love me. I don’t need or want your sympathy.” He turned his back on her and went to rejoin the Godfathers.
He slid into the passenger seat of Earl’s car. He knew she had walked after him and was now staring at him through the passenger window, but he dared not look at her. He had to be strong.
59
They arrived in Sydenham after driving for about fifteen minutes. The busy Sydenham streets were quietening down by the time they got there. Earl turned his car into Sydenham Heights and parked as close to the building as he could.
Sydenham Heights were three large blocks of plain cement flats that many people called The Projects. They reached up high into the Sydenham skyline and were differentiated by labels: A, B and C.
Kyle had been silent during the journey. The picture of how Jimmy had looked in the coffin was burned into his memory. Amia also flitted through his thoughts, but he did all he could to push her out.
For almost the entire trip Spider had been making an argument as to why they should not go after Tyson. He insisted that they leave it up to him and that he would take it up with Lazarus. Nobody heard him. Nobody cared what he had to say.
“Which block is he in?” Kyle asked as they stopped.
“Block A,” replied Bruge. He reached under the driver’s seat and pulled out a handgun.
They got out of the vehicle and Earl popped his trunk. He handed a handgun to Spider, one to Gary and offered one to Kyle.
Kyle shook his head. “I don’t want to shoot him. I don’t want it to be over that quick.”
Earl looked him in the eye questioningly, then nodded. The boot closed with a bang that made Kyle’s heart skip. With weapons tucked in their belts, they walked towards the block of flats with the sun descending on their backs. By any means necessary.
With Bruge in the lead they climbed the stairs in single file. An old man was sitting on the stairs, staring out at nothing. He didn’t acknowledge their arrival in any way. He didn’t even blink.
When they arrived at the seventh-floor landing, Kyle reached out and stopped them.
“Wassup?” asked Spider. “You changed your mind?”
Kyle looked at the floor and as that mental switch of aggression flicked on, he looked up. “Nobody shoots. We move fast, but do not shoot him. I want him in my hands.”
“You got it,” Gary agreed.
Bruge took the lead once more as they made their way down the passage of identical green doors, until they arrived at their target. Flat number 733. Kyle took a deep breath to steady himself. To slow his heartbeat. When he was ready, he nodded. Bruge knocked on the door and hid away from the peephole. The other Godfathers and Kyle did the same on the other side of the doorframe.
“Who’s there?” came a shout from inside the flat.
Kyle had never heard Tyson’s voice before, so he didn’t know if that was him or not. Bruge shook his head as if he could hear Kyle’s thoughts. Kyle heart was pounding so loudly he feared that Tyson might hear it. He was petrified, but the thought of turning back was far from his mind. This was for Jimmy and Captain. This was something he had to do.
There was no audible movement on the other side of the door, so Bruge knocked again.
“Who the fuck is there?”
Again, none of the Godfathers responded. They could hear the sound of footsteps getting closer, coming to the door.
Then more silence. Kyle assumed the person behind the door must be looking through the peephole, so he pressed himself as far back into the wall as possible.
“Fucking lighties,” they heard the voice curse through the door. This was followed by the clank of a key in the lock. The door creaked
open, just a crack. That was all they needed. As the head came to the opening, Bruge stepped out and fired three shots.
Kyle’s first instinct was to run from the shots, but he refused to succumb. Instead, he slammed his shoulder into the door, sending it swinging open. The bullets had splattered the orange kitchen cupboards behind the doorman with a pink-and-red fluid.
From the kitchen doorway, he could see straight into the lounge where a man sat. It had to be Tyson. He looked exactly the same as he had in the photographs Captain had shown him. Tyson was sitting topless on a floral couch, watching a daytime soap opera. His mouth fell agape with surprise before he leapt to his feet and tried to run into an adjacent room. Kyle had no clue where he was fleeing to, but he rushed forward to intercept him. He leapt over the body of the doorman, who was wearing a black-and-orange American football jacket, and slammed into Tyson’s naked torso with his shoulder like an illegal rugby tackle. The shoulder charge sent Tyson crashing into the wooden room divider, knocking over picture frames and pot plants that smashed on the floor.
Tyson was stunned and Kyle used the opportunity to swing with a right jab to his cheekbone. Tyson’s head snapped back and crashed into the wood furniture again. The Godfathers all stood back and watched as Kyle wrapped his hands around Tyson’s throat. He drove a knee into his midsection that doubled him over.
But Tyson had somehow found a second wind and drove Kyle backward. His back was slammed into the wall and it was Kyle’s turn to be stunned.
Tyson turned again to run into the bedroom. What was he going for? Kyle thought. It had to be a weapon. He chased after him and kicked his left foot out at Tyson’s ankle. Tyson tripped just as he entered the bedroom and fell hard onto the corner of a dressing table before he fell face down on the floor. Kyle leapt onto his back and delivered a barrage of punches to the back of his head. He heard the Godfathers rushing into the room behind him, and Spider shouting to someone, “Just fucking shoot him!”
Tyson struck out wildly with an elbow that caught Kyle off guard and on the temple. Kyle tumbled to his right and hit his head on the same dressing table that Tyson had fallen onto. A bright white light of pain exploded in his head and he fought to remain conscious.