Swift Justice

by Meredith Taylor

  Edgar responded: “Sounds impressive,” and he could see Sylas beaming.

  Finally, after going up 28 floors in the lift, they made it to the staircase that Sylas had told them about. A giant bouncer stood at the top of the staircase, wearing sunglasses even though it was already fairly dark inside. Sylas flashed tickets in the bouncer’s face, and they were let through the doorway to the roof.

  Edgar was stunned when they reached the rooftop. The party was vibrant, with cool Afro-pop playing through the speakers set up around the deck, and only a light breeze blowing to cool the hot summer night. Girls were wearing elaborate costumes, and many of the guys were in skintight shirts. The male servers who were floating around the room were shirtless, and the female servers wore tight skirts and glittery crop tops. Most of the guests were sipping cocktails from tall glasses.

  “Shots!” Leo shouted, and grabbed Sylas by the hand, leading him to the nearby bar. Edgar smiled and grabbed a cocktail from one of the trays that was carried past him, taking a large gulp. Hein smiled devilishly next to him.

  “What do you think?” Hein winked. He had the most intensely blue eyes that Edgar had ever seen, and his jet-black hair made the color pop even more. Hein was tall and muscular, and was always impeccably dressed in the best brands. He was clearly a guy who took his appearance seriously, and Leo and Sylas had made it clear to Edgar early on that being friends with Hein was a major boost to one’s social standing.

  “It’s great,” Edgar said, taking another big swig of the fruity cocktail and feeling it go straight to his head. “Just like the parties back home.”

  Hein raised his eyebrow. “You seem off today. I would’ve thought you’d be ecstatic after how great you were in mock court today. You were ruthless with that Moketla guy. I loved it!”

  “I wasn’t that bad, was I?” Edgar asked sheepishly. “Everyone knows that he’s the best student in class, so I studied even harder so I wouldn’t embarrass myself. But he seemed to give up so easily. It was almost a disappointment.”

  Hein laughed, and a sinister look came over him. “I’m glad he could be brought down a few pegs. Just because he’s connected, the son of Koena Moketla, he acts like he’s God’s gift to Ridgemont. It was fun seeing you go at him like that.”

  A sudden pang of guilt ran through Edgar, but he decided to drown it with another swig of his cocktail. Had he really been that hard on Tumi? Edgar said to Hein, “Why don’t we dance a bit and forget about class for tonight?” Hein nodded, bopping along to the music, and the two of them walked over to where Leo and Sylas were enjoying their third round of shots.

  The night was a scorcher, and alcohol flowed freely. Edgar could feel himself getting drunk, and he laughed as he danced in-between the new friends he had made at Ridgemont University. For a brief moment, he forgot about life back in England and about how out of place he felt. Leo was grinding up against Edgar as they danced, clearly losing his inhibitions after the countless shots he had enjoyed. He whispered into Edgar’s ear: “You know, I’ve always had a thing for gingers…”

  Edgar raised his eyebrow and, with a serious expression, responded, “Don’t call me a ginger.” He walked away from Leo, trying to find something else to distract him, and feeling his mind becoming fuzzier. He spotted the railing at the side of the building and decided to try and get some fresh air, and as he reached the edge he stepped up onto the ledge and looked over. The height of the building made him feel even queasier, and he saw the cars moving like toys on the ground far below him. His mind drifted to thoughts of his mother and of how much she loved South Africa. The sounds of the party drowned out behind him as he looked out at the city lights, mesmerized.

  “What are you doing?” Hein’s voice called out to him.

  Edgar smiled and called back to Hein over the music, “I’m living out my Titanic fantasies. Care to be my Jack Dawson?”

  “You’re drunk,” Hein laughed, enjoying Edgar’s antics. “Come down here before you hurt yourself.”

  “You’ll have to come up here and get me,” Edgar said, and made a show of leaning dangerously over the side of the building. Hein threw his head back in laughter.

  “You’ll get yourself killed. And worse, you’ll get me thrown out of the party.” Hein reached up and grabbed Edgar’s arm, and Edgar stumbled. He pushed himself away from the railing, and Hein moved out of the way, causing Edgar to fall directly into one of the tall vases that adorned the rooftop. The vase tilted under Edgar’s weight, and just as Edgar found his feet, he heard the loud crash of the massive, heavy vase meeting the floor and splintering into a thousand pieces.

  There was complete silence for a few seconds as everyone around Edgar stopped to look at what had happened. The music was turned off after the loud bang, and Edgar felt hundreds of eyes locked on him as he struggled to remain standing.

  “Now look what you’ve done, you silly man,” Hein called out through his laughter, still clearly enjoying every second of Edgar’s mischievous behavior. Edgar felt his head spinning, and swallowed hard.

  The crowd was broken up by a short man pushing through. He wore an oversized, cheap-looking suit, and his expression was panicked. The man’s face was completely red with anger. The man called out, “What happened here? Who is responsible for this?”

  Edgar finally found his footing, and towered over the short man. “I am. What’s your problem?”

  The short man was fuming, beads of sweat dripping from his bald head. “Young man, I am the manager here!” The manager pointed to the broken vase, “That is a R16000 vase you just broke. How do you propose to pay for it?”

  Edgar reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. “Does credit card work for you, or would you prefer direct deposit? And I’ll throw in a few thousand as a tip if you can have this cleaned up quickly so that we can return to our party. Is that in order, my good man?”

  The manager looked flabbergasted, and stared at Edgar for a while without saying a word. Finally, he stammered: “W-w-why yes, sir, that will be in order. Can I get you anything else?”

  The music was turned back on and everyone went on as if nothing had happened. Hein was laughing uproariously at all of it. Edgar went back to the bar, and he enjoyed another cocktail with his friends. His heart was racing, but he did his best to push any discomfort from his mind. He was determined to enjoy the party, and he wouldn’t allow a clumsy accident to ruin his night. But inside, he could already hear his father’s voice when he got the credit card bill.

  Chapter 3

  The Dumisane Tshabalala Memorial Hospital was one of the best-resourced teaching hospitals in South Africa, and all of the Ridgemont University medical students received their practical training there. Tumi walked into the courtyard at the west entrance of the hospital, which was decorated by a water feature and tall trees. The hospital’s public cafeteria was out in the courtyard, and neat benches could be found under the shade of the trees. The tranquil setting was in stark contrast to the way Tumi was feeling inside. He sat down at one of the benches, feeling his insides tangle into a knot. His honey-brown eyes were contorted into a frown, and dark circles were forming under them. He had spent sleepless nights thinking about what he was about to do, and he knew that the only person who could put his mind at ease was his brother, Mohale.

  Mohale was a resident physician at Dumisane Tshabalala, and carried on the tradition of the Moketla family of becoming high-powered professionals. Mohale was dashing and handsome, with a light caramel complexion and neatly cropped hair, and unlike Tumi who maintained traces of the African accent that their parents still sported, Mohale had developed the posh accent of the Ridgemont elite. Tumi noticed his brother walking towards the bench where he was seated, dressed in a pair of fitted khaki pants and a light blue long-sleeved shirt. Mohale beamed a smile at Tumi as he approached.

  Mohale reached in for a hug and exclaimed: “My brother! Abuti oa ka! U phela joang? How are you doing?”

  “I’m well, Mohale. It’s good to
see you.” Tumi forced a smile just as broad as his brothers.

  “I brought you some coffee,” Mohale said, and for the first time Tumi noticed the two takeaway cups of coffee in his hands. “Sit, and let’s catch up. You live only ten minutes away from me but you never make the time to visit your big brother anymore!”

  “Nonsense,” Tumi replied. “I just saw you two weeks ago at mom’s dinner party.”

  “Two weeks is too long!” Mohale said in his usual charming manner. Tumi knew exactly why Mohale had always been so popular with women. There was something magnetic about his character, and he radiated the confidence and masculine allure that made South African women melt. If Mohale hadn’t been happily married for two years already, right after completing his internship at the hospital, he would be quite the ladies’ man. Tumi laughed at his brother’s comment and promised to visit more often. He looked up to his brother, and could always rely on him for advice. With everything that had been on Tumi’s mind, he knew that no one but Mohale would be able to give him the encouragement he needed.

  Mohale told Tumi all about the new interns he was working with, the research he was doing and how he was vying for a new research grant in a few months. It all sounded very exciting, and Tumi felt a familiar pang of jealousy for how successful and together his brother was. Tumi knew that he had a lot to live up to with the surname Moketla. His mother was one of the most recognized constitutional lawyers in the country, his father was a businessman working at Terreblanche International, and now his brother was a hotshot doctor. He always felt the pressure to perform, even though his parents never directly pushed him into any career. But when Tumi announced that he would be studying law, he could see the pride beaming from his mother’s eyes. He knew that, just like everyone else, his parents expected him to live up to the family name.

  After sharing some stories with Mohale about life at Ridgemont, Tumi finally found the opening to broach the subject he was anxious to talk about. He swallowed hard, feeling his mouth dry instantly, and the words struggled to form in his mouth. “Mohale, I need to talk to you about something serious. I need your advice.”

  Mohale’s expression changed into one of concern. “Of course, abuti. Anything you need. You know I’m always here for you. What’s got you so worried? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Tumi nodded. “In a way, this is about a ghost. Someone from my past that I thought I had lost forever. I think I’ve figured out who my biological mother is, and I’m wondering whether it will be a good idea to talk to her when I get the chance.”

  Mohale visibly recoiled, and was silent for a long time. “Tumi, abuti, what are you talking about? How could you possibly know who your biological mother is? We went through all of this years ago when you wanted to go back to the orphanage. I told you at the time that it was a bad idea, and you were depressed for weeks afterwards. Remember? They told you that the woman who gave birth to you specifically would not leave any information, and that she never wanted you to find her. I thought you had put this to rest a long time ago.”

  Tumi felt crestfallen, but wanted to explain himself to his brother. It was true that Mohale had been very supportive of him when he had tried to find out about his past when he turned 18, and after the disappointment of reaching a dead end, Tumi had never spoken about it again. But he had always wondered if there was some way he could find out more. “I’ve been following some clues. I found out that the township where I was born had a fire around the time that I was two-years-old, and that I was put up for adoption not long afterwards. I found some newspaper clippings…” Tumi reached into his pocket to retrieve the folded clippings, and showed them to Mohale, “…this was a report on the fire. There were lots of pictures taken. Look at this woman and child. Doesn’t that look like me at that age?”

  Mohale barely looked at the clipping in Tumi’s hand. “That could be anyone. And besides, you can’t even see the woman’s face clearly at all.”

  “This isn’t the only thing I’ve found. I researched people from the area, other people who were linked to the orphanage, people who moved away from the township after the fire… I found someone who looks just like the woman in the picture, who actually looks a lot like me. She grew up in the same township, and left for Johannesburg around the time that I was two. I was so little, I don’t even remember anything about my biological mother, but I feel like this might be her. I just have a feeling deep down inside. I need to talk to her when she comes to Ridgemont.”

  Mohale folded his arms across his chest, and sighed as he said: “And who is this woman, Tumi?”

  Tumi had a half-smile as he said the name that left Mohale dumbfounded: “Angela Ngcobo.”

  “The politician?” Mohale demanded. “You think Angela Ngcobo is your birth mother?”

  “It all lines up, Mohale. I really think it could be her. Her biography said something about having to make the difficult choice to leave and start a new life for herself. I think she was talking about putting me up for adoption. She worked as a receptionist in Johannesburg before climbing the corporate ladder and finally going into politics a few years ago. It makes sense. I just need to speak to her, face to face, and ask her if it’s true. She’s speaking at Ridgemont in two weeks, and I’m planning on confronting her at the event. I just need your support. I need someone to talk to about all of this.”

  Mohale suddenly went back to his caring demeanor, his eyes softening as he spoke gently to his brother. Tumi began to worry that Mohale wasn’t being sincere, and that he was playing up his charm to placate Tumi. But Tumi was determined; he would see this through with or without Mohale’s support. Mohale said: “It sounds like you are creating a fantasy here, Tumi. You have so much going right in your life, I just don’t want you to set yourself up for disappointment. It’s really far-fetched that Angela Ngcobo is your birth mother. And besides, you don’t need to go chasing after the past. You have a loving family. Are we not enough for you? Whoever your birth mother is, she had to put you up for adoption for a reason. Our parents are the only parents you need. I don’t think you need to go stirring up all of these things right now, especially when you’re in your final year of studies.”

  Tumi was disappointed by his brother’s reaction, but he tried not to show it. Even though Mohale was a loving brother, he always tried to make sure that no one rocked the boat, and that the image of a perfect, pristine life was maintained. It was one of his best qualities to try and please everyone, but it also annoyed Tumi at times like these. “I guess you’re right,” Tumi said, eager to end the conversation. “I just always wonder about my past, about where I come from. Of course I’m happy to have the family that I have. And a great brother like you.”

  Mohale smiled his glistening smile, and stood up to say goodbye to his brother. “I’d better go, abuti. I have to see patients soon. How about I come around to Ridgemont next week and we get a beer at Percy’s Pub? Sound good?”

  Tumi stood up and hugged his brother. “Sounds great. Thanks for the chat,” he said, and turned towards the exit of the courtyard area. Tumi left the hospital with an uneasy feeling. After all of his sleepless nights and the stress of mock court, maybe Mohale had a point. Was Tumi putting too much energy into a fantasy. Despite his doubts, he had to talk to Angela Ngcobo when he had the chance. He had to find out if his intuition was correct and if she was really the woman he had been wondering about for so many years.

  Chapter 4

  Tumi pulled his car into the driveway in front of the residence hall where he lived at Ridgemont University. The residence, called Initia Nova, was one of the largest and most exclusive on campus, with only the students with top grades and sporting achievements earning a place, unless they were properly connected. Tumi looked up at the tall, regal building, with its Grecian columns and shady trees leading up to the main entrance, and a large grass field in the center of the various halls with a Ridgemont emblem carved into stone at the center. Tumi walked across the grass field towards his roo
m. He always felt a mixture of isolation and pride when he walked into Initia Nova. He loved the idea that he was one of the students who could live at such an exclusive residence, and it was a great place to live. But at the same time, many of the students there could be snobs. Some of the wealthiest and best-connected students lived at Nova, as they called it, and even though Tumi should have felt at home there based on the family he came from, he always felt like he was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.

  As Tumi reached the hall where he lived, he heard a group of students laughing. He immediately felt a rush of anxiety; he tried his best to avoid the groups of rowdy guys who hung out in the halls of Nova causing trouble, but this time there was a group right at the entrance to his hall. He walked in apprehensively, taking a deep breath. The students he saw were some of the most annoying ones in Nova, a group of law students who were in his Constitutional Law class. Their leader, Hein, was the worst of the lot. He would stare at Tumi with his cold, blue eyes whenever they passed each other in the halls of Nova. Hein was clearly wealthy and a big snob, always wearing designer labels even when going to class, and boasting about the skiing trips he took to the US, or the summer’s he spent in the south of France. It was nauseating, and Tumi immediately wanted to turn around when he saw Hein looking back at him in the hallway.

  But Tumi couldn’t turn away when he saw what Hein and his friends, Leo and Sylas, were up to. They were laughing as Leo walked back and forth across the hall towards his room which was only a few doors away from Tumi’s. The cleaner of their hall, a stout, middle-aged woman named Lydia, was looking on with pained resignation all over her face and a mop in her hand. She had freshly mopped the floors of their hall, and Leo, the tall blond guy, was making a show of constantly “forgetting” something in his room as he walked across the wet floor. Hein and Sylas stood on laughing as Leo theatrically threw his hands on his head every time he approached the entrance to the hall, and muttered, “Oops, I left my phone again,” before walking back to his room and leaving fresh marks on the floor.