Broken

by Oliver T Spedding

  Ian turned and walked away. I was quite surprised at how easily I had been able to stand up to him and I resolved then and there that I wouldn’t let anybody intimidate me again. I knew that I was exceptionally strong physically and wouldn’t get flustered or panic if I ever got into a fist-fight. In fact, I relished the thought of getting into a fight.

  When Saturday the seventh of July arrived I decided to watch the Durban July race on television at home. I hadn’t told Cindy about my bet and wouldn’t say anything to her about it unless Hunting Tower won. I invited her to watch the race with me. We met at the local McDonald’s where we had breakfast and then wandered around the Rosettenville business area looking at the merchandise in the shop windows. For lunch we bought fish and chips and ate the meal sitting on a bench watching the yachts on Wemmer Pan. Even though it was mid-winter the day was sunny and warm. Then we walked slowly through the crowded streets to my house. As the race was only due to be run at about three-thirty in the afternoon we made love and then showered together. We dressed and settled on the couch in front of the television set in the lounge with a six-pack of beer and a large bowl of roasted peanuts.

  “Why are you suddenly so interested in horse racing?” Cindy asked.

  “it’s not that I’m really interested in horse racing,” I said, “but the whole country seems to be so excited about the Durban July and so I thought I’d watch it to see why it’s so popular. But as far as I’m concerned a horse race is just a horse race.”

  I suspected that Cindy didn’t quite believe me and I could see that she suspected that there was some other reason, but she nodded and snuggled up next to me.

  Eventually the race began and for the first half of the race I only heard Hunting Tower mentioned once by the commentator. However, as the second half progressed his name cropped up more and more until, almost at the end, he was amongst the first three leading horses. Then, to my astonishment, Hunting Tower surged forward to win by a neck.

  I sat next to Cindy and stared at the television; stunned.

  “Wow!” Cindy said. “That was exciting!”

  Cindy turned and looked at me.

  “What’s wrong with you, Garth?” she asked. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost or something. Didn’t you think the race was exciting?”

  I blinked my eyes and tried to think of what to say.

  “Wait here.” I said as I stood up from the couch. “I’ve got something to show you."

  I saw the puzzled expression on Cindy’s face as I walked out of the lounge. I went to the bedroom and picked up my betting slip that lay on one of the shelves in my wardrobe. I walked back to the lounge and sat down on the couch.

  “Two weeks ago I decided to take a bet on the Durban July.” I said. “”You’re quite right when you say that I’ve never shown any interest in horse racing but that was probably because I was still at school and couldn’t afford to follow the sport. I didn’t have the faintest idea about how to select a horse so I wrote their numbers on pieces of paper, put them all into a bowl and guess what number I pulled out?”

  Cindy stared at me, blinking her eyes as she tried to understand what I had just asked her. She looked at the television set briefly and I saw her face brighten as understanding of what I’d just told her came to her. She turned and stared at me, her mouth open in disbelief.

  “Number twelve.” she said.

  “Quite right.” I said. “Hunting Tower.”

  “How much did you bet?” Cindy asked.

  “”A thousand Rand.” I replied as I showed her my betting ticket.

  Cindy’s eyes opened wide.

  “You bet a thousand Rand on a horse?”

  I nodded and Cindy looked down at the betting ticket in my hand for confirmation.

  “Explain it to me.” she said.

  “Well, the odds on Hunting Tower at the time that I placed my bet were twelve to one.” I said. “That means that if Hunting Tower won I would get twelve times the amount that I’d bet as well as my stake of a thousand Rand back. And twelve times a thousand Rand is twelve thousand Rand.”

  “Twelve thousand Rand!” Cindy exclaimed. “That’s unbelievable.”

  I pointed to the figures that the bookmaker had written on the betting slip.

  “There it is.” I said. “Twelve thousand to one thousand.”

  Cindy stared at the ticket in my hand and then looked up at me.

  “Aren’t you pleased for me?” I asked.

  “Of course I am. I’m thrilled, Garth.” Cindy said. “But at the same time I’m a little worried. Should you really be taking such risks with your money?”

  “It was just an impulse.” I said. “It’s not something that I plan to do regularly.”

  “Garth.” Cindy said, looking at me intently. “Please promise me that you won’t let gambling become a habit. Nobody can beat the casinos or the bookmakers. Sooner or later all gamblers end up broke.”

  “Don’t worry.” I said. “I’m going to save this money and use it to open my own business.”

  Despite the fact that I had assured Cindy that I wouldn’t start gambling, the lure of easy money was too strong. I began looking up the race meetings on the internet and taking imaginary bets that I wrote down and compared to the race results the following day. At first I lost all the imaginary bets that I’d made but over time, as I began to understand form, the history of the trainers and jockeys, the draw and the behaviour of the betting odds I actually began to have some success. Convinced that, as my experience grew, I would become more and more successful, I began to visit the bookmaker, Mister Edward Eksteen, and place small bets of twenty to thirty Rand on all the races.

  “I’m glad to see that your win hasn’t gone to your head.” the bookmaker said. “That was a big win for just about anyone. Many punters let that kind of win go to their heads and before they know it, they’re in financial trouble.”

  I nodded but didn’t say anything.

  Each time a bet of mine was successful though, I berated myself for not having bet a larger amount, never once considering that I might have lost that money and never thinking about the bets that I’d placed that had not been successful.

  The main race meetings were on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. As Cindy was at work during the week I was able to spend Wednesday afternoons at the betting hall without her knowledge, but as I spent every Saturday with her, I was forced to place my bets on the Friday before the meeting. This made predicting the winners even more difficult as I couldn’t use the late betting trends to influence my decisions. My success rate for the Saturday meetings was therefore a lot worse than the Wednesday meetings.

  Despite my pledge to myself that I would only place bets of less that fifty Rand, the amounts that I laid out gradually grew bigger and bigger as I became more obsessed with winning and each time a did win, I ignored the fact that they seldom, if ever, covered the amounts that I had spent on the other races.

  Ian Visagie had still not paid back the three thousand Rand that I had lent him at the casino and, as my losses mounted and ate up the money that I’d won on Hunting Tower at the Durban July, I became more and more determined to confront Ian and force him to pay me. The opportunity to confront him presented itself one Wednesday afternoon while I was in the betting hall.

  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 recognised 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 analyse 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 realised 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 facedown 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 Rand 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 Rand that I’d got f
rom Ian. The fact that 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 is 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 realised 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 two blocks from the betting hall. He went inside and less than 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 meeting 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.