Like it Matters (18 page)

“Ken,” I started

But all he did was raise a finger, and in a flash the guy next to me clamped his hand over my mouth, so tight my lips hurt against my teeth.

Finally, through a cloud of smoke that smelled like burning tyres, Ken started speaking.

“So. You will believe me when I say this morning I was busy?”

I tried to make sounds and nod my head, but all I managed was to put some spit and snot on the hand that was gagging me.

“Not with these things”—he shook the pipe—“I was working. There at my desk. Business things. Alright. So there I am working, and then the door goes
ba-ba-ba
. And I think, what’s so important? Otherwise why would the door be knocking when I am busy at my desk? Alright. So here comes Akhil there. Akhil, he’s new, he comes alone from the Sudan, he’s eager, you see? He wants to prove himself here. So Akhil says to me,
Ed’s here. Downstairs. On the list he is Eddy. Must I hurt him?”

Ken laughed. He slapped his knee a couple of times and between his big laughs he kept saying, “Must I hurt him?” He said it about three or four times, till I had no fucking idea what was coming next.

He made a small movement with his finger again and the gag came off my mouth.

“Ken, look—” I said

And he said, “No, shut up. I finish. Then you talk.”

He seemed to be thinking about something.

“Actually,” he said, “please, give him some.”

And then this dull force exploded in my cheek, it felt like the whiplash was going to rip my head off my neck.

I definitely would’ve fallen if the other guy wasn’t holding me up. I couldn’t lift my head for a while. All I could do was watch myself spit blood onto the floor.

I heard Ken walk up close.

He said softly, “So what did I say to Akhil? I told him,
You are a boy. If this is Eddy downstairs, I want a
man
to hurt him.
Give him some more.”

I shouted, “No!”

But it was too late, and it was worse—this time I ducked a bit and it landed on my jaw, right under my sideburn.

My ear was ringing like a million mosquitos were trapped in there, and the guy behind me let me fall, and while I was on the ground I shouted, “
Fuck
, Ken,” and I spat up one of my teeth. My mouth was so full of blood I couldn’t tell which tooth.

I lay there, just spitting and spitting, kicking my legs out at nothing.

He said, “Shame. Pretty Eddy. You hurt me, and now you are hurt.”

I spat more blood and then I said, “I had such good news for you, though.”

“Yes?”

“Ja. But now I think I’m going to—”

Ken waved at the guys.

I blacked out.

And then I was sitting up, against one of the guys’ knees, and the other one was tipping sugar water into my mouth and Ken was busy cutting lines of something on a small mirror. He put a straw in my nose and held the mirror up and the sun was blinding on the mirror and I closed my eyes and I sniffed

And then I wasn’t going to pass out anymore, I just had to be sick.

It was bitter and full of all the blood I must’ve swallowed. The guy poured more sugar water in my mouth and it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. For a while my vision swam and all I could do was suck at the bright, cool air. It felt like my heart had jumped up into my brain and the whole thing was beating on the walls of my skull.

I heard Ken sniff a line.

And then he let out a sigh—a deep, kind of wistful one—and he said, “Your daddy, Ed. Did he beat you?”

“Ja, once.”

“Yes?”

“He fucked it up, he hit too hard. I was knocked out. When I got home from hospital I had a bike.”

Ken laughed. I think the other guys did as well.

“Yes,” he said. “I think that is how I feel.”

“Ja?”

He levelled his voice. “What is that in your bag?” he said.

“Tik.”

“Pure?”

“Straight from the cook.”

He turned to the guys and made a small gesture with his head.

One of them, not the one that hit me, went out the door.

Ken snapped his fingers and I looked back at him.

“Where’s the cook?” he said.

“The cook’s dead.”

“Who was it going to?”

“He’s also dead.”

The door opened and the bodyguard was back, and following him was a figure I remembered very well. This short, scrawny, gangrel thing with eyes like a goat’s—jade-green irises set in deep yellow orbs.

“Howzit, Sparks,” I said.

“Aweh, Eddy. Fuck. They tuned you up, my bra.”

“Hey, shut up,” Ken said.

And then something in a language I couldn’t follow at all, and then one of the guys started packing a pipe for Sparks, pinching stuff out the black packet I’d brought along. “You just shut up and smoke.”

The guy handed the pipe to Sparks, who pulled a box of matches out of his pocket. He peered into the chalice and said, “Fok. Dit lyk goed.”

Jesus
, I suddenly thought.

What if it isn’t?

He lit three matches and burned the stuff, and sucked deep and held it in. He went down on his knees and I could see the effort it took to hold it in, his eyes were dripping and he was beating his hand on the floor and then it all came out and he started laughing and shouting—

He was on his feet, bouncing around, shouting, “Dis kwaai! Ek’s
dik
gerook, fokken
dik
gerook!”

Ken gestured again and the guy grabbed Sparks and took him to the door. The last thing I heard Sparks say was, “Ken, I’m going to vinnis this pipe! Okay? Okay?”

“There’s a gun in the bag too,” I said. “You can have that.”

“Yes, I saw it there. With the numbers filed off.”

“Is that good?”

“For some jobs,” he said.

There was a long silence.

Ken broke it.

“So. How much do you have?”

“About ten kgs.”

“And where is it?”

He was trying to be cool and stern, but he asked that question too quickly. I could feel it: all of a sudden,
I
was the one who had something.

I acted as coy as I could.

“I can get it anytime.”

“So. What do you want, Eddy? And don’t say fifty-fifty because you know I pay wages here.”

“I don’t want money. I don’t need money. I need
help
, Ken.”

“Are the police involved?”

“I saw it in the newspapers.”

“Okay, so you want me to fix?” he said. “You want it to disappear?”

I just looked at him.

“Okay, I’ll fix for you, Eddy.”

And right then and there, while I rested my ringing head on the wall and watched Ken stalk around with his phone in his hand and the speakerphone on, soaked in that weird morning light

It happened—

He made two phone calls and he hardly even raised his voice, most of the time he was laughing

But I heard it clearly, this deep voice coming back from the other side—

You want it gone? It’s gone, Ken.

“Just like that?” I said.

And the voice said again,
It’s gone
.

And then Ken smiled, and turned off the speakerphone and started haggling with the guy about fees.

He hung up about a minute later—I was on my feet again—and he went over to his desk and wrote something on a piece of paper and tore it off and gave it to me. “This is who you call, Eddy. Any trouble with the police, this guy will make you safe. Now one of my boys will come collect, nè? I have Mister Jimi and Floyd here. You choose.”

“Which one hit me?” I said.

“That was Mister Jimi.”

“Then the other guy, please.”

B
Y
F
RIDAY AFTERNOON
, I was going nuts, and I had to get out of my room

And I packed all the money into my backpack and I took the train out to Muizenberg.

But it was still so fucking early, I could see it was going to be hours before dark.

I’d given all the drugs over to Ken—every last bit—and although I had a lot on my mind, the main thing, honestly, was how sober I was feeling

How at a loss

And it was bright and overcast and I didn’t want to be down at the beach the whole time, just hanging around, waiting for her while I got over-anxious and sunburned

So I thought I’d take a walk up to the Village, maybe stop in somewhere that didn’t sell booze and eat something.

But, of course, going up Atlantic Road like that took me right past the little slip road to Helluva Rides—and it wasn’t so much that I wanted to see Duade, I just felt like I needed company all of a sudden

And I turned down the alley and walked up to the workshop, suddenly panicked about what I’d do if he wasn’t around.

But Duade was there—even if it took him a full five minutes to come to the door.

I waited on the step outside the workshop, my eyes flitting down all the roads, checking all the cars on the street even though Ken had promised me it was fixed, all the while hearing Duade moving around in there. Scurrying around. I could hear his shoes on the cement floor, I heard him bump into a table and say, “Fuck!”—I was convinced he’d been sleeping in there and my knocking had woken him up.

But when he opened the door he was fully dressed, his hair was brushed forward and down, he looked wide awake and there was no sign of a bed or a mattress or even a sleeping bag anywhere.

What’d he been doing in there?

I’m not sure why, but it made me so happy to think that even Duade was capable of small mysteries—so happy that I hugged him hello.

“Hey, howshit, Ed!” he said. “God, what happened to your fashe?”

“I got punched fucking hard. How’ve you been, Duade?”

“Ag, shame old, shame old. Are you in trouble? Where’sh your girl?”

Two pretty tough questions, Duade.

I smiled and shook my head. Eventually I said, “Ja. The last time you saw me things were good, weren’t they?”

He was quiet for a second. Then his eyes lit up and he said, “Hang on, hang on. I’ve shtill got cash for you.”

He went off to his desk and started opening drawers.

“No, Duade,” I said. “Don’t. I’m fine with money, really.”

He came back with an envelope in his hand. He was smiling at me and flapping the envelope. He was smiling, but he couldn’t quite look at my face. “No, come. Take it. It’sh yoursh.”

“Duade,” I said, “please keep that money. I mean it. And I’m sorry, but I need to ask you a favour.”

“Anything.”

“No, Duade, please. Just
listen
.”

I was about to ask him if I could hang out there till night time, except if anyone ever asked, like a cop or whatever, he had to tell them he hadn’t seen me for months.

But in his eyes, I could see what he wanted me to say—he wanted me to ask if I could have my job back, and his eyes were so expectant, his mouth was chewing itself, just ready to shout
Yesh!

And in the end I got to feeling so raw, so guilty, that my eyes welled up

And I just stared at a spot on the floor and I said, “Duade, you’re probably the kindest person I’ve ever met. Never mind about the favour. Just be careful, okay? There’s wolves out there, man.”

He shook the envelope at me again. “Take it, bru. Every bit helpsh.”

I shook my head.

“Just … I hope you have a good life, Duade. I mean it. I really hope you have a good life,” I said, and I kind of ran out the door.

I’
D GOT PRETTY DRUNK AT THAT RESTAURANT
when twilight finally came down

And I almost sprinted over to the super tubes, suddenly worried I was going to be late

But the second I got to the beach, this smell—you couldn’t imagine it—flooded through my nose and straight down to my stomach.

It was so bad it was like I was chewing on it. I had no idea what it could’ve been, I was just gasping by the sand line

When I heard her voice

“Fuck! That’s
you
, Ed, what the fuck?”

She giggled. I knew that sound, it was a happy sound

And obviously, I’d
had
a plan—

A whole symphony of things I’d wanted to say to her, different movements I’d wanted to put her through, different moods I’d hoped were going to show me, at last, what she was

A witch or a redeemer—

But just like that, it was all fucked. I heard her ask me what happened to my face and all I could blurt out was, “Jesus, what’s that smell?”

“Ja,” she said. She looked delighted to see me, maybe just a bit freaked out by my bruises. “There’s a dead whale like fifty metres up the beach. I found this place though, it’s better,” she said, and she took my hand, her hair flaring beautifully in the floodlights, and started leading me to this big, circular drain a bit further down the sand.

We went and stood in the little tunnel and the smell was better. It was just very dark in there, and I wanted to be able to see her face.

I tried to get myself back on script.

“Ja, Charlotte, it’s me, not Dewald. Isn’t that a fucking surprise?”

“Where’s Dewald?”

“Where do you think?”

“Ed, okay—”

“Is it as bad as I think, Charlotte?”