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also bought into her story that it is as a result of her mass
action that the sentence has been reduced. However,
when she heard that Ma Visagie would be part of the
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meeting she decided to avoid a potentially dangerous
confrontation. Stevo is still smarting about it.
The warder decided to waive the one-visitor-at-a-
time policy for his model prisoner, who will in any case
soon be released.
The only reason Ma Visagie came is to order her son
to stop consorting with Aunt Magda. But Stevo is
adamant that Aunt Magda is being misunderstood. She
is the wronged party here and Ma Visagie should apolo-
gize. Aunt Magda looked after him when no help was
forthcoming from his own family. Now he is going to be
free, and it’s all thanks to Aunt Magda.
‘Did your Aunt Magda pay for the lawyer, Stevo?’
asks Ma Visagie. She never thought she would see the day
when her son stood up to her.
‘She paid for no lawyer, Ma,’ says Stevo. ‘But she
demonstrated all over the place and marched to Pretoria
and created so much hell for the government that they
had to free me.’
‘She didn’t get to no Pretoria,’ says Shortie, who has
been quiet all along, examining his clean-shaven and
well-groomed brother closely and wondering how his
once strong and manly mind got messed up in prison. ‘I
had to pick her and the women up in Midrand because
they were tired like dogs. She lies to you if she says she
talked to the government in Pretoria.’
Stevo looks at him with squinted eyes as if noticing
his presence for the first time.
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‘That was a masterpiece, my china,’ says Stevo. He is
in high spirits all of a sudden. His eyes are bulging as if
they are about to jump out of their sockets.
‘What was?’ asks Shortie, worried that he is going to
be blamed for something.
‘I could kiss you for it, my china.’
‘I don’t want you to kiss me, Stevo. I just want you to
tell me what the heck you’re on about.’
‘Hey, don’t try to play modest with me, Shortie,’ says
Stevo. ‘You’re a sly one, my china. A genius! You pretend
to be stupid and all that but you’re a genius!’
Ma Visagie looks at Shortie with suspicion. ‘Shortie
a genius? What did he do this time? What did you do,
Shortie?’
‘I didn’t do nothing, Ma. ’S’true’s God, I didn’t do
nothing.’
‘You call a pig’s head nothing?’ asks Stevo.
Ma Visagie is puzzled. ‘Pig’s head?’
‘Yes, pig’s head, Ma. That’s the report I got. How he
thought of it without my help is still a mystery to me. But
he thought of it himself, in his own head. Pig’s head, it
was, wasn’t it, Shortie?’
‘ Ja. Pig’s head,’ says Shortie sheepishly.
‘How did you think of putting a bleeding pig’s head
at her door?’ asks Stevo, looking at his brother with
belated admiration. ‘How did you become such a master
of psychology? She must have wet her pants when she
saw that head.’
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Ma Visagie is looking at Shortie accusingly. ‘You
didn’t tell me about this.’
‘He’s not a man of words, our Shortie,’ says Stevo.
‘He’s a man of action.’
No other business is discussed by the war council
today because the topic of the pig’s head seems to have
hijacked the proceedings to the exclusion of everything
else.
Shortie’s masterpiece is just the beginning though.
The real masterpiece, the biggest of them all, will happen
when he gets out of jail, Stevo assures his family. And he
will do that one himself. It’s got to be Stevo personally
who performs the crowning masterpiece.
‘I’m not gonna sit here and listen to your silly talk,
Stevo. I have work to do,’ says Ma Visagie.
‘Me too, I have work to do,’ says Shortie.
‘ Ja, my china, because me, I don’t have work to do,
hey? Because I am a bandiet I’ve got no work to do? Is that
it, my china? I’m coming out, man. And I will have work
to do. You just wait and see. Plenty of work to do.’
Ma Visagie’s parting shot is that Stevo must be care-
ful since no one has messed with her and lived to tell the
story. Both Stevo and Aunt Magda must take heed not to
test her too much; otherwise there’ll be a corpse in the
house. She didn’t bring up her children just to have some
coloured woman from Cape Town putting wrong ideas
into their heads. Stevo must grow up and take a good
lesson from his younger brother. Shortie has publicly
denounced Aunt Magda.
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But it doesn’t look like Stevo is listening to his
mother. He is just staring at Shortie with glazed eyes and
a generous smile, and he keeps repeating, ‘ Ja, my china, I
love your pig. I’m sure she is wetting her pants as we
speak.’
Kristin Uys is not exactly wetting her pants. But she
can’t feign audacity any more. She and Don are in the bed-
room preparing for sleep. She is sitting on the bed, deep
in contemplation. Don gets into bed and invites her in.
She is visibly shaken, so Don tosses off the duvet, sits
with her and tries to comfort her by caressing her back.
She looks like a waif, sitting there wearing only her
panties.
‘I don’t understand this,’ says Don. ‘You have been
brave all along.’
‘I underestimated him,’ she says. ‘He’s coming out
and he is a hothead. He’s capable of really hurting me.’
Don hates to see her like this. But deep down he
thanks his ancestors because events are shaping them-
selves in a manner that makes him indispensable in her
life.
‘I’ll see the cops again first thing tomorrow morning.
I’ve gone a long way towards finding that truck. I haven’t
found it yet, but I am on the verge of a breakthrough.
We’ll find something that will keep Stevo in jail for a
longer period, and that will also incriminate both Ma
Visagie and Shortie.’
‘How are you going to do that when the cops have
failed?’
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‘Trust me, my darling. Trust me.’
This is not just idle talk on his part. He has been
trying, really. For instance, when Kristin was at the office
conferring with the chief magistrate on the high court
decision, he was meeting with his number one spy, Aunt
Magda, not at their regular bar in Florida but at a seedy
tavern in the inner-city part of Roodepoort. The reason
for this choice of venue was that Aunt Magda wanted to
introduce him to two prostitutes who were prepared to
be of great help provided he paid them well.
‘You know I pay good money for good information,’
said Don. ‘I’ve paid you well too, Magda, though I haven’t
seen any results.’
‘I’m getting there,’ said Aunt Magda. ‘Me and these
girls, we’ll finally get you more than just the truck, but
lots of stuff that you can use against the Visagies. They’ll
regret that they ever threw me out of their house after I
worked so hard for them.’
Even though it was not yet midday the place was
throbbing with music and drunken dancing. The stench
told Don that this had continued from the previous night
and the revellers had not slept, let alone taken a bath.
There were quite a few dodgy characters among the
patrons smoking cigars and filling the place with smoke.
No one there seemed to have heard of the law that pro-
hibits smoking in public places, or if they had they
defiled their lungs with impunity, daring the authorities
to come and arrest them. Police will not bother with
smokers when crime is rampant in the city.
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Two women came and joined their table. Don bought
them whisky and lit a cigar. His attempt to look like a
hardcore gangster didn’t quite cut it.
‘You know Stevo will kill us if he finds out that we
talked to you,’ said the more mature woman with heavy
make-up that hardly disguised her ravaged face.
‘Then we must make sure he doesn’t find out,’ said
Don.
‘It’s going to cost you, ngamla,’ said the younger
woman who should still have been someone’s child car-
rying lunch to school packed by a loving mama. ‘We don’t
normally rat on our friends.’
‘Stevo is not your friend,’ said Don. ‘Aunt Magda told
me he was your pimp and you fell out terribly when he
refused to pay you what was due to you.’
The older woman said, ‘But Mr Fingers is our friend,
and that’s the man you want us to get for you.’
Yes, Fingers Matatu is the man Don is gunning for.
He gathered that since his retirement as cat burglar he
has been freelancing for the Visagies, performing odd
criminal jobs, sometimes even delivering stolen cars to
the Visagie scrapyard in Strijdom Park where they are
stripped for parts.
‘Where do I find this Mr Fingers?’ asked Don.
The girls claimed they didn’t know because he didn’t
hang out in these parts but somewhere in Soweto. And
the place being so big, they couldn’t even say in which
township of Soweto he spent his nights. And now that
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Stevo was in the slammer the Visagie enterprise had
cooled off a bit. It would therefore take a lot of trouble
and expense to find out where Mr Fingers was freelancing
these days.
Don placed a few notes on the table.
‘Hey, people are looking,’ said the younger woman.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Don. ‘They think I’m a john.’
The older woman counted the money surreptitiously
and gave it back to Don.
‘We’re not cheap,’ she said.
‘Come on, girls,’ said Don. ‘You’ve not done any work
yet. How do I know you’ll fulfil your end of the deal?’
‘If you want us to deliver Mr Fingers to you then you
better be generous,’ said the older woman.
Don placed more bank notes in her cleavage, which
left her giggling. And then he playfully placed some ban-
knotes in Aunt Magda’s ample bosom as her commission
for connecting him with these wonderful prostitutes
who would help him nail the Visagies once and for all. As
he planted the money in her blouse and then at the edge
of her bra Aunt Magda flushed and sighed. He promised
everyone more money if they delivered Fingers Matatu to
him, and even more if they helped locate the truck.
But Don does not tell Kristin about this meeting. Just
as he has never told her about previous meetings where he
gave Aunt Magda money, even though to this day she has
not given him any useful information. Until she produced
the two prostitutes he could have sworn that she was
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stringing him along for some devilish reason known only
to herself. But he was willing to play the game on the off
chance that it bore some fruit. With the two prostitutes it
looks as though now he will indeed see some results.
‘I do trust you, Don,’ she says. ‘I have to trust you.’
She gets into bed and he follows suit. He wants some
little nookie but her body language tells him he is getting
none tonight. He understands that she is quite stressed.
They promptly fall asleep in each other’s arms.
The next morning he takes her to work. She insists
that they use the hired Volkswagen Golf in case the crooks
know that she now travels in his Saab. She is getting para-
noid and this worries Don. It cramps their carefree life.
When she is constantly looking over her shoulder she
can’t totally give herself to him. Now, for the first time,
she wants him to be in her office with her and in the
courtroom when she is conducting her cases. She does
not want him to be out of sight. Fortunately he is not just
a bodyguard but a lover, so he can even go to the bath-
room with her.
That evening he is cooking dinner when she storms in.
‘I’m not fighting the Visagies any more,’ she says out
of the blue. ‘I’m leaving town.’
Don laughs incredulously.
‘It’s not a joke, Don,’ says Kristin. ‘I’ve told the chief
magistrate already. He thinks I’m crazy but I’ve told him
that I’m going to resign and leave town.’
Don loses his temper finally.
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‘You baulk and that’s the end of us,’ he says.
He forgets about the pan on the stove and reaches for
Snowy who is curled up on a mat in the corner. He holds
the cat in his arms and caresses its back.
‘I can’t stand this stress any more, Don,’ she says,
almost crying.
‘I’ve invested a lot in protecting you, Kristin. I’ve even
paid bribes to prostitutes.’
He never told her anything about meeting prosti-
tutes to save her, she says. He is not supposed to bribe
anyone on her behalf. It is illegal. She is still the magis-
trate and must operate within the confines of the law.
‘To hell with the bloody confines of the bloody law,’
yells Don. ‘I’ve invested a lot in this relationship. I’m
losing Tumi and may also lose the CEO job at VIP
Protection Services once they find out what you and I
have been up to.’
Kristin’s cat is jealous of Snowy and tries to claw its
way up his leg. He bends down to pet it too.
‘You see,’ she says. ‘It’s all about you. Everything is
about you. I’m just an assignment to you.’
The food is burning on the stove and the room is full
of smoke. He puts the cat down and reaches for the pan
to remove it from the stove.
‘Goddammit, Kristin! Now dinner is ruined.’
They repair to a seafood restaurant at Palm Court and
get a table for two. They order fish and chips with hush
puppies.
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‘Maybe it’s a good thing dinner was ruined,’ says
Don. ‘This fish is good.’
‘I’m sorry it got ruined,’ says Kristin. ‘I always look
forward to the little surprises you cook.’
He breaks a piece of fish to inspect the texture of the
batter. He always does this when he eats out. He tries to
figure out what ingredients were used in any dish that he
likes, and then experiments with it at home.
‘You don’t really think you’re just an assignment to
me, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t, Don. But I’m scared. I’m concerned
for your safety as much as I’m concerned for mine.’
‘We’ll get through this, Kristin,’ he assures her. ‘I’m
sure we will.’
‘What about Tumi?’
She is earnestly looking into his eyes, hoping for a
reassuring answer. She has hardly touched her food while
he chews with relish. He can taste the subtle honey
and lemon juice and sherry in the batter. And the hush
puppies are crunchy. Exactly the way he likes them.
‘Is that the real reason you want to leave town?’ he
asks.
‘Everything is a mess, Don,’ she says. ‘And I’m the
cause of it all. And now you’ve made me fall in love with
you. And yet you can’t really be mine, can you?’
She has never said anything like this before. She has
never defined their relationship in terms of love. The
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most she has said was that she cared for him. Don is sud-
denly overcome with emotion.
‘Why not?’ he asks, almost breathlessly. ‘Why can’t I
be?’
‘I feel guilty about Tumi,’ she says. ‘And I know that
I can’t compete with her. I can’t see myself replacing a
beautiful black woman in your life. I know you’ll be hap-
pier with Tumi.’
‘If I thought I’d be happier with Tumi I would be with
her now.’
He wonders if he is in his right mind. Has he just
made a commitment to this woman? Are his declarations
