Isiginali

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

The Englebrecht. A place synonymous with decadence. No matter how many billboards the city officials erected all around Johannesburg, the results remained the same. The addicts were going to get their fix one way or another. Heroin being the medication of choice for the majority who migrated to the hotel. One of the event ballrooms had been transformed into a large Moroccan room.

There were soiled couches as far as the eye could see. Some of the addicts were strung out on those same couches, while others were rolling around on the floor having s*x—the fact that there were used and unused needles surrounding them didn’t act as a deterrent. To the contrary. Black, white, Asian, coloured. Rich, poor, middle of the road. Heroin was for everybody. Oscar Marais had found his professional niche. Selling poison to young people who foolishly believed that they were invincible. The youth simply adored rebellion—regardless of whether or not it was detrimental to them in the long run.

Never in a million years did Mavuto Loyiso envision he would ever end up in a place such as this. Although, he was going by Mav nowadays. The day his father was murdered, was essentially the same day Mavuto died as well. Mavuto was just an innocent boy twenty-five years ago, while Mav was a bastard, hardened by the harsh realities of life. Tragedy had a propensity of forcing young people to grow up faster than their peers.

Here he was—providing security for an Afrikaner ikaka like Marais. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. So much wasted potential. For a young man who could have done anything with his life and Mav was now earning a living as a lowly mercenary. A gun for hire. His moral compass was nil. He had become numb to the wanton depravity he had seen in the Englebrecht. The OD's, the assaults. The other mercenaries probably assumed he was an “ubufanasini” due to his refusal to accept oral and anal s*x from the female junkies. This ballroom contained the worst aspects of humanity brought together under one roof.

Of the four mercenaries, he stood closest to the east stairwell exit in full SSA black, tactical combat gear. He held a SR-3M, 9x39 millimetre, suppressed assault rifle pointed towards the ground. This weapon was standard issue for Russian paramilitary types. While the pay was truly shite, Marais had supplied all of his mercs with the best weaponry money could buy. The leader of this cabal was not one to muck about. This was a war Marais was determined not to lose.

The other three mercenaries were strategically positioned around the room just to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. The junkies on this floor outnumbered them nearly fifteen-to-one. One of the hooded male junkies pulled his hood over his head and threw it on the floor, revealing his bare chest and abdomen. He was skinny-fat and had lesions up and down both arms. Mav shook his head as the former hooded junkie began engaging in a tantric dance of some kind. The music that they pumped into the room seemed to help the junkies in their search for that elusive high. The junkie reached inside his pants pocket and pulled out a syringe without a cap. He held the syringe in his left hand and brought it across to his right arm, beginning at the wrist before traveling up his forearm.

The junkie stopped at one of the lesions, just above the elbow. He tapped the syringe against it. It appeared that he had found his place. He twirled the syringe and jabbed it into the lesion. That Mav didn’t lose his lunch right then and there was a testament to how desensitized he had become to this entire setup. The junkie floated backwards onto the couch as if he was falling backwards into a body of water.

Elsewhere two men and a woman were kissing and disrobing at the same time. The fact that there were other people all around them didn’t seem to effect their desire for a tryst. At the main entrance to the ballroom, Mav noticed Marais and his bodyguard Sheytler, had entered. He focused his attention on them in an attempt to read their lips.

“How can something so despicable be so good for us? You ever wonder about that?” Sheytler appeared to say.

“All the time.” Marais answered. “But then I think about the money and I realize I don’t give a shit.”

The two men laughed before exiting the ballroom. One day, their greed would be their downfall. A loud thud garnered Mav’s attention to his right. One of the junkies was stark naked with the exception of a pair of dark boots, curled in the fetal position. The junkie reached for his boot and pulled it off his sockless feet. His feet were deplorable, like he had been using them to bust rocks all day long.

He placed the boot over his head and began shaking it over his mouth as if he had a bag of potato crisps. When nothing came out of the boot, the junkie reached inside it and pulled out the boot sole.

Oh, for Allah’s sake, please don’t do it.

The junkie took a bite out of the sole and chewed it like it was a well-cooked Biltong. Unfortunately, Mav was destined to stay here until the sun came up. He felt a vibration against his chest. It stopped after two vibrations. Someone had sent him a message. He glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching him. Marais had enacted a strict no-cell phone policy when inside the building. Mav opened one of the compartments on his tactical vest and pulled out a basic cell phone. Something typically used by the elderly for talking and text messaging. He had a single message. It was from a restricted number.

The message read: BUILDING CONDEMNED. TONIGHT. 00:00. TWO BODIES. KIA. COD.

Mav sucked his teeth and slid the phone back inside the vest compartment. He closed the flap. The clock still hadn’t reached twenty-two hundred hours. He had no choice but to endure a re-enactment of Caligula’s boudoir until midnight. He angled his back against the wall just inside of the east stairwell exit to give his feet a break.

He exhaled. All the elements were in place to make this quite the memorable night. The only question that remained for him was—would he even make it out alive to remember it?