kagablog

There was an Engen One Stop the other side of Mossel Bay and he pulled in there to fill up. The sky was cloudless and a warm berg wind was blowing. Now for the 300 undulating kilometres across the arid plain. Then over Sir Lowry’s Pass and down into Cape Town. He should be there by mid afternoon.

Rose’s cellphone was worrying him. He’d only thought about it after he had passed through Knysna. He hadn’t noticed it in the chalet - not that he’d been looking for it - but she must have used it to contact Claude. The success of his plan depended on surprise, and now it was highly likely they’d be expecting him. They might even have contacted the cops. And behind him the police machinery would be grinding into action as an alert went out to stop the fugitive murderer. The ‘dustbin killer’.

The road began to snake its way down into a canyon. The Gourits was coming up. What had the sangoma said to him? ‘Beware of the three high places.’ Well, he’d survived two high places so far, and this was the last high bridge on his journey. Maybe he’d have a blow-out as he was crossing, and he’d crash through the railing. Superstitious bullshit.

The road began to climb away from the canyon. On no, this was just too much of an anti-climax. He pulled over, waited for the road to clear, and did a u-turn.

Putting his foot flat he sent the big car leaping forward. It roared back across the bridge and he even drove on the wrong side of the road; but there was no on-coming traffic. He braked hard and swung into the car park.

Bungee jumping was from the old iron girder bridge a couple of hundred metres upriver from the concrete structure he had just driven over twice. He bought a ticket and hurried out to the launch platform at the halfway point.

Fortunately there was no one ahead of him. No, he didn’t want a video, or special music, or any of that crap. What he wanted was to experience the sensation of committing suicide from a bridge. He wanted to find out what he had missed back at Bloukranz. What it was like in those last few seconds. Would there be time to regret the decision?

They strapped him into the harness and gave him instructions. Maybe Godknows Tshabalala had put a curse on the equipment and some part of it would fail. He didn’t care all that much - it would save him the hassle of going all the way to Constantia to shoot cunt Claude and bitch Trudy.

He was in a hurry but now he must calm down, savour the moment. He stood with his toes over the edge and looked down. This was pathetic. Sixty-five metres down to the riverbed. Bloukranz was more than three times this. Oh well, fuck all of humanity, and fuck this lousy life. He slowly let himself lean and then fall forward.

At the critical moment of no return he expected to feel terror. Instead he felt the detached objectivity of an observer. The wind was in his face and the rocks rushed up to meet him. In place of the jerk on the harness he would have preferred the extra metres of free fall and the exquisite intensity of that last moment before his stupid existence was plunged into eternal darkness.

*

While Matt was busy jumping off bridges his uncle and his cousin were busy plotting his downfall - ha, ha.

Larry Apollis blamed Matt for the death of both his father and his sister, and Claude had turned to him, hoping to exploit the young man’s psychotic hatred. He phoned and asked him to come over immediately.

“He’s already killed Gilbert,” Claude said. “And now I’m really worried about Rose.”

Trudy joined them in the study, handing Larry a glass of Coke.

“You should be worried about us,” she said, her voice loud with recrimination and anxiety. “Your stupid plan to get him to commit suicide has gone all wrong. Now he’s on his way here to kill us.”

“Alright, alright.” Claude struggled to keep his temper. He wanted to shout at her and tell her to shut her fucking mouth. “The plan didn’t work and now we must come up with something else.”

“Any idea when he’ll get here?” asked Larry. He produced a pistol from inside his jacket, removed the clip and started working the bolt and pulling the trigger. Then he replaced the clip and returned the gun to its holster.

“The last I heard from Rose was an SMS last night to say he was totally crazy and was coming for us. Since then there’s been nothing. He could be here any time this afternoon.”

“What about the cops?” asked Larry.

“No,” said Claude, shaking his head. “The cops are too unreliable, and also they might try to take him alive. We don’t want that, do we?”

“No ways,” said Larry, his eyes cold and pitiless like those of a great white shark. “The sooner this fucker’s in hell, the better. Er… sorry Aunty Trudy.”

“No, that’s alright,” said Trudy. “He might as well be dead. My son has turned into a mad monster, and the only way to deal with an evil monster is to destroy it.”

“What I propose,” said Claude, getting to the point, “is that you intercept him on the N2 as he comes into Cape Town. It looks like you know how to use that gun of yours.”

Larry’s vacuously handsome features twisted into a smirk. It was like the unpleasant expression on the face of a professional wrestler who has just thrown his opponent out of the ring.

They agreed that the best place to wait would be at the Ultra City this side of Somerset West.

“How much were you going to pay Gilbert and Rose to get rid of him?” Larry asked.

Claude looked surprised, then shrugged his shoulders. Of course this little creep would want to be paid.

“Two fifty thousand,” he lied.

“Make it half a million and I’ll hit the road. Time’s running out, the maniac’s on his way.”

*

Larry was driving a brand new Half-Past-Three, or BMW 330i. He had paid for it with some of the insurance money from his father’s life policy. So in a way he had Matt to thank for this extravagant vehicle. It suited his style, which was brash, arrogant and aggressive.

When he pulled into a parking bay facing the highway, the filling station behind him, he realised that this might not be the most brilliant of ideas. It was only two o’clock and he may have to wait an hour or more. There was a lot of traffic heading into Cape Town and it meant he couldn’t take his eyes off it for more than a few seconds.

After half an hour he concluded it was actually an incredibly dumb idea. This was exhausting. He needed a cooldrink but with each passing minute it became increasingly important for him to remain alert. He glanced longingly in his mirror at the door to the shop, restroom and restaurant. Jesus!

Parked at the kerb, illegally, was a big saloon, dark blue in colour. A Lexus. Fuck it, man, could this be his quarry? Yes, there was no doubt about it. Emerging from the shop was the slob himself, limping heavily. He’d probably been inside taking a piss in one of Shell’s state-of-the-art urinals.

Larry started the car, engaged reverse, groped for his pistol. But the golden opportunity had been missed, for Matt was already driving away as if he had urgent business to attend to. Instead of drawing alongside and putting a bullet in the middle of that bloated moon-face, Larry was obliged to put his foot down and chase after the fast disappearing saloon.

Matt cruised at 150, sometimes overtaking on the grass, sometimes weaving from lane to lane. While going over the mountains and down the pass he’d been listening to Leonard Cohen. Now he was playing Tom Waits. Hold on, hold on. The music was saturated with the bitter-sweetness of futile hopes, inevitable failure, and impending death.

Only when they were getting close to town and the road had widened into four lanes was Larry able to make a move. Because of the heavy traffic Matt had been forced to reduce his speed to a sedate 100. Larry saw the gap and the silver Beemer drew alongside the Lexus. Pressing a button on his armrest he lowered the front passenger’s window and took aim. Matt glanced sideways and found himself looking into the gaping barrel of a 9 mil. In the background was his cousin’s familiar face, contorted and snarling with hatred. He saw the finger tighten on the trigger and knew that he was dead.

But if either of them had been keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror he would have seen an angel of hell, hooded and clad in black, coming up fast behind them astride a mighty Kawasaki charger and galloping along at 140 km/h.

Matt winced as the imagined bullet struck him, then realised he hadn’t been hit at all. In the road ahead the motorcyclist was already tilting away from the vertical and drifting to the left. Matt put his foot down hard and pulled away from the enraged assassin in the BMW.

*

Past the cooling towers and the golf course, and under the bridge at Mowbray. Then he broke away from the N2 up onto Edinburgh Drive. Mostert’s Mill on the left, UCT to the right. Matt weaved his way through the south-bound pack, managing to keep several vehicles between him and his pursuer.

The traffic lights at the Kirstenbosch intersection were against him. He would have jumped the lights but there was a wall of cars blocking his way. Larry was only six vehicles behind him and he was leaning out of his window trying to take aim.

The traffic began to move. Larry’s shot missed the Lexus completely and found another mark instead. This was a pregnant young woman with a toddler strapped in the back, and she died instantly. Out of control, her car ran down the hill and crashed into the back of a car driven by an elderly gent who suffered severe whiplash and was destined to spend the rest of his days in a neck brace popping pain killers until his ulcer burst and he died from the loss of blood through the anus. Very tragic.

Through Bishop’s Court and over Wynberg Hill they went. They raced down towards the start of the Blue Route and there were only two cars separating them. Matt took the Constantia off-ramp at speed and only just managed to prevent the car from sliding into the sweep of crash barrier. He jumped the first set of lights and Larry was forced to stand on his brakes and take evasive action before resuming the chase.

Constantia Village went by on the left and again he jumped the lights at Parish Road. Now he was heading away from his loathsome family neighbourhood and taking the tree-lined twists and turns up to Constantia Neck. He was stuck in the middle of a slow-moving procession of nine cars with Larry’s Beemer bringing up the rear.

A mad scheme had popped into his head. If he could break loose and get to the Neck well ahead of his homicidal cousin he could take the traffic circle on two wheels and come hurtling back down the pass, gun blazing.

Now was his chance. Or so he thought. There were four cars ahead of him. He pulled out and put his foot flat. He had overtaken two cars but the white line was solid and the road was curving sharply to the left.

There was still one more car to pass when he crashed head-on into the bread truck. The driver was standing on his brakes and so was Matt, but nevertheless the impact was devastating.

For a moment everything had gone blank, but now he had regained his senses. Thank God for airbags, and thank God his door had been thrown off its hinges as the vehicle shell collapsed and crumpled like cardboard. He managed to drag himself free, fall over a low stone wall and roll down an embankment.

The truck driver and his mate weren’t so lucky, having smashed their faces against the windscreen. Also, the cab had buckled in such a way as to trap them inside. There was the popping and spluttering sound of an electrical fire under way, and the smell of petrol, and WHOOSH! Both vehicles were well and truly ablaze.

Matt got to his feet, took out his gun, and began to climb the steep slope back up to the road. The trapped men had stopped screaming and he smelt the aroma of toast and roast meat. It made his mouth water and he thought of the delicious boerewors rolls at Keurbooms.

On the other hand, Larry was envisioning a steak burger at the Cattle Baron. With pepper sauce. He was standing with a group of onlookers about thirty metres from the burning wreckage. His car was parked a little further up the road, safely out of the way.

“I’m telling you, Claude, he’s dead. Fried; incinerated. Nobody could survive this inferno.”

Larry was on his phone as he walked to his car. He turned and stood leaning against the bodywork looking out at the view of the valley.

“Have you got the money ready?”… “What do you mean you don’t keep”… “Alright. And there’s a bank down the road.”… “Okay. Get what you can, and I want the balance tomorrow.”… “Alright, then I’ll meet you outside the bank.”… “Right; make it half an hour, in the coffee shop.”… “Yah, Seattle, Exclusive Books.”

As Larry ended the call and prepared to turn, get into the car and head back down to Sleazeville, Matt rose from his crouching position. With his pistol he pointed at a spot just behind Larry’s ear, a place where Ben and Ophabia were waiting for him, and sent him off to join them.