Chapter 5: Let The Games Begin

…continued from 14 May 2026…

There in his own special mail box sat a message from the Amla Cold Drinks company. The message read “Dear consumer, we are testing a new flavour of our delicious soft drink range and you are invited to your nearest corner shop to enjoy a free sample.”

Malik turned to Kamali, the bodyguard. “Gebruikie nuwe sellphone, phone hulle en vra  hulle wanner issie meeting.”

While Kamali was on the phone, Malik reached under his desk for the half-full bottle of Chivas, he poured some in a glass and lit a thick cigar before taking a swig. He was tired of this life and it bothered him that he would only be remembered as a vile and ruthless killer. Surely after his death, his kids would discover the truth about him. 

“Hulle soek ‘n meeting vannand, actually vroeg more oggen, soes one’o’clock, by die usual plek,” said Kamali. 

Malik knew that his general would not request a meeting if it were not important. He sucked long and leisurely on his cigar. “Okay,” he said to Kamali while exhaling the sweet smoke.

Political tension in the Cape region continued to occupy the press headlines. Now it was reported that the Democratic Coalition was launching its election manifesto in Cape Town at the Athlone stadium. Other political parties viewed the shrewd move with skepticism, Athlone was one of the heartbeats of the Cape Flats.

Elaine Pecker, the leader of the United Coloured Party, smiled when she heard the report. This was a sure sign that the Democratic Coalition, that had been in power in the Cape thanks to the naiveté of the Coloured voters, were running scared. The only way they held onto control of the Cape was to run massive campaigns and political activations on the Cape Flats, to get the vote there, while maintaining what some political observers called economic apartheid. Ensuring that only the rich, and mostly white, could afford to live in the best parts of Cape Town. 

It was indeed a reflection of the fickle and self-destructive nature of the Coloured voters that they had voted the then New National Party into power in the Cape after the first democratic election. This despite that same party being responsible for a generation of oppression during the apartheid years. Now, opinion polls had shown a growing disillusionment among Coloured voters since the DC had announced the structure of its leadership which featured a sole, token Coloured person. All of these events made the political environment ripe for something new to shake things up.

Johan had followed Elaine’s political career with interest. She had a sound reputation as a fighter who could not be bought. She blew the whistle on the huge Public Works invoicing-scam in parliament. A move which raised her credibility among the voters, but resulted in her being shunned in parliament. She responded by forming her own political party and scared the bigger parties to the core when she claimed 30% support during the by-elections.

She was not someone who could be taken for granted.

Johan wondered if her press officer had deliberately leaked the story of her being refused entry to the restaurant. 

Elaine had the right look and sound, Johan thought. She had just the right skin-tone, not too black and not too white, her hair was curly and coarse, in a way that suggested a combination of African and European genes. Her features also were a combination of genes which allowed both fair-skinned and dark-skinned Coloureds to relate to her. But her key communications' tool was that she could speak the local dialect fluently, as well as almost perfect English.

That was the one thing that people did not understand about the nature of the Coloured voter, Johan thought. They needed someone who sounded like them, but still had the ability to hold their own among white people. Yet you could not be seen to fraternise too closely with whites, as Boesak found out. As for an allegiance with the Blacks, forget it, no Coloured person, except the bleeding-heart liberals would publicly voice support for the Blacks.

Johan felt that he had his face.

He would need to get Elaine on board, but his identity would have to be kept a secret. He needed someone to mediate the deal. Someone to manage the funding of the huge cash resources he would launder with the help of the gangs. His plan was beginning to feel like it could work.

Shawn had no trouble setting up the meeting with Shafiek Daniels, Malik Sufyan’s general. Shafiek owed him a favour and it was time to make good. Shawn was a bit worried about getting a meeting with the leader of the Mongrels though.

Stan the Man, or Stanley Jantjies, was an ego maniac and an attention seeker. He’s ego was legendary and had often landed him behind bars. But, it was that same ego that had propelled him to become the leader of his gang and although the gangs had settled into an uneasy truce after the brutal gang wars of 3 years ago, tensions were always balanced on a knife-edge. 

Stanley was convinced that he had Italian blood flowing through his veins. He had seen all the Godfather movies, had read Mario Puzzo’s books and even managed to visit Italy on a few occasions. He remembered the eerie sensation he felt while waking the streets of Napoli. He felt the stare of the Neapolitan gangsters, the raw energy of the poverty in the streets and he knew, deep down in his soul, that he had lived and died on these streets in another life time.

He also looked like a Southern Italian, dark olive skin, jet-black wavy hair and luminescent green eyes. He was very handsome, in a fear-instilling way.

Naturally his big weakness was the fairer sex. Women ruled Stanley! He abhorred rape, and had killed several of his own gang members himself who had committed this vile and disgusting act.

Continued tomorrow 16 May 2026, before 12pm