Chapter 3: Murder on the Yard

 …continued from 12 May 2026…

WARNING – THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, FOUL LANGUAGE AND DRUG ABUSE – DO NOT READ IF THIS OFFENDS YOU.

Johan remembered the time when he vomited and the drug dealer, Boebie Afbeen (Boebie no-leg) had laughed at him. The only reason he was not injured or harmed was because Shawn had vouched for Johan. 

They walked into ‘Afbeen’s yard and went to sit in a shady corner. Shawn and his best mate Miles, each took a small brown tablet from the pocket of their pants. They handed a small parcel, the size of a grown man’s hand, wrapped in crude brown paper, to Johan. They knew he enjoyed cleaning the dagga for them. Secretly they respected him for not using drugs, but even more so for not judging them for using it.

Suddenly they saw someone being propelled through the back door of the house.

The person, a scrawny kid of no more than 15-years-old was bleeding from the mouth and his eye was already swollen thick. “Issie ekkie,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Ek hettirie geld gevattie,”

“Djy dink ek is ‘n nai!” said Afbeen calmly. “Djy steel al ‘n lang tyd van my af, jou ma se poes, hou hom vas.” He instructed two of the yard boys to hold him up.

Shawn and Miles watched in mild amusement. Johan on the other hand was mesmerised and only because he trusted Shawn with his life, did he not fear for his own. Somehow, he knew he was about to witness a murder, and that he was absolutely powerless to stop it.

“Issie ekkie, Afbeen issie ekkie,” the kid screamed. He was being pushed up against the back wall of the yard, about 10 metres from Johan. Johan saw from the look in the kid’s eyes, that he knew he was about to die. Afbeen, hobbled towards him, holding his left hand tight around the leg of his crutch, while propelling himself forward on his good right leg. His left leg was cut off at the knee, necessitated by a bullet wound that had turned septic. In his right hand he held a long panga, or as it is known in the rest of the world, a machete.

“Dies wat gebeur met naiers wat van my steel,” he said calmly as he lifted the machete and brought it down hard and fast at an angle. The boy’s head rolled down his shoulder and onto the chest of one of the guys holding the body. He reacted calmly and kicked the head away from him as it landed on the ground. The other guy laughed and let go of the body. Afbeen laughed and told them to clean up the mess and get to rid of the body.

That’s when they spotted Johan vomiting and everyone turned to him and laughed out loud.

Johan knew that the financial windfalls Shawn enjoyed from time to time were connected to the drug world. He never asked questions about it, the need had never arisen, until now.

Ian still used drugs, and where Shawn had shown a level of self-control that allowed him to actually manage his drug use, Ian had often been prone to binge drug abuse which landed him close to death and close to imprisonment on more than one occasion. Although they were first cousins, Johan, Ian and Shawn, shared a blood bond of brotherhood that nothing could separate. They knew each other’s strengths and weakness and respected the pecking order without question. 

Shawn had always been slightly envious of Johan’s success. Ian on the other hand had made and lost fortunes to drugs. He could not care less about success and was only concerned about trying to understand his place in the world. He, at the age of 49 was still wondering what the hell he was doing on the planet.

Shawn knew that one day Johan would need him and that their status would be equal. He needed to believe that his envy was not in vain. He knew that his intelligence could not be that misguided.

In sport Shawn was a natural, there was not a sport he did not excel at as a kid, and Johan and Ian seldom beat him at anything sporty. And so, it was at golf. Ian approached the game with the usual blasé sense of humour and only if he really wanted to, did he play well, otherwise it was just one big joke, “this silly game” as he called it. Shawn often smoked a joint while he played and struck the ball with such effortless ease that he often exclaimed jokingly “I am the Tiger Woods of the Cape Flats, hear me roar.”

Johan had on and off days with the game of Golf and he learned a long time ago, that to fight with golf was to pursue the ridiculous.

Just stroke the ball and let the game lead you, was his motto. If you have a bad day, at least have one or two brilliant shots.

It was a hot day today and all three guys were wearing Bermuda shorts, golf shirts and caps. The game wasn’t too bad, all things considering, however, Shawn and Johan were irritated with Ian for not turning off his phone, and taking a call from a “chocolate poppie” he’d just discovered and had been screwing for a week.

After the golf Johan whispered to Shawn that they needed to meet alone and in private later. He did not want to involve Ian at this stage. Shawn’s intelligence on the gangs of the Cape Flats would determine the next moves.

The Gangs on the Cape Flats

A few years ago, in fact it could have been a decade or two ago, the New York police sent some officers to Cape Town to assist the local police with solving a local crime. One of the New York officers noted in his report that in his opinion Cape Coloured gangsters were probably the fastest knife wielders in the world.

The Cape Flats was ruled and run by the gangs. They controlled the economy of the Cape Flats. They were responsible for ensuring that no great wealth and prosperity ever came to the Cape Flats. They kept the people in poverty, yet always making sure that they had just enough to survive and always enough to drink alcohol and take drugs.

Continued tomorrow 14 May 2026, before 12pm