Lanvin T. Kgoale's Gangland, Neiburg Nights: The Fall Of A City

By Lanvin Kgoale

Thomas Braying, a once promising journalist from the Neiburg daily, has had his fair share of the endeavours of life. He is now at the edge of his own orchestrated doom; a fate that has not only culminated from his divorce but also from his drinking habits. To which seems that the only one thing that is helping him cope, is also destroying him. His boss is threating to dismiss him, unless if he takes the only chance he has of getting his old job back, and that is to go undercover and investigate one of the city's most notorious gangs, the Sanchez drug cartel. Join our hero as he tries to balance the good and evil that’s within him, as he tries not only to control the cartel but also keep the city safe and protect his family and friends, against rival gangs and corrupt officials without exposing himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lanvin Kgoale
• Release date: Mar 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301383887

Lanvin Kgoale

Born in Gauteng, Lives in Gauteng, pretoria, South Africa. Has a love for technology, art, history.

Book preview

GANGLAND

Published by Lanvin T. Kgoale at Smashwords

© 2013 Lanvin Kgoale

V 1.23

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including scanning, photocopying or recording without a written permission of the copyright holder/ Author.

This is a work of fiction, completed entirely of the author’s imagination, and thus should be treated as such. So by that any names, events, characters, places, organisations living or dead that may have any resemblance to this novel are purely coincidental and unintentional.

To

Billia N. Shabalala

I’m but still a speck, to the sand that her shadow covers.

¥

Thanks to

Kgotatsego Molema

Banele J. Mashaba

Brian T. Lekgoathi

Daniel G. Tsegaye

And

Teboho L. Nkeli

Their thoughts, advice, support and expectations have made this possible.

Contents

Chapter I – The Kid’s Aren’t Alright.

Chapter II – Last Chance.

Chapter III – New Lieutenant.

Part II.

Chapter IV – Sanchez’s Request.

Chapter V – The Run Down.

Chapter VI – Meet The Daughter.

Chapter VII – .38" Special.

Chapter VIII – Aid From A Deemed Foe.

Chapter IX – House of Ill Repute.

Chapter X – Father Against Son.

Chapter XI – Competition.

Chapter XII – Barrel of The Gun.

Chapter XIII – THE MEDIA.

Chapter XIV – BLOODY SUNDAY.

Chapter XV – Dark Hours.

Chapter XVI – Neiburg’s Fall.

Chapter XVII – The Evil Good Men Do.

Chapter XVIII – Siege.

Chapter XIX – The Last Stand.

Chapter XX – Minutes To Midnight.

Chapter XXI – Redline To The Horizon.

Appendix.

CHAPTER I

The Kids Aren't Alright.

|<<<< :::: >>>>|

As I sleep peacefully inside this cab, you know I dream about it. It would be one of those long stressful days stuck up in a large office, which smelled of coffee mixed with the scent of lavender. My black silk tie loosened from the neck, taken off from the collar of my white shirt, with its long sleeves rolled up to my elbows. Platinum cufflinks off and neatly put on a small bowl on top of my desk, which next to it laid the keys of my Porsche 904.

She would be a silver bullet with a chocolate brown interior, just like Roberto’s 356 Porsche; except the only difference as compared to Roberto’s, would be her body. It would be nothing short of perfection, built to embrace and hug the unique voluptuous curves of the road, as if it were her last days with a long lost lover that she’d never see again.

Then as I’m still day dreaming about the car, my phone would ring sitting next to the name plate that was made of mahogany wood, written on its gold tag: chief editor. I’d pick it up with my left hand which would be tagged with a TAG Heuer wristwatch, oblivious to the lustrous ring that would be an Italian platinum design. As I listen to the speaker on the other side expecting a hello, I’d get this warm fuzzy feeling as she said…

Hi Hun!

And that’s it. That’s where it all stops, that’s where my nightmare starts, where all my mess from that day begins.

The office from my dreams was a far-cry from where I had landed; it had faded away being replaced by that dark passage with me standing at the centre, worried out of my mind. I’d be standing there, gasping in doubt, gasping for air, just searching for a foot hold; just that grasp into a new life in a different perspective.

Thinking perhaps maybe I was in a bad dream. Well, it must have been one as to see what I held so dearest fall. I waited there patiently, thinking that at any moment I would wake up to the noise of my persistent alarm. But it wasn’t a bed song, instead almost like a bad song which was overplayed again, and again.

My anger had me clutching firmly on my .38" calibre pistol, while fear made me hear her last screams for help. Tears started to slowly roll down my cheeks; I couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t believe that all I had done led to her demise. Isn’t that for every human being there is a small margin for err; well for me it seemed like there was no exception.

I could have saved her; all that she needed was a hero, why couldn’t I be that hero? To hold her devoted trust and beliefs, her sympathy and empathies. But instead I held her Blood! So much of it that everywhere I looked, everywhere I turned; there was nothing but blood.

Even her eyes were gazing in red, they were drowning in a pool of tears; tears that were the results of her lungs choking from her blocked trachea, and perhaps brought on by the fear of knowing that her last moments were finally completed, enveloped, sealed and brought on to reality; simply made obvious by her subliminal.

By the shear look in her you could sot of make out that she was in disbelief, or rather shocked by the events that took place on that day. She held on to her neck tightly trying to stop the bleeding, but it did no good. Slowly and dreadfully, she was losing contact with the living.

I had settled her on my lap as I tried everything I knew in helping her. But no matter what I did, no matter how much I tried, her blood still bled out on to our hands. It was even getting soaked into her dress, her pink flowered white dress. Drop by drop as it culminated, it would settle on that Moroccan carpet.

She was bleeding to death and there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it. Screams for someone to call an ambulance, descended to the dusty smoky hall; a stench of gas coupled by gun powder was surrounding the atmosphere, which would be a catalyst for the sprinkler system to kick in. It sprayed down water on us, washing our tears away, rendering us cold and damp. I was trembling so much that I couldn’t even control my limbs, but still I hung on to her.

I sat there brushing her hair from the roots backwards, nurturing her until the medics arrived; they were just in time to remove her body from my hands. I should have been relieved upon their arrival; I could have, but to what I saw, I knew that it was over.

Frankly there was no way for even the best practitioner to suppress those wounds. My thoughts were proven well before they could even settle her on the stretcher; she passed away while they tried to resuscitate her bullet mutilated body.

As they covered her body with a sheet, I’d ask them what was happening time and time again, till they finally told me the truth. In disbelief I would watch them as they carried her on a stretcher, get consumed by my thoughts, hold my head, clawing my fingers against the skull and scream up to the heavens, thinking…

‘What have I BECOME?!’

All you need to know is that I, like you, wasn’t born this way. I grew up knowing nothing but the rules and norms that were entrusted on us. Which were believed to be the right way forth and therefore besieged into our little minds by our folks. Thought to be the best code of conduct, passed down from generation to generation by the influential societies of the earlier years; who because of their power and will, their values dispersed like an infernal trough the dry African grasslands. Where else that of the inferior ones, dissipated with their ancestors, as they were said and thought to be immoral. Darwin said it best…

Survival of the fittest. it’s called.

-I-

It always starts somewhere; for me it had to be a year before her death. Waking up half drunk for a new morn, day in day out it had been like that. The sunshine was so bright I couldn’t feel my eyes; somehow I wished I could have said the same about my future. But I couldn’t, not when it looked like the darkest pit straight out of the bowels of hell. I was a depressed man asking the lord God what I had done to deserve such fate; the fate of losing the matrimony of my wife along with the custody of my child.

I had been in this state for weeks probably months on end; how many exactly, I didn’t keep count. The fact is I didn’t care, even if I were hit by some stone out of my sanity, I wouldn’t feel the pain; drinking booze was all I knew, it had become my frontline career then. My mind was telling me…

‘Fuck it! I can stop whenever I want, when I want!’

I was just edging for that comfort feeling, never recognising that I was getting discomfort on the outside; a sign I should have seen from the beginning of myself obscured turmoil.

All in all you could say I was trying to lose some memories. TV shows seemed like getting caught in between multiple endless dreams, and my foul misrepresented reality. I’d wake up to a complaining bladder, go to the bathroom to knock it off and wash my face. Then I would find myself gazing at the mirror, lost in my own thoughts, thinking out loud…

Who am I?

‘A ne’er do well.’ Was an answer that I got from a voice, in the air, out of nowhere.

Truly speaking, I didn’t know and I didn’t care what ideas that voice at the back of my head had about me; all I knew was that I was going back to my pack of beers, before they shivered in warmth.

Where was my salvation you'd ask? I’d say down the bottom of the next bottle profoundly; that is if I didn’t doze off into another dewing slumber.

It would be in the late afternoon when my dreams got disturbed, where I’d face reality; I had felt my phone vibrating or was it still a figment of my own imagination? I had no clue. And if it was someone calling me; who could it be?

As I was still trying to find an answer, it all suddenly came down like a big gong on my head, as if I was hearing faint thuds from my heart, progressing into some ferocious repetitive cracks of thunder. I didn't hear the first knockings on the door; I had thought I was still in myself-pitiful dreams. Then as they knocked again it pushed my mind to a state of consciousness, they repeated again, irritating me, thus I replied impatiently…

I heard ya, I heard ya already!!!

I got off the couch and found myself opening the door to a face I’d regret. It was that young new recruit from Lawrence's office, Maureen. He came to pre-warn me about Lawrence’s rage.

As I stood at the door brushing my face, hearing that scoundrel’s voice, I felt like he was enjoying himself…

The boss declared that if you don’t show up at the office on time by tomorrow; you can kiss your job goodbye. in hearing this I sighed, went inside and stood by the counter of the kitchen, trying hard to support my numb body.

Furthermore, on Monday you are to return the money you owe to the company. Do you hear me?

Like a flute!

He grabbed the door handle, and then said Good, then I shall show myself out.

As he closed the door I went for the next seat I could find; an old rocking chair that was facing an open window. I sat there trying to rock my thoughts away, but it didn’t move, something had been blocking it. I’d look underneath and pull what seemed to be a bottle of whiskey, open it, tilt my head backwards and take a shot enough to fill my mouth. I’d then rinse and stare at the ceiling for some moments. Thereafter I traced at the calendar on the wall, trying to find the date that the outside world was registering…

‘Ah!!! Wednesday, the 24th of September 2008. Let me see now, I have Thu… Fri… Sat… Sunday. What, about four days to get the money?!’

As to who would offer me such a large sum of money in a short notice, I had no idea. Looking through the classifieds gave some amusement, but it was of no help; in the end I just tossed the paper on top of the coffee table, and finished the bottle of whiskey.

I had decided that all I needed to do was to clear my mind, so I took a bath for some minutes, got into a t-shirt & jeans; took my phone and grabbed my keys on a bowl by the door. While going out I was met by Missus McLain, my landlady. She was coming up the stairs with mail...

Ah! Going out for some sunlight aren’t we Mister Braying. she said.

"Ja, I decided to get some air; any mail for me?"

Oh yes there is. she paged through it, and handed it to me whilst scratching her arm, trying to find the right thoughts to finally say…

Oh and Tom, will you be dining with us by this evening, or are you planning on eating out?

I’ll be back just in time. I said whilst shuffling through the mail.

Okay then, guess I’ll see you later on. Do have a nice afternoon.

Thanks, same to you Missus McLain.

As I paged through the mail I found most of it to be junk, full of bills and last minute notices; but only one stood out from the rest as I tried to shove them under my door; a divorce letter from my wife’s attorney. It was finally here, after months of trying to talk her out of it, she wouldn’t hear any. But in the end it was worth it I guess. I was tired of all the troubles she brought with her, and the weirdest part, I still felt lonely without her; as if I craved her like ecstasy. I did survive a full year without her, but the long-term effects’ were unaccounted for.

After seeing the papers I slide them to my top left pocket, and continued on with my journey of finding a generous investor.

I had decided to start off at a restaurant for some breakfast, and as I ordered my meal there was some amusement in the teen’s eyes as she happily announced that the breakfast hour was only in the morning. I stood there trying to order something else, irritated and thinking to myself…

‘I don’t like the young people of today, not even those rascals nearby my street, who pretend to be some sort of desperados…’ As I was still thinking, it hit me…

‘Yes! I can easily borrow the cash from those kids, and I would pay them back at the end of the month.’

The plan had been set, but still there was something in my head which kept telling me…

‘No, you can’t!!!’

As if my yang was battling my yin; but still I went forth, as for the good in me had no stronghold from the start.

I met up with the lot at their usual spot, an old railway yard in city central behind Ndali Street; the whole block was ruled by a kid named Lance Maseko. He was the kind that thought had it all, so much so that it actually went to his head. I on the other hand, still couldn’t believe how pathetic I was to ask for a loan from a bunch of street hooligans. I realised that when the little creep kept crawling on to my face, threatening me as if to make me panic, going on about what could happen if I didn’t pay up; and to my amazement, it worked…

Huh!!! Little shmuck; if only I… I exclaimed, while he kept on coming to my face, but it wouldn’t be that long.

My lines would be cut short as they dragged out the cadaverous body of the last person who didn’t live up to his end of the bargain. I finally saw that they were dead serious as they dragged him in the dirt, with razor barbwire wrapped around him, inflicting wounds which tainted his once white shirt in blood red, from the inside out.

He kept begging them for his life, for the right to see his wife; as if he had begged enough they’d stop. The torturing wouldn’t last that long though; although it would be one of the most gruesome things I had ever seen. His right eye was half closed; his lips had a gash, his nose bled to the ground. He lay in his own pool of blood, blinded and stupefied about what would follow next, as they kept kicking him to a pulp.

Apparently it was an initiation for a new worthless piece of trash, a kid who was more aware of what he had to do to gain acceptance than his next meal. The kid was given a Luger pistol and told to finish the job. He was hesitant at first, holding the weapon with both of his hands and waving it from side to side, whilst trying to fix his aiming down the face of an innocent man.

For what seemed like minutes, only took a couple of seconds. His fore arms thrust the weapon straight forward to his target, with every second that passed his eyes intensified, as if he had been reassuring himself all along, that this was the right way forth. As the time went on, his arms were growing tense, and starting to shake as if he was about to say…

No!!! but silently he whispers to himself; then some supportive words were sung from one of his contemporaries, telling him…

Do it!!! these were woven with the man’s words pleading…

Please no, I swear to God I’ll pay you back!!! which led some thoughts to the kids mind, his hands stopped shaking.

There was silence for a moment; and a glance to the kid’s eyes would tell you the story being played at the back of his head. He was scared; you could actually see some little tears sparkling out…

Don’t make me impatient!!! said their leader, reassuring him that any mistake would be the consequence to his own death. His finger started to drag back the trigger.

I was still zoomed in on the kid’s face when the catastrophic sound was produced, momentarily shocking me. And then the man’s body started to collapse for the ground. Blood from the headshot wound spewed through the air, aiming straight to the face of his slayer.

Then there was silence in the air again as the kid stood there, still flabbergasted to see another man’s blood in his hands. But still he didn’t let it show, not even one quiver; only his eyes spoke the truth, for he knew that if he were to do such, death would be looming just around the corner. The silence was then broken off by their leader as he welcomed their new recruit with a pat on the shoulder, whilst saying...

Nice one buddy, now you are one of us! he then walked straight to me, raising his arms wide open, as if making a gesture of welcoming me and said…

If you don’t obey our ways, then we will show you how; if still in doubt Mister Idonwannafuckinknow!!! Then you’re next. Now get the fuck out of my yard!!! then I, without any hesitation walked away.

I ended up at a park trying to ease my mind a bit, trying to tranquilise; but not in the usual manner that I was used to. For once I did it in a peaceful way; I bought me some orange juice, sat down on some bench under a shaded tree, watched humans as they walked, marvelled at the pigeons as they took flight, notice the ants as they carry some pieces of red cake to their nest, all the while I was composing what had happened earlier on.

Later on under curiosity, I’d go to a kiosk to buy our newspaper, and make my way home with a cone of vanilla ice cream in hand.

-II-

I got back at round about six to find Bobby Whaler sitting at the dining hall; he was watching sitcoms, wasting away the last seconds towards supper. He would tell me that he had nothing to do, but waste time with the tube when I asked him once. Bob was one of those well-mannered gentlemen of the last century, always like to wear his vertically lined shirt tucked in under his black creased pants, with a brown waistcoat and a brown jacket on top. He would occasionally smoke his pipe even if it were unlit; and if there was one thing I didn’t like about him, it would be his pipe. I didn’t like the flavoured smell of figs that lingered on and around him, it reminded me of a bad experience I had with the fruit itself from a past. But then on that day, he didn’t have the pipe with him, meaning something was wrong…

Good evening Mister Whaler.

Being surprised, he’d swung his head to me, Oh Bloke! You startled me there a bit; what you up to?

(Ahem!) Nothing really; can’t help but notice that you’re looking a little bit down.

I am?! he said raising an eye brow, Oh yes I am, an old friend of mine seems to be in ill health, a stroke said the doctor; but they take he should be up within six weeks.

… Sorry man. I tapped his shoulder, I wish him a speedy recovery.

Thank you, but I’m still astonished. How did you know that I wasn’t feeling well?

I could see it from your face, and besides my job falls within the criteria.

Now isn’t that uncanny?

Well you tell me. I said observing the watch while playing around with it, Ay! Would you look at the time?

"Ja, it waits for no men…"

Please would you excuse me, I have some errands to finish.

No worries.

I went straight up to my room, as I opened the door a rush of warm air came out accompanied by the smell of booze, a sign that I had to clean up a bit. I picked up the mail that was already getting infested by roaches, continued dragging my feet across the floor, grabbed a Can in the freezer and settled down by the couch. I then pulled out the divorce papers from my pocket, and had a long study at them.

They seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary; for the first part was just a split of the goods halfway. I would skim it down till I found the one thing that infuriated me the most. The point that she would be given full custody to my child, because it was found that I was an alcoholic unstable man, and as such, it stated that she would have the rights to my child until decided upon, that I had found a partner who was fully responsible. After being irritated by the letter, I tossed it on top of the coffee table and started to read the newspaper.

As I read through the layout, I felt Lawrence and the team didn’t make that much improvement from the last time I was at the office. The paper was still boring as usual, reflecting only on Neiburg’s politics and scandals. Only one or two articles caught my eye, the first had been about a new business lady who was melting Lu port city’s import and export business. The second was written by Frank, a senior at the office. He wrote about the sudden suicide of the Mayor’s brother, Eddy Radebe.

I was reading through the paper as minutes passed by, and second by second the paper seemed to slowly settle down on the floor, till finally I dozed off into a nightmare. For that moment; that second! It kept on playing and rewinding in my mind, a flood of blood ran through my memories as he screamed for his life, the right to see his wife. It was sufficient to make me jump off my couch with so much energy, still breathing heavily; as like you would when dropping from a failed surface on a frozen lake.

I brushed my face and turned off the Tele, picked up the paper and settled it on top of the table. While drinking the last drops from the can, I heard someone knocking at the door. At first I was rather reluctant to open, because I wasn’t expecting anyone at that time of the night. And so I let it be for some couple of seconds, in the end I opened up.

To my surprise it had been Missus McLain, she needed some help. She had been trying to make some tea earlier on, and her electric stove wouldn’t light. I took out my tool box and then followed her as she led me to the problem.

As I went through the underside of the plates, I’d find that the wires had for some reason split in two, so all I needed to do was to connect them back together. But of my bad luck, I forgot to switch off the switch for the stove, and thus everything went down with the main switch. The main switch would be located on the outside close to the tool shed, I volunteered to go and turn it back on.

While I stood there turning on the main switch, the lights turned back on, making everything bright as day again. It was just enough for my eyes to notice two medium bodies that were dancing by the fencing. I moved closer to study them, only to find that it was those punks from the Eastside Boys, they were now starting to mark where I lived.

The rush of adrenalin I got as I approached them from the dark to face them, was enough that

I’m sure they felt it too. I then said as they noticed me in front of them,

Come on guys, this isn’t polite now; you are following me as like your my servants.

Oh yeah! Just make sure that you pay up or you be serving the dead, collar junkie!!! replied one of them. It was the kid who killed that man in cold blood.

I stood there watching them as they disappeared into the night. It wouldn’t be that long before Missus McLain came out and stood behind me, asking…

Mister Braying, what’s wrong?

Huh! I turned to her, Oh! Nothing, nothing at all, I thought I saw something but it appears that it may have been the wind.

Well, come in then, before you really see something.

I reheated the leftovers from supper, spaghetti and meatballs was all that was left; settled them on a plate, grabbed a fork and went to the dining room. As I sat alone at the table, rolling up the spaghetti around the fork, dipping it on the sauce, I was still thinking what those kids were capable of, and if ever I was on a collision course with them. Thereafter, I went straight to my room.

As I was about at the door from the outside, I heard shuttering screams coming from the next room, calming down to the passageway. A child was crying, it came to mind that little Jane had been mischievous again, thus Miss Shabalala was awarding her with a belt.

Shame on the little thing, she was only four, she didn’t know what she did could come back to haunt her. Such a cute little thing she was; always reminded me of my own, because of that I would always give her some candy if I had any, it did her no harm, none that I could think of. But Miss Shabalala didn’t approve of it, as she always saw me as a worthless drunkard; and I would always be that in her eyes.

Miss Shabalala wasn’t one of those cursing types; she was an ordinary God fearing, church going lady, who was taught to live by the rules of the holy book. She was a nun down at the Church. Little Jane was not her biological daughter; she had adopted her after someone had left her as an infant at the Church.

Yep--She does seem like a good role model to me; although at times she can be more of a blow horn. These were Bob’s views about Miss Shabalala, he never did like her ways, and neither did she; then again she never did like anyone who was a nonbeliever.

As I got to my room I settled down by the couch with another Can in hand. I was watching some late night movies, and also got a good chance to think about a plan on how I was going to pay back the rascals. I never did see myself dosing into the night, nor spilling the beer on the white carpet.

-III-

I Woke up the next day with a direct flash of sunlight on my eyes; it took some seconds for them to adjust to the right focus, but when they did the first thing I saw was the news broadcast on the television. They were still on about the suicide of the Mayor’s brother. The second thing I saw was the mess I had made last night on the carpet, I knew it was going to be hell cleaning it up.

After cleaning, I took a long cold shower so as to take a journey down to the office and pitch in in time. When I finished I notice the clock as it kept on ticking, advising me that I was a bit late. I rushed to the bedroom and put on some clothes, didn’t even bother with the tie, took two slices of bread and spread them with some butter for the road ahead.

As I settled the key on the ignition starting the car, I took another look at the time and then rushed out of the parking thinking I was going to make it. My wishful thinking would be immediately squashed in finding that there was chaos again on the old queues of the double lanes. I was in the dead middle of rush hour. And this one was none of the ordinary; it was the type which made you insane. The type that made you get out of your car and jump around like a mad kangaroo, thinking is this really happening, and scream up at the heavens…

‘Thanks very much!’

The type that made you wish to get out of your car, and bang the head of the jackass who was busy honking behind you.

As I sat there observing my watch’s second hand, ticking the seconds away, my head comforted down to a depress state. Fortunately I got out of the predicament without a single scratch, and finally got to the office.

While entering the entrance I’d be greeted by the ripper himself…

So glad you could join us Braying!!!

Bos…

"…In my office, NOW!!!"

At the tone of his voice everyone jilted their heads towards their work, as if their minds were synchronised into thinking the same thing, being…

‘Oh boy, am I going to get it