Walter Sisulu looked at the woman handing him a handful of bills for her dagga—Afrikaans for marijuana. He couldn’t believe his luck. There’s justice in this world after all. The stupid bitch did not even change the envelope. It was the same one he gave to the man and the little girl who robbed him last night.
– “Say Mara, did you send your daughter last night for some cigarettes?”
Mara Smit, a cigarette in a corner of her lips, smoke in her eyes, answered between coughs, “Yep, and that little no goodie took a while to get home—without my cigarettes. Wonder where she’d been.”
Walter smiled. “You know, I thought I saw a man walked her home. Did you see him?”
– “Yep. He was at my shack. Not long though. He looks nice enough. Hey, by the way, gimme two bottles of that special liquor you’re hiding in your office.”
– “How come you have all this money to spend, Mara? You got a job?”
Mara looked at him and laughed which caused another round of coughs. “What? Job? No. These are my savings for rainy days. What is it to you?”
Walter nodded. “Wait here. I’ll go get the bottles.”
Walter walked to the back of the store and pushed open his office’s door. Two young black men were waiting inside the cramped space.
– “We’ve got lucky guys. You won’t have to look hard. I know who has my money.” he said in Xhosa.
The men did not answer.
– “The bitch is here. Just follow her to her shack and get me my money back.”
The two men shrugged then stood up.
Walter looked at them. “If there’s a white man and a little girl in the shack, do them too. I’ll pay extra.”
The men nodded.
Walter reached inside a case behind his desk and pulled out two bottles of whisky. “Now, follow me.”
