– “Let’s hear it.” said Tsotsi, crossing his hands behind his head and his feet on the makeshift table.
One of his lieutenants stood on the other side.
– “No one knows what happened, Tsotsi. They all say no one ever touches Thembani or his men.” said Onke.
– “They’re sure? The farmers didn’t use some kind of stun guns?”
– “Nah, impossible. His men say the Boer woman and her men were as surprised as them. My guess is they were lucky. Nothing to it.”
Tsotsi closed his eyes. “Good. How about the farmers? How many of them?”
Onke laughed. “Only three old men with rifles. The other two live at the house in Elizabethtown. So, there’s really only one man left, the farm manager.”
– “What about the farmworkers?”
– “They’ll run like hell when they see us.”
Tsotsi re-opened his eyes and sat straight in his chair. “I wonder why there haven’t been any attacks on their farm before.”
Onke shrugged. “I guess they have loyal workers who didn’t sell them out or maybe they don’t keep anything valuable at the farm but at the house in Elizabethtown instead.”
Tsotsi nodded. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. You take Swazi and Wonga with you to the farm. Make a real example out of the farm manager. Make him die a horrible death that would scare off everyone else.”
– “Like what?”
Tsotsi threw a furious look that made him stepped back. “I don’t know, stupid! Use your imagination. Mutilate him or burn a tire around his neck, what do I care? But I want something sensational. Something the press would talk about for days. Something with a Tsotsi’s stamp. I want to scare off all the white farmers from Pretoria to Cape Town. Understood?”
– “What about the Boer woman?”
– “I’ll take care of her myself. Me and the rest of the gang are gonna make a visit at her house and I’ll have myself a white sex slave for a few days.”
One of the men shifted uneasily. “Umh—about that.”
– “What?”
– “Bizarre things have been happening in that town.”
– “What bizarre things?”
– “The bro’s in the township talked about—uh—a white sorcerer.”
– “What the fuck are you talking about?”
– “I don’t know Tsotsi. They’re all scared over there even the 37s. They talked about a white man who can hurt you just by looking at you.”
– “Onke, next time you talk to those losers from Elizabethtown, ask them if their man can run faster than a bullet, alright? Ask them if their man had ever heard of Tsotsi, okay? Until then, get the fuck out of here!”
Onke nodded and left the shack.
Tsotsi dialed a number on his cell phone. It rang twice.
– “Zuma, here.”
– “It’s me. It’s gonna go down soon and I’m gonna do you a little favor. Once it’s on the news, other white farmers will leave their land of their own accord.”
A smack of appreciation could be heard at the other end. “I knew I can count on you.”
– “Just make sure the police don’t interfere.”
– “They won’t.”
Tsotsi killed the connection.
