Broken (17 page)

“
Quite
right.” I said. “Hunting Tower.”

“
How much did
you bet?” Cindy asked.

“”
A thousand
Rand.” I replied as I showed her my betting ticket.

Cindy’s eyes
opened wide.

“
You bet a
thousand Rand on a horse?”

I nodded and Cindy looked down
at the betting ticket in my hand for confirmation.

“
Explain it
to me.” she said.

“
Well, the
odds on Hunting Tower at the time that I placed my bet were twelve
to one.” I said. “That means that if Hunting Tower won I would get
twelve times the amount that I’d bet as well as my stake of a
thousand Rand back. And twelve times a thousand Rand is twelve
thousand Rand.”

“
Twelve
thousand Rand!” Cindy exclaimed. “That’s unbelievable.”

I pointed to the figures that
the bookmaker had written on the betting slip.

“
There it
is.” I said. “Twelve thousand to one thousand.”

Cindy stared at the ticket in my
hand and then looked up at me.

“
Aren’t you
pleased for me?” I asked.

“
Of course I
am. I’m thrilled, Garth.” Cindy said. “But at the same time I’m a
little worried. Should you really be taking such risks with your
money?”

“
It was just
an impulse.” I said. “It’s not something that I plan to do
regularly.”

“
Garth.”
Cindy said, looking at me intently. “Please promise me that you
won’t let gambling become a habit. Nobody can beat the casinos or
the bookmakers. Sooner or later all gamblers end up
broke.”

“Don’t worry.” I said. “I’m
going to save this money and use it to open my own business.”

Despite the
fact that I had assured Cindy that I wouldn
’t start gambling, the lure of easy money was too strong. I
began looking up the race meetings on the internet and taking
imaginary bets that I wrote down and compared to the race results
the following day. At first I lost all the imaginary bets that I’d
made but over time, as I began to understand form, the history of
the trainers and jockeys, the draw and the behaviour of the betting
odds I actually began to have some success. Convinced that, as my
experience grew, I would become more and more successful, I began
to visit the bookmaker, Mister Edward Eksteen, and place small bets
of twenty to thirty Rand on all the races.

“
I’m glad to
see that your win hasn’t gone to your head.” the bookmaker said.
“That was a big win for just about anyone. Many punters let that
kind of win go to their heads and before they know it, they’re in
financial trouble.”

I nodded but
didn’t say anything.

Each time a
bet of mine was successful though, I berated myself for not having
bet a larger amount, never once considering that I might have lost
that money and never thinking about the bets that I’d placed that
had not been successful.

The main race
meetings were on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons. As Cindy was at
work during the week I was able to spend Wednesday afternoons at
the betting hall without her knowledge, but as I spent every
Saturday with her, I was forced to place my bets on the Friday
before the meeting. This made predicting the winners even more
difficult as I couldn’t use the late betting trends to influence my
decisions. My success rate for the Saturday meetings was therefore
a lot worse than the Wednesday meetings.

Despite my pledge to myself that
I would only place bets of less that fifty Rand, the amounts that I
laid out gradually grew bigger and bigger as I became more obsessed
with winning and each time a did win, I ignored the fact that they
seldom, if ever, covered the amounts that I had spent on the other
races.

Ian Visagie
had still not paid back the three thousand Rand that I had lent him
at the casino and, as my losses mounted and ate up the money that
I’d won on Hunting Tower at the Durban July, I became more and more
determined to confront Ian and force him to pay me. The opportunity
to confront him presented itself one Wednesday afternoon while I
was in the betting hall.

I saw Ian
hurry into the hall and walk to one of the
bookmaker
’s stalls. Knowing that he was
unlikely to stay in the hall for long as he probably only had
enough money for one bet, I went outside and waited on the pavement
not far from the entrance. As I had suspected, within a few
minutes, Ian came hurrying out of the stall looking down at the
yellow betting ticket in his hand. He was still looking at the
ticket as he reached me. I grabbed the ticket out of his hand and
tossed it away. Ian looked up in surprise, an expression that
immediately turned to fear as he recognised me. I grabbed the front
of his shirt and pushed him against the wall of the building. He
stared at me, his eyes filled with fear. I leant towards him, my
face inches from his.

“
Listen to me
and listen carefully, you skinny bastard.” I said quietly. “I’m not
going to wait any longer for the three grand that you owe me. If I
don’t have it in cash by twelve noon tomorrow, I’m coming after
you, and when I find you I’m going to hurt you badly! I don’t care
how or where you get the money; just get it! Do you understand what
I’m saying?”

Ian stared at me and nodded, too
terrified to speak.

I pulled Ian
away from the wall, turned him slightly, and shoved him away from
me. He stumbled and fell onto the pavement. He scrambled to his
feet and ran away, glancing fearfully over his shoulder to see if I
was following him.

I turned and walked back into
the betting hall.

When I walked out of the betting
hall later that afternoon I saw Ian, Bruce and Vic standing on the
pavement a little distance away. It was obvious that they were
waiting for me and from their aggressive postures and the hatred on
their faces it was clear to me that they had violent
intensions.

As I walked
towards them I tried to analyse the situation. No matter who they
were, fighting three people at the same time was a no-win
situation. I had no idea as to what experience my three adversaries
had when it came to physical violence but I imagined that Bruce was
the most dangerous of the three. Short and well built, it was
obvious to me that in the past he had been subjected to a great
deal of bullying by men bigger than him and that he had stood up to
them, and in the painful process that it must have been, had learnt
to look after himself. His skew, flat nose was obvious evidence
that he had taken a great deal of punishment and his scarred and
somewhat deformed knuckles indicated that he
’d given as much as he’d received.

Vic was also
short and stocky but his poor eyesight and his timorous demeanour
told me that violence wasn
’t something
that he would be happy to become involved in and that if he was
directly confronted by an aggressive adversary he would quickly
capitulate.

Ian, I knew,
was just so much hot air. I had seen the fear in his eyes earlier
in the day when I’d grabbed the front of his shirt and pushed him
up against the wall. While the odds were in his favour, Ian would
appear to be brave and aggressive, but if the odds turned against
him, he would be the first to give up. At the moment I could see
that he believed that the odds were in his favour. Three to one
were good odds.

I realised
that it was very important that I prevent any of the three from
getting behind me. I had heard that experienced street fighters
know that if they can get behind an opponent they’ve as good as won
the fight. No man can win a fight if he has one opponent in front
of him and another behind him. If I could keep all three in front
of me then the one person that I needed to focus on was Bruce. If I
could take him out then I felt sure that the other two would lose
heart and probably run away.

As I approached Ian, Bruce and
Vic I made sure that I kept as close as I could to the wall of the
building so that none of them could get behind me. I stared at Ian
and ignored Bruce and Vic.

“
You guys
looking for me?” I asked as I reached the spot where Ian was
standing.

“
Yes. We’re
looking for you.” Ian replied. “We don’t like being threatened by a
little shit like you. So, we’re going to teach you a lesson that
you’ll never forget.”

I moved back slightly until my
back was almost touching the wall. Out of the corner of my eyes I
saw Bruce move slowly to my left but Ian and Vic stayed directly in
front of me. I had been right. Neither of them knew much about
fighting. Bruce did though, so I made sure that he stayed within my
periphery vision.

“
So, go ahead
and teach me the lesson.” I said to Ian and made as if I was about
to lunge at him. I saw Bruce move quickly towards me, obviously
thinking that my attention was totally focussed on Ian. But as
Bruce got within my range, I quickly changed the direction of my
fake lunge and punched him as hard and I could in the mouth. I felt
his teeth cut into the skin of my knuckles before they collapsed
with a faint crackling sound. Bruce’s feet shot out from under him,
his head snapped back and he flipped onto his back, his head
striking the concrete pavement with a frightening thud. The
expression on Ian’s face changed from arrogance to shock in a
flash. He turned and stared down at Bruce who was lying on his back
on the ground next to him with four or five white and bloody teeth
sprinkled around his head. Blood trickled out of his mouth and ran
down both sides of his face before pooling on the concrete. His
arms were flung out from his sides and his eyes were
closed.

“
Jesus!” Ian
whispered. “You’ve killed him!”

“
Yes. And
you’re next.” I said quietly as I began moving slowly towards
him.

Ian’s eyes
darted back to me and whatever he saw in my face, drained the blood
from his head. His face turned a ghostly white and I thought that
he was about to faint. Then without taking his eyes off me he
turned and fled along the pavement, dodging between the spectators
who had been standing watching us. I turned my attention to Vic. He
raised his hands with his open palms facing me.

“
I give up,
Garth.” he said. “I’m not a fighter.”

“
Fuck off!’ I
said quietly. “And if I haven’t got all my money in cash by ten
o’clock tomorrow morning I’m coming after the three of you and
you’ll be lucky if you only end up in hospital! In fact, if I don’t
have my money by then, the three of you are as good as
dead!”

“
You’ll get
your money, Garth.” Vic said, his voice shaking with fright.
“You’ll have it by ten o’clock tomorrow. I promise!”

I looked down at the unconscious
man at my feet as Vic hurried away. Bruce lay on his back and I
could see that was choking on his own blood. I grabbed his left arm
and rolled him over so that he lay facedown on the concrete with
his right arm under his chest. The choking sounds stopped and a
thin stream of blood and spit continued to trickle out of his mouth
onto the pavement. His breathing was regular but shallow. I heard
one of the teeth crunch under my shoe as I stood on it. I turned
and walked away, ignoring the stares of the small crowd that had
gathered.

The following morning I woke at
just after eight. I got out of bed, showered and dressed. The
custom of having four or five days of unshaven stubble on your face
was just coming into fashion: the macho look. The tough guy look.
And, having just chased off three guys intent of beating me to a
pulp, I felt that I had every right to consider myself to be a
tough guy.

I opened the
curtains in the lounge and look out at the street. Ian and Vic were
standing on the pavement near my front gate and staring at the
house impatiently. I looked at my watch. Nine o’clock. Let them
wait. I went to the kitchen and had breakfast of cereal and a mug
of coffee. At half past nine I went to the front door, opened it,
and walked casually to where Ian and Vic stood watching me
approach.

“
I really
hope you’ve got my money. I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt
Bruce.” I said.

Ian nodded.

“
Here it is.”
he said, handing me a wad of tatty one hundred Rand notes. “Count
it.”

I took the
money and counted the
thirty notes
slowly. I sensed Ian and Vic watching me intently.

When I had finished counting, I
nodded and put the wad into my shirt pocket.

“
Thanks.” I
said, turned and began walking towards the house.

“
Bruce’s in
the I.C.U. at the hospital.” Ian said. “He’s in a coma. Concussion
and a brain haemorrhage. They say that he might die.”

I stopped walking and looked
over my shoulder at Ian. I shrugged my shoulders.

“
You guys
were going to try and beat me up.” I said. “There were plenty of
people who saw the whole thing. I had a right to defend
myself.”

I walked along the garden path,
climbed the steps onto the veranda and went into the house, closing
the door behind me.

I continued
to play the horses every Wednesday and Saturday. The number of
successful bets that I had been achieving rose marginally but most
of them featured favourites where I had to lay ou
t large sums of money to collect a small return. These
returns never came close to covering my losses and within two weeks
I had lost the three thousand Rand that I’d got from Ian. The fact
that was winning more bets encouraged me and I began studying the
form of the horses more diligently and factoring in as much other
information such as jockey and trainer ratings and where the horses
were drawn. I kept reminding myself that knowledge was power and
the more is knew about horse racing the more successful I’d be. But
I was running out of time and money. I had by now halved the amount
of money in my aunt’s investment account that I’d inherited and it
wouldn’t be long now before the bank queried this and informed
Misses Phillips. I had to replace the money and the only way to do
this was to win more bets more regularly. Alternatively, I had to
have one big win that would bring the investment account back to
its original balance in one fell swoop.