The Colour of Gold (8 page)

Although the
driver of the bank car thought that he was monitoring the traffic
in front and behind him effectively he had no training in this type
of surveillance. Unnoticed by any of the three bank officials, a
white BMW driven by a large black man, kept pace with them four or
five cars ahead and as they progressed through the business centre
the officials failed to notice another car, this time a dark grey
Ford sedan with four black men in it, that pulled into the traffic
and keep pace with them about half a block back.

“Don’t get too
close to them.” Shadow said to Moses, the driver of the Ford. “Once
we get into Main Reef Road we can move up on them. The traffic will
be a lot thinner and we’ll almost be at the turn-off to
Dobsonville. The timing has to be just right. We don’t want anyone
between us and the whities. When they get to the robot we have to
be right behind them. Chris will be right in front of them and with
a little luck the robot will be red. If not Chris will either have
to wait for a gap in the oncoming traffic or he’ll stall the BMW.
That’s when we’ll hit them from behind. After that you know what to
do.”

The three
vehicles moved out of the busy business centre and onto the main
road towards Johannesburg. As Shadow had predicted the traffic
thinned markedly and the three black men could see their
accomplice, Chris, in the BMW immediately in front of their quarry.
The turn-off to Dobsonville came into view. The black gang was in
luck. As the BMW reached the turn-off the robot turned red. The BMW
braked to a stop with the bank car behind it. The Ford closed in on
the two vehicles.

“Okay!” Shadow
said. “Hit them now!”

The Ford
crashed into the back of the white bank vehicle with a solid crunch
and a tinkle of falling glass. As quickly as he could, the black
driver, Moses, slammed the car into reverse and pulled back
slightly and, before the bank officials could react, the four black
men jumped out of their car. Peter, one of the other occupants who
had been in the Ford, reached the driver’s window of the Toyota in
three long steps. He had already drawn his 9mm automatic and he
held it against the closed window of the car inches from the white
driver’s head. The man sat motionless, his eyes wide with fear. The
man in the back seat raised his hands in the air to show that he
wasn’t armed. The fourth black robber, Ernest, rushed to the window
where the woman passenger was sitting and pointed his automatic at
her. She sat transfixed, unable to look away from the lethal
instrument inches from her head.

In the meantime
Shadow slipped into the gap between the two cars and blasted the
lock of the bank car to smithereens with a single shot from his 9mm
automatic. The lid of the boot sprang open and he grabbed the small
steel box containing the cash.

“Okay!” Shadow
shouted. “Let’s go!”

As Moses, Peter
and Ernest raced to the waiting BMW ahead of them they each fired a
shot at the tyres of the Toyota. There were three dull explosions
and the front of the car sagged sideways. The two men opened the
back doors of the getaway car. As Shadow drew level with the woman
in the stricken car he thought he saw her pulling a small pistol
from the purse on her lap. He shot her in the head through the
window. As he reached the BMW Peter grabbed the cash box from him,
threw it into the back of the car and climbed in. Shadow climbed
into the front passenger seat while Ernest and Moses also climbed
into the back seat. Chris stepped on the accelerator and the
powerful car leaped forward. Again luck favoured the four men.
There were no approaching cars and Chris powered the BMW into the
road leading to the black township. Within seconds the car was lost
in the maize of uneven roads that twisted and turned between the
mass of closely packed houses and shacks.

The robbery had
taken less than two minutes.

***

On his first
day in Hillbrow Isaiah stopped and spoke to as many people as he
could, enquiring about accommodation and employment. Before long he
had found a place in a room on the top of a fourteen-storey block
of apartments which he shared with five other black men. Each
inhabitant had a small area to sleep in and the use of the old
kitchen table and the communal hotplate. Cold water came from a
single tap next to the toilet outside the room. Each man had his
own utensils and wires had been strung just above head-height on
which the inhabitants could hang their clothes. A single electric
light hung from the smoke-stained ceiling. The man in charge of
collecting the rentals warned Isaiah to be extremely careful with
any valuables as theft was rife.

With his
accommodation resolved Isaiah began to search for work. The only
work available revolved around manual labour such as loading and
offloading crates of vegetable, liquor and groceries but the
problem was that workers needed to be available immediately but
could also not be seen to be loitering in the hope of obtaining
work as this indicated to the police that these men were unemployed
and thus not allowed to be in Hillbrow. A system of notification
between the shop owners and those seeking work soon developed and
Isaiah quickly learnt where work could be found even though there
was great competition and very little reward. The only thing that
kept Isaiah from giving up was the possibility that his enthusiasm
and willingness to work would be noticed by the shop owners and
eventually lead to a more permanent job.

Isaiah worked
hard and in the first week made even more than he would have earned
on the mine. He planned to send back as much money as he could to
his mother which he assumed would satisfy her that he was working
at the mine. He knew that she would be very worried if she knew
that he was illegally in Johannesburg and at risk of being arrested
and jailed. To add to his income Isaiah was not averse to stealing
some of the items that he loaded and off-loaded from the myriad
trucks that provided work for him and his fellow “illegals”. He was
very careful not to steal from the same employer twice though, and
several times he saw other workers caught stealing because they
stole too often and were trapped by their employers. The items that
Isaiah stole were small items such as a pack of cigarettes, a can
of beer, sweets, the odd vegetable and single cans of food. These
he easily sold to the other inhabitants in the room where he lived
or used himself, and nobody asked any questions.

After Isaiah
had been working in Hillbrow for almost two weeks one of his fellow
“illegals” named Steve approached as he walked home one
evening.

“Isaiah,” Steve
said, “would you be interested in making some extra money? I have
an idea but I can’t do it on my own. I need an accomplice. There’s
some risk attached but if we are careful we won’t be caught. It’s
worth at least a hundred Rand to each of us.”

“A hundred
Rand!” Isaiah exclaimed. “I’m very interested. Tell me more.”

“Okay.” Steve
said. “We often have to load trucks with boxes of liquor from the
liquor storeroom in Catherine Street which is right next to that
alley that is often filled with empty boxes and other rubbish. What
we need to do is get an empty Black Label Whisky box in good
condition from one of the hotels and twelve empty whisky bottles.
We then fill the bottles with water, put them into the Black Label
box and carefully seal the box. We then hide the box under another
empty box in the alley next to the storeroom and while we are
loading boxes of Black Label onto the truck one of us causes a
disturbance and while everyone’s attention is focused on the
disruption the other person quickly swaps a box of Black Label with
the box hidden in the alley. Nobody will find out about the bottles
of water for weeks and there will be no way that it can be traced
back to us.”

“It might just
work.” Isaiah said. “I’ll think about it.”

Two days later,
having taken a closer look at the alley next to the liquor
storeroom Isaiah agreed to help Steve carry out his plan. They
toured the bottle stores and hotels and eventually found a Black
Label box in good condition and twelve empty whisky bottles. They
filled the bottles with water, carefully sealed them and with the
correct type of sealing tape, sealed the box. When the area was
deserted the two men practiced switching two boxes so that when the
time came they would be able to carry out the manoeuvre
quickly.

“Nobody can
possibly see that that box is not a genuine box of Black Label
whisky.” Steve said to Isaiah as they admired their handiwork.

“You’re right.”
Isaiah replied.

Steve hid the
fake box of whisky until word spread that a truck was to be loaded
from the liquor storeroom the following day. That night Steve and
Isaiah stealthily hid their box under a larger empty box in the
alley right next to the doorway to the storeroom.

“While we’re
loading the boxes tomorrow I’ll pretend to faint when I see you
coming out of the storeroom with a box of Black Label. Then, when
everyone rushes to help me, you quickly swap the box you’re
carrying with the one hidden in the alley. Nobody will see you as
they’ll all be looking at me. It’s as easy as that!” Steve
said.

Isaiah nodded
enthusiastically.

The following
morning Steve and Isaiah were amongst the group of workers hired to
load the liquor. The work began and, as planned, Steve suddenly
collapsed onto the pavement just as Isaiah approached the doorway
of the storeroom carrying a box of Black Label. Everyone rushed to
help Steve and Isaiah moved swiftly to the large box in the alley,
lifted it and swapped the box he had been carrying with the fake
box hidden there. He turned with the fake box in his hands, seeing
that all the other workers were crowded around Steve lying on the
pavement. He began to move out of the alley. A sixth sense made him
look towards the door of the storeroom. Standing in the doorway and
staring at Isaiah with a grim smile on his face was the owner of
the storeroom.

“What are you
doing, my boy?” the man said as he walked towards Isaiah. “Let me
look at that box.”

Isaiah’s
shoulders sagged. The storeroom owner called one of his
assistants.

“Open the box
that this boy’s holding.” he instructed the man and then lifted the
large empty box lying in the alley. Everyone’s attention was now
focused on what was taking place in the alley and they gasped as
they saw the box of Black Label hidden there.

The assistant
took the box from Isaiah and placed it on the pavement. He tore
open the lid and took out one of the bottles filled with water. Out
of the corner of his eye Isaiah saw Steve quietly stand up and walk
away. Nobody else noticed.

“So!” the
storeroom owner said. “You were trying to steal a box of my Black
Label whisky and replace it with a case of bottles filled with
water! Very clever, but not clever enough! I’ve been in this game
for too long to be caught by an old trick like that.”

The storeroom
owner turned to his assistant.

“Call the
police.” he said.

Isaiah knew
that he had to do something. In desperation he pointed towards the
group of workers standing staring at him.

“What about
him?” Isaiah said and the storeroom owner turned to look at the men
behind him. The instant the man’s head turned away, Isaiah pivoted
and raced away along the pavement, dodging desperately through the
throng of pedestrians.

“Catch that
man!” the storeroom owner shouted but to Isaiah’s surprise nobody
tried to stop him. He dashed across the street causing traffic the
swerve and stop. Hooters blared but Isaiah raced on, bumping into
people and almost falling several times.

After he had
run two city blocks Isaiah slowed and looked back. Nobody appeared
to be following him. He gasped for breath and leant against the
wall of a building, sweat pouring down his face. Nobody took any
notice of him. Gradually he calmed himself and when he felt that he
had regained his composure he walked off towards the building where
he had been living.

As Isaiah
walked he realised that he had to get out of Hillbrow. The police
would probably be looking for him and he was too well known by his
fellow “illegals”. If the police offered a reward for his capture
it would be a matter of hours before someone told them of his
whereabouts. His only option was to go to Soweto where he could
easily hide until he decided what to do next. He hurried to the
room he’d been renting, stuffed his belongings into a large plastic
shopping bag. As his rent was paid for the rest of the week he
didn't feel bad about leaving without giving notice. He hurried
down the fire escape and into the busy street. As he walked towards
Park Station with the intention of going to hide in Soweto, he saw
the young newspaper seller who had helped him when he first arrived
in Johannesburg. Isaiah hurried to where the young business was
standing selling his newspaper on the street corner.

"Hello." he
said. "Do you remember me?"

"Of course."
the young boy replied. "I gave you some advice when you arrived
here from Natal a few weeks ago. You look worried. What's the
problem?"

"I'm in trouble
with the police." Isaiah replied. "I'm sure that they're looking
for me right now. I'm thinking of going to Soweto to hide. Will I
be safe there?"

"Whenever
someone gets into trouble with the police, the first place they
think of going to, to hide, is Soweto." the boy said. "The police
know this so whenever they want to catch someone they go to Park
Station and wait there. You should rather go to the "no-man's land"
between Jo'burg and Soweto. You'll be much safer there until the
police stop looking for you. You might even be able to find work
with the illegal miners who work in the abandoned mines there."