“Eish! You know … Sometimes, Bhunga,” said Vinnie irritated, “you need to think before you fire.”

“Argh, Vinnie!” Bhunga replied casually. “Just relax for a second. Isn’t this what we came here to do in the first place?”

Vinnie kept quiet for a moment. He did not want to start an argument, lest he be seen by Bhunga as soft and not man enough to go all out on their planned killing spree. He was also nervous of Bhunga when he was like this. Bhunga was paranoid and might do anything, including shoot Vinnie.

“For sure, Bhunga. All right, man,” Vinnie replied instantly. “It’s just that you caught me off guard, man.”

Bhunga laughed, showing how much he was enjoying himself already, and they had only just arrived on the bridge.

“Did you see how scared that bastard was before I pulled the trigger?” asked Bhunga giggling. “We are going to have a good time, Vinnie, I can promise you that.”

Yeah! Right, thought Vinnie to himself because he knew that what Bhunga said only meant TROUBLE, TROUBLE AND MORE TROUBLE.

“Okay, Bhunga, listen here,” Vinnie said hastily. “You’ll have to operate this end of the bridge and I will operate the other. It will give us a good chance of closing in on the people walking on the bridge. When someone starts across the bridge I’ll follow behind them and you will come from the opposite direction. We’ll meet the unsuspecting fellows in the middle.”

Bhunga nodded.

“Then let’s do this, man,” Vinnie said calmly.

Before taking up their positions, Bhunga and Vinnie saluted each other and shook hands.

While Vinnie and Bhunga were preparing to pounce on their next victims, havoc was about to erupt at the first public bridge where Bra Biza and Jaman were waiting.

Not far away from the bridge was the The White House tavern, down near the tar road. Friday evening meant that the majority of ‘squadron drunks’ from Manzini would be partying and drinking down at The White House.

“That’s the jukebox, right?” asked Bra Biza at the sounds of kwaito playing in the background.

“It has to be The White House,” Jaman replied.

“Well, it seems like we’ll have good company tonight,” said Bra Biza, and they both began to laugh. But then Bra Biza and Jaman heard voices approaching in the distance.

“Quickly, Jaman,” said Bra Biza anxiously as he began to cock his pistol. “Take a look and see whether those idiots are coming our way.”

Jaman went up onto the bridge. He could see four people walking on the pavement. They were slowly heading towards the darkness of the first bridge where Bra Biza and Jaman were waiting.

“Are they coming this way?” asked Bra Biza.

“Yes, yes,” Jaman replied excitedly. “They’re not too far from the bridge. There are about four of them.”

“Good job, Jaman, nice one,” replied Bra Biza. “All we have to do now is take our position. Were there any vehicles approaching?” Bra Biza asked.

“Nothing,” replied Jaman. “No taxi, no vehicle. It’s just dark on top.”

“All right then,” Bra Biza said, “what are we waiting for? Let’s get the ball rolling.”

Bra Biza and Jaman covered their faces with their black balaclavas. Bra Biza made his way onto the bridge, next to Jaman.

“Can you see them?” asked Jaman.

Ja! I can see them,” Bra Biza whispered.

The four Manzini residents, all males, were now just about to cross the four-way stop and approach the bridge. From the way they staggered they were definitely drunk.

Ja! Bafethu,” said one of the lads, burping loudly, as they all stood on the pavement facing the bridge.

“Mmm, mmm!” the group replied. They were swaying in their drunkenness.

“I need to piss, gents,” said the lad who spoke first.

“Well, go on,” replied the others. “Piss on the road – it’s a free country, my brother. I want to see if they will lock you up for doing something so natural.”

There on the pavement of the four-way stop, the lad took a long piss straight on the tar road.

Ja!” said the lad drunkenly after he had finished. “I feel like a human again.”

The four of them began to weave across the road, singing out loud some ridiculous song a cappella.

“Okay, okay,” Bra Biza said hastily. “Here they come, Jaman. It’s now or never, my outie.”

As the four guys stepped onto the bridge, Bra Biza and Jaman moved towards them, carrying their loaded weapons.

Oh!-Zaba-yaba-yaba. Oh!-Zaba-yaba-yaba.


The four guys were still singing out loud in their drunken state and stamping their feet on the metal floor of the bridge, not taking any notice of the two ruthless gangsters who were about to wipe them out.

Click-click went the sound of Bra Biza and Jaman’s firearms.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Bra Biza calmly. The four guys stopped.

“Could we also have a drink of what you are drinking?” Bra Biza laughed.

Agh! no maan, hayi suka! Voetsek!” replied one of the lads drunkenly. “How do you expect us to give you booze, maan? We drank all of it and now it is in our stomachs. You cannot get some unless you send us to the hospital so they can drain it all out.”

Bra Biza and Jaman started laughing.

“What the hell you laughing at, ha?” the guy said accusingly.

Ja! You think it’s funny, ne?” All four of them lashed out mockingly.

“All of you clowns can go to hell,” replied Bra Biza unmercifully. “You’ve got no passport to enter this bridge. I thought you knew that long ago.”

Four shots and four bodies hit the metal bridge.

“That stopped the singing,” laughed Jaman, talking to the dead bodies with both hands on his weapon. “If only you idiots would’ve listened – you should have given us the booze; we were not going to kill you.”

“Just leave them here, Jaman,” said Bra Biza calmly when they had taken what they wanted from the men’s pockets.

“Let’s just get back to our hiding place,” said Bra Biza. “We’ll get back up again once we hear more voices or footsteps coming through.”

“Sure, Bra Biza,” Jaman replied.

Smoothly, like snakes sliding back into their dark holes, Bra Biza and Jaman hid themselves under the bridge once again.

“Soon,” said Bra Biza, ”people will know that we own this township. Then they will do exactly what we want, and pay us our dues. Even the cops!”