“Gents, I’m telling you, after 12 will be the right time for us. The boys in blue will hardly notice. We have everything we need right here. All we have to do is carry on with the usual. Are we all clear on this one?”

“Hayi, we are clear. Sure case, Bra Biza. We have been burning the fire and we will still be burning it!” replied Vinnie assuredly.

Bra Biza laughed out loud.

On the other side of Edo-Mill in an area called The Standings, located in Zone 5, members of the Grizzly Bear Gang sat together in a two-room shack busy planning out their next site murders in the township.

“Those corners right there are our paradise. We will zigzag our way through and will have a hell of a good time … just us, my brothers … no questions asked … the bazookas will rattle hard.”

Bra Biza was far from handsome; he had a nasty, scratched face and would surely scare any boy or girl away. The six gang members were planning to meet up together in the middle of the night down in Zone 6 on the three public bridges located in Manzini.

Lazing off the day with giant, rolled marijuana cigars, the shack was filled with smoke. Everything was covered in smoke, the sound of the voices the only indication that there were people there.

“Ah! Oh, man … This is one hell of a good joint,” sighed one of the members.

It was not long before a sound of Pha! Pha! Pha! was heard unexpectedly.

“Bhunga, you fool!” Bra Biza lashed out. He klapped Bhunga twice across the cheeks. Bhunga placed both of his hands across his cheeks, trying to cool down the pain.

“We are busy planning here, and all you can think about is how high the smoke is rocking you,” said Bra Biza with a sense of frustration.

All eyes were on Bhunga. Some of the members wanted to laugh out loud, but they knew quite well that it would do them no good. Bra Biza was the eldest of them all and he did not appreciate being questioned.

“Eish… Bra Biza…” Bhunga replied. “Sorry, my bra, it won’t happen again.”

“Ja, well, it better not, Bhunga,” replied Bra Biza.

“You see, Jaman, we need to go out, all gun’s blazing … no surrender … no retreat … only havoc … havoc … havoc … and more havoc,” Bra Biza said jovially.

The one called Jaman was Bra Biza’s right-hand man. Within the gang he was the most trusted and embraced by Bra Biza as a fellow gang member. Probably, it was also due to the fact that Jaman never spoke much, but was a good listener and all action. Because of that he had Bra Biza’s respect.

“All right then, fellas,” said Bra-Biza addressing the members. “I think I’ve said a mouthful. Let’s just check once more if everything is organised.”

Bra Biza got up from his brown, patched couch and opened the small window on the roof of the shack that acted as a sunroof. Then he pulled out a small wooden table and an empty Black Label beer crate and sat down.

“Okay, Max,” Bra Biza said anxiously, “Let’s see what you’ve got for us, man.”

Max had a small, serious face with big, curious eyes, but most of all a huge, tough body like that of a wrestler. When Bra Biza requested him to show what he had, Max smiled excitedly.

“No problem, Bra Biza … It’s my pleasure …”

Max drew out from the left side of the couch, a long, brown double-barrelled shotgun, which was designed for hunting animals, rather than killing people. He pointed it at the ceiling and pretended to pull the trigger. His chest, body and arms were wobbling like jelly as he giggled.

“This baby right here is my darling, Bra Biza; it can never disappoint me, for sure.”

Bra Biza gave Max a thumbs-up.

“Vinnie, you next,” called out Bra Biza.

Vinnie was also better known as the cautious “Hit Man” within the gang. He had a lean body, and across his forehead he had a big scar. His face was serious as he paid attention to Bra Biza and to what he was about to show him.

“The cowboys are still living,” Vinnie replied with a sneer of a smile as he got up from the couch to take out two long, identical silver revolvers, which had been hidden underneath the cushion of the couch right where he was sitting.

Vinnie quickly spun the two revolvers with both hands and cocked them, pointing them directly at Bra Biza.

“You see I’ve got twins here, Bra Biza,” said Vinnie delighted. “You mess up with Humphrey over here,” Vinnie pointed to the revolver in his left hand, “then it means, Harry over here will be mad as hell.” He pointed to the revolver in his right. Vinnie had watched too many cheap Western Films on TV.

Bra Biza laughed in delight and nodded his head, raising both thumbs to Vinnie, acknowledging his approval.

“Well, I like it … I like it,” Bra Biza replied.

“Okay … Bhunga,” Bra Biza commanded. “Bring out the goods. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Bhunga was called the “Crook of all Crooks”. He had a bad habit of smoking too much, which resulted in him being paranoid. He was a maniac whenever the gang went out to commit a murder. He was the shortest in the gang and it frustrated Bhunga as he was not taken seriously enough by his fellow members.

“Sho, sho, sho … Sho! Bra Biza,” Bhunga replied rapidly, bending forward to reach under the couch with his right hand, taking out what he had in store.

They all stared at the AK 47 that Bhunga brought out.

“Bra Biza,” said Bhunga as he stared at his AK with big, puffy, red eyes, “all the men in the world will be mamparas when they see me with this beauty.”

Bra Biza stared at Bhunga for a second or two without blinking. It was a tricky situation for him to promote Bhunga. Bra Biza just did not know what to make of Bhunga. Whenever Bhunga had a sniff of his cocaine or a puff of mandrax, he knew his fellow gang members were about to witness Judgement Day.

As a result, when they had killed the old man from Zone 5 just a few weeks ago, Bhunga was as high as a kite. Everybody knew that Bhunga was capable of anything and if he were to be kicked out from the gang, he would head off to the police headquarters to “provide evidence”. That was just how stupid he could be if he had smoked a lot.

“Hola … nice one, Bhunga,” Bra Biza replied, trying to settle Bhunga down. “Surely that will be good back-up … Nice one, nice one.” Bra Biza shook Bhunga’s right hand cautiously.

“Jaman, my man, show us what we need. Come on … show us,” said Bra Biza anxiously, knowing quite well that his fellow gang member would not disappoint.

“Of course, Bra Biza … of course …” replied Jaman casually. He pulled out a semi-automatic firearm from his jacket pocket. It was useful in the sense of firing bullets silently.

Just the right tool we need, Bra Biza thought to himself.

“With this one here,” Jaman said as he held the weapon up straight. He stared at its design with appreciative eyes. “I’ll be taking every single bastard to the pits of hell,” he began to giggle.

“No doubt about that,” replied Bra Biza, raising both thumbs. “We are all a unit, gents, and if no one pays attention to us, there surely must be trouble.”

The gang began to laugh.

“Well, last but not least …” Bra Biza said assertively. “Dladla, my man, what do you bring to the table?”

Dladla had a green heart tattooed across his left shoulder with an awkward description written in capital letters saying: PLEASE BE MY LOVER FOR LIFE.

Looking at his face was like looking at the identical twin of Bra Biza.

“Okay, here we are then,” Dladla replied with a heavy bass voice as he drew out a black AK47.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” cried out the fellow gang members as they gasped with awe, as if they had seen the most beautiful thing on the whole planet.

“Don’t worry,” said Dladla calmly. “This baby will be happy to participate in Vietnam. What do you think, Bra Biza?” Dladla asked while staring at Bra Biza with a great sense of pride.

“Uh … um!” Bra Biza began to stutter, like there was something blocking his throat. Bra Biza was not troubled at all – in fact, he was more than happy. He just got too excited when Dladla first pulled out the gun.

“Ah! Well, that does it. I can see you’ve got the goods, Dladla. And, gents, I must say … I am pleased! We’ve got nothing to lose – and everything to gain. But, gents,” Bra Biza said, “before you shove away the tools, I’ve also got something I want to show you.”

Bra Biza got up from the beer crate and walked towards the small brown wardrobe that stood in a corner behind the patched couch. He opened the door and pulled out a long, black and thick machine gun.

The gang were impressed. All of them high, all of them keen to go on another hunting spree.

“Everything is set and we are good to go,” Bra Biza said.

* * *

Question: Do you think the police will catch the gang before there are more murders in the township? How?