Bheki steps outside his room, still holding the Heineken bottle. He slides his broken cellphone into the front pocket of his hoodie. His eyes are bloodshot. There’s no frown on his dark skinned face, but he doesn’t look happy either. The silver watch on his wrist glints under the sunlight as he pulls the door shut.

His bedroom is a single, incompletely plastered, brick room, built next to an RDP house where his mother and younger sisters live. The window frame on one side of his room is grey aluminium; the one on the other is brown. He wasn’t able to steal the same colour frames.

“Yesses!” Bheki says after he turns his face towards the sun and it temporarily blinds his big eyes.

His VW Citi Golf with faded blue paint, dark-tinted windows and different rims on the back and the front wheels, is parked facing downslope next to his room. He quickly enters, sticks the key into the ignition and turns it, but the car doesn’t start. Without wasting a second, he drops the handbrake. The car rolls down and kick-starts in a roar similar to his snoring. The Citi Golf leaves a cloud of dust behind as it eats the gravel that leads to the main road.

Minutes later, Bheki arrives at the place where he expects to find his brother, Gazi. He leaves the car on the pavement and walks down a short footpath. At the end stand the remaining peach-coloured walls of a house that was burned down by its owner, Bab’Hlengwa, before he left Georgedale. Bheki had laughed his intestines out when his friend, Thula, told him that after suffering three burglaries in one month, Bab’Hlengwa put the remainder of his possessions in a rented truck and lit his house on fire.

“This is the only way I can leave this hell forever!” Bab’Hlengwa had told his neighbours as the house burned down. “I’ve suffered my whole life here but I just couldn’t leave. This place has demons that keep you here no matter what happens to you. There’s no other way I can set myself free. I have to burn it down so I’ll never come back to this place.”

Gazi and his whoonga addicted friends now camp in Bab’Hlengwa’s old home. They have put tarpaulin over the caved-in tin roof. The windows are patched with plastic and cardboard. As Bheki approaches, he sees whoonga smoke escaping out of every gap – it is as if Bab’Hlengwa’s house is still on fire.

“Gazi,” Bheki calls and stops in front of the tin roofing that role-plays as a door. “Gazi!”

“Is he here to fetch us already?” Bheki hears Melusi, Gazi’s best friend, talking like people do in slow motion movie scenes. “I thought you said the mission was at half past six in the evening.”

“Shhh. That’s our secret,” Gazi slurs. “These guys shouldn’t know that we’re going to–”

Bheki kicks down the makeshift door and enters. The walls inside were white before the fire burned them black. Eight whoonga addicts are seated on bricks and buckets, making an imperfect circle near the far corner of what used to be the lounge. Bheki slaps his little brother hard on the chest and grabs a chunk of his T-shirt. He drags Gazi outside, trips him and starts kicking him.

“Is this what you always beg me to involve you in my missions for?” Bheki shouts as he kicks and stomps Gazi. “Do you know how much planning went into this – only for you to get high and start telling all your whoonga friends about it?”

“Brother Bheki,” Melusi says as he rushes out of the house. He grabs Bheki’s shoulder. “Don’t hurt him.”

Bheki swings a quick fist and knocks Melusi down. The thump of Melusi’s back hitting the ground is followed by a louder thump as Bheki’s size 11 Gucci sneaker lands on Melusi’s chest. Bheki pulls out his Glock 17, cocks it and points it down at Melusi’s face.

“Bye bye, boy,” Bheki sneers.

Tell us what you think: Will Bheki really kill Melusi? Why or why not?