Smoke escaped from the boys’ noses and mouths as they whispered to each other. There was a stench of fear amongst them. Bongani’s eyes were beginning to tear up but his friend didn’t give a single damn. Even though he too was shaking in his boots, his young ego kept his fear at bay and gave him strength. Lurking behind him were Costa’s goons, making it hard for him to trust his gut.

“I’ll drive,” Jack said, nervously. “My dad taught me how to before…”

Costa put a dirty hand over his mouth. “Hushhh…you see that man over there with pepper spray? He won’t hesitate to spray us if he sees or hears us, keep your voice down.” His whispers made Bongani’s heart thump in his chest.

“I can’t do this,” he murmured to Jack, feeling his like his cowardice was being exposed in public. 

Jack pulled his arm angrily and stared into his eyes. “What are you trying to do, be a chicken?” Even Jack himself realised that he was beginning to sound like a thug. He composed himself. “Come on, man, it’s gonna be an adventure.”

“Fuck off, Jack, get your filthy hands off me, I’m going to school…this is dangerous and you know it.” Bongani’s voice echoed in the alley. The man with the pepper spray looked in their direction. 

The gang leaned against the cold alley wall.

“No, fuck you, Bongs, you see what you’ve done? If you wanna be a chicken then go, run, just don’t come to me when the other boys get you! ‘Cause you know, you’re not going to get respect out there without earning status,” Jack whispered. 

Costa signalled again for them to shut up. Reluctantly, Bongani went back to position and waited for the plan to play out. As soon as the madala was out of sight, the boys struck like thunder. They moved swiftly out of the alley and spread out while still maintaining eye contact. 

Jack knew that it was now or never. His conscience was still kicking at him but his father’s words echoed in his head — “Be a man, be tough” — and he held the brick in his hand tightly and waited for the street to clear. Then he charged toward the white VW, ignoring his reflection in the windscreen, and smashed the driver’s window with the brick. The alarm went off. People in flats nearby started peeping out of their windows to see what was happening. 

“Shit, this thing has an alarm!” Jack exclaimed, his fingers shivering. His whole body was shuddering and his mind was spinning. 

Like bullets, the rest of the guys came rushing towards the noisy Polo and dived into the vehicle.

“Eh, baba, drive! Drive!” they chanted, as they heard shouts from the street. Jack hot-wired the ignition with sweating hands; he still hadn’t closed his door. The madala bolted towards the crime scene. He reached into his pocket, his hands passing the pepper spray and digging deeper. Costa watched as the madala pulled out a stone-black piece of metal that he pointed in the direction of the driver. Before Costa could scream, the madala had carelessly let go of the trigger. The sound of the gun shook up the sky. Birds’ feathers dropped onto the road as they flew away in fear. The streets were still.

Inside the car, Jack screamed in pain. The car jerked forward before speeding off. Jack held tightly to the steering wheel, gritting his teeth as the bullet tore through his leg. His blood oozed like the thoughts of death running through his mind as he drove away.

Bongani buried his head deep into his arms and wailed like a baby, but none of the boys in the stolen car looked at him. It was like a movie scene — and usually the bad guys don’t get away in movies.

Tell us: Do you think that Costa is the one responsible for Jack’s injury?