“So we wait?” a voice called from the back of the crowd? “How long until the names of these young people are cleared?”

“Who knows, bru,” Dumi called back. “Unless we can find a way of proving that we had nothing to do with all of this, we have to wait until the investigation is complete. I don’t know how long that will be.”

“However” said Mr Dlodlo, “we have had a little bit of luck. You remember my daughter, Songezwa?”

There were nods of recognition from the crowd.

“I phoned her last night. Now, as you all know, she works for a very worthy organisation: Fight Corruption. She told her superiors about Lizo and they are very interested. They want this to be investigated properly. It seems this isn’t the first time that this has happened; they have several other cases flagged. They’ve been hard to follow up on though.

Whoever is doing this – the person or people – have been very clever. They haven’t left any clues, nothing to trace them with. But there is hope. Songezwa tells me Lizo’s case is unusual because this is the biggest sum that has been illegally deposited so far.”

“Yes, yes,” Mma Tshabangu again. “If they know they can get away with it, they keep doing it.”

“You are so right, Kholeka,” another neighbour agreed, “but then they get greedy.”

“Oh yes,” Zandile called out. “In the words of the great Lisa from The Simpsons …” – the crowd laughed with delight then murmured their agreement as Zandi finished – “… ‘Dad, why is the world such a cesspool of corruption?’”

Mr Dlodlo smiled. “A good one, Zandile, very good …”

“We’ve got to do everything we can to find this thief,” Thandi said heatedly. “People like this, they always want more. Next time they’ll set their target even higher, and they’ll ruin more people’s hopes and dreams. Steal their lives … A little is never enough for them.”

“Well, for me, enough is enough!” Mma Tshabangu said. “It’s enough for all of us. We are now at zero, Fuzile Dlodlo. What’s it they say? We have reached ground zero and we have had enough! You tell your Songezwa that. Tell her we are relying on her to get to the bottom of all of this.”

“She will do her best, Kholeka,” Mr Dlodlo said. “One thing you can be sure of, the people at Fight Corruption are like terriers with a bone. Once they start on a case they don’t let go. If anything, they’ll make sure it gets pushed up the queue, not left at the bottom of the pile.”

There was a murmur of satisfaction from everyone.

“But it takes time,” Mr Dlodlo said. “They have to gather evidence, investigate discreetly. They cannot risk making any sort of mistake. They are taking on big players – often big corporations, or high-ranking government officials. It’s delicate, dangerous, very tricky. Their cases have to be absolutely watertight.”

“How long?” a voice called out.

“Anything up to a year,” said Mr Dlodlo.

Again the crowd hummed with dissatisfaction.

“And meantime,” another said loudly, “these young artists have to suffer, with people calling them thieves and frauds?”

“We must give them all our support,” Mr Dlodlo answered. “We must squash rumours the moment we hear anyone speaking ill of them. But we must never,” he looked at Bhuti’s face and sighed, “we must never, ever resort to violence. Violence is for thugs and bullies.”

“Thanks, Mr Dlodlo,” Lizo said. He looked out over the crowd, then linked arms with Ciki, Dumisa, Thandi and Zandile. “Thank you all! With you all in our corner, we’ll get to the bottom of all this. In the meantime, don’t forget, weekend art classes start next Saturday. We’re thinking of calling it All Children are Artists. So see you at ACA!”

“Sjoe – as long as a year?” Bhuti was still trying to absorb the news. “That’s not so cool.”

“I wish we could do something right now,” said Laula. “Get it sorted out without having to wait.”

“Me too,” Lizo said. “Me too, Laula.”

Bhuti felt his fists clenching again. There had to be something he could do for his brother. But what?

“Hey, hey, hey,” a voice from the crowd said, “what’s this?”

A shiny car drew up in the narrow street, pushing people off the road, up against rickety fences.

“Careful, careful!” Lizo called as it drew to a halt, the nose of the bumper nudging up against the people at the back of the crowd.

A driver in a navy-blue uniform leapt out and opened the passenger door with a flourish.

Out from the back seat clambered a very short, very fat man. His jowls cascaded over the tight gleaming white collar of his shirt, his paunch pushed hard against the buttons of his tailor-made suit.

“Mcebisi Nyathi. What the hell’s he doing here?” Bhuti muttered to Laula.

It soon became abundantly clear.

“My people,” the councillor called out. “My people, my people.”

“Who’s your people?” A boy from Bhuti’s class called out. “Not me, that’s for sure. We’ll be your people when we have electricity in our shack.”

“I hear you, my brother,” said Mcebisi Nyathi. His face was sad, concerned. “But for now, we have to think of these poor young artists. My people, I have heard of this terrible injustice. My father and I are very concerned that such a thing should happen on our watch. We want to let you know that we are doing everything, and we mean every little thing we can, to make sure that we unearth the perpetrator of this terrible fraud.”

He waddled up to TALC and grabbed Lizo and Dumisa by the hand. “We are here for you, my friends. We will not rest until your names are cleared. We will leave no stone unturned. Our mission is to help every member of our constituency. Our mission is to make your future brighter. Our mission is to—”

“—eat every last cake on the table,” Lindi called out and the crowd laughed.

Mcebisi Nyathi frowned, his eyes darting from side to side. “Who said that?” he said. “Who dared to say that?”

There was silence. Mcebisi Nyathi breathed in deeply then turned back to Lizo. “We will find the culprit,” he said, insincerity oozing greasily from every word. “We will bring this person to justice.”

“And then will you fix our roads?” a voice called from the crowd.

“Our potholes?” called another.

“Perhaps you can come and pick us all up in your fancy car and take us to see you in your fancy new house?”

“Yes,” called another. “The house where you really live – not the slum you’re renting out to people who don’t have money for food, for too much money.”

This time it was Lizo who held up a hand, quieting the angry voices. “Thank you, Mr Nyathi,” he said formally. “And please thank your father. We would appreciate your doing everything you can.”

“Yes, yes,” said Mcebisi Nyathi. “So, as you can see there will be no need to call upon other agencies to sort this problem out. Your ward councillor and your government official will work tirelessly on your behalf.”

“Other agencies?” Bhuti muttered.

“He must mean Fight Corruption,” Laula whispered back.

“How the hell did he know about Mr Dlodlo’s daughter?”

“I don’t know.” Laula was frowning. “There are people here who probably keep him in the know about everything.”

***

Tell us: Why do you think Mcebisi Nyathi is getting involved in the case?