Josh and Mandla were at a car race track bar, that afternoon, chilling out. Mandla had, as promised, taken Josh out to race, as a gift for getting the music deal.
Mandla’s dad owned a fleet of vintage and modern Porsches. He was an addict, a pure Porsche fanatic who rented space for the vehicles at a small race track by the beach. He’d let the kids drive the cars around the track under ‘strict’ supervision from the track groundsman.
Josh and Mandla often laughed at how delusional Mandla’s dad was about the rigidity of the situation. They’d hand Faizel, the groundsman, R200 and a bottle of brandy, and they could pretty much do whatever they wanted there, with as many friends as they pleased.
Mandla and Josh sat in the upscale bar, sipping juice. They sat opposite each other with a large TV screen between them – a Manchester United versus Liverpool game was on.
“You seemed distracted today, dude,” said Mandla, placing his helmet aside. “We’re normally tie with the scores, but today … it’s almost like you let me win.”
“A lot’s on my mind, bro, sorry.”
“Uh huh. What is it? The recording dates? Don’t stress. We’ll have all the songs finished in time – even the soft radio tracks they want.”
“It’s not that dude.”
“What’s going on?”
Josh sat up, placing his drink aside, turning serious. “Remember I told you I think Bianca might be cheating?”
“Yah, she probably is, that–”
“Dude, I don’t need you judging right now. Just listen, please.”
“My bad, carry on.”
“Anyway, she’s been seeing this guy – some older guy. She says they’re buddies, but I reckon there’s something more. He’s a well-off looking cat.”
Mandla gave a silly sarcastic look, as if to say ‘duh!’
“Anyway I visited Bianca this one time, and he was there. I told him to back off. I told him like four times, to his face bro. Anyway, the punk came back to visit Bianca the very next day – can you believe that?”
“So what did you do?”
“I parked a few metres away, waited till they were done, and followed him home.” Josh’s pitch shifted to angry, trembling slightly now. He paused a while, and continued. “He parked at his place. I parked right behind him and walked up to him, with my spanner I keep in the boot.”
Mandla’s face changed; he had grown afraid, from just listening.
“Again I told him to stay away from B, but he started getting arrogant – talking shit that Bianca wants him and so on. I lost it. I smashed him in the face with the tool. He fell, just like that. I thought I’d killed him, dude, there was blood everywhere.”
Mandla’s jaw dropped, in shock and awe. He froze, concentrated on Josh, looking frightened.
“So that’s the deal. Bianca isn’t talking to me now. She doesn’t answer my calls or texts. She sent me a text a few days ago saying that the dude is critical, in a coma.”
“So Bianca knows it’s you?” asked Mandla, terrified of the answer.
“Hell no bro, that’d be the end of me. I denied it, but she’s on my case. She doesn’t believe me.”
“Dude, I reckon you need to tell the record label, and get their PR team on it. They’ll know what to do.”
“What? No!”
“Don’t risk it, Josh. You just got a deal. Don’t throw it away.”
“Are you high, Mandla? I’d be throwing it away if I confessed. Hell no! I don’t know anything about some dude in a coma – that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”
“And if you left some sort of evidence at the crime scene? Are you ready to serve time in jail?”
The thought of prison terrified Josh. He looked away, “I didn’t leave any evidence, OK! I warned him. He shouldn’t have trespassed in my territory. It is what it is, dude. I’m not confessing anything.”
“And if he dies?”
“Hey, if you don’t listen, you face the consequences,” Josh concluded, sitting back, grabbing his juice. “I warned him, many times.”
***
Tell us: “He shouldn’t have trespassed in my territory.” What do you think of Josh’s attitude to his relationship with Bianca?