Mrs Higgins is on the passenger seat of a grey Hyundai Tucson that picked her up on the side of the N2. She tells the young lady driving the Tucson that a heated argument with her drunken husband is why she ended up on the side of the freeway alone.
“I told him to stop the car and let me out, not expecting that the old bastard would really leave me in the middle of nowhere,” she shakes her head and pretends to hold back tears. “After he drove away, I turned and saw that red Mercedes parked with no-one inside it. I was so scared. Thanks you so much.”
The woman drops Mrs Higgins off in front of her son’s house in Kloof, an upper-class suburb on the outer west region of Durban. Her son, Greg, and his best friend, Tom, are standing on the driveway of Greg’s double-storey house waiting for her. Tom has a beer in one hand and the other hand rubs his big belly, covered by an old maroon t-shirt with “Massachusetts Institute of Technology” written in white on it. Greg, in a formal white shirt and navy pants, walks down the driveway when he sees his mother exit the Tucson.
“Mom,” Greg says when he gets to Mrs Higgins. He’s a clean shaven, tall man with the professional posture of a man who’s always wearing a suit. “I can’t do this, it was a bad idea. You should stop.”
Mrs Higgins walks past Greg. “We’ll talk inside.”
“Keep it professional,” Tom playfully elbows Greg as they follow Mrs Higgins. Greg ignores Tom.
Mrs Higgins enters the house and then Greg’s office. She sits on Greg’s chair, the only chair in the office, and exhales. The walls of the office are decorated with certificates and awards for Greg’s excellence as a realtor. The shiny wooden desk in front of Mrs Higgins is huge and curved stylishly on the sides.
Greg and Tom enter the office.
“Chairs,” says Mrs Higgins.
They exit the office and return carrying chairs. They set their chairs near Greg’s desk, opposite Mrs Higgins, and sit.
“It was easier than I thought,” says Mrs Higgins.
“Great,” Tom smiles and leans forward, expecting Mrs Higgins to say more.
“No,” says Greg. Both Mrs Higgins and Tom turn their eyes to him. “It’s far from easy,” Greg stands up and paces around the office. “First of all, I don’t know why I let this happen in the first place. Tom, you know you’re my friend and I care about you, but this is my mother right here. I understand that your tracking company is in trouble and I want to help you. I can even crack my life’s savings to help you pay for marketing and get back some of your clients. But-”
“That’d be delaying the inevitable, Greg,” Tom interrupts. “We’ve gone over this. We cannot compete with Marcus Jordaan financially; he’s on the top five richest people in South Africa. He’s pouring millions and millions of rands into the marketing of Stallion Car Trackers and there’s no way we can beat that. That’s why I thought it was over for TechQuick, until your mother overhead our conversation and suggested this solution to my problem. And she figured it out. The only way to get my clients back is to destroy Stallion’s reputation. No amount of marketing can save them if people think their trackers don’t work.”
“But at what cost, Tom?” says Greg. “This plan you guys have put together has way too many moving pieces. Mom left at seven p.m. today and what’s the time now?” Greg checks his watch. “It’s almost eleven. That’s a whole four-hour process just to take one car and you guys want to do this for about twenty cars. What if mom gets hurt or arrested?”
Tom stares at Greg, digesting what he’s just said. “You’re right, man,” he scratches his beard and shrugs. “This is quite a lot of moving pieces. It’s an excellent, fool proofplan, but the execution of it is-”
“Perfect,” Mrs Higgins interrupts Tom’s sentence. She points at her son. “Gregory, sit down, darling. It’s my turn to talk now.”
Tell us: What do you think about this plan? Why would Mrs Higgins take such a risk?