TurfWars-Criminal Underworld

Smiles

Pietermariztburg, 19:30, Friday, Winter. Mid-1996

He watched as the smoke slowly rose and disappeared into the night sky, light and simple as if the weight on his shoulders did not affect it. He looked at the burning cigarette in his dry hand, its dying ambers slowly giving birth to ashes. His last cigarette, he had made it through a whole pack in one day, an achievement he could not brag about. "An occupational hazard," he thought, his only excuse. He dropped the bud, stepped on it putting it out, folded his shoulders to keep himself warm, it was not working. He pulled the collar of his coat closer to his ears, his bold head left out to dry, he looked ahead and saw a near-empty street, true signs of winter. Where others were packed up in warm places or next to warm bodies, he was out in the cold trying to solve a murder.

The murder of the notorious drug lord Papa Smiles was getting to him and Captain Kraft was not helping. Detective James Ngcobo had already unpacked so much about the gangster world of Pietermaritzburg, much more than he had bargained for. In the last 72 hours, he found out who ran what for who and why. The why was important because that led to leads and leads led to suspects and suspects to who the Hell would want this guy dead. Since the drug world in Pietermaritzburg was a tough niche, it was hard to infiltrate. But he had an idea of what was going on.

The turfs had been broken into segments, four to be exact. Smiles occupied the north, where the township of Imbali was situated, his community of birth. Dubbed the scum of the city it was mainly dominated by poor establishments and infrastructure that had seen better days. Ironically next to Imbali sat Wembley, a much more polished area, a suburb for the wealth next to the poor. Some say that the flies born in Wembley go to die in Imbali others say that rats in Wembley attend private schools. It all did not matter to Smiles, he had the whole place eating at his palm, sell the drugs to the rich and hive to the poor, township gangster Robin hood

The South and East were at war, they had been at each other's throats since the establishment of a new lord in the East, who was not accommodating to his new neighbours, those neighbours included the North. From disrespecting turf borders to stealing merchandise in other people's territory, he managed to anger his fellow lord, but He angered the South more than the North. The West was deemed untouchable. Where factories and old offices once stood, now housed the discarded and left behind. Dilapidated buildings dominate this space. They call it "Skomplaas." It belongs to no one. Dark shady deals happen there, with no witnesses, and no control.

As he dug deeper, the list of suspects became endless, but the evidence was insufficient and Kraft's deadline grew much closer. The man was a gangster, a drug lord and you would think his death would've benefited society, no one would have blamed James if he closed this case his excuse, evidence was lacking. Some would even applaud him in silence if he threw away the case, but his conscience would not let him rest. This man's death had a familiar sting to it. Unlike the ordinary gangsters we learn to hate, Smiles got his name from always wearing a smile on his face, which was the opposite when he was found in a pool of his own blood with a bullet to his temple, guess someone else was smiling. His death looked like a robbery gone wrong. This led to the captain thinking the same and the case closed. James on the other hand felt that was not the case. He said murder, he was living to regret his reasoning. The captain needed answers and gave James 4 days to find them, He was on his third day and the answers seemed to not outweigh the questions.

What he did not understand, he thought as he looked up and down the near-empty street was why someone would attempt such a dangerous move in Smiles' own turf. Smiles was a community man. Others called him a hero. He was friends with everyone, drug lord or not, the residents of Imbali, where he lived, loved him, so his death came as a shock to James, but the act itself unsettled him. Whoever pulled it must have been someone with big balls or someone with a big status. He needed to find out who this brave person was. The motive would be easy to compile, Smiles was not subtle with his deeds. One of the detective's informants mentioned that when it got down to business, Smiles was ruthless and that was enough motive for James. But he could not understand how an enemy could pull such a stunt. His lacky a young man who goes by the name of Toolkit, real name Sandile Mazibuko had enlightened James about Smile's background. He is who the detective was meant to meet tonight.

Since it was a cold night; the coldest Pietermaritzburg had seen in years, the mood mimicked the chilly night. James decided to move towards the fire surrounded by vagrants at the corner of Ngoyi and a lane called  Ndlela to keep warm, this corner was situated opposite a local tavern locally known as Chiliza's, where he was supposed to meet Toolkit, so it gave him a vantage point to scout the place before He met the young man. Alarm bells were going off in his head and he had a feeling someone was watching him that day; the question was who. While by the fire with the homeless. He placed his hand in his pocket and took out the note that was left under his apartment door. Chiliza's 20:00. Come alone. Very straightforward and very cryptic.

He had figured it was Toolkit since they were corresponding, yet he wondered how he knew where he lived. James was very particular about informant knowing his personal stuff.

James looked at his wrist watch and it said 19:40. Deciding to go to Chiliza's and get a drink while he waited, he crossed the near-empty street.

At Chiliza's the crowd did not do any justice to the mood outside. People were dancing, drinking and gambling away, the atmosphere here was warm, no wonder outside was cold, everyone in town was here. James found himself a small corner and asked for a jack on the rocks, something to warm his insides and turn his nerves into steel.

The young lady serving him recognised that he was a cop; she had seen him at the police station earlier that day. Cops on this side of town were not welcome guests, especially if they were on duty. James being there alone was a risk, one he hoped would pay off. He decided to act normal, he was a customer, meeting a friend. That friend walked in immediately. Thin as the last time they met with his clothes hanging off him. James wondered for a second if Toolkit owned clothes warmer than those on his back. A second thought crossed his mind, he must have been going through hell since his boss was found dead. He made a mistake and waved to get his attention, just then...

Shots!!! Were fired. James quickly dropped for cover; more reflex than actual response. He tried to figure out where the shots were coming from. When he looked up panic had taken over everyone and exit was on their mind, at least those who could think. People were running out the small entrance fighting to survive, bodies falling as they took the bullets that were aimed at the detective, others trampled by those stronger than them. He could not fire back, not knowing where to fire, immediately sounds of a second round of fire came in, this time from what James deduced the entrance. "Was this backup?" He thought, if so, then who called it? He drew courage from this to look up once again. A bullet missed him, but the sender was met with his response, dead in the chest, his companion next to him was met with the same fate. The detective was filled with arrogance which he mistook for confidence, he got too cocky and took one on his left shoulder, and went right through. He took cover as he assessed the wound. A thud as if a body had just fallen was heard, the gunfight fell to silence. With caution, James stole a quick glance to assess the situation. No one, only bodies. He sat there behind the chairs and tables he used as cover for what felt like an eternity. He bravely came out, left arm tugged in and shoulder leaking like a fountain, right hand raised, gun shaking. It quickly dawned on him that what he thought was backup was not backup at all but something else. What? He did not know. That was when he saw him lying under a few innocent bystanders with a bullet to his neck and eyes open, looking to the heavens with an expression that cried help, Toolkit was on the floor, dead

*The story continues, keep turning the page*