Roses for Violet (2/5)

By Drum Digital
12 May 2015

The Rosettenville Kid does a special delivery.

He corrected me. “I can’t do it myself. The cops are watching.” And he pointed again. A block up the road from us, I saw a Golf GTI without police markings, pulled off on the pavement, across the road from the entrance to the flats.

“Those guys won’t look at a hawker twice. Go to door 214 and ask for Ms Khumalo. “That’s the corner flat with the window you can see from here.” “And the message, Nkosi?” He told me - it was a very passionate message indeed. He was searching my eyes. “You’ve got that? And when the lady gets the flowers, ask her to give a wave from the window. I’ll be here waiting.”

I gave the cops a smile. One was sipping coffee from a plastic cup from the corner take-away, the other was lounging back with earphones plugged in. What did I have to fear? Just a street hawker hoping to flog bunches of roses to some woman sitting alone at home. Still, the cops didn’t seem to approve. They gave me a surly look.

Two floors up, outside 214, I heard the sounds of a loud rendition of a love song. I knocked, then knocked again, harder. A gruff man’s voice demanded: “Who’s that?”

“Delivery for Ms Khumalo.”

“Who?”

“Ms Khumalo.”

The door opened with a jerk. A pair of very unfriendly eyes was looking at me.

“What do you want? What’s that?”

“I have flowers for Ms Khumalo in 214.”

“There’s no Ms Khumalo here – only my honeybunch, Violet.”

I thought the guy was going to rip the bunches apart in my arms and slam the door in my face. He looked big enough and mean enough to do that. His honeybunch, Violet, came to my rescue. She floated into view wearing a short silk gown, loosely belted, and not too well drawn together above the belt.

To be continued...

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