Roses for Violet (3/5)

By Drum Digital
13 May 2015

The Rosettenville Kid does a special delivery.

“Who is it, sugarloaf?” she said. The man said roughly: “Nobody. Just some guy with a bunch of flowers.” “Flowers? Must be for me,” she said in a coy, teasing voice. She looked me over in a calculatingsort of way. “What lovely roses. Who are they from?” I gave her the message: “He says you will know who it is. He says he’s sorry he can’t come himself but he will be back soon with more riches than all the flowers in the world. And he wants you to know that nothing is bigger than the love in his heart for you.”

She considered the message and pouted. “Well, go back and tell him he’d better think again.” She struck a pose worthy of any screen actress. “This girl got tired of sitting around and waiting.” The gown gaped open wider over her cleavage. She clutched it together with a giggle and turned to the boyfriend: “Isn’t that so, sugarloaf?” Sugarloaf couldn’t have agreed more. “You heard the lady,” he snarled at me. “She doesn’t want the flowers.” This time he did slam the door shut.

Slowly, I went back downstairs and past the cops with the bucket of roses in my arms. If a book could be written on a man’s face, I saw all the chapters on Boy Moloi’s features. Anticipation. Surprise. Disappointment. Anger. Terrible anger that blanked out his eyes and sent shivers down my spine. I was starting to regret our little business transaction and quaked when Boy Moloi trained his terrible eyes on me.

“Give me your hoodie,” he commanded in a harsh tone.

“Of course, Nkosi.” I stripped it off in double quick time. He was a big man and struggled to jab his beefy arms through the sleeves and pull the hood over his head.

“And now the flowers,” he said.

To be continued...

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