Bad Habits Die Hard (1) "Don’t push me over the edge, Christine- I mean it" the slender and tanned Kurt Henderson said to his flatmates girlfriend, Christine Smith. The two stood in the small kitchen of their tenth storey flat in Durban, South Africa. Christine pulled the black bag out of the rubbish bin, brushed her shoulder length brown hair away from her face and asked, "What did you say?". Kurt shook his head and walked to the window, staring out to the ocean a few miles away. He ran his hand through his long blonde hair, then kept the hand there, turned and said, "I mean it. Stop whining about the goddamn rubbish bin- and about everything else". He took a step towards her and looked into her eyes, "Or I’ll kill you," he said coldly and straight-faced. The two kept their eyes pinned on one another. Christine’s head barely reached Kurt’s shoulders. She started to laugh and said, "Fuck off!" "Hey!" he shouted and rushed at her, "You’ve only known me for two weeks" He grabbed hold of her skinny, pale arms with such force his fingers left red patches on her skin. Christine dropped the black bag and rubbish spilt all over the floor. "Now listen to me," he said, looking into her eyes, "I’m on that edge, Christine, and you’re about to push me over it. If you want me to beg, then I will…I’m begging you," he said, relaxing his grip. His blue eyes stared into her brown eyes. Brown eyes now flooded by tears. He continued, "Leave me alone. Stop whining about every fucking plate I don’t wash immediately. Stop complaining about the empty bottles I leave out. And stop bitching about the fucking rubbish. Get it?". Kurt kept his gaze on her, pursing his lips together until they formed a tiny slit on his tanned face. A tear rolled down Christine’s face as he let her go. She backed away into the corner of the kitchen and huddled on the floor, then used her right hand to brush her hair away again. Kurt stood in front of her with his head tilted to the side, perplexed by her reaction. "Christine," he said. His voice returned to its usual soft tone. "Whoa. I was only joking girl" He knelt down beside her and extended his hand, but she backed away with her thumb in her mouth. Silent tears streamed down her face. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor and they had an empty, hollow look to them that Kurt had never before seen. And as a lifeguard he had seen many lifeless eyes before. Christine pulled her knees up to her stomach and turned to the left, leaning with her back against the built-in cupboard. Kurt still had his hand reaching for her, but hadn’t followed her when she backed away. Instead his mind tried to figure out why she had reacted that way. What had he said that made her huddle in the corner like that? From what he knew of her, she was always quick to fight back and never took shit from anyone. Not even from her boyfriend and third flatmate, Steve Longworth. "Jesus, Christine, what the hell is wrong with you girl? The one minute you’re She-Ra, and the next you’re whimpering in the corner like some abused kid," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "I don’t know with you, really. I just don’t know" Kurt stood up and said, "Look. I’m sorry if I scared you. But you were driving me nuts, Christine. And when you drive a surfer boy like me nuts, you know you’ve gone too far," he said, trying to get some reaction from her, but she remained the same with her eyes glued to the floor and her thumb in her mouth. "Okay, well, I’m off to work" Kurt paused when he reached the door and looked back. She still hadn’t moved. "I’m sorry, Christine" Kurt arrived at Durban’s North Beach at five past three. In front of him masses of holiday makers frolicked in or around the sea; a few of them played beach rugby, others swam with their kids in the shallow water, and some of them- mostly kids- ran around screaming. One section was so packed Kurt couldn’t even spot the beginning of the sea. He stepped off the concrete pavement and onto the sandy beach, taking his shoes off at the same time. His white-flowered button-up shirt flapped around in the slight breeze as he walked to his post in the middle of the chaos. Two kids playing tag ran past him, missing him only by inches. " Damn Vaalies," he said, referring to the Transvaal holidaymakers. Transvaal is now called Mpumalanga, but the nickname Vaalies never changed. Neither did the reputation that went with it. Vaalies were always too cocky when it came to the sea, Kurt believed. They always thought they were safe and went out further than they should. Then, before they knew it, a current would get hold of them and take them out ever further. That’s where Kurt and the fourteen other lifeguards on duty came into the picture. "You’re late. Again. As usual," Joe Wiggit said to Kurt as Kurt climbed up the lookout. The lookout was situated in the middle of the beach and consisted of two raised chairs. It was up to Kurt and Joe to make sure the holidaymakers swam inside the boundaries. Boundaries which were set every morning, depending on tides and currents and backwash. "PLEASE MOVE TO THE LEFT!" Joe shouted to a few swimmers as Kurt sat down. "Has King Dick been around yet?" Kurt asked. He was referring to the head lifeguard, Henry King. "Naah bro, he’s still back in the building," Joe said, keeping his eyes on the sea. Kurt punched Joe on the arm and said, "Jeez dude, thanks for your advice" "What advice?" Joe asked, rubbing his arm and shifting his gaze briefly from the sea to Kurt, then back again. "About your ‘I-will-kill-you’ routine. I tried it and she went nuts!" "Really?" Joe laughed. "Hey. It’s not funny, man. She huddled in the corner, bro, like a little kid. Then she started sucking her thumb" "Awesome!" Joe said, his body jerking as he laughed. "Yeah, awesome my ass. I’m telling you now- if I get kicked out, I’m coming to stay with you- for free" "Fuck that" Joe said, still chuckling. "Hey. It was your idea in the first place. Besides, if she goes crying to Steve, and he asks me to leave- I’m screwed. I still owe five grand for the last party we had" Joe turned and faced Kurt. His laugh had disappeared now, "Fuck, bro, you still owe Neil Jones five grand?" "Yupp" "Jesus. You’ve heard what he does to those who owe him drug money, haven’t you?" "Yes thank you. I have. I don’t need you to tell me. Besides, you should pay as well. You did half of those drugs, you fucker" "Hey," Joe said, holding his hands in the air, "sharing is caring, bro" Kurt shifted his gaze to the water and said, "I tell you, if it hadn’t been for Steve letting me stay for free, I’d be screwed by now," "Yeah man, I wish I had saved his rich ass from drowning that day. Fuck it, then I could have been living for free as well" "Hey. I offered to pay him rent," Kurt said. "But he refused. I mean, it’s not like he needs the money- and if you ask me, money is the only reason why that bitch of a girlfriend is with him" "Most probably. But, fuck it, I’d do the same," Joe laughed. "Yeah, me too," Kurt laughed and high-fived Joe. The rest of the day passed without any incidents; something that Joe and Kurt believed was an omen. Only twice before had there been a busy day like this without any incidents. And each time something bad happened to the lifeguards on duty. The first lifeguard, Lee Johnson, had an accident on his motorcycle and ended up with a broken leg. The second time the unlucky guard was Jessy Blackhead, and his house was ransacked the same day. He returned to find most of his belongings stolen. "Shit," Joe said, looking at his watch, "I need help someone now. Shotgun on the first person who needs help. I don’t wanna be jinxed" "You don’t wanna be jinxed? Hey fuck you, man. What about me? I’m the one that owes drug money- and is about to be kicked out of his free accommodation!" The two sat without saying a word, keeping their anxious eyes glued to the water. "Hey," Joe said, lifting himself in his seat and looking out to the sea where a swimmer had his arm raised, "Is that…no, he’s just calling his friend. Shit, I thought he was drowning" The two settled down, and after a while Kurt said, "Joe, is it true what they say about Neil Jones?" Joe smiled and looked at Kurt, "So, it has been bothering you, hasn’t it?" "Hell yeah. I don’t wanna be killed". "Yeah, bud, it’s true. All of it. My brother had this friend who owed Neil money. He said it all starts the same way, with notes telling you to move out. Then he starts leaving stuff in front of your door". "Like what?" Kurt asked. "I dunno. With him you can never tell. It’s all a game for him". "Yeah, and then?" "Then the final note he leaves says, "Today you will die". The problem is that most people think it’s a joke and they don’t do anything," Joe looked Kurt in the eyes, "I heard he’s a real sick bastard, though. Apparently he has a scar across the left side of his face. Some guy who owed him money thought he could knife him," Joe said and chuckled, "He ended up killing the guy, of course. Then, rumour has it, he cut the guy up and preserved him. Now his wife receives a body part each year on her dead husbands birthday". "Hey?" Kurt asked. His tan had lost some of its brown colour and sweat lined his brow. "It’s true, bro. And the scar remains to this day. Right after he killed the guy, the wound started itching. But instead of going to a doctor, Neil just stood there and scratched it. Now the scar itches after each person he kills, and before leaving the scene, he stands and scratches it till it bleeds. If I were you, bud, I’d ask Steve if I could borrow the money. Man, I’d rather owe Steve than Neil" "Yeah. I might just have too," Kurt said and rolled his neck from side to side, trying to relax. "Have you started getting notes yet?" "Naah. Not yet" "Well, then you’ve still got time- Hey!" Joe stopped and grabbed Kurt’s arm, "How about this- why don’t you send the notes yourself, then ask Steve for the money! That way she might think it’s you, while poor old trusting Steve will think its Neil. And if all works out, the bitch will move out, fearing for her life, and Steve will feel so bad he’ll tell you to forget about the five grand" Kurt never said no. He just sat back and looked out to the sun setting over the sea. "Hello, Steve Longworth here. How may I help you?" the voice on the line said. The sound of Steve’s voice reassured Christine. She had the phone pushed to her right ear and gripped hold of the handset so hard her hand lost all of its colour. Her soft cheeks were streaked with tears; her eyes were puffy and red. "Baby," she said with a trembling voice, fighting back the tears. She hadn’t wanted to phone him at work. She hadn’t wanted to run to him. But she had to talk to someone and Steve was all she had. "Honey? Honey what’s wrong?" Steve asked. Christine sensed the alarm in his voice and tried to calm herself. I must stop crying, she told herself. Stop it, damn it. Stop it. She repeated the routine her mom had taught her to use as a kid. "Baby, can you come home a little earlier tonight?" she asked. Her voice was not shaky as it had been a moment ago, the routine having worked. "Why Honey?" " I don’t wanna talk about it over the phone. But I need you here. I need you to hold me," she said. There was a moment’s pause and Christine thought they had been cut off. "Baby?" she asked. "Yeah, I’m here honey. I’m coming home now. Okay sugar?" "No babe. Don’t come now. Stay until five at least. I’ve gotten you into enough trouble the last few months. I don’t-" "Honey," he stopped her, "I’m on my way already," The two said goodbye and Steve put the phone down. Steve walked out of his office and through to his boss, Gareth Reed, who had stopped by the coffee machine. "Ahh," Gareth greeted the tall and well-built Steve, "How’s my best stockbroker feeling today then?" "Not too good, Mr. Reed," the dark haired Steve said. Steve stopped in front of him. His large figure dwarfed the skinny and short one of his balding boss. "Wait," Gareth said and held his hand up in the air, "don’t tell me. Personal problems again. And you don’t want to talk about it- but you need the rest of the day off. Close?" "I’m afraid you’ve read me easier than you do those Harry Potter books, sir" he chuckled. "You know, one of these days- just once- I’d love it if you told me that you closed a multi-million rand deal- instead of asking for time off. But I’m going to let you go- again. Only because you pull your weight around here, and I know you wouldn’t leave unless there was a good reason," Gareth patted Steve on the shoulder. "That’s not the reason," Steve laughed, "You’re letting me go only because I’m ahead of my work, and you know I’ll be in early for the next month just to make up for this one time. You also know that whenever you need someone to work late, I won’t be able to say no!" "Maybe" Gareth said and winked at him, "But you wouldn’t be able to say no anyway. Not you Stevie. Never," Steve fetched his briefcase and headed for the car park, going straight to number 46, his regular spot. Numbers 45 and 47 were occupied by two of Steve’s co-workers, Harry Lee and Brent Fisher. Both men stood alongside Harry’s car when Steve arrived. "Hi guys!" Steve greeted the two men. "Stevie boy!" Harry said. "You off again?" Brent asked. "Yeah. Gotta run, see you tomorrow!" Steve said and jumped into his faded blue Toyota Corolla. "Have fun" they said in unison. The two men watched as Steve drove off, then Brent looked at Harry and said, "Can you believe that bastard. Closes a few big deals, and now he’s got the boss wrapped around his finger" "I know. And what’s up with that car of his, anyway?" Harry asked, climbing into his new Porsche. "I think he thinks he’s better than us. That’s all," Brent said. Harry shrugged his shoulders and said, "Then again, he does come from a poor family. Maybe he doesn’t know what to do with all his money," "Huh, I doubt it. No, it’s just an act, that’s all. One of those "I’m too good for you" acts that his kind put on. Always pretending to be helpful, always being friendly in your face. Meanwhile, the minute you’re gone, the real Stevie boy come out- and I can promise you he’s not nearly half as nice as he seems to be," Brent nodded once, agreeing with himself. "Oh, guess what?" Harry asked Brent. "What?" "Guess who’s moved into the same block of flats as my girlfriend- the same flats you tried to get into for three months?" "Who," Brent frowned and pointed to Steve’s parking space, "He got in? He fucking got in?" Harry laughed and said, "Yupp. He got in alright- without even waiting" "Fuck that!" Brent walked over to Steve’s parking spot and stood up against Steve’s number. "Hey," Harry asked from behind the wheel of his car, "What you doing?" Brent kept his back to Harry and fiddled with his zipper. "I’m gonna piss on this fuckers number". A second later a stream of urine ran down the wall and into Steve’s parking area. The smell of urine hung in the air when Brent walked back. "You sick puppy!" Harry laughed, then continued, "Anyway, turns out Steve lives with two other people". "How do you know all this?" Brent asked, still doing his zipper up. "Well, Steve hasn’t met my girlfriend, Michelle, but she’s seen him before. So I sent her down to snoop around," Harry laughed, "under the pretense of a friendly neighbour" Brent leant on the Porsche and Harry said, "Careful with the car, man" "Sorry," he said and stood away. "Anyway," Harry continued, "one of them is a surfer boy. Apparently he saved Steve’s life a while back and ever since Steve’s let him stay with him" "Ha-ha! Closet gay!" Brent said and pointed his finger at Harry, "You see- I told you he wasn’t mister goodie-too-shoes" "Maybe. But he has a girlfriend staying there as well. Now," Harry said and leant forward, "from what Michelle could gather, this girlfriend used to be a stripper or something- but, get this- now she wasn’t to be a painter!" "Sick fuck," Brent said, "I’m telling you- there’s some weird shit going on inside that place". "So she must be the reason why he’s been going home like this the last few weeks," Harry said. "Fuck that!" Brent said. "What?" "That’s so unfair. What’s that fucker got that I haven’t? Huh? I come from a better family than him. I earn roughly the same as him. Why couldn’t I get into those goddamn flats?" "Not fair, is it?" Harry agreed, "I say we should do something…" "Like what?" "I dunno," Harry said, wrapping his hands around the steering wheel, "Perhaps we should make his stay in the flats as comfortable as possible?" "And just how are we gonna do that? We can’t get into the building, remember?" Harry climbed out of the car and said, "But my dear man, that we can," he dangled a key in front of Brent’s nose, "I have a key, remember?" Brent smiled and said, "I like it. But what do we do?" "Why don’t we start with a few letters to the new tenants, wishing them nothing but a pleasant stay?"
Copyright © 2001 David Rama |