Chapter 1 – Revenge!

Revenge!

Bangkok, 10 December, 11:25

revenge

In relation to yesterday’s post, lets keep the gangster image alive.

A few days ago I received my first contribution to this (worthy?) blog and also a very astute remark by email. The Email was from my first (and only happy to report that I now have 7 contributions from anonymous sources) -contributor to date and he mentioned that he thought the revenge chapter was the last to be written.

The accuracy of that remark really had me flummoxed! Thought accurate, it is not 100% true because this chapter will be updated from time to time and deal with the results as relates to my targeted readers and also the effectiveness of those blog posts in achieving that goal. If you have enjoyed my posts thus-far, why not show your appreciation with a CONTRIBUTION? C’mon, you don’t look like a freeloader 🙂 Will a dollar hurt your x-mas shopping budget?

RESULT 1: Having started with Fat Milton, I think that some people would like to know what happened afterwards and also get more insight about the later chapters.

Not wanting to let my readers down, I instruct the overworked imaginary set crew to get busy. Knowing that you have not met them all, some further introductions. Mr. Con Sid(er) was a painter some time ago but now he works for me, doing some backdrops and shit. Tate over there (his full name is Medi-tate) doesn’t do much and I think he needs a cut in salary. With that, here’s today’s scene.

Hillbrow, Johannesburg, 1995 – or thereabouts.

The “love tap” from Milton set in motion a strange series of thoughts that were not very pleasant, to say the least. Being VERY able to respond in many different ways, I couldn’t come up with a suitable reply to his unwanted attention to my face. More accurately, I was undecided about just how he should pay for his stupidity! Was it necessary to get revenge? In my books it was not only necessary, it was inevitable and set in stone. You see, it was not just a slap. It was an UNDESERVED SLAP, that hit my mind much harder than it did my cheek.

There were many other things that demanded my immediate attention but while I set about doing them (some of those things are described in later chapters) the thoughts with Milton as objective kept developing and grew into a plan. Previous thoughts were not too pleasant and included a well deserved baseball-bat/brick to his head, before he donned his helmet and mounted his motorcycle outside the Summit Club. He always parked in the same spot and there was an alley within striking distance where I could wait for him, right next to the Hotel. At night this alley was not deserted but the occupants would not have intervened, being too busy with their quick secret handshakes and exchanges of money and Rocks/Crack (Crystallized Cocaine). The only thing that prevented this plan from being set in motion, was my own lack of time to do the waiting. I simply didn’t have time between the activities that were happening then.

I liked the odd game of pool/billiards and was also an active member of a pool club that challenged other clubs to games. This was not only enjoyable, but it served the additional purpose of being a very useful way of meeting and discussing things with people…things that were not supposed to be seen or heard, as it were. On one of the pool competition meet-ups, I ran into a pool- hustler that proceeded to take a reasonably large amount of cash from me. He did this in a subtle and very clever way. Having caught onto his plan too late, we stopped playing and he bought me a beer (with my own lost money of course) and we started chatting. From his point of view, it was just business and he was also setting me up for a next confrontation. It was an good of excellent forward thinking, combined with an impeccable delivery of a “damn I got lucky” performance…The wheels clicked into place!

It was not ME who was going to do the revenge! My newly met friend was going to be the one to deliver a cold and calculated response to Milton’s slap. Though it was not going to be a physical response, I knew the results were going to be doubly effective.

Shawn was GOOD on the table, he just didn’t show it. Every shot had a reason and every verbal or physical reaction to that shot was the result of years of practice. Even his posture changed when he was hustling. When I saw him (unobserved) in a shopping center some time later, he was walking confidently and there was no hint of the apologetic and childishly joking creature that played pool.

The chat with Shawn carried on very late that night and I managed to get some of my money back, albeit in beers that he dutifully paid for. (A friend on a forum recently called these PITY BEERS… Thanks Kurt, it’s a lovely phrase and I use it with you in mind.) He was good on the table and also handled his beers remarkably well!…This about Shawn, I have no idea if Kurt can.

Just down the street from the Summit, was another “Entertainment Hotel“. Though not as big or successful, it offered the same popular services and surroundings, albeit on a smaller scale. Besides being one of the Thai Hostess venues, necessary to visit from time to time to check up on things, I had many friends there and also spent an unjustifiable amount of money on social gatherings. It served as a very welcome hiding place to get away from my “normal” activities. I knew every conceivable entry/exit point and the streets of Hillbrow were my ally because there was not a place that I didn’t visit or knew of. The streets were reliable and my whole younger life was spent earning knowledge from them. One of the buildings my dad managed when I was young, was just a stone’s throw from this particular Hotel. The pool team I represented was also just around the corned and the owner, Mark, would stop by for drinks…and from time-to-time, so would Fat Milton! Suffice to say that my chosen location for the revenge of Milton was no accident. Instead, it was a design of impossibly intricate weaving.

The revenge day came and Shawn the hustler showed up early, setting about trying to look foolish and slightly tipsy. Fat Milton was at the bar and doing whatever he usually did, unaware of the show that had him as main protagonist. I was chatting to Sandla (a Zulu word, meaning contribute), my friend and the only true Gentleman bouncer I have ever met in my life. On a previous encounter with some kung-fu chinamen that refused to pay the Thai Hostesses, his intervention was welcomed. Sandla was telling me about a visit from the police and that the Thai girls were all hidden in a room somewhere in the hotel. They were afraid, righfully so, that the police would cart them away. One of their managers was locked up a few days ago in Hillbrow Police station and that fact alone consumed a lot of my time, taking him some bribe items and shit to keep him amused.

The pool games were in progress and I could see that Shawn had caught Milton’s eye. He was watching Shawn lose a stack of ten-rand-notes and he was virtually licking his chops to get in on that action. The winner of the game walked away and Milton placed his coin as placeholder on the pool table. I walked up and shoved his coin back one spot and moved mine in front. He looked at me as would a mother, admonishing a child. I pretended to apologize and moved his coin back to the previous spot, also scribbling my name on a small blackboard against the wall, making sure to write Milton’s name before mine. My whole demeanor was apologetic and I carried it off well.

Now I had a reason to sit and watch the game. Just watching might have alerted him at some stage…and that was the last thing I wanted. All I needed was a front-row view of the proceeding and every single blow being thrown in Milton’s lesson-in-life revenge.

The games that followed were a sight to behold! I had to employ every single ounce of willpower not to start applauding or proclaiming my victory. Shawn was systematically and very efficiently cleaning Milton out. The games had also started to draw a reasonable crowd. It was not an everyday occurrence to see Milton lose…continuously and without even a single game won in response. Shawn was as pathetic as ever and I am sure that nobody knew he was hustling. If they did, they were equally pleased at the outcome and Milton was by now, huffing and puffing, cursing and threatening as he walked to-and-fro, trying to get the upper hand over Shawn’s impeccably placed shots.

Sitting at the bar with him many hours later, Shawn was a sport and handed me a thousand rand. Ten percent of what he took from Milton. We proceeded to drink the thousand away and I even introduced him to some of the Thai girls…Business was business, after all.

In those days, ten thousand rand was a LOT of money. I have no idea where Milton got it from but I do know that he felt the loss!

For my part, I had many more things to keep me busy and I was a lot more effective at doing them. It was nice to not have revenge thoughts fucking up my own activities!

Back to the present: Today is one of the only days I get to spend some well-deserved time with my wife. The rest of the week is spent assuming other roles. This is in fact the only day when I can be ME. I hope you will accept that reason for today’s shorter post. Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow with some equally entertaining anecdotes and even a real-life shootout at Bruma Lake…cops and robbers…heroes and villains..all present to make their shots count!

Thank you for your continued messages of support and advice.