By Frederick B. Philander
WITH gun in hand the Afrikaner pimp rushes into the pub.
Pandemonium erupts with customers scrambling and diving for cover, the Africans, too.
“Where is he,” Tom screams angrily pointing the gun at the barman.
“Who?” the panic-stricken man asks visibly shaken.
Tom swings around and finds what he is looking for, Zenzile, hidden under a chair.
“There you are, son-of-a-bitch,” the angry white man exclaims aiming the dangerous weapon at the helpless young man. “You violated my woman.'”
Bravely coming to his younger brother’s rescue, fearlessly stepping between the gunman and the shivering second in line to the Zongolo tribal kingdom.
“If you shoot him, you shoot me, too,” Zolile says, stepping in as a shield between the two men.
“Old chap, I don’t think you want to have two murders on your conscience, now do you, especially in front of so many witnesses?” Peter asks a very uncertain Tom. “I knew you would agree. Now put down the gun and fight like a man.”
“Alright, he asked for this, interfering in things that do not concern him,” Tom says putting down the weapon on the counter and taking off his coat in preparation for a physical fight with Zolile, who also strips to the waste, ready for a bar brawl.
Impressed with what he sees lifting his head from his hiding place, the old white male customer expresses his delight and admiration at Tom.
“At last one of our own who is not afraid of the chief. Go on, young man. Beat the shit out of them both,” he says encouraging Tom with other customers shouting in unison.
“Britain first.”
The customers clear the drinking area. Tom immediately strikes out with a fist at Zolile, who blocks the blow. The African follows up and hits out at the white man’s jaw. The man abruptly pathetically falls down unconscious in a corner, his bravery shortened with one blow, witnessed in awe by the crowd.
All of a sudden on the side of the African, the old timer shouts.
“More drinks for the chief. I’ll pay.”
Triumphantly holding up Zolile’s hand the barman congratulates the athletic built Zolile.
“Well done, chief,” he says with the customers quickly forgetting their patriotic duty to support Tom cheering.
“Thank you for saving my life, big brother,” Zenzile emotionally thanks his older brother.
A humiliated Tom wakes and unobtrusively sneaks out the door, noticed by one of the female customers shouting after the coward.
“You forgot your gun.”
“I’ll have that and keep it as a trophy,” the barman says putting the gun away behind his counter. “Let’s celebrate. All drinks are on the house.'”
“Thanks, but no thanks. We have to go because we have unfinished business somewhere else,” Peter says helping Zolile to put on his shirt.
With the other customers rowdily accepting drinks from the barman, the three men take their leave from the pub.
*
A bruised and angry Tom arrives at the front entrance at the brothel.
“What the hell happened to your face, Tom?” the bouncer asks out of concern when he notices blood oozing from a wound on his boss’s forehead.
“It’s nothing serious. Where’s Lily?” Tom inquires.
“I’m sorry to say, she has escaped, too,” the bouncer informs his boss, expecting anything physical and brutal from the brutal South African Afrikaner, lighting a cigarette and momentarily deep in thought.
“I know where to find her. I’ll see to it that she never works in this town again. Go get the car,” Tom orders his henchman, wiping blood off his face.
* At her sister’s flat somewhere else in London, Lily hurriedly runs down some steps desperately holding onto a battered suitcase.
Out on the street she quickly hails a taxi, which instantly speeds off on her instructions. Just as the taxi pulls out from the curb, an angry Tom’s car pulls up.
He jumps from the car, rushes up the steps and bangs at the door followed by his underling. No one answers.
“Break down the door,” he commands the bouncer, who immediately reacts shouldering the door tumbling under his heavy weight to the inside.
They enter the apartment and search the place, but no one is home.
“We’ll wait right here. She will turn up here sooner or later,” Tom tells his sidekick.
“I’ll see if there is some beer in the fridge,” the bouncer suggests with Tom taking a seat on a sofa.
* In downtown London Lily hastily gets out of the cab, enters the foyer of a luxurious apartment block, presses the escalator button and enters the lift going up.
A surprised Ralphy opens his flat door on the third floor.
“Lily. You have come as if you were sent. Come on in,” he says gesturing her to sit down.
” I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Tears appear in her eyes.
“What seems to be the problem?” he inquires.
“It’s Tom. He wants to kill me. I need a place to hide, just for tonight, please,” the young woman begs.
“But of course. You can stay here for as long as you wish. You can use the main bedroom,” he tells her taking her suitcase and ushering her into the bedroom.
“The place is probably nothing compared to what you are used to.”
“Anything will do just to get away from that pig of a man. Thanks, Ralph,” she says pecking him on the forehead.
“Not to mention,” he says returning to the lounge. “I’ll make us dinner later.” Lily returns to the living room.
“You said you were looking for me, why?” she says taking a seat next to him on the sofa.
“There are two guys urgently looking for you. They believe you are the chosen one to become the queen of an African chief,” he informs her matter-of-factly.
“Right now I’ll do anything just to get away from Tom,” she replies.
“Good. Make yourself comfortable. I just need to make a phone call,” he says dialing a number on his mobile phone.
*
In the Royal Hotel foyer Peter and his guests arrive and collect their keys from the half-asleep duty clerk behind a desk.
“Pastor, there was a call for you,” the clerk says checking a paper. “A John Singleton from Africa. He left a message.”
“What is the message?” Peter curiously inquires.
“He said to tell you that the chief had a minor heart attack and was admitted to hospital…”
“Jeewiz.’ The ancestors were right. Our chief has died…!” Zolile exclaims.
“No, he is still alive, waiting for his two sons, the man said on the phone. They must come back to the villages as soon as possible,” the clerk ends his rather disturbing message.
“We have to go right now,” Zolile suggests.
“But we cannot leave without the woman. Our instructions were clear,” Zenzile comments on his brother’s suggestion at the moment the hotel phone rings, answered by the clerk.
“Who is Z.o.l.i.l.e?,” the clerk asks with his hand covering the phone’s mouthpiece.
“I am,” the older brother replies.
“It’s for you, Sir. You can take it over there,” the clerk says, pointing to a phone on a coffee table in a corner.
“Hallo, Zolile Wanga here. Who is speaking? Ralphy … yes, I … thank you. We’ll come right over. What’s your flat number in Soho?” he says and puts down the phone.
“Who was that?” Peter asks.
“Ralphy. He says he has found white Lily.”
With a prayerful gesture a relieved Zenzile exclaims.
“Thank you forefathers. Now I am safe,” the young man says covering his crotch.
“Well, it must be a miracle. Let’s go find her. Don’t just stand there. Go get your luggage. There might still be a flight out to Africa tonight,” Peter says urging the two brothers to walk up the stairs.
“Maybe it is not the right woman,” Zenzile says.
“I trust Ralphy. He is a brother,” Zolile replies.
“Well, if it is not her, I’ll keep on searching tomorrow,” Peter says entering Zolile’s room. “Well, I suppose this is the part where I say goodbye,” Peter says hugging the brothers in turn.
“Thank you very much for everything you have done for us,” Zolile says emotionally.
“Not to mention. If ever you come to this country again, make sure you look me up at the Church of England. Have a safe flight home,” the Pastor says leaving the room.
Next week final episode.