Choice of Weapon

  Chapter 25

  Thousands of people had lined the streets for the entire three-miles from the church to the cemetery. In fact, such were the crowds that the funeral cortège traveled at a slower than walking pace.

  And all along the route people threw, not flowers, but sweets. Fruit sparkles, jelly bears, ice mints and wine gums. The sun caught the translucent confectionaries and refracted through them like a sunrise through a million miniature stained glass windows. And all along the way the children called out his name.

  Sweets. Sweets. He is gone, they cried. The Sweetie man is gone.

  The men growled amongst each other. He was a man, they said. He took a stand for what he believed in. And he paid the ultimate price.

  Sweets. Sweets. The Sweetie man is gone.

  And the hearse’s tires crunched slowly over the strewn sugar jewels. Crushing them into mere white powder. The crowd picked up the chant. Building. Gaining a life of its own.

  Sweets. Sweets. The Sweetie man is gone.

  The cortège reached the end of Louis Botha Avenue and turned towards Alexandra, passing by a large drinking hall that was owned by Texas Zangwa and associates. The crowd surged into the building, smashing the windows, destroying furniture. The manager was hauled out into the street and beaten by the chanting crowd.

  Sweets. Sweets. The Sweetie man is gone.

  Someone put a match to the curtains and the flames licked hungrily upwards. Within minutes the building was fully ablaze. The crowd surged forth, seeking out other premises that belonged to Texas Zangwa.

  Sweets. Sweets. The Sweetie man is gone.