Free Red Earth by Tony Park

quickly assured the girl. ‘Just stay low.’ The girl lowered her head and the boy, maybe seventeen, put his hand on her back and then covered her with his body. Vusi took a moment to squeeze the boy’s shoulder.
    The driver wagged his finger. ‘You back off, and you put that gun away or …’
    â€˜Joseph, no!’
    Vusi looked back at the seat he had just passed. The schoolboy who was comforting the girl had slid open his window and called to the gunman. Vusi rolled his eyes. This day was fast deteriorating. He thought of his wife and child, waiting for him just a few kilometres down the road. He’d been lucky to be allowed to leave at the end of his shift, given the storm that had erupted over Durban that morning, and now he was being sucked into his own personal nightmare. Vusi took a deep breath.
    â€˜Themba,’ called the man with the gun. He looked to the bus. ‘Damn, get off the bus, I was looking for you. Why didn’t you just stop the bus and get off here at your home?’
    Vusi swivelled his eyes to look at the schoolboy, Themba.
    â€˜I’ve got stuff to do, Joseph. Hey, cousin, just put the gun down. Chill, man.’
    â€˜Don’t tell me what to do, Themba. Get off the taxi now. Come, I need help.’
    â€˜I can’t do that, Joseph,’ Themba replied.
    Vusi crouched lower in the taxi and whispered: ‘Themba.’
    The boy glanced down.
    â€˜Don’t look at me, Themba,’ Vusi said. The youth looked back outside the taxi. ‘I need you to keep talking to that guy. Who is he?’
    â€˜My cousin, Joseph,’ Themba said out of the side of his mouth.
    â€˜Will he use that gun?’ Vusi asked. Themba’s silence told Vusi all he needed to know.
    Themba took a deep breath. ‘Joseph, lower your gun, please, let the driver get back in the taxi. Mister Driver, please, let’s just keep going.’
    Both the driver and Joseph were looking at Themba. Vusi crawled along the floor of the van. He slid between the two front seats like a python and rolled out of the taxi onto the grass, on the opposite side to where Joseph swung his gun from the driver to the bus and its passengers. Vusi stood in a crouch and, his back to the vehicle, edged slowly around the front. His pistol was cocked and ready.
    â€˜Themba, get off the bus, now. I need your help, cousin.’
    â€˜I’m not doing that, Joseph.’
    Joseph aimed his pistol at the driver’s head. ‘Get off that taxi or I’ll shoot the fat man.’
    A woman started screaming on board the taxi. Vusi saw a piece of door trim on the ground. It was clear Joseph had been stripping the inside of the vehicle. There was another noise above the commotion. It was a baby crying, but Vusi could not recall seeing an infant or even a young child on board the taxi. He swore quietly in Zulu.
    Vusi drew a deep breath. He could not shoot Joseph outright without first identifying himself. Also, the taxi driver was between him and the car thief, partially blocking his view. Added to his difficulties, he was terrified. Vusi worked in community relations and had not been on the streets, dealing with criminals, in more than fifteen years. He was overweight and he needed a new pair of glasses. He gripped his Z88 harder to try and stop his hands from shaking, but the effort made it worse.
    â€˜Police …’ he began to yell, but as he stood straight and extended his pistol the driver, seeing that Joseph’s attention was again on Themba, reached behind his back and pulled out his own pistol. ‘Down!’
    Vusi ran out from his position of cover at the front of the van. Joseph turned and fired a snap shot that caught the taxi driver in the chest and poleaxed the big man. Vusi fired twice. His first shot missed, but his second seemed to catch Joseph in his left shoulder. The younger man’s body twisted sideways, which meant Vusi’s next shot whizzed by