Zoo City Part 17

"What point do you wish you could go back to?"

"You first."

"The moment before I got my brother killed."

"Heavy," says S'bu, but I can tell he's impressed. And this is what I've come to, breaking out my worst personal tragedy to pry open a teenager. If I hadn't already hit my ultimate low, this would be a close contender.

"And you?"

"Before we signed."

"That's the worst thing that's happened to you? Seriaas Seriaas?"

"I dunno, maybe we should have signed with someone else."

"Odi's a pretty intense guy."

"Yeah."

"Rehab must have been really really s.h.i.+tty." s.h.i.+tty."

"Yeah." He squirms. "It's more like his philosophy? It's worse than straight-edge. Like, there's no fun at all."

"You seem to be doing okay."

"Yeah, right," he rolls his eyes up at the thumping noises coming from above. "That guy needs to take a chill pill, you know? Maybe literally."

"You think you would have got where you are without Odi pus.h.i.+ng you?"

"Nah, man, I appreciate that, it's the keep-it-clean c.r.a.p. I'm fifteen, yo. We're not little kids anymore. And I'm not even that bad. Songweza's the one who lands us in the s.h.i.+t the whole time."

"Where do you think your sister is?"

"I dunno. Jolling Jolling with her friends?" with her friends?"

"Any friends in particular?"

"Hey, what's this interview about, anyway?"

"The band."

"'Cos it sounds like it's about her."

"Can I level with you?" I say, jumping into the abyss.

"Sure."

"I've been hired to try and find your sister. The interview is just a cover."

"f.u.c.k!" He flings his controller across the room. It narrowly misses the TV and smashes into the wall beneath the katana. The back pops off, spraying batteries across the floor.

"I'm just being honest with you."

"Oh, now now you're being honest with me? So all that other bulls.h.i.+t was just, just... you're being honest with me? So all that other bulls.h.i.+t was just, just... s.h.i.+t s.h.i.+t?" He looks like he's about to cry.

"No, I've really been to rehab. I really killed my brother," I say calmly.

"Whatever. Hey, lady, ever occurred to you maybe Song doesn't want want to be found?" to be found?"

"Or you don't want her to be found?"

"You are one whacked crazyb.i.t.c.h. What, like I... I killed her or something?"

"Did you? No. I don't think that. But if she ran away with her boyfriend or whatever, it sounds like you wouldn't mind so much if she didn't hurry back."

S'bu shakes his head. "Lady, we have an alb.u.m about to drop." He grabs a jacket slung over the back of the chair and heads towards the door, wiping at his eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Same place as Song. Out Out."

Sloth swats my arm in reproach. Like I meant to make the kid cry.

He storms out of the house, past Mark and Amira, who are sitting on the stairs, clearly listening in.

"And screw you guys too."

He slams the door.

"Didn't go so well, then, sweetie?" Mark says. His Dog pants happily, mocking.

"I've had worse interviews." This is true. The time I rocked up high to interview Morgan Freeman, for example. "You still tras.h.i.+ng the place, or can I take a look?"

"Knock yourself out."

"Interesting ploy, the journalist," Marabou says, stroking her Bird's shrivelled head.

"You'd be amazed at how people open up when they think someone cares. Listen, don't wait up. After this, I'm thinking of taking in a round of golf. I'll expense a cab home."

Maltese sneers. "One day on the job, and she's too good for us."

I watch them out the door and then set to snooping. I skip the kitchen, which, surprisingly for a house full of teen boys, doesn't require Health Department intervention, and head upstairs, stepping over an amp at the top. There are more instruments lining the pa.s.sage. A ba.s.s guitar, a tangle of microphone cable. Deck the halls. It's not clear whether they're normally out here, or part of Mark and Amira's redecorating scheme.

The first room is hotel-anonymous. A monotone motif with a black and white print of Namaqualand daisies above the bed. Guest room. I move on to the next: two single beds pushed to opposite corners. Clothes are strewn around the room, cus.h.i.+ons have been thrown on the floor, the mattresses upturned, the camo-print beanbag leans on its side. There are posters of Megan Fox and Khanyi Mbau taped up, spreads from fas.h.i.+on magazines, all featuring menswear, and a business plan mapped out on a whiteboard underneath a sketch of an old-fas.h.i.+oned Nintendo video game controller and the words "War Room".

Fas.h.i.+on label launch Jozi fas.h.i.+on week, last week in August (realistic???) August (realistic???)

Logo meet with Adam the Robot

Put out brief on t-s.h.i.+rt designs on 10and5.

Gorata Mugudamani to sort publicity?