Breeders by Arno Joubert Page A

She needed this,” he said.
    Bruce liked Neil; he was a good kid. He had a good sense of humor and he loved to tease.  
    Bruce smiled. “The only reason I brought you along was to increase my chances with the ladies.”
    Neil flexed his pecs. “Yes, I am quite a chick magnet.”
    Bruce laughed and splashed water in Neil’s face. “No man, that’s not what I meant. Having someone as ugly as you with me makes me look a lot more attractive.”
    Neil guffawed. “At least I’m not old.”
    “At least I’m not ugly.”
    “At least I can dress nicely. Tomorrow you’ll still be old.”
    Bruce grabbed Neil around the neck then dunked him, but Neil pulled him down and swam with him to the deeper end of the pool then lifted Bruce up and tossed him into the air. The water splashed and waves sloshed over the edge of the pool.
    Bruce waded to Neil, shaking the water from his hair, preparing himself for a grappling contest. “Hey, Chuck Norris, you’re not supposed to do that to an older man.”
    “Call me ugly, but please don’t call me Chuck Norris,” Neil laughed then jumped toward Bruce.
    “Hey, you two!” a shrill voice shouted from the side of the pool.
    The black guy that Moolman had been talking to now stood at the edge of the pool, waving an angry finger at them. “You splashed me.” He was short and his jacket was too big for him.
    Bruce waved an apology then turned to face Neil, but the guy didn’t go away.  
    “Get out right now!” he shouted, stomping his feet. Moolman stood next to the guy, his hands in his pockets, swaying slightly from side to side. He had an amused expression on his face.
    “Hey man, no need to raise the roof, I said I’m sorry,” Bruce said.
    “Do you know who I am?” the pip-squeak shouted.
    Bruce glanced at Neil. “Chucky Norris?” Neil asked with a giggle.
    They both burst out laughing.
    Two big guys flanked the pip-squeak. “Get out and apologize to Minister Dlamini,” the one guy said in a booming voice. He opened the side of his jacket to reveal a holstered weapon.
    Bruce waded to the side of the pool and climbed out, Neil following him. The guards stood back as the water splashed on the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name,” Neil said, holding out a dripping hand.
    The guy scrunched his nose, like Neil had a nasty smell about him. “I am Minister Patrice Dlamini, minister in the presidency and our president’s right-hand man,” he said in an officious tone.
    “Well, pleased to make your acquaintance,” Bruce said. “By the way, we knew you weren’t Chuck Norris,” he said, and they burst out laughing again.
    “Are you deaf?” he asked them. “Did you hear who I am?”
    Had this guy’s voice even broken? He sounded like a castrato on estrogen.
    “Pip-squeak Dlamini,” Neil said, chuckling.
    Bruce tried to hold it in, but then he burst out laughing. He felt the buzz in his head. Dammit, the wine wasn’t helping at all.
    He saw Alexa stand up and saunter over. Nothing like a bit of female charm to take the edge off some over-boiling testosterone levels. Or estrogen, Bruce wasn’t awfully sure.
    “Now, now, boys, calm down and play nicely,” she said as she stood next to Bruce.
    “Who’s your boy?” Dlamini said.
    Alexa held up her hands defensively. “That’s not what I meant, I was only saying—”
    He looked back toward his entourage then continued in a condescending tone. “Obviously these beach bums do not know who I am,” he told Moolman.  
    One of the guards sniggered.
    Moolman shrugged then swayed some more, his eyelids droopy. He said something unintelligible.
    Dlamini stood in front of Bruce, looking up, his hands on his hips. “Now what are we going to do to resolve this matter?” he asked with a derisive smile.
    Bruce shrugged. “I don’t know, you tell me, Chucky.”
    Alexa yanked his arm and Neil bellowed. “Chucky?”
    The guy stepped back and swung a right at Bruce’s face. He didn’t reach. He was hysterical.