Random Violence by Jassy Mackenzie

drivers struggle with the concept of giving way to fellow motorists. For every two cars that reached the single lane, one had to go first and one had to go second. But there were unwritten rules. Minibus taxis always went first. She watched a driver dispute this decision. He tried to pull ahead and cut a taxi off. The taxi driver leaned out of the window with a friendly grin and then waved a crowbar at him.
    The driver let the taxi in ahead of him.
    Jade laughed. It was a novelty to be back in a country where breaking the rules was practically a national hobby, where people who considered themselves honest citizens drove without licenses, dodged tax, and employed illegal immigrants. Where bribery was a way of life, whether it was to avoid a spot traffic fine or win a government contract.
    The average South African’s attitude to the law had given her father gray hairs, that was for sure.
    She checked her mirror again. Close behind her was an angry-looking man in a big new car. He was weaving from side to side as if hoping to find a way past the traffic cones and crash barriers that now lined the road.
    The taxi ahead of her stopped to let out a group of passen-gers, then pulled off again. They stood, flattening themselves against the yellow barriers, waiting for a chance to cross.
    Jade stopped when she reached the little knot of people. Three men in threadbare overalls and a woman carrying a baby. They stared at her for a moment as if they couldn’t believe a car was actually waiting for them. Then they hurried across the road.
    The woman with the baby was slower. As she was crossing, the man in the car behind her blasted his horn. A long, impa-tient blast that caused the woman to jump in fright and stumble sideways. Jade looked in her rearview mirror. The man was waving his hands around his ears, shouting out words she was glad she couldn’t hear. Then he lowered his hands and honked again.
    Jade got out of her car. The wind was blowing strongly, kicking up dust from the bare soil and sending it scudding along in hazy brown clouds. She could hear the groaning of machinery and the sound of drills, and closer, the thrum of idling engines in the queue behind her. She glanced at the waiting cars and noticed a black Mercedes with tinted windows in the line. Was it the same one she’d seen earlier? Luxury vehicles were so common in this part of Johannesburg, she didn’t know.
    She walked towards the angry man. The taxi passengers, now safely across the road, stopped to watch her.
    The man buzzed his window down. His face was red, his eyes concealed behind small round dark glasses.
    “Is something wrong?” she asked, innocently.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
    She looked him over. Luxury car, expensive suit. Gold watch around his wrist. And an air of supreme, aggressive confidence.
    “I was letting people cross the road.”
    “They could have waited.”
    “For what? Christmas?”
    “You were holding up traffic.”
    “The roadworks are holding up traffic. Look.” Jade pointed to the cones and crash barriers. “Construction. See?”
    Behind them, someone else honked.
    “For God’s sake, bitch,” the man shouted. His mouth was open so wide she could see the gold fillings in his molars. “Get back in your car and drive. Because if you don’t, I’m going to get out myself, and land you such a punch you’ll be flat on your back in the road. Woman or not, I don’t give a shit.”
    “All right, then.” Jade walked back and climbed into her car. Behind her, she heard the man revving his engine in triumph. She pushed in the clutch. Then she popped her car into reverse and hit the accelerator.
    Her car shot backwards. There was only room for it to travel a few feet before her rear bumper collided with the front bumper of the luxury car behind her. It was a small impact. She barely felt it. But for him, it was more serious. Because his airbag deployed.
    Looking in the rearview mirror, she saw his body