Read Online Jaz & Miguel by R. D. Raven - Free Book Online

lovers and
the girl's father). Bullets from the lovers' bodies matched the father's gun,
but the bullets in his own body had been fired from an unknown gun. A
mysterious third person.
    Miguel had learned one thing about the foreign press in all his
years of watching the Western World focus its kaleidoscope eyes on South
Africa. News about racism in South Africa always sold because it was
believable. It was like news about Nazis in Germany, or gangstas in
South Central. Immediately, people assume that every person living in Germany is
a Nazi, or that every African-American from the ghetto is a criminal.
    Why even bother naming sources? Just putting the words "racist"
and "South Africa" was usually enough to sell papers. Ah, and there
was another word: "alleged"—that's a staple in the industry, he'd
noticed. By using the word "alleged" they could just about say
anything they fucking wanted to.
    It was, after all, only allegedly so,
sir.
    When Miguel had discovered that Sandile was seeing an Afrikaner girl
from the very suburb in which those murders had occurred, he almost killed the
guy himself! He didn't give a rat's ass (or arse ) who Sandile
dated—white, black or even a friggin Martian. But, man, for a chick ? To put yourself in danger for a woman?!
    That was unheard of in Miguel's mind.
    There are plenty of fish in the sea ,
Miguel had told him. Heck, Sandile was a good looking man (or so Miguel had
understood from the way Thandie always went on about him), and there were
plenty of white chicks (if that's really what Sandile wanted) around in
Rosebank or Bedfordview or even flipping Germiston (not the most liberal place,
but better than Elize's neighborhood). But to pick a babe whose family lived in
damn-near the most racist suburb in all of South Africa?!
    Fuck! Why not just put up a flag saying "I
hate white people" in front of the AWB headquarters? It followed about the
same level of intelligence.
    The AWB. He had to remind himself constantly that, even though a
large concentration of them lived where Elize lived (although, he had also to
admit, that that was only "allegedly" so and something he had read),
perhaps he too had fallen for all the hype, all the bad news. Was it really the
most racist neighborhood? Were the two of them really in danger after all?
    A few prejudiced words did not make people murderers. As
inappropriate as their conversations had been, what would Elize's parents'
reaction be if they found out that their daughter truly loved someone of
the opposite race?
    It was, however, a risk that none of them were even willing to
consider. Miguel most of all.
    But, as the months had rolled by, something else had also become clearer
to Miguel: Sandile was smitten. That was the long and short of it. And so was
Elize. Since that day they'd met in Pretoria, Sandile had become a friggin
Romeo, dreaming and being all poetic and drifting off into the lala-land of wistful
love while he and Miguel were supposed to be shooting hoops. It warmed Miguel's
heart actually. Because the man deserved it at the end of the day, didn't he?
Deserved to be in love? He'd been through enough.
    Both of them had.
    He knew this is why Sandile was trying to set him up. He'd found
something, and wanted Miguel to find the same. But the idea was so foreign to
Miguel. Since when could a woman ever understand what he had been through?
Women were sappy, melodramatic and maudlin creatures, crying at the break of a
nail or the drop of a baby-shower—he didn't need that. He didn't need any tears
around him.
    Because tears around him only brought tears to his own eyes.
    And he'd stopped crying a long time ago.
    Tears in his own eyes meant he was remembering.
    And he didn't want to remember.
     
    So there had been Sandile's constant setups, the endless efforts to
have Miguel meet up with some bimbo that couldn't stop fluttering her eyes or
showing off her friggin cleavage.
    Holy mother of—
    At least this one—this Jaz girl—seemed