THE locksmith is a person in the neighbourhood. We shall call him Travis, although that is not his real name. On sunny days he sits at a little table on the pavement outside his shop and drinks coffee from the cafe next door. Business is good but not demanding, he says, although he is having a few little difficulties with his absentee partner.
Most houses in the suburbs of northern Johannesburg have remote controlled garage doors and plenty of locks to keep the Third World out. Locksmiths therefore have a more central role in South African retail society than they would in Ireland, and if you are at all absent minded you can get to know your locksmith quite well. Travis I might almost call a friend.
A softly spoken man, Travis filters his friendliness through a heavy layer of shyness. It was quite a surprise, then, when we learned several months ago that he was going to court after shooting a youth outside his house.
The details came to us from Travis himself, who was a witness and not a defendant in the trial. One night he had heard a noise outside his house and, looking out, saw a white youth attempting to steal his classic BMW convertible. Pulling his pistol he shouted at the youth to stop and, when the robber began to run, he opened fire, hitting him twice.
The kid, he confided, was lucky. He was not to know that Travis had devised a special load for his legally held automatic. The first round in the magazine was loaded with birdshot pellets, to hurt and scare. The second bullet was steel jacketed, lethal in the right place but supposedly humane, the kind specified in the Geneva Convention for use in warfare. The rest of the magazine was loaded with lead nosed dum dum bullets, designed to explode on impact, very likely to kill and guaranteed to maim.
If round number two had not stopped the fleeing youth, he would have had to go to round number three. Instead of giving evidence in a car theft trial, he would have been attending an inquest.
Apart from his work as a locksmith, Travis also likes to sculpt. Recently he put on an exhibition of figurative bronzes, depicting people and birds, and sold several pieces. Despite several personal invitations I never made it, so when Christmas came round conscience placed Travis high on the list of those invited for drinks.
He arrived late and slightly out of breath. A gang of thieves had stolen a car from outside the local seafood restaurant, he explained, just around the corner from his shop. He himself had chased them on foot but they still got away. Probably not unscathed though, he added thoughtfully. He had put five rounds through the car from close range.
It seemed Travis was no longer content with his locksmith's trade and had become an unpaid volunteer on the more dynamic side of Johannesburg's security industry. The next time I saw him sitting outside his shop I noticed how his eyes swivelled constantly behind his dark glasses, sweeping the street for infractions. The black security guards hired by the local businesses regarded him as their unofficial commander, it emerged. Nothing happened on the street that he didn't know about.
A few weeks later, Travis's commando cornered a young black man who was attempting to steal a BMW. The car was invisible from Travis's observation post, but in full view of the security guard at the seafood restaurant. He sounded the alarm, and armed men converged from the local cafe's and shops. Travis was in the lead.
Within seconds, the thief was surrounded by armed men, who [opened a withering fire on him from close range. Miraculously he was unscathed, but the BMW was modified in a way that its manufacturers would never have approved. Some bystanders claimed that shots were still being fired into the car even after the unarmed thief jumped clear and surrendered. The owner, who appeared while the firing was still going on, was also of this opinion. An unseemly shouting match broke out.
To make matters worse, the car's owner was also black and for a few moments there was confusion as to who was the thief and who the owner.
Eventually, things were sorted out and the thief was dragged off, protesting his innocence and begging for the police to be called.
He later turned out to be a cook from a popular local restaurant, who had been making the most of his lunch break.
Travis has since turned half his locksmith's shop over to his sculpture collection, but he maintains his coffee fuelled vigil outside. It has been some time now since I lost a key.