PAGE 1 :: PAGE
2 :: PAGE 3 ::
PAGE 4 :: PAGE
No, in the 21st century you don’t get tragedy.
Only sordid stories of disgraceful behaviour leading to
No, no tragedy, because tragedy is supposed to elicit
pity, not disgust. This is the disgusting story of Matt
Dreyer’s short life and it begins with the murder
of his father.
Houghton, leafy suburb of Jo’burg. On Google Earth
the paved driveways leading to mansion roofs set in rectangles
of green are evident everywhere. Each garden is big enough
to be a public park, and there are blue pools and perimeter
walls and gates and guardhouses.
It was March 2007, and the evening was warm and stuffy.
It felt like there was a good chance of a late summer
“That was Claude,” said Bruce Dreyer, returning
to the room. He was referring to his brother, to whom
he’d been speaking on the phone. “He’s
got to get back to Cape Town in a hurry. Damn it!”
He drained his whisky. “Look at the bloody time.
I’m going to have to go over and get him to sign
some papers before he leaves. I don’t suppose you
want to come for the ride?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Dreyer went to the study to fetch his briefcase and car
keys. He was a slightly built man of 52. Although he was
balding, his hair still had no grey in it. He had always
kept himself fit and was determined not to let himself
go to seed like so many of his slobbish peers. His brown
eyes were humourless, and from the hard lines of his mouth
and the irritable edge to his voice it was clear he was
used to getting his own way in life.
Barbara was 34. She had been living with him for a year
and a half. Most people called her ‘Barbs’
or ‘Barbie’, and she did indeed have the very
long legs of a Barbie doll. She also had big tits, blue
eyes and long blond hair. Trudy, Bruce’s estranged
wife, referred to her as ‘Bimbo’. “How’s
Bimbo?” she’d ask. Or, “Bimbo still
“Actually,” she said, swinging her long legs
from the couch and feeling about for her shoes, “I
will come with you. It’s too early for bed, and
I don’t feel like watching the box on my own. I’ll
just go to the loo while you get the car out.”
The car was only a few months old. It was the latest in
a long line of grand saloons he had acquired and disposed
of over the years. He wasn’t as obsessed with cars
as his ...NEXT-->