The Undercover
The Sandton Job
Fear is a powerful motivator. We headed to a supermarket in Sandton. The moment we stepped inside, Steve fired three warning shots into the ceiling. "Down! Everybody down!"
I stood by the door with Steve, my hands shaking as I gripped the cold steel of the gun. The others moved like shadows. Lesego cornered the cashier. "You only cash up once a week, and you haven't done it yet," he hissed, throwing two bags onto the counter. "Fill them. Now. Or I’ll blow your head off."
The lady was trembling so hard she could barely move. When the bags were only half full, she cried out that everyone was using cards and "swiping" instead of using cash. The crew was furious. We began stripping the customers of everything—phones, wallets, jewelry.
In the chaos, a guard managed to hit a panic button. The alarm's wail pierced the air. Without hesitation, Steve turned and shot the man twice in the chest. We scrambled to the cars, peeling away in different directions before abandoning them behind a row of factories. A Toyota Quantum taxi was waiting for us. We climbed in, looking like ordinary commuters, and drove right past the supermarket we had just robbed. The police were everywhere, but they were looking for a blue Ford and a white Toyota. We sailed through the roadblocks unnoticed.
The Double Life
When they dropped me at my gate, my heart stopped. My parents were standing there, talking to the police. I thought it was over. I walked up with a fake smile, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I eavesdropped as I got closer. They weren't there for me. They were giving statements about a fight that had happened an hour earlier—the boy next door, my friend, had been killed. I felt a sick sense of relief. I went inside, the weight of the day finally hitting me.
To keep the lie going, I went to the "workshop" every day so my parents would believe I was working. We’d even put on work overalls and take photos at a nearby car wash for the neighbors to see. But on Wednesday, Steve called. "There’s a job tomorrow. Everyone is in."
I tried to make an excuse, but Steve just handed me a gun. I was officially part of the crew.
The Highway Men
The next job was a truck hijacking in Sandton. We arrived at 09:00, ahead of a delivery truck scheduled for 09:30. We blocked the road with a "broken down" truck and set out caution triangles.
When the delivery truck stopped, we didn't play by the rules. My crew opened fire on the cab, killing the driver and passenger instantly. We hauled them out, moved the cargo to our own trucks, and vanished.
It became a routine. Two jobs a week, five thousand Rand per job. I started to love the power. "With a gun in your face, you'll give me whatever I want," I realized.
We became bolder. When the police started escorting the trucks, we simply targeted the police first. We’d ambush them, take their weapons, and once, we even stripped them of their uniforms and left them naked in their patrol cars. We used "Freddie’s Workshop" to strip out the GPS trackers and repainted the trucks under the cover of night.
I was living the high life—nightclubs, taverns, expensive clothes. I had everything a man could want, but I was empty. I thought about a family, but in my world, a family was just a target—a weakness that could bring a man down. I was a ghost in the machine, earning blood money and waiting for the day the law, or a bullet, finally caught up with me.
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