Night

by Casey Christie

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The Black Bastards were on patrol driving down Louis Botha Avenue in Highlands North. They were surrounded by dozens of civilian vehicles, mainly mini bus taxis. The mini bus taxi industry in South Africa is a multibillion Rand business and the taxis carry over 60% of South Africa’s commuters. Generally the passengers of these minibus taxis, known to most white South Africans as “Black Taxis”, cater for the poorer black citizens of the country. People who can afford to, mostly whites, drive their own private vehicles and would never consider riding in a minibus taxi. The most common type of minibus taxi is the 16-seater kombi bus, although designed for a maximum of 16 passengers it was a regular occurrence to see these kombis heavily overloaded with more than 20 people.

  The Black Bastards had once pulled an unroadworthy taxi off the road and unloaded the occupants- they counted 28 passengers in the vehicle that day including two infants. And instead of a proper gear lever to change gears there was a wrench in its place, the steering wheel had been replaced by a bicycle tyre frame and steel pole. Most taxis on the road in South Africa are almost certainly not roadworthy.

  The taxi drivers are ultra-aggressive and flagrantly disobey the law. They hoot incessantly trying to attract customers standing or walking at the side of the road and bully the smaller private vehicles on the road - often off it - and driving in a way that would lead to a jail sentence in most European countries. And due to an effectively unregulated market and the fierceness of competition for passengers and lucrative routes, taxi operators band together to form associations. These associations are more like mafia organisations and have been raging a bloody taxi war since the late 1980s, often hiring professional hit men to assassinate rival operators and often engaging in all out gang warfare, AK47 against AK47. They only occasionally behave themselves and observe the rules of the road when a police vehicle is near or within eyesight. The Beast was well known to many of the local taxi drivers in the area and the majority of them waved, or saluted Night and his crew as they drove by.

  “Sho, sho, sho, that’s amazing hey!” said Dlamini.

  “What is amazing Dlamini?” asked Stanislov.

  “That the taxi drivers are driving normally when we are near and some of them are even saluting or saying hello, sho, sho, sho, ay man it is cool being a cop hey? Even the baddest gangsters in SA respect us!”

  “Yeah right Dlamini. Absolutely. You’ll learn” said Stanislov.

  Sergeant Night picked up the radio. “Control November Whisky 50 Zero One.”

  “Go ahead November Whisky 50.”

  “Thank you Control. Driver, Constable Daniel Shaka, Force Number, Three, Two, Seven, Nine, Zero, Three, Zero, Dash, Seven. I repeat Three, Two, Seven, Nine, Zero, Three, Zero, Dash, Seven. Crew, Sergeant Michael Night, Force Number Two, One, Seven, Nine, Six, Three, Zero, Dash, Seven. I repeat Two, One, Seven, Nine, Six, Three, Zero, Dash, Seven. Second Crew, Constable Nickolai Stanislov, Force Number Zero, Eight, Seven, Nine, Six, Three, Zero, Dash, Seven. I repeat Zero, Eight, Seven, Nine, Six, Three, Zero, Dash, Seven. We also have Student Constable Steven Dlamini with us for field training. We are doing Norwood All Sectors, that’s sectors One, Two, Three and Four. We will be performing Crime Prevention duties, Alpha Complaints Only. So received Control?”

  “Ja, just give me the Driver’s Force Number again please?”

  “Roger that Control.” He repeated the numbers. “So received Control?”

  “All right thanks November Whisky 50. So received.”

  “Why do they always want the driver’s force number again, it’s like they don’t listen until they realise they have missed a number” said Shaka.

  The police radio surged into life once more as Night put the transmitter back in its cradle.

  “November Whisky 50 come in for Control.”

  “Shit, sounds like a nomination complaint. I sure hope it’s not that 55 Bravo” said Shaka.

  “November Whisky 50 come in for Control.”

  “Ah shit, well he knows we’re here now. I have to answer.” said Night “Ya, go ahead Control, send for November Whisky 50.”

  “Thank you November Whisky 50. I have a complaint for you. Can I go ahead?”

  “That depends Control. We are a reaction vehicle, Alpha Complaints only Control.” said Night.

  “Well I have an outstanding Bravo and I have had it on my screen for over an hour and I need someone to take care of it for me.”

  “It must be the 55.” said Stanislov.

  “Sorry Control, we don’t do Bravos. Can’t you give it to any of the other vehicles, there are four other November Whisky vehicles on duty today Control.”

  “Yes and they are all booked on duty with me but I haven’t heard from any of them since this Bravo came through and I asked for a vehicle to attend to it.”

  “What the shit is a 55 Bravo!?” asked Dlamini.

  “Mike don’t make us go there, it will screw up the boy’s first shift, we will be there all day if it’s positive” said Shaka.

  “November Whisky 50 did you copy my last?”

  “Yeah I know Zulu, I don’t want to attend to a damn 55 either but it looks like we are going to have to” said Night.

  “At least we will be able to give the boy his first test. We can see how he reacts, you know” said Stanislov.

  “November Whisky 50 come in for Control.”

  “Shame, poor Control guys, let’s help him out man, it’s boring just driving around anyway.” said Dlamini.

  “Remember you said that!” said Night who raised the transmitter to his mouth once more “Okay Control, send the complaint , we will help you out, this time.”

  “Thank you November Whisky 50. It’s a 55 Bravo in Melrose North at the Star Hotel on Corlett Drive. The manager has called it in, he said that they heard a gunshot late last night come from a room where the guest has failed to check out of this morning, the door has been jammed shut so they can’t get in and apparently the area outside the room is beginning to smell bad.”

  “Then why didn’t he call it in last night Control?”

  “He said he did Sergeant but no vehicles responded. I can see the complaint on the log sheet from last night. One of your November Whisky vehicles gave us a Zero Eight (Report) on it as being negative.”

  “Roger that Control. I know the hotel. We are on our way. Give us ten mikes.”

  “Roger that November Whisky 50. Please give me a Sitrep when you arrive.”

  “Roger that Control, will do.”

  “Is somebody going to tell me what a bloody 55 Bravo is or am I going to have to get my stupid code book out?!” demanded Dlamini.

  “You’ve had a code book on you this entire time Steven?” asked Stanislov.

  “Yeah of course, what, do you think that I’m stupid or something. They gave it to us at college. My one stays with me in my pocket all the time” said Dlamini boastfully.

  “Well it may help to take it out of your pocket and read it every now and then wouldn’t it Dlamini, then you would know what the complaint is that we are attending to now.”

  “Yeah but then I might lose it.”

  “Dlamini, my man, let me see it little brother” asked Shaka.

  “Little brother, why? Haha, you don’t know where we are going either big man?”

  “I know where we are going don’t I as I’m the one driving. Now be a good Shona boy and let me have a look at your code book.”

  “Um, okay, here but I want it back.” Student Constable Dlamini took his brand new code book, which included contact telephone numbers for all the vital departments in the SAPF, out of his pocket and gave it to Shaka in the driver’s seat. “Now is someone going to tell me what a 55 bravo is?”

  “Dlamini, boy, are you stupid? Did you seriously just take the code book out of your pocket and give it to Zulu without checking what a 55 is?” asked a bewildered Stanislov.

  “Ja, well because I gave him the book I was sure one of you guys would tell me what it is. Reading
is boring anyway.”

  Constable Shaka took the code book, gave it a sweet kiss and placed it in the front pocket of his combat webbing.

  “Hey what are you doing tree? That’s my code book.”

  Shaka laughed.

  “Dlamini, what did I tell you about the cops and the first rule of ensuring you have the correct equipment and kit, which includes paperwork, forms and code books?” asked Night.

  “Um let me remember, to beg, borrow and steal.”

  “Exactly. And now you have just lost your code book through that rule to another officer. Remember to not take anything for granted in the South African Police Force. Everything is valuable because everything is in short supply or badly managed. Code books are precious items” said Night.

  “You don’t read anyway boy so you won’t miss it” said Shaka still chuckling.

  “Yeah but that’s not fair man. I didn’t think you would take it from me, we are supposed to be the police after all guys. Bloody fuck!” said Dlamini.

  “Okay my little Shona policeman. I’ll make you a deal. I keep your code book and in return I will tell you what the codes are when they come over the air? That way we both win” said Shaka.

  “Ja, that’s right we’ll make a deal. Okay cool man, that’s cool. I agree. You may keep my code book as part of the deal. You can be like my secretary and tell me what’s in my diary, I can live with that.”

  Shaka kept quiet.

  “Well Shaka?”

  “Well what?”

  “Tell me what a 55 is man?”

  “Oh, I’ll tell you when we arrive at the complaint, I have to look it up in my new code book.”

  Night and Stanislov laughed. Shaka caught Dlamini’s eye in the rear view mirror and grinned his great bear grin. Dlamini couldn’t help it either, as much as he wanted to be angry, he laughed as well.

  A few minutes later and the crew of November Whisky 50 arrived at the 55 Bravo complaint. Shaka pulled into the hotel’s small parking lot and before he could park the police vehicle in one of the bays a small Asian man ran up to Shaka’s driver’s window. He was not happy.

  “I called you stupid idiotic African police officers last night and you only arrive now! 12 hours it has taken you to respond to my call for assistance. Don’t you stupid bastards get it! I have a business to run and that business is selling out hotel rooms and I can’t do that now can I with a dead body in the room, and it’s stinking the whole place up! I want compensation from you stupid bastards.” said the owner of the hotel.

  “Ay my man. Relax” said Shaka. “Calm down and take a deep breath. We may be bastards but we aren’t stupid and we haven’t taken ten hours to respond. In fact it’s taken us about ten minutes.”

  “Fuck you if I say it’s taken you ten hours then it’s taken you ten hours, don’t you dare call me a liar you stupid bloody kaffir. What are you anyway? You are a Constable – I don’t deal with Constables, I will deal with your colleague, the white man next to you, what are you, a Sergeant. I will speak to the white man then” said the hotel owner.

  Sergeant Night and Constable Shaka looked at each other. An angry Student Constable Dlamini put his hand on his rear car door handle to get out and confront the racist miniature man.

  “Stay there boy!” boomed Shaka. “I will deal with this little shit!”

  Sergeant Night gave Constable Shaka a slight nod of approval.

  “This should be good.” said Stanislov who had one hand on Dlamini holding him in his seat.

  The Zulu warrior exited the driver’s side of the Beast, the engine still running. One gigantic foot after the other hit the pavement floor. He heaved his massive six foot six frame out of the vehicle and stood tall squarely in front of the small hotel owner, whose eyes grew as big as golf balls while the towering Black Bastard loomed before him.

  “Manje lalela mina encane, liphuzi, indoda.” Zulu for “Now listen to me little, yellow, man.”

  Constable Daniel Shaka grabbed the fella by both his arms and lifted the little man off the ground until he was at eye level with the powerful Constable.

  “Ek sal jou bliksem moer donner.” Afrikaans for “I will beat you black and blue.”

  While holding the hotel owner at head height Shaka was slowly applying more and more pressure, slowly squeezing the breath and bullshit from the man.

  “This is Africa my friend and you will not speak to a police officer like that. Do you understand me little boy?”

  The hotel owner was starting to turn blue in the face and didn’t have enough air in his lungs to verbalise a reply. He nodded dramatically in agreement with the black police officer.

  “Now normally I would discipline you more harshly for speaking to me in that way but as little as you are I fear I might kill you, accidentally. So I am going to hold you a while longer so you can think about who the kaffir is.”

  Sergeant Night had exited the Beast and made his way around the front of the vehicle and now stood next to Shaka.

  “Now that you have been properly introduced and you have found your respect perhaps we can help you” Night said to the hotel owner.

  Shaka still held the man, squeezing tighter and tighter. The hotelier’s eyeballs started to bulge in their sockets.

  “Constable Shaka?” said Night.

  Shaka’s eyes had glossed over, tears started to roll down his cheek.

  “Zulu, my friend, let him down. He will be polite from now on.”

  Night put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, he shook him gently. It worked, Shaka broke out of his trance and loosened his grip and put the business owner on the ground. He looked at Night.

  “I miss him Mike, I miss Henry, I should have protected him, he shouldn’t be dead” said Shaka, his eyes now full of tears.

  A policeman whose life is full of anger, violence and sadness soon finds that sometimes emotions are hard to contain and the difference between rage and grief isn’t very much at all.

  Night responded: “I know you miss him my brother, so do I. He was a good man and he died an honourable death in a way that we would all appreciate. You will be with him again, one day. For now though we must be strong.”

  Night instructed Constable Stanislov to drive the Beast and take Shaka to get some KFC. Night knew that food always cheered up his friend. Student Constable Dlamini stayed behind with Night to deal with the 55 Bravo. The hotel owner had since run inside the Star Hotel and was behind the reception desk on the phone dialling the police.

  “Now what are you doing?” demanded Night.

  “I’m going to have that… that..” He wanted to say what he wanted to say but his eyes got hold of Dlamini’s and if he thought the other black Constable hurt him what was this black Constable going to do to him if he said that word again.

  “I’ll have him arrested for assault, I am calling the police. They will have you all arrested.”

  Night took the phone from the man’s ear and calmly placed it down on its cradle.

  “Now you will listen to me. You need to re-evaluate your situation. You just called a South African Police Officer a kaffir, perhaps the most insulting and derogatory word known to man. Just saying the word can get you killed, let alone directing it at a six foot six armed black man. It even offends me that I had to say the word. Do you not know the history of this country, the connotations of making such an utterance? I could arrest you right now for Crimen Injuria. And I can guarantee a conviction on the word of four police officers. And what do you think will happen to you in the cells when your views on the world and your fellow man become known to your cell mates who will be in the majority black? So forget about calling anyone. I am here now as is my colleague next to me, Student Constable Dlamini, and we are the police who have come at your request to help you solve your problem.”

  The man looked confused, unsure of what to do next.

  “I understand that you have a business to run and you have just taken over ownership of this establishment. Is that correct?�
��

  “Yes, yes but how did you know that I am the new owner?”

  “Because this hotel is very well known to the South African Police Force and more particularly to the Norwood Police Station. It is a problem. Mostly frequented by steroid addicted bouncers, criminals, prostitutes and dirty cops. And when you took over the place you probably didn’t know that and that’s why I am cutting you some slack. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, yes Sergeant you are correct. This place is a nightmare, I have been shot at twice in two weeks and I have been punched and kicked. But now I am stuck with this hell hole and there are dead bodies and whores and drugs. I am being extorted by these bouncers and the police here, the detectives protect them and some even work for them. And now I have people committing suicide in the rooms, that’s why I am so angry, I am not a racist it’s just this place, it’s, it’s..”

  “Yeah it’s affecting you. I can believe it. Since I have worked in this area the hotel has changed ownership a dozen times and three of the owners have gone missing. That’s why I didn’t immediately arrest you outside for saying what you said. Now let’s deal with the reason we are here. First tell me your name. My name is Sergeant Michael Night and my colleague here is Student Constable Steven Dlamini.”

  “Thank you, thank you Sergeant and Constable, my name is Ri Ren but everyone here just calls me Andy.”

  “Andy? from Ri Ren to Andy? Okay, okay whatever, let’s just get on with it. SO Andy I believe you called us because you think one of your guests committed suicide. Is that correct?”

  “So that’s what a 55 is!” said Dlamini. “No wonder nobody wanted to come here.”

  “Yes, on the second floor.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I heard a gunshot last night, that’s when I called the police but nobody came. So I forgot about it but this morning when my cleaners wanted to go in the room they couldn’t get in and it smells really bad outside the room so I thought that maybe the man killed himself.”

  “So you heard just the one shot. Perhaps you would know what kind of a weapon it was? Since you own this place, and seeing that you have been shot at twice in the last week?”

  “It wasn’t a pistol or an AK. I know that much. It was louder like a boom instead of a crack if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah I do actually. Sounds like a shotgun. Not the easiest weapon to commit suicide with but very effective. Okay what room was the man staying in and what details do you have about him?”

  Andy paged through the guest register and found the man’s check in details. All they had was a first name.

  “His name is Paul, room 201, see that’s also the problem, room 201 is next to the lift and it smells so bad I that can’t let out any of the rooms on that floor. That’s why I was so angry that you guys didn’t respond when I called last night.”

  “So you are angry about loss of revenue and not the fact that potentially a man has taken his own life in your hotel. And why do you only have the man’s first name. Under South African law you should have more details about your guests shouldn’t you? Actually don’t answer that we can deal with that later. For now let’s go to the room and have a look.”

  Night and Dlamini followed Andy to the elevator.

  “Control, November Whisky 50.”

  “Send for Control November Whisky 50.”

  “Ja Control we have broken on scene here at the 55 Bravo and have spoken to the hotel owner, a mister Ri Ren AKA Andy – Don’t ask. We are en route to the room where the suspected 55 Bravo took place. For the time being though could you please get the mortuary van on standby for me Control, it sounds positive.”

  “You know I cannot contact the van until a body is confirmed Sergeant but I will call up the rota details for who is on duty while we wait to confirm.”

  “Roger that Control. Just give us a few minutes, we may have to break the door down.”

  “So received.”

  Andy stood in front of hotel room 201 and placed the key inside but the door was jammed shut. There was also an appallingly foul odour that hung in the air like an evil spirit.

  “Control, November Whisky 50.”

  “Send 50.”

  “It’s a positive Control, we have a corpse. Please call the mortuary van to attend.”

  “Roger that November Whisky 50.”

  “I will give you a full Zero Eight when we are finished Control.”

  “How do you know it’s a dead body Sergeant?” asked Andy.

  “Because a rotten corpse is the second most recognisable and pungent smell in the world.”

  “What’s the first Sarge?” asked Dlamini.

  “Burnt human flesh.”

  Sergeant Night explained to Andy that trying to open the door via the key was probably a waste of time. He enlightened the hotel owner to the fact that most hotel suicides obstructed the room door shut if they could. A task made considerably easier in older hotels that still used physical keys as opposed to modern electronic cards – the key tips were typically broken off within the lock.

  “I suggest you upgrade to the new automated identification card system as soon as you can Andy. It will save you money in the long run and will greatly improve the security of your establishment. Now I need your permission to knock down this door?”

  Without waiting for a reply Sergeant Night skilfully kicked open the door on the first attempt.

  “Wow Sarge, one time! But won’t you let me do it on the next chance? I’ve always wanted to kick down a door. Like in the movies!”