by Ian Patrick
Dirk omitted Tony and Vic altogether from his sobbed narrative. He knew that whatever fate lay in store for him with the cops, it would be better than crossing Tony or Vic. He would take his chances with the cops on illegal carrying.
Ryder pulled his two colleagues outside for a quick exchange.
‘Good stuff, Navi. Nyawula’s going to be pleased with this. It’s the breakthrough he’s been wanting.’
‘Time for that promotion, Sergeant Pillay?’ chuckled Ed.
‘Pity it’s not up to you, Ed,’ she replied.
‘Navi, can you get this creep back to the unit and have him processed? Along with his impressive titanium gold Deagle. Then try and get what else you can on him. I’ve got a 2.00 pm with KoeksnDips to check their stuff on ballistics and the info on Thabethe before they see the Captain. Ed, can you spend a bit of time and scour this place for anything you can find? Maybe he’s hidden a phone number or some other useful stuff somewhere in the place. Seems to me like this guy’s got handlers. He doesn’t have the suss to do this stuff on his own.
‘Sure thing, Jeremy. I’ll take the place apart and see what I can get. Maybe start in his fridge.’
‘Why am I not surprised? I’ll get back here at about four-thirty if you want to wait for me.’
Pillay and Ryder punched fists with Trewhella as they left, each in their own vehicles, Pillay having firstly locked Dirk in the back seat of hers.
As they pulled away, neither of them saw the sole figure behind the wheel of the black Mercedes-Benz 2.1 Sport parked in the shade twenty metres up the road, watching.
As the two cars disappeared from view, Tony stepped out and shut the door of the Mercedes gently behind him before crossing the road.
Trewhella did not start in the fridge. For once. He had only said it in jest. He removed his jacket, holster and weapon, and placed them on the counter. Then he set about checking each room again. This time the floors and walls would also come under scrutiny for hollow spaces. There was something in this place that someone was trying to hide, that’s for sure, he thought. He checked the kitchen thoroughly, tapping on walls and the bases of cupboards, checking behind pictures hanging on the walls, and standing on one of the bar-stools at one point to get a closer look at a stained area on the ceiling.
‘Come to daddy. Come out wherever you are,’ he muttered to himself, and got more and more absorbed in what he was doing. He moved to the living-room area and up-ended an armchair, then felt underneath and peered through the gap in the imitation-leather that had started to peel away in one corner. He examined it closely then concluded there was nothing to warrant further study. He moved to the sofa and did much the same. Then he checked the television set. He whistled quietly as he worked, occasionally murmuring to himself.
After fifteen minutes he moved through to the bedroom. He felt a draft run through the apartment, and was about to step back out to check for an open window somewhere, when something caught his eye.
‘Hullo. Interesting. Let’s have a look at you then.’
He had noticed the flapped-over corner of the carpet in the corner of the room, next to the wardrobe, and walked over to it, chatting to himself.
‘Careless, I would say. Wouldn’t you? Me? Yes, you. Let’s have a look at you, then. Who, me? Yes, you. I’ll tell on you, I will. Will you, now?’
He squatted down and flipped back the carpet.
‘Hullo! ‘Ullo, ‘ullo, ‘ullo then, me ‘earties! What do we ‘ave ‘ere, then?’
He pressed down on a loose board, about eighteen inches long, and the opposite end tilted up. He sat down, cross-legged, and had a closer look. He pressed down again and the far end of the board tilted up a fraction further. He got a finger-nail into the end of the board and lifted.
Fitting into a gap only slightly wider than itself was a long narrow red box. Trewhella expelled breath not so much in a whistle as in a stream of sibilant air that ended up approximating the sound of a whistle.
‘Oh, yeah! Jeremy’s going to love this. What a nice little prezzy to find.’
He pulled the box out of its cavity, and opened it, still cross-legged on the ground.
‘What do we have here, then?’
‘Nothing that belongs to you, Detective.’
Trewhella spun around, starting to get onto his knees, knowing that his weapon was in the next room but instinctively knowing that if he could get to his feet he might have a chance…
There was no chance. None at all. Tony had the Desert Eagle trained on him. Another titanium gold. Just like the one Pillay had taken from fatso. Trewhella knew, as he saw the gun, that he had no chance. He froze, on his knees, staring at the adversary. Tony stepped back. Two paces. And stared straight back at Trewhella, his finger on the trigger.
15.00.
Dippenaar and Koekemoer stood, leaning against a wall each. Ryder sat in one of the chairs, turned around, bronco-style, in the middle of the room, the file held up in his right hand.
‘This is brilliant, Dipps. This puts all three weapons in the frame, and takes all these perps back to one common source. One Skhura Thabethe. Captain’s gonna be thrilled.’
‘You think, Jeremy? I don’t know. I think he’s gonna go – if you’ll forgive the pun – ballistic.’
‘I agree with Dipps,’ said Koekemoer, waving the other, much thicker, file, ‘and when he looks at Thabethe’s disciplinary file, too, he’ll just explode. The stuff in here is frightening, mense. Thabethe should have been nailed within a month of starting as a cop, but he was a slippery bastard, I tell you. He lasted too long before he was caught. The stuff in here will freak out the Captain. This slimy oke was probably ripping us off long before his first disciplinary. The stuff he was pulling from the moment he was appointed is just amazing. How do guys like this get away with it?’
Ryder stood, taking the proffered file from Koekemoer and passing the other back to Dippenaar. He opened the disciplinary file on the desk, and started paging through it. He shook his head in disbelief as he saw report after report verifying Koekemoer’s comments.
‘As you say, Koeks. What a slimeball. No wonder the Captain wanted him so badly.’
‘You see where they even wonder whether he had a hand in the loss of those ammo boxes? They couldn’t prove anything. No-one would talk, by the looks of it, so nothing happened there, but yissus Jeremy it looks bad, hey?’
‘It looks as if no-one would ever talk against the guy, Koeks. Maybe he scared the shit out of them, or something.’
Sergeant Cronje opened the door and entered from the inner room.
‘OK, guys. The Captain says he’s ready. You can come through.’
Ryder felt that the Captain was probably going to throw a frothy and then turn his energy to nailing this guy. Maybe things were finally starting to pull together. Dippenaar was right. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant reaction from Nyawula. But he, too, would start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Thabethe’s days were numbered.
16.35.
Thabethe sat in the back in a corner of the taxi. The 12-seater carried only three other passengers, all up near the front. He flicked through the two bundles of cash. The Afrikaner boy’s money coupled with the money from the English guy on the beach on Sunday night. It was more money than he had held in his grasp for nearly two years. He felt alive again. Anything was possible. But he’d be careful. He’d keep his wits about him. He would gamble a bit, just to get the feel of the place. More important was to watch and learn. What had the young Afrikaner said? I’m working with these guys...I meet them at Suncoast Casino...They pulling big money. Not from the casinos ... other stuff involving gambling ...You remember Dirk? You met him once, right here. The fat guy. My friend…
Thabethe pulled out the photograph. He remembered. The fat guy with the Afrikaner boy. At Nomivi’s, that time. The features came back into focus. Yes, he would know him if they met again. He needed to find out more about these guys pulling big money. He’d watch out for the fat friend. Ma
ke some enquiries. Find him. Find out more about the big money.
The taxi pulled in at Suncoast Casino and Thabethe got out.
Within twenty minutes he was wondering why he had never thought of this previously. He had watched, walked around, watched, and even bought a day card and experimented with the slot machines. On one occasion he even won something. He had been shocked when he hit the button and suddenly the crazy music blared up and he had gone from less than fifty up to eight hundred and thirty credits, whatever that meant. He didn’t fully understand the rules, except that he knew that something had happened in his favour. The old man next to him, with one tooth in his head, explained to him that he had just won eight hundred rands. He couldn’t understand the guy’s explanation of why this had happened, so he turned away from him and carried on hitting the button. He watched his eight hundred and thirty credits go to zero in less than five minutes. He gave up his seat and moved on.
He asked further questions of a few of the old women playing the machines, who seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Then he watched some more, and wandered around the place. He watched gloomy irritated people pressing the button time and time again and winning nothing. He watched old women stuffing cash into their bags, into their shirts, into their trousers, as others watched enviously. He followed one old man, a very big winner, out to the taxis and watched him get in. Easy pickings, he thought, as he watched the taxi drive away. Then he realised.
The guy he had shot on Sunday night, next to the bush at the beach. No more than a few hundred yards away from where he was now. He must have walked from here, from the casino. Drunk on his winnings at the machines or at the tables. The guy was far gone. Could hardly stand. The cash he had carried must have been his winnings from this place. Hundred-rand and two-hundred-rand notes, and that casino card. The idiot had stumbled out of the casino, or out of some bar somewhere, and had decided to celebrate with a woman on the beach. Fool.
Thabethe hadn’t put it together until this moment. This place was pissing money. Money for the owners, for the managers, and for a few lucky patrons. Patrons who got so excited about their winnings that they dropped their guard, and became the very best kind of mugging target.
He walked out of the main entrance and made his way toward Battery Beach Road, and from there down to the beach. He wasn’t going to go anywhere near the scene of Sunday night’s action. He could see it at a distance, and he could see that there were some people inspecting the place where the guy had died. Forensics. They were sifting through the sand. One was writing things on a pad. Another was typing things into a laptop. Another one was extending the police tape-barrier.
Thabethe retreated. If they hadn’t found the gun already they soon would. He cursed as he remembered his stupidity. He was now down to the last of the four weapons that he had stolen last year.
He went back toward the casino complex, thinking of the possibilities. He would have to come back in a day or two and scout the place again at night. Work out the best spot for a mugging. Avoid the beach. No sense in repeating that. The cops might watch the place for a while. Rather catch another victim somewhere else. Maybe even follow a couple of the winners, get into the same taxi, and wait to see where they stepped off. Follow them home, perhaps. Find the right spot. Relieve them of their winnings. Easy pickings.
But for now, back into the casino. Also ask some questions. Find this Dirk guy, and follow the big money. The muggings could provide what he needed. But the young Afrikaner talked big money, not little money. Find the fat friend and see what the big money is all about.
17.30.
Ryder had pulled in for petrol and to take a leak. He was agitated. Everything was running behind schedule. The Captain had behaved exactly as Dippenaar had predicted. Wanted Thabethe’s head, and wanted it now. Threw orders around the room and had everyone jumping. Expected everything to happen immediately.
Fiona was going to give him a hard time when he told her he’d be late again. On top of everything he’d told Ed that he would meet up with him, supposedly an hour ago.
One thing had been particularly useful, though. In the middle of Dippenaar’s discussion with Nyawula about the ballistics stuff, Ryder had had the sudden thought that it might be useful to check the ballistics on that other shooting in the bush last year, also near the casino. Nyawula had jumped at that. Good connection, he had said. Ballistics would of course have got around to matching their findings to past homicides in due course, because that was a matter of routine. That’s what they did. But just as well to get on to it right away, instead of letting it follow the normal course of events. If that homicide was found to link to Sunday night’s one in the bush next to the beach, then we have another piece of the puzzle. If the same Z88 had been used in both shootings, then something might be happening on an on-going basis down at the casino. Something that we should know more about. He put Dippenaar onto that. Told him to get back to ballistics and check last year’s records.
As Ryder returned to his car, the call came in. He looked at the screen of the iPhone and took the call, irritated. What could Piet possibly want from him now? He’d seen him just twenty minutes ago.
‘Jeremy?’
‘Yes, Piet. What?’
‘I’m sorry, Jeremy. The Captain wanted me to tell you. He’s just gone tearing off, himself, with Pillay, who just arrived...’
‘What? What’s wrong, Piet?’
‘Yissus, man. I don’t know how – Jeremy, I can’t...’
‘Talk to me, Piet.’
Ryder froze as Piet’s babble spewed out into his ear. He felt the pulse of every heartbeat pounding against his eardrums. It was as if every sinew in his body would snap, and the puppet-strings that had kept him upright would simply go soft, leaving him in a collapsed heap on the floor. A great, terrible weariness gripped him as he mumbled back.
‘I’ll go right over. Call my wife, please, Piet. Tell her. Everything. Tell her I’ll get home when I can.’
‘Leave it to me, Jeremy. Take it easy, OK?’
Ryder cut the call, and stumbled in a daze to his Camry. A part of him had just died.
17.40.
Vic and Tony stood, Vic leaning back on the edge of his desk and Tony standing relaxed, hands in pockets, before him. Vic’s throaty rasp seemed to Tony even more constricted than usual. He had never seen Vic this ill at ease. He seemed really agitated.
‘You sure the place is clean, Tony? This is big time. They’re gonna come after us with everything they’ve got.’
‘I know, Vic. I had to go for it, because he had found the red box. If it hadn’t been for that, I could have played it differently. Even if we had no way of telling what Dirk might have told the three of them before they took him away. But because the guy had found the stuff I had to go for it. Only problem is there was no time to burn the place, because passers-by started looking in through windows and shit. They must have heard something. I had to get out quick. But I can guarantee it’s clean. I don’t think they can track anything back to us.’
‘From your lips to God’s ears. We’re stuffed if you’re wrong.’
‘I’m not wrong. Montpelier Road is clean. No trace of us, and like you said, we’ll use Overport until Argyle Road is ready.’
‘Argyle is ready. I got the go-ahead just before you came in. It’s good to go, right from now. They’re cleaning it tomorrow morning first thing. We can start using it from late tomorrow.’’
‘That’s good news. Then we’re safe.’
‘Safe, maybe, from any trackback. But they’re gonna put a lot more men on us now.’
‘And that damn woman cop, too.’
‘The Indian? Yeah.’
‘Tamil, I think.’
‘What?’
‘She’s Tamil.’
‘Whatever. Watch her. She worries me, whatever the hell she is. She’s always popping up around the other detectives. Like the bloody Scarlet Pimpernel. I think she fancies herself as a kind of reserve player to Ry
der and Trewhella, and to those other two Afrikaners. Watch out for her.’
‘I will. I hope I get a chance to take her out. She’s a big problem.’
‘Only if you have to. Let things cool a bit. Let’s set up the new place and get the hell out of the other places. Including Overport, once Argyle Road is set up. We’ll keep the safe in Overport until we’ve built one in Argyle.’
‘Will do. I’ll stash the box behind the wall in Overport tomorrow morning when I handle the payment for the last dispatch there, and from now on we’ll just give the Montpelier house a wide berth. They’ll be finding out around now. Then the place will be crawling with cops. But they won’t find anything there.’
‘OK. Thanks, Tony. Good work. I think. I’ll see what I can find out tonight. Let’s touch base tomorrow morning around ten-thirty before your business at Overport in case I need to brief you on anything I might learn tonight.’
‘Thanks, Vic.’
17.50.
Thabethe sat at the bar watching the slot-machine players, and finished the beer. He had been waiting for the service at the bar to experience a lull in the action, and it came. He caught the barman’s attention, motioned for another of the same, and when the beer arrived he held up the crumpled photo of the two Afrikaners.
A pause as the old man contemplated – not the answer to the question, but whether he should be speaking to this young man with the strange eyes. He decided it would be less trouble for him to simply tell the young man and hope that would be the end of it. He didn’t feel comfortable being on the receiving end of a stare like that.
