by Ian Patrick
‘We were thinking, Mr Mkhize, me and Detective Pillay and Detective Dippenaar, that maybe we can interest you in a job.’
‘Is what job, Detective? Spikes she is not qualified too much.’
‘It’s very easy, my friend. We ask you a few questions and you give us some information. The salary could be quite good, depending on the quality of the information we get from you. Interested?’
Mkhize laughed loudly and with genuine mirth.
‘Eish! Is good, is good, Mr Jeremy. You pay Spikes the money and Spikes she get his throat cut sideways one time. Is very funny!’
Dippenaar couldn’t contain himself, and started laughing too.
‘Yissus, ou broer! You a funny man, you know? The detective is offering you good money here for an easy job. You think we going to tell your friends that you now a policeman?’
Pillay added her piece, leaning in to him and speaking in a hushed voice, trying to get them all to attract less attention than they were.
‘All you have to do is tell us a few things and then we can decide whether we’re going to do anything with the information. We’re not going to take out an advert in the Sunday Times and say We are pleased to announce our thanks to Mr Spikes Mkhize for his support!’
Mkhize laughed again.
‘Is right, Detective. Is right! You will not do that, I know. But I’m not moegoe! You think the people they are stupid? You think they see me talk with you and Inspector Dippenaar and Inspector Ryder and they say Spikes he is just talking business there by the police. He is talking politics. He is talking soccer. They are all supporting Amazulu and they are laughing together when Pirates miss the penalty. Eish!’
Ryder was about to call an end to it when Mkhize added a suggestion.
‘But I tell you what, Mr Jeremy.’
‘What?’
‘Me, I’m happy to talk to you one time, no witness, you only, not Detective Dippenaar and this lady detective – she is a nice lady, I can see, but no, I talk to no witnesses, I talk to you only. Outside. By the cars, maybe. Not here inside.’
‘OK. You and me, then. Let’s go. Navi, Dipps, hang here and I’ll be back.’
The two detectives nodded in agreement and Ryder and Mkhize left. As they did so, the television blared out ladoooma! and cheers and groans emanated from the individuals and groups watching the game. Mkhize’s eyes flickered up to see that Pirates were ahead by 3 goals to nil.
‘Is a replay, Mr Jeremy. I seen this game. Sundowns they are finished. Final score. Moegoes!’
They threaded their way through the crowds making for the exit.
As they did so, Thabethe emerged from one of the aisles crowded with Friday night slot-machine hopefuls. He followed them at a distance of some thirty paces, out of the gambling hall and into the car park. He watched them throughout their twenty-minute conversation, until Ryder reached into his jacket, pulled his wallet, and handed something over. Mkhize touched his imaginary forelock more than a dozen times, walking backward as he did so, until Ryder turned and went back into the building.
Thabethe watched Mkhize walk across to the red Mini, get in, and pull away.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would drop into Nomivi’s. He would hold back, at first, and see whether Mkhize volunteered any information. If his story was that the cops had hassled him a bit and then eventually left him in the casino, Spikes would get the spoke. If his story was that the cops took him into the car park and bribed him and that he took the money and spun them a tale, well then maybe he could be trusted.
Tomorrow for Spikes. One way or the other.
20.35.
Ryder, Pillay and Dippenaar were wrapping up the evening at the bar.
‘Can’t tell whether what he told me was anything more than soft stuff designed to just get the money and give me enough to go on with, but he wasted no words in telling me what he thought of Thabethe. Slimeball, evil, malicious, a violent murderer that Nomivi’s wanted nothing to do with, and stuff like that. If you didn’t know the guy you would think that his worst enemy on the planet was Thabethe.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Pillay, ‘all of that sounds like an accurate version of what anyone might say about Thabethe. So maybe it’s just easy for him to spew out stuff like that. Did he give you anything about Thabethe’s movements or whereabouts, Jeremy?’
‘Nah. He says that no-one knows where Thabethe hangs. He just appears. Some say he lives in the bush. Others say he has a shack somewhere. Mkhize says he is very careful about arriving at Nomivi’s, when he does. He scouts the terrain very carefully to ensure that he knows who’s doing what and when, before he enters the place.’
‘I don’t know if either of you ever spoke to Thabethe face to face,’ Dippenaar threw in, and in response to the two negatives from them he continued. ‘Well, I did, a couple of years ago just after he joined us and before his problems with the disciplinary stuff. I tell you, I never seen a guy so evil as that. Everyone talked about how they were scared of being alone in a room with him. Maybe old Spikes is just plain scared and will tell us anything we want to hear just to keep us off his back.’
‘While taking the informant money, of course,’ added Pillay.
‘Either way, guys,’ Ryder intervened, ‘we’ll test Mkhize on one thing he did offer me, in return for cash. This was his idea, not mine. I think he did it because he thought I wasn’t going to put him on the informant roll unless he gave me something tangible.’
‘What did he give you, Jeremy?’ asked Pillay.
‘He said that Thabethe had lost his cell-phone and was sure that he would need one very soon. He’s sure that he’ll be in contact soon, maybe even tomorrow, and when he is, Mkhize will offer him a cell-phone. If we prepare the phone for a trace, Mkhize will ensure that Thabethe gets it. Then, says Mkhize, it will be over to us and he wants nothing further to do with it.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Dippenaar, ‘and tell you what, Jeremy, I’ve got a meeting early tomorrow with van Rensburg in the comms section. He’s the Industrial Technician and he’s setting me up with my new iPhone. I’ll take the opportunity to fix up a phone for Mkhize, shall I?’
‘That would be really great, thanks, Dipps. Could you also get it out to him at Nomivi’s?’
‘No problem. I can get it out there by ten, latest.’
‘Brilliant. That’s it, then, guys. Don’t know about you, but Fiona expects me home, so if you’re intending gambling your life away here, Navi, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘You have to be joking. I already look like a one-arm bandit as it is. I’m also going home.’
‘Me too,’ said Dippenaar, and the three of them made their way through the sea of gamblers, most of them with grim and depressed faces, back to the car park.
Thabethe watched them leave the bar. He followed them to the car park. He watched each of them as they drove away.
He put his hand into his trouser pocket and felt for the joint. Tonight he needed some nyaope. Where that might lead him tonight he didn’t know.
Then tomorrow he would question Spikes.
SATURDAY
06.59.
Fiona hit the buzzer before it went off, just as Ryder was also surfacing.
‘See! I’m becoming like you,’ she said, yawning. ‘Look at that. One minute to go and I beat the buzzer. Maybe I’m becoming as paranoid as you.’
‘What do you mean?’ He yawned and stretched and felt clicks all through his spine.
‘As paranoid as you are about being woken up by alarms.’
‘Oh. Hmmm. Weird, isn’t it? It’s not just body clock stuff, ‘cos it’s Saturday, so it has to do with some deep-seated desire not to be shocked by the sound. Got to beat the alarm.’
‘How do you mean, because it’s Saturday?’ she asked.
‘Two hours later.’
‘Oh. Yes. I see. Hmmmm. Or do I?’
‘Do you what?’
‘Do I see what you mean. I don’t know.’ She yawned again, loudly. ‘I still think
we would get up if we had no alarm at all.’
‘Coffee?’ he enquired.
‘Hmmm.’
‘Nice industrial strength hot coffee?’
‘Hmmmmmmmmmmm.’
‘With frothy hot milk?”
‘Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.’
‘Sound good?’
‘Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.’
‘Good. Bring us a whole pot.’
‘Whaaat?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh no. You were the one who offered.’
‘I wasn’t offering. I was asking.’
‘Screw you.’ She stretched and yawned.
‘OK. Now?’
He suddenly leaped on her, taking advantage of her full-stretch above the shoulders, and tickled her under the arms as she arched her back, cat-like, for the yawn. She screamed in mid-yawn.
‘No! Please! You bastard!’
She fought back, digging her fingers into his ribs and eliciting a matching scream from him. They cavorted and rolled, and giggled like children. Then their lips made contact and their hands began to wander, and their rumble in the duvet was just turning from childish to more mature stuff when it was shattered by the phone. He cursed and grabbed it.
‘Hullo? Oh, yes, hi Captain.’ She sighed and they both raised eyes to the ceiling as he continued. ‘Yes, I got the message. We’re meeting at 9.00 am. In your office. What? OK. Oh, all right. That’s good, thanks, that’ll make a nice change, but you don’t have to… well, great, OK, that’s very generous of you. Yep. Same time. See you.’
‘What’s that about?’
‘A turn-up for the books. He’s taking me to breakfast at Mugg & Bean.’
‘Musgrave Centre?’
‘No, Suncoast.’
‘Lucky you. Can I come?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ She pouted.
‘He didn’t invite you. Wants to have an informal chat. Says you’re far too formal for him.’
‘Well, your loss, both of you. Anyway, OK then, because you’re getting breakfast from your bossy Captain, you can get coffee for me, now.’
‘OK. Fair enough.’
‘And if you do, you might get a reward.’
‘Hmmm. Serious?’
‘Hmmmm.’
‘Before coffee, or after?’
‘After,’ she said. He pouted. ‘Go,’ she instructed.
He went.
She completed her yawn and stretched, luxuriously.
08.50.
The Major waddled across the tarmac toward the Royal Natal Yacht Club, entirely satisfied with the yacht. Red walked alongside him. It was the third time Vic had checked it during the week, and now he was ready, and hugely excited. It was fully stocked and perfectly clean, and expertly fitted. Wired for efficient communications, and ready for an inconspicuous departure with a fully competent crew in a little over eighteen hours.
‘I’ll be bringing my own luggage on board only late tonight, Vic. I’ll arrive at about midnight. I’m seeing a friend in Westville just before that. He’s looking after my house while I’m away. The rest of the crew will already be on board when I get here. They know they have to be in place from 10.00 pm, all of them. I’ve told them you’ll arrive a couple of hours before sailing.’
‘Thanks, Red. I’ll get here about one or two o’clock, latest.’
‘That’ll be perfect. Couple of hours to settle in before we go.’
‘Lissen, Red. Once we’re out there you and I can have a chat, if you’re up for it. About some ideas I have for the future. I think you know from what Tony said, and from the little bit I told you, that I’ve got a few businesses going. I’m going to need some more help as we go forward.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘Great. Not now. Let’s get out to sea first. I think you’ll be interested in what I say. But we’ll talk.’
‘Good. No problem. I’m looking around at the moment for a few new things, so it would be good to see what we can work out.’
‘OK, Red. OK. So we’ll talk. Thanks again, then, and see you tonight. Or should I say tomorrow early.’
‘After midnight, Vic. See you.’
They shook hands, and Red turned to go back to the yacht.
Vic had long been a fan of the RNYC breakfast on the lower deck of the clubhouse. 2 fried eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, grilled tomato, 2 slices of toast, filter coffee. All clean and dry and hot, minimum grease or fat. The waitress always greeted him with The usual, Major? and he always grunted in the affirmative.
It had been here, in his favourite haunt, that the idea of a final departure by sea had first hit him a year ago. He had spent months with Tony, the two of them asking around, getting tours aboard different vessels, being taken out into the bay and beyond to get a feel of the experience, and understanding how club membership worked, the relative merits of buying and renting, and, finally, the widely varying costs of commissioning a yacht and crew to take one to Mauritius or to Mozambique or to Zanzibar or to destinations even further afield. Learning about the immigration regulations, and the ways of circumventing those. Meeting the best forgers in the business, and buying their services.
In addition, through Tony, finding the right guy to captain the vessel. As expensive as Big Red had proved to be, he seemed like the right kind of guy. Maybe even, if Tony drops out for whatever reason, he thought, a future replacement for Tony.
As he stepped into the bright sunlight he paused a moment to look up at The Grove across the Esplanade. That’s where that idiot Jannie had screwed up. The murder of that old woman and the old guy. Jannie’s sights should have been set on skilled burglars, not hit men. As a result Trewhella and Ryder had got in on the scene, and from there the whole thing had started falling apart. It was beginning to leak like a sieve, he thought, and it was time to sew up the whole operation and get out. Today’s business had been long in the planning. Today was harvest day after months of planting the seeds and tending the crops.
He walked across the parking area, stuffed himself into his car, and then drove slowly out, over the rail-tracks and across Margaret Mncadi to turn right. Last day at Sunsquare Suncoast Hotel. Things to wrap up there.
09.15.
Ryder and Nyawula sat in the Mugg & Bean. The Captain was having the Tropical Breakfast: fruit salad, muesli and honey, with mango juice. What Ed might have called fairy food, thought Ryder. Wouldn’t touch it with a barge-pole, he could imagine Ed saying. He himself was having a Mighty Morning: scrambled egg, back bacon and tomato, not for any particular reason of taste preference or desire for a cholesterol fix, but simply because he had read the menu too quickly and had mistakenly thought that he would have to order one of those in order to qualify for the bottomless mug of coffee. Mistakenly because the bottomless would have come anyway.
They covered a bit of ground on the funeral preparations for Monday afternoon. Who would speak, what order, how long, and which journos might be present. Then they moved on to a bit of shallow gossip about what had happened at the function on Thursday night, and eventually they turned to the matter in hand.
‘The Major-General is having a second meeting with the Brigadier at 10.00 am. A justice of the peace is involved. The three of us had a useful discussion last night. I could have phoned you late last night but the three of us had our phones humming past midnight as we put things together, and it was only this morning – even after I spoke to you – that the last piece of the puzzle came in.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘What I can tell you is that this goes way up the line and a key person in Pretoria is now aware of what we’re doing. All of those who know can be trusted. Nothing will break until I press the button. A useful piece of information for you right now is that the Major’s reputation stinks all the way up the line. He’s considered to be the worst kind of relic from the past and there’s a widespread view that he’s been planning his exit for some time.’
‘A guy of that calibre must be aiming for a career in politics.’
; ‘No, the guys higher up the chain think he’s long been stashing things away in a Swiss bank or a bank in the Caymans, or somewhere else. They’ve never been able to pin anything on him. Everyone thought he’d die of a big fat cholesterol attack before he put a foot wrong. Or before it became necessary for someone to bust him. Anyway, I expect a call from the Brigadier in just over an hour. I suspect it will be to tell me that all the warrants are in place and that we can go ahead and arrest pig number one. But until that happens I want to fill you in on some interesting stuff that came out in our discussions last night. Short of giving you a brief history of illegal gambling in this province, I need to highlight a few things.’
‘I suppose the fact that we’re eating in a casino is not unrelated to this?’
‘Definitely related. In fact, our friend Swanepoel has a room a few floors above us which he has been renting for the last three weeks.’
Ryder paused, looking quizzically at him.
‘And I can see you’re not joking.’
‘Not one bit. He’s turned a normal guest room into something of an office, with printers and that kind of stuff. Irritated the hell out of the management, apparently, when they found out, but there was nothing they could do about it. For whatever reason. Probably some money changed hands somewhere. They say that today’s his last day of a three-week long reservation so they probably decided to grin and bear it. So if today’s Swanepoel’s last day then we have our timing down perfectly. But, Jeremy, I’m going to hold back on an interesting piece of news that was phoned through to me at the crack of dawn this morning. You’ll find that snippet really interesting in the context of a few of the things I want to tell you about now, so I’ll hold back on it for a few minutes.’
‘Intriguing. You’ve got my attention, Captain.’
‘Sibo.’
‘OK. Sibo.’
‘Look, Jeremy, since Tuesday evening I’ve wanted us to get together informally to discuss Ed and Navi and some ideas for the future, but the phone-call I got this morning made me think through a bit of history, and made me decide to focus our discussion a bit differently from the way I had intended. In fact, I could kick myself for not having put this stuff together earlier. In brief, following our initial discussion yesterday, I’ve got more to tell you about illegal gambling in this province. I hadn’t even realised that this thing has been bubbling away in my subconscious. As I told you and Pillay yesterday, I certainly don’t think the casino operation here is dirty. We’ve had a really good look at this place over the years, and they always come up clean. No, I just think it happens to be a magnet for a lot of crooked chancers and parasites who ride on the backs of the genuine players, but I don’t think there’s any problem at all with the management of the place.’
