Broken

by Oliver T Spedding

  I decided to wear a dark ski mask rolled up to above my eyes when I carried out the robbery and just before I grabbed the briefcase I would unroll it to cover my face. I spent a lot of time trying to find a suitable escape route and I came across a narrow alley between two buildings that ran right through the block to the street on the opposite side. I decided that what I needed to do was walk close behind Mister Eksteen and as he reached the entrance to the alley I would grab the briefcase and dash along it to the other side of the block. As Mister Eksteen was an elderly man he was unlikely to chase after me and would probably try to attract other pedestrian’s attention and get them to chase after me. As this was bound to take some time I felt sure that I would long gone by the time any pursuit was organised.

  Carrying the briefcase was also a problem as it would be very noticeable. I bought a large rucksack that I could stuff the briefcase into as I ran along the alleyway. Then, just before I exited the alley I would sling it onto my back, pull off the ski mask, put on my fake glasses and casually walk out of the alley.

  After much thought I bought a sturdy black rubber truncheon just in case I encountered any resistance from Mister Eksteen or an attempt was made to stop me as I ran along the alley. I was determined not to use violence of any kind but if my capture seemed imminent I wouldn’t hesitate to use it. I also reasoned that if I brandished the baton should anyone approach me it was likely to discourage them and allow me to escape.

  With my access to the investment account cut off I could no longer feed my betting habit so I focussed on the impending attack on the Mister Eksteen, the bookmaker. In my mind I envisioned myself closing in on the man as he drew level with the alley, which would be to his right, grabbing the handle of the briefcase and ripping it out of his grip. As the empty rucksack would be on my back, both of my hands would be free. After some thought I decided that I would grab the briefcase handle with my left hand as this would allow me to be between my victim and the entrance to the alley. I also decided to hold the rubber truncheon in my right hand, ready to strike if the bookmaker put up enough resistance for me to have to subdue him. In that case I would hit the man on the side of the head to stun him and cause him to release the briefcase. Then I would make my escape along the alley as planned.

  I continued to follow the horse races though, studying the form of the horses, the success rates of the jockeys and trainers and placing imaginary bets. The fact that the vast majority of my bets were unsuccessful didn’t concern me as I reasoned that the more I learnt about horse racing the more successful I would become. I kept telling myself that I was on a learning curve and that it was only a matter of time before I began to win regularly. And with the money that I got from Mister Eksteen’s briefcase I would make a killing.

  Cindy avoided speaking to me about what I’d done to access the investment account and I appreciated this. I knew that I had disappointed her but I knew that I would soon win back her confidence in me when the money from my successful bets began to roll in. I could see that she was worried about the fact that the Child Welfare Department intended to lay a charge of fraud against me. This threat didn’t worry me though. I still maintained that the money was mine and the Department had no right to prevent me from spending it in any way that I pleased.

  On the day of the Charity Mile horse race I took a number of imaginary bets, none of which were successful. In fact, none of them even ran a place. Most of the races were won by the favourites and I usually avoided backing them. But what really pleased me were the reports in the newspapers and internet news services that the money spent by the racing fraternity at the race meeting had set a new record. This meant that Mister Eksteen would probably be taking a much larger amount of cash to the bank on the Monday morning.

  I tried to be as relaxed and calm as possible as the day of the robbery drew closer. It was vital to me that Cindy not become suspicious. And even after the robbery I would have to be very careful. Cindy knew what my income was and so I would have to be very careful about spending the money. I decided that I would only use the money for betting and as my winnings came in I would be able to justify any extra money that I spent. I also decided not to bank any of the money as depositing a large amount of cash just after a robbery had been committed in the area was likely to attract the attention of the police.

  On the Monday morning of the planned robbery I took great pains to behave normally and as soon as Cindy had left for work I began to put my plan into action. I put on my blue denim jeans, a dark blue shirt and my grey running shoes. I then put on my dark blue windbreaker and stuck the rubber truncheon in under my belt where I could easily reach it with my right hand. I put my fake glasses in my shirt pocket and slung the rucksack onto my back. I put on the ski mask and rolled it up until it was just above my eyebrows. I left the house and walked quickly to the betting hall.

  It was still early in the morning and there weren’t many people on the streets. As the bank would only open in a half an hour’s time, I wandered about on the pavement opposite the betting hall, constantly looking at my watch and along the street as if I was waiting for someone to arrive in a car and give me a lift. As the time for the bank to open drew closer I began to worry that perhaps Mister Eksteen wouldn’t go to the bank until much later in the morning when there would many more people in the area. To my relief though, he appeared at the door of the betting hall only a few minutes before the bank was due to open.

  As Mister Eksteen began to walk along the pavement I casually crossed the road and began walking behind him, gradually moving closer as he approached the alleyway. I glanced around surreptitiously. There were only three people in sight and all of them were walking away from us. Mister Eksteen was wearing slacks, a sports jacket and a grey felt hat and, to my relief, he was holding his briefcase in his right hand. As he approached the alleyway, I rolled down my ski mask to cover my face and withdrew the rubber truncheon from under my jacket. As Mister Eksteen drew level with the entrance to the alley I rushed forward and grabbed the handle of the briefcase with my left hand, just behind where he was holding it. I could only get two fingers around the handle but it was enough for me to get a strong grip. I yanked the briefcase towards me, expecting it to break free form the book maker’s grip.

  Mister Eksteen was a lot stronger that I’d expected and he didn’t lose his grip on the handle of the briefcase. Being a lot shorter and a great deal lighter than me I was able to pull him with me into the alleyway very easily. He stared up at me his eyes wide with fear. I raised the truncheon and hit him on the side of his head close to his temple. His eyes rolled up under his eyelids, he let go of the briefcase and slumped to the ground. I turned quickly and ran along the alleyway towards the far end.

  As I ran I pulled the rucksack off my back and stashed the truncheon and the briefcase into it. I pulled off my ski mask and stuffed it in as well and slung the carrier onto my back. As I was almost at the far end of the alleyway, I slowed to a walk, took my fake glasses out of my shirt pocket and put them on. Without looking back along the alley I stepped out onto the pavement and casually sauntered away. Nobody took any notice of me.

  Adrenalin coursed through my whole body as I walked along the pavement. The pressure and excitement that I’d felt before, during and after attacking Mister Eksteen began to take its toll. I felt drained. My heartbeat was still racing and I was sweating profusely. I began to shiver as the shock of what I’d done hit me. Bile welled up in my throat and I had to swallow several times to prevent myself from vomiting. I stopped in the shade of a shop awning and forced myself to relax. Gradually my heartbeat slowed and the coolness of the sweat drying on my skin rejuvenated me. The shivering stopped and I began walking again. There were many more people walking on the pavements and cars driving by in the streets than earlier but nobody took any notice of me. I headed home.

  I walked into the deserted house and closed the door behind me. I went into the lounge and stretched my arms above my head to relieve the tension in my
body. I slung the rucksack off my back and dropped it onto the floor. I sat down on the couch and took a deep breath to calm myself further. I lent down and began to open the rucksack. I hauled out the briefcase and snapped open the catches. I turned it over and poured the contents onto the carpet.

  A thin wad of banknotes in different denominations, fastened with a rubber band, fell onto the carpet together with a bank deposit book. I frowned and turned the briefcase around and looked into the dark interior. It was empty. I picked up the bank deposit book. The amount of cash would be in the book so I wouldn’t even have to count it. I opened the book. It was a brand new book and only the first page had been filled in. It had today’s date on it and Mister Eksteen's bank account number. I looked at the total in the right-hand corner; eight hundred and fifteen Rand. I couldn’t believe it. I had expected at least ten times that amount. Then I remembered that many of the races on Saturday had been won by the favourites at very low odds, including the Charity Mile race, and not a single outsider had won a race. This meant that the bookmakers would have had to pay out a lot more money than usual. Unfortunately, as only the first page had been used, I was unable to compare the total on the page with previous deposits.

  Leaving the cash lying on the carpet, I stood up and went to the kitchen. I switched on the kettle and made myself a mug of coffee. I went back to the lounge and stood looking down at the empty briefcase. I had to get rid of it. I could burn the deposit book but the briefcase was too big. If I tried to burn it, it would create a lot of smoke which would undoubtedly be noticed by the neighbours. And dumping it in a pavement rubbish bin would be very risky. Eventually I decided that the best way to get rid of it would be to leave it on a bus. It would most likely be found by the cleaning staff that evening and either stolen as it was empty, or placed in the lost-baggage office where it would most likely remain for years. But, so that the neighbours wouldn’t see me carrying it out of the house, I put it back into the rucksack. I would leave the rucksack with the briefcase inside it on the bus.

  I left the house with the rucksack slung on my back and walked to the nearest bus stop. From the timetable in the shelter I saw that a bus was due in ten minutes. I put on my fake glasses and waited. When the bus arrived I climbed on. There were only three other passengers and the conductor on board. I sat down near the back of the bus, well away from the other passengers and pushed the rucksack under the seat. I purchased a ticket from the conductor and waited until the bus reached the next stop. As the vehicle slowed I stood up and walked to the door. I was just about to step off the bus and onto the pavement when I felt someone tap me on my shoulder. I turned around quickly. The bus conductor stood smiling at me, my rucksack in his hands.

  “You forgot this.” he said.

  “Oh, thank you.” I stammered as I took the rucksack and stepped out onto the pavement.

  As I walked back home I realised that leaving the rucksack and the briefcase on the bus had been a silly idea. I hadn’t even thought of wiping the two items to get rid of my fingerprints that would surely have been on the briefcases smooth metal handle and on the plastic straps of the rucksack. And then I realised that the rubber truncheon was also in the rucksack and my fingerprints would also be all over its smooth surface. There would also be some of Mister Eksteen’s hair and skin on it. Back in the house I stashed the two carriers into the cupboard in my old bedroom and locked it. Until I found a safer way of disposing of them they would have to stay there.

  I put the thin wad of banknotes into my wallet. I was bitterly disappointed. Eight hundred and fifteen Rand was peanuts. I would never be able to get my betting program started with that. I berated myself for not having taken more notice of the race results on Saturday. I picked up the bank deposit book and hurled it against the wall. It fell down onto the floor behind the couch. I stalked out of the lounge and went into the kitchen where I made myself a sandwich. As I sat at the table eating, I shook my head in frustration. I had to have money; but where could I get it?

  ***

  “So, what did you do today?” Cindy asked as I sat down at the kitchen table where she was busy preparing our evening meal. I took a sip of my beer and lit a cigarette.

  “Nothing much.” I said. “I spent quite a lot of time on the internet looking for a job but there’s just nothing that I’m qualified to do. All they’re looking for are accountants, pharmacists and advertising copywriters."

  “I told my manager, Mister Botha, that you were looking for a job but at the moment Checkers is only looking for people to do menial jobs like shelf-packing and offloading groceries from the trucks of the suppliers. I’m sure that’s not the type of work you’re looking for.”

  I nodded and took another sip of my beer. In the silence that followed I wondered what Cindy would say if I told her that I’d spent the early part of the day robbing an old man of his money.

  “Why is there a pair of broken glasses lying on the coffee table in the lounge?” Cindy suddenly asked. “They haven’t even got lenses in them.”

  I looked up at Cindy and frowned. Then I remembered that I’d left the fake glasses that I’d used during the robbery on the coffee table.

  “Oh, I found them lying on the pavement in front of our gate.” I lied. “I meant to bring them in and throw them in the rubbish bin but I must have got distracted and left them in the lounge.”

  Cindy nodded and went on preparing the food. I got up and went to the lounge. I brought the fake glasses back and dropped them into the kitchen rubbish bin. I had to be more careful, I warned myself. Mistakes like that could get me into trouble. I had to think more carefully before I did anything. And I had to put more thought into covering my tracks.

  After we’d eaten our meal I took two more beers out of the fridge and we went through to the lounge to watch the seven o’clock news on the television. There was nothing of interest to me until the last news item before the weather forecast.

  “Early this morning a prominent horse racing bookmaker in Rosettenville was killed when he was mugged by what the police believe was a lone assailant. Mister Edward Eksteen was walking to the nearby bank with the weekend’s takings when he was attacked.” the announcer said. “There were no witnesses to the robbery but the police are following up on several important leads. They are also looking for any information that might help them in their investigation. If you were in the vicinity of Petunia and Albert Streets in Rosettenville between eight and nine o’clock this morning and noticed anything suspicious, please contact Captain Williams at the Brixton Police Station or ‘phone him on…”

  At first I felt quite shocked that I’d killed Mister Eksteen, but I quickly recovered. The old man meant nothing to me. He’d been friendly and helpful but that was normal for people looking to take your money. And maybe I wasn’t directly responsible for his death. Maybe he’d fallen and hit his head on the ground after I struck him. I felt sure that I hadn’t hit him hard enough to kill him. Or maybe he’d had a heart attack from the shock of being robbed. That surely wouldn’t be my fault. But, until I knew otherwise, I wasn’t prepared to take responsibility for the old man’s death. I had hit him with the truncheon, but I hadn’t hit him that hard.

  “Did you know that man?” Cindy asked.

  “Vaguely.” I said. “I placed a few bets with him but apart from that I didn’t know him at all.”

  What worried me though, was that the announcer had said that the police were following up on some vital leads. Were they bluffing to try and frighten me into surrendering myself or were they hoping that I would panic and do something rash? I wondered if there was any way that I could find out more.

  I got up from the couch and went into the bathroom, closing and locking the door. I sat on the edge of the bath and thought back to the attack on Mister Eksteen, trying to think of where or how I could have left any clues as to my identity. Perhaps someone who knew me had noticed me waiting outside the betting hall on the morning that the old man died. But then I remembered that I
’d been wearing my ski mask rolled up to just above my eyes. That would have made it difficult for anyone to recognise me. Apart from that, I couldn’t think of anything that I had done that would have given the police a lead as to who had attacked and robbed old Mister Eksteen. Satisfied that the police were bluffing, I stood up, flushed the toilet and returned to the lounge.

  At first I resolved to stay away from the betting hall and go to the Turffontein race track instead but then I realised that by doing that I might create suspicion. I had been going there regularly for almost six months, so I was obviously quite well known and if I now stopped going there straight after Mister Eksteen’s death, people might begin wondering why.

  Although I had placed all my bets in the past with Mister Eksteen there were five other bookmakers in the hall and it would be natural for me to now place my bets with them. And, even though I had no money to bet with I felt that I had to still go there every week, even if it was just to avoid creating suspicion.

  One of the country’s premium horse races, the J & B Metropolitan, was scheduled to take place early in the new year and I felt certain that this was my opportunity to hit the big time. Although the race was still almost two months away, I began to study the form of the horses that had been entered, as well as the records of the jockeys and trainers. I reasoned that the more I knew about them, the better my chances would be of selecting the winner. I wasn’t interested in horses that ran the places. I was only interested in the winner.

  At the same time that I began studying the form of the horses I also began working on the problem of where I was going to get the money to place on my big bet. I knew that I couldn’t approach the bank for a loan even though I had the house that I could use as surety. I also couldn’t sell any of the items in the house. Eventually I came to the conclusion that my only hope of getting the stake money that I needed was to borrow it from a private money lender. There were several companies that gave unsecured loans but most of them required that you have a job and that you sign over the rights to your salary in case you defaulted. I didn’t have a job but I did have a house and its contents that I could use as security. Naturally these money lenders charged interest on their loans that were far higher than the banks did and also used extremely violent means to recover their money from delinquent and tardy clients. But, I realised, this was the only source of funds available to me.