parkade? The rest of the car was clean apart from a few knickknacks that seemed to belong to a lady, paint and polish and the like. There was also a photo of two women, sisters I suspect. The blond one was soft on the eyes. Who was this woman to Gerrie and why did he have her car?
I went to the police parkade and waited outside until the shift change has passed and the parking lot was empty. Then I walked in the back door to the station. Not one person looked at me, not one asked if they could help me. It was as if I was invisible and this in a police station. Some of the officers even looked away hurriedly when laying eyes on me. I live in a country where helping people or doing your job has become too much of a drag, even I have on occasion sped up to avoid helping at an accident.
An open door beckoned me from across the hall. I was drawn to it. I walked straight and directly to his office and walked in, nobody stopped me. It was a shoddy little office as all governmental offices in South Africa. I could smell the despair and depression on the awful green paint on the walls.
At his desk was a name plaque; Lt Gerhard van der Waal. He was a cop. I almost soiled myself as my bowels made a backflip. Gerrie was a cop, a dirty cop. He took my family, my wife. I will kill him and take back what is mine. Rummaging in his drawers I happened on a utility bill and copied his address. Looking around I did not find anything out of place, the office seemed well organised and in the bottom drawer I found a key, the key turned out to open a wall safe. The gun in the safe was gone, makes sense as the guy should be wearing it as part of his daily routine. The shells were for a 357 and I pocketed a box as I also have a 357.
I rolled up to Gerrie’s house. The address I found on the utility bill turned out to be not too far from the Police station. I saw Gerrie’s wife a tall blond woman with a bloodshot left eye. The bad kind of blood shot. The kind you get from being too close to an ass with quick fists and an even faster temper, especially when drunk. It was the hot girl from the photo of the sisters I had seen earlier. Her hair was up in a pony-tail, the angry kind, where the tail is high on her head. She looked pissed off. She was packing stuff into a car. She was like her hair, angry. The bags were flung into the back seat as if they had done something wrong.
When all the luggage that was on the porch, was sufficiently punished she slammed the boot and the back door. She got in the car and a second later pulled away. I waited for her car to be no longer visible. Then I climbed out of the car with my gun hidden under my shirt.
I walked into the house a moderate single story in Germiston. The door was unlocked and I slipped in and moved to the kitchen. The paint inside was fresh and new and the place looked well kept. I inspected it from room to room with my gun out.
There was nobody home but why was it unlocked then? I felt an eerie feeling of familiarity. There was a briefcase in the corner of the small office that I recognised. It was mine; the bastards were at my house at some point. I had a sense of panic rush over me and with it the feeling of cold hands tracing my spine.
I was screwed. This cop took my family, he knew where I lived. He was in my house, and he seemed to be one step ahead of me all the time. I have not seen him; I do not know what he looks like I have no way of finding him before he finds me. I could use his wife... It was not really my stile to intimidate women but I suppose I could give it a try. I will not hurt her, bad, I don’t think. I walked to the bath room and splashed some water on my face. Closing the toilet lid I took a seat and rested my hands in my face. I had to get my wife back. It was my duty.
I wanted to cry. I needed to cry. As I opened my eyes I saw something in the waste basket that interested me, a Ziploc bag with an empty pill holder and one un-popped pill still in it. There was also what looked like a high-end advertisement folded in half in the plastic bag.
On the black and red high gloss brochure the following was written: Incredible Journey, The new and ultimate, an experience as never before. You get to reinvent yourself for up to 72 hours.
What was this…a drug, was this guy into drugs? It looks like he left one. I turned the pamphlet in my hand and continued reading; for a shorter experience take only partial dose, should be good for up to 24 hours. The journey promises a complete shift from your past and a total personality make over until you decide your journey should end. “Good Buddha it was a drug, one that gave you amnesia and changed your personality, for a time.”
How screwed up is a person’s life if you need that kind of escape. There was a sound at the door. I was tired and I wanted answers. I took out my gun and went to stand next to the bathroom door. I opened it a crack and peered through. She came down the hall in my direction. My breath caught in my throat I knew her…Kim?
It was the tasty blond with the bloodshot eye. Now close to her, I could also see she was wearing heavy concealer to cover the bruise surrounding her left eye. I had feelings for her…I think? No, I was wrong she was my wife; she was being kept here against her will. I was confused, “what was going on?”
Kim Wiggett. She was my wife, no, not my wife. I fell against the door and slid to the floor. I lifted myself with the help of the basin and took a seat on the closed toilet. Kim opened the door. “I see you are back”, she said with a twinge of disgust twisting her mouth. “You look like shit”. “Kim?”
“Who else were you expecting? I am not the one running about for days at a time”. She eyed the gun on the basin, “Are you aiming to use that on me… or you?” I looked at the gun and remembered punching her, that eye she was sporting was a gift from me…but she makes me so mad sometimes…I killed people today. They had my wife. “Kim you are my…fiancé?” “No, not any more I am leaving for my parents this afternoon, I cannot deal with you and you’re drinking. Your job sucks and things are ugly out there, but deal with it”. She eyed the left over pill next to the gun and without saying a word turned and left.
I started sobbing. My life was flooding back and it was not pretty. In the hallway Kim stopped, she turned, walked to me and stood at the door, she said; “Gerrie, you are a real son of a bitch.
When it started to get dark I took the other pill and went to sit on an old leather chair in the study. On a piece of paper I wrote; who is Gerrie?
# # #
Thank you for reading my book.
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Thank You
R P Bezuidenhout
Incredible Journey Page 2
