Zambezi

by Tony Park

  ‘I lived through fifteen years of war in my country. I’ve known a soldier or two,’ she smiled, her cheeks colouring a little. ‘Be careful up there in the valley It can be a dangerous place if you don’t know what you’re doing – and you can’t take a weapon with you.’

  ‘So I’ve heard, and thank you, I’ll watch out.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  Jed was surprised how modern Johannesburg International Airport was. He could have been anywhere in the First World. And as the hotel shuttle bus drove through an industrial area flanked by a multi-lane freeway Jed found himself thinking he could have been in any airport suburb in any major town in the western world.

  The Holiday Inn Garden Court was a sprawling affair in a mock hacienda style, complete with terracotta roof and stucco façade. The analogy was marred, somewhat, by the presence of an Irish Bar, but to some extent reinforced by a Wild West theme steakhouse. Of Africa, there was still no sign. The porters were black Africans, though the receptionist was white. She was blonde, blue-eyed, and efficient. Jed found her Afrikaans accent oddly appealing.

  ‘How long will you be staying with us, Mr Banks?’

  ‘Just overnight. I’ll need a wake-up call for seven tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Certainly, sir. Oh, by the way, Mister Banks, did your friend catch up with you?’

  Jed was confused. ‘What friend?’

  ‘There was a woman here about two hours ago, asking after you. When I told her you hadn’t arrived she said she would try to meet you at the airport.’

  He had no idea what she was talking about. ‘I think there must be some misunderstanding. I don’t know anybody here and I’m not expecting to meet anyone.’

  ‘She seemed certain. She also asked if you were checked in under your rank. Is it Sergeant Major?’

  ‘Master Sergeant. But no, I still don’t know who it could have been.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir. If I see the lady again I’ll be sure and call your room.’

  In his room at the end of a corridor on the second floor Jed tried to think who the mysterious woman could have been. He had meant to ask the receptionist for a description, but his brain was addled from jetlag and booze. The only explanation he could come up with was that the woman was from the American embassy.

  He opened the curtains of his room and saw there was a small balcony Beyond the railing, at the same level as the floor, was the roof of one wing of the first storey. His was a smoking room and Jed lit a cigarette. He opened the door and stepped outside. The night air was refreshingly crisp – he’d expected it to be hotter.

  Despite his fatigue, he was restless. He thought a couple more beers might help him sleep, and he wanted to stretch his legs.

  The bar was noisy and smoky. Imitation Irish bric-a-brac, horse brasses and signs to towns such as Dublin and Killarney cluttered the walls. People were talking over the top of each other and a jukebox pounded out rock classics.

  Jed made his way to the bar and ordered a beer. ‘Whatever’s most popular,’ he replied when the barmaid asked him what brand. She wore a black crop-top stretched tight across her ample breasts, and had hennaed hair and green eyes. Jed guessed she was in her late twenties.

  ‘You staying long?’

  ‘Just a night. From what I’ve read I’m better off in here than out painting the town.’

  ‘The crime?’

  He nodded. ‘Is Johannesburg as bad as everyone says?’

  ‘Sure, it’s bad in parts, but other parts are fine. Mind you, a friend of mine was carjacked the other day. Two bullet holes through the windscreen.’

  ‘Sounds like she was lucky they didn’t hit her.’

  The barmaid laughed. ‘Ach, no, man. It was she who fired the shots! From her automatic. The carjackers took off, but now she has to buy a new windscreen! I don’t go out at night without a weapon.’

  She opened a bottle of Castle Lager and slid it across the polished wooden bar.

  ‘Put it on my bill, please,’ he said after he’d drunk his beer and ordered another. He was beat. He held a hand over his mouth to cover a yawn. ‘If it’s OK with the house rules, I’ll take this one up to my room.’

  ‘Of course, sir, no problem.’ The woman punched the amount into the cash register and printed out a docket for Jed to sign.

  Jed signed and passed the paper across the bar. The barmaid picked it up and paused for an instant. Jed noted the look of surprise in her eyes as she read the docket.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘I nearly forgot. It’s two for one tonight. A special promotion, but your free beer has to be a draft, so you’ll have to stay here and drink it. We don’t allow guests to take drinks in glasses out of the bar.’ Before Jed could protest, she reached into the fridge and pulled out a chilled glass and started filling it from a spigot. She sat the beer down in front of him.

  ‘Funny, you didn’t mention that when I ordered the first beer,’ Jed said.

  The woman looked away for a split second, then back at him. ‘I forgot. I’ll get you another, if you like.’

  ‘No thanks, don’t bother. Someone was looking for me earlier, at reception. Did anyone ask after me in here?’

  The woman turned away from him and picked up a cloth. She started to move away, busying herself by wiping down the bar. ‘No, not that I know of.’

  ‘Not too many Americans around tonight. Probably not too many by the name of Banks. I saw the look on your face when you read my name on that docket. What gives?’

  ‘Sorry, man. I’ve got other customers to serve.’ She turned away from him, but he could see there was no one waiting for a drink.

  He followed her to the other end of the bar, watching unnoticed as she grabbed her handbag from under it and, lifting a hinged panel, stepped through into the main area.

  Jed touched her arm and she jumped. ‘Hey, don’t do that. You scared me. You forgot your beer.’

  She pointed to the other end of the bar, where he had left his glass and bottle.

  ‘I’m not thirsty any more. What’s going on?’

  ‘Like I told you, it’s happy hour.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Look, I’m supposed to be going on my break now. Why don’t you give me the extra beer if you don’t want it.’

  ‘Right. Sit down. I need to talk to you.’

  When he returned to the table, the woman was rummaging in her handbag. She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. ‘Smoke?’

  ‘Thanks. Now tell me, why the special treatment?’

  ‘OK, there is no happy hour. You’re new here in South Africa, you seem like a nice guy and I thought, hey, I’ll be welcoming to the tourist and give him a free beer. No law against that, is there?’

  ‘Yeah. In my country stealing from your employer is a crime.’

  She looked past him, towards the door, and Jed glanced over his shoulder. ‘Looking for someone?’

  ‘No.’ She lit her cigarette and slid the lighter across the table to him.

  Suddenly Jed stood up and pushed back his chair. He cursed his jet-lagged brain for not seeing what was obvious – the woman had been deliberately trying to get him to stay in the bar. She was keeping him from his gear, in his room.

  Jed forced his way past a group of young men and women who were entering the bar and hurried back out into the lobby. He saw from the lighted sign above the elevator that it was at the third floor.

  He turned left and ran up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

  As he approached the door to his room he slowed his pace, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply The door was still locked. That meant nothing. It would be relatively easy for a professional thief to get hold of a hotel’s skeleton key card or manipulate the lock in some other way. He pulled out his own card and slowly inserted it. He leaned against the door and, when the little light above the lock flashed from red to green, barged into the room.

  One of the bedside lights was on and there was enough illumination to see the intrud
er clearly.

  He was tall, slim and dressed in black, with a black ski mask and gloves. He was bending over the low luggage table where Jed had left his suit bag. His Alice pack was on the floor and appeared to be undisturbed.

  Jed ran at the man but he was already moving. The balcony door was wide open and Jed, remembering he had neglected to lock it after his cigarette, cursed himself.

  The man was through the external door before Jed could lay a hand on him and he vaulted the wrought-iron balcony railing easily. Jed snatched up a heavy table lamp, sparks flying from the power socket as the cord came free.

  He drew back his arm and threw the metal lamp as hard as he could at the fleeing figure. His aim was good. The base of the lamp hit the man on the back of his head, causing him to stagger. The trailing electricity cord fell between his legs, and he missed a step as the lamp bounced on the flat roof of the first floor.

  Jed was over the railing and onto the roof without breaking his stride. He dived at the man and brought him down. The man twisted onto his back, but Jed was faster. He grabbed the thief’s skivvy top with his left hand and punched him in the jaw with his right. The man’s head snapped back and hit the rough surface of the roof. But he was quick to recover and brought his knee up into Jed’s groin.

  Jed gasped in pain and leaned away, giving the man room to land a punch of his own. The intruder reached up and clasped Jed to him, and the two of them rolled over.

  Jed, underneath his attacker now, rammed two fingers towards the man’s eyes, forcing him to twist his head aside to avoid the attack. Jed reached around and punched the man in the kidney, then raised his knees and thrust the man off him.

  They both scrambled to their feet, circling each other. The intruder looked to the edge of the roof.

  He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and drew out a knife. The silver blade flicked free at the touch of a button. Jed skipped out of reach and snatched up the fallen desk lamp by its cord. He started to swing it. The heavy ornament quickly gained momentum as he swung faster and faster. He hoped the cord would hold. The man started to back away out of range of the spinning weight. Jed brought his arm above his head now and charged at the man.

  The cord connected with the man’s raised arm and the lamp swung around and glanced off his head, causing him to lose his footing. Jed closed in on him and kicked the man in the groin, causing him to double over and fall to his knees. He stomped on his hand, forcing him to drop the knife. Jed picked it up. He kicked the prone figure in the side again. They were on the edge of the roof now. The man tried to roll away, but stopped when he reached the precipice.

  Jed stood over him. ‘Who are you, and what were you doing in my room?’

  The intruder said nothing. From below them there was the squeal of rubber as a car pulled up. The man craned his head and looked over the edge of the roof.

  ‘Up here,’ he yelled.

  Jed grabbed him by both feet and started pushing him over the edge of the roof. The man’s arms flailed in the air. ‘Tell me who you are, asshole, or I’ll fucking send you over to meet your friend right now.’

  The intruder stayed silent and stopped struggling. Jed knelt down, putting his weight on the man’s shins, and reached over towards his face. The man tried to grab Jed’s arms but he was too quick. He grabbed at the ski mask and yanked it off. The man had cropped red hair and a pale complexion.

  ‘Last chance. Who are …?’

  Jed ducked instinctively as he heard the sound of gunfire. Two bullets split the air above his head.

  He grabbed the man’s skivvy and rolled backwards and to one side. The man had tried to rob him, but he didn’t really wish to push him off the roof and leave him dead or crippled – he had more questions to ask him.

  The gun fired again and Jed rolled further away from the edge, letting go of the intruder. The man saw his chance. He stood up and kicked viciously at Jed’s kidneys. Jed arched his back and rolled on his side, watching in agony as the man lowered himself over the edge. The tyres protested as the car took off. Jed crawled to the roof’s edge and saw the vehicle racing through the half-empty car park. It was a sedan, white. Maybe a Mercedes. It was already too far away for him to read the licence plate.

  Peering over the lip of the roof he could see the man had shimmied down a drainpipe.

  A small crowd of people had spilled from the restaurant and bar inside the hotel to see what all the noise was about. A couple of young males, one white and one black, had pistols drawn. He had heard that many people carried guns in South Africa for personal protection because of the high crime rate.

  He stepped back from the edge of the roof – he didn’t want to provide target practice for a civilian with an itchy trigger finger.

  Jed brushed himself off and started back towards his hotel room. He felt his body, assessing his injuries. He could tell he would be badly bruised, but none of his ribs were cracked. He touched the inside of his lip with his tongue and tasted blood.

  In his room, things looked as he had left them, apart from the missing lamp. His suit bag was zipped shut and his Alice pack still buckled closed. He must have arrived just after the man had entered his room, and before he’d had time to steal anything. He picked up the telephone and dialled reception. ‘Send your security man up here now and call the police. There’s been a break-in.’

  ‘The police are already on their way, Mister Banks. There have been gunshots outside.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Forget it. Put me through to the bar, please.’

  The receptionist connected him and a deep-voiced man answered.

  Jed wiped more blood from his lip with the back of his hand. ‘I’d like to speak to the woman serving behind the bar.’

  ‘She’s left. Family emergency Who’s calling, please?’

  ‘I think I left something in the bar,’ he lied. ‘When is her next shift?’

  ‘She’s a casual. Only comes in here now and again. Can I help you? What did you lose?’

  Jed hung up. He’d leave the girl to the police. He unzipped his suit bag and reached inside for his toiletries bag, but couldn’t see it. He had been carrying his airline tickets, passport and all his money in his pocket. There was really nothing else of great value in either his bag or pack. He rummaged through his clothes and, finally, located his wash bag and took it into the bathroom. He stripped and turned on the shower. The water stung a cut on his face, but the hot jets soothed the ache in his side.

  As he turned off the water there was a knock at the door.

  He pulled on a white bathrobe and tied it around his waist. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Police, sir.’

  Jed opened the door. ‘Come in, please. Excuse my appearance,’ he said to the two officers. Both wore dark-blue fatigue trousers, shirts of a lighter hue and military-style boots. They removed their peaked baseball caps as they entered the room.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ said the taller of the two, who looked more Indian than African. ‘I am Sergeant Vincent Sakoor and this is Corporal Tshabalala. We hear you’ve been robbed.’

  Jed ran a hand through his wet hair. ‘My room was broken into, but I don’t think anything is missing.’

  ‘You disturbed the man in the act?’ Sergeant Sakoor asked.

  ‘I did. He put up a fight, but he got away’ Jed told his story, describing the suspicious behaviour of the barmaid, the scuffle and the man’s escape in the getaway car.

  ‘Ah, these people are professionals, I think. You say the man was white?’

  ‘Yes. I was surprised by …’

  ‘You are surprised we have white criminals? You think only black or coloured people commit crimes in this country?’

  ‘No, Officer. I was about to say I was surprised by the apparent level of organisation behind a simple break and enter.’

  ‘As I said, it looks like the work of professionals. If it is whites, it’s probably drug-related.

  Addict
ion to hard drugs knows no racial boundaries, Mr Banks.’

  Jed nodded, but the intruder was no strung-out heroin addict. He was clean-cut and, now that he thought about it, had a military look about him.

  ‘Can you give me a description of the car?’ Sergeant Sakoor asked.

  ‘White sedan. Mercedes, I think.’

  The two policemen looked at each other and Tshabalala consulted his notebook. ‘There’s a Mercedes on fire a couple of blocks from here. The licence plates match one that was stolen earlier this evening.’

  ‘Carjacked?’

  ‘No,’ Sakoor said. ‘Hot wired from outside a restaurant in Sandton. An area inhabited mainly by wealthy whites. A European man trying to break into a Mercedes would probably be assisted by a passer-by, someone who thought it was the owner who had locked himself out. A black man caught in the act of car theft would probably be shot by vigilantes.’

  Sakoor sat down at the table and gestured for Jed to take the other chair. He took down a statement in longhand.

  When they had finished, Jed said, ‘I take it you’re not overly optimistic about catching these guys.’

  ‘Consider yourself lucky, Mr Banks. And keep your balcony door locked next time.’

  That night, when Jed finally fell into a fitful sleep, he dreamed he was chasing the black-clad man out of the room again. When they got to the edge of the roof, the criminal’s body hanging in space, Jed again ripped off the ski mask. This time the face that stared back at him was Miranda’s, her blonde hair cascading free in the breeze. He recoiled in shock and lost his grip on her. She fell, arms windmilling, her mouth opening as if she was trying to tell him something. But he could not hear her.

  Chapter 3

  Jed woke in a cold sweat. The glowing red numerals on the bedside clock told him it was a little after four in the morning. He was sore from the fight and his head throbbed from the combination of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. To top it all he was jetlagged and couldn’t get back to sleep.

  He rose, showered, then smoked a cigarette while he shaved around the reappearing stubble.

  He wiped his face and replaced the razor and shaving cream in his wash bag. As he zipped the bag closed, a shiver ran down his spine.