by Bob Bidecant
2.13
Jaak pulled the collar of the Jim’s overcoat higher up around his face. He walked at a brisk pace until the streets got darker. Staying in the shadows he reached a tented area, sat down on an empty beer crate and took the sandwich from his pocket. Men were drinking and gambling everywhere, a few sailors but mostly immigrants, fresh off the ship and in need of female company and cheap alcohol. Jaak finished the sandwich but was still hungry. He wasn’t sure what his next move was going to be. Then he saw him. The big man who had been standing next to Emma at the back of the wagon staggered passed him drunk. Jaak watched him fall drunkenly into a small tent and sit down at a makeshift table. A bottle and glass was placed on the table and he poured himself a large glass full. Jaak stood back hidden by some washing keeping him in sight. It wasn’t long before a quarrel broke out and two men threw him out onto the dirt. He cursed them and got to his feet slowly worse the wear for drink. He tottered between several rows of tents, opening some up and sticking his head in, Jaak heard shouts cursing him, he was so drunk he couldn’t remember the number of his tent. Finally he found it and fell inside onto the bedding that was on the floor.
Jaak waited, he wasn’t sure if the other two were near.
It was over an hour later when the last of the lights went out in the tents, leaving only some small ones hung on high poles at intervals for people to navigate between the tents at night. The man was lying on his back snoring when Jaak slipped into the tent. His eyes already accustomed to the dark he looked around, the handle of a pistol poked out from under his pillow. His knife was by the side of the bed. Jaak unsheathed the knife silently and ran his thumb across the blade, he licked the blood from his thumb. It was sharp enough. He picked up a shirt and screwed it up.
In one movement he pressed his hand over the sleeping man’s mouth with his left hand and drew the knife across his throat from right to left and then back again, dropping the knife and forcing the shirt over the wound. The man struggled for a second, his body went into spasm and he died. Jaak took his hands off of him and rolled him over off the bedding. Under the pillow were his gun and wallet. Jaak took his wallet and knife and left. He walked until he found some light and opened the wallet to check what money was inside. There was a considerable amount of bills and some papers, he removed the money and put it in the inside pocket of Jim’s coat. As he glanced quickly through the papers a ticket caught his eye, a ticket to England. Jaak read the details on it twice and smiled. He looked around and saw the docks nearby. Walking at a leisurely pace he found the ship and walked slowly up the gangplank. A sailor sat at the top of the stairs drunk and asleep, Jaak stepped passed him quietly but he sat up startled.
‘Where you going?’ he asked roughly. Jaak handed him the ticket without speaking. The sailor had trouble focusing on it, but he could see the name of his ship and that was good enough.
‘Your berth number is on the ticket.’ he said and fell back to sleep.
Part Three. Cape Town. March 1888.
