James Mcclure - Snake

“ Ach, ja,” Marais said to himself. He had known there was method in his madness: he’d promised Gardiner to check by on the way back, mainly so they could have a drink together.

Driving much more slowly, he passed the entrance to the alley and saw a group of people standing there. That was odd. Mrs. Stevenson had surely thought to cancel any reservations, and he himself had pinned up a CLOSED sign on the door.

Ghouls! The boss had left strict instructions about how they were to be treated.

Marais left his car double-parked with the flasher going, and sprinted across.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” he demanded.

Indians all dressed up in bow ties and mackintoshes turned in alarm at the sound of the familiar phrase, making him blink disbelief until he identified them as waiters. Then a short white man in a ginger beard and wearing a sheepskin jacket came from the back of them.

“That’s what we want to know!”

“Who are you?”

“Could ask the same!”

“Police, so watch it. What’s the problem?”

“We turn up for work and sign says the joint’s closed. Nobody told us. Why and for how long? We’ve-”

“Owner’s under arrest,” said Marais.

The man grinned and said, “Hear that, boys? What did I tell you?”

The Indians smiled.

“You told them what?”

“Monty definitely had a finger in that pie,” the man replied, smirking at his witticism.

“You’d say-”

“Man, what are you? Security Branch? I’m not giving away secrets-everyone knows what a two-faced bastard he is!”

Everybody then decided to leave the pair of them alone.

“Give my love to Minnehaha!” the man called after them, and this time got his laugh. From a safe distance.

“Monty’s squaw,” the man explained. “Him we call Big Chief Running Guts-or Hiya Sexy! Depends.”

“You’re the funny man in the show?”

“Me? I’m the tickler. Pianist. Y’know. Drums and sax were here, but they’ve gone over the road to get pissed.”

“Name?”

“Bix Johnson. And you?”

“Marais, CID.”

“I’m BA.”

“Hey?”

The street, it seemed, was no place to hold an intelligent conversation.

“Are you prepared to assist in some inquiries? If you’re not, then I’ll want to know why and I’ll-”

“How much do you pay?”

“Who?”

“You know something? You’re terrific! Unreal! Oi, oi, oi. For you, I do dis for nuttin.”

“What?”

“You ask, I’ll tell. Easy as that. Where’s your motor? What do you say-can we make a move, Captain?”

They made a move. And then they made surprisingly good friends. Bix Johnson had a way with him that gave Marais an entirely new lease of energy.

He also gave him some information that had Marais on the radio, calling urgently for Lieutenant Kramer.

But answer came there none.

They made a startling sound in the dead of night. Within seconds the caretaker was out in the hall with a gun shaking in his hand.

Then, when he saw the empty milk bottles rolling about, and who had knocked them over, he quickly lowered the revolver before there could be an accident.

“Heaven’s sakes, laddie, but you gave me a terrible turn!” he said.

Kramer admired the old bugger’s courage and alertness, but wondered if he hadn’t been drinking-then saw his teeth were missing.

“ Ach, sorry, Mr. McKay. I was backing up and I didn’t notice them by the door.”

“Your boy should have warned you,” McKay said, just to show there were no hard feelings. “Still at it, then? Thought you’d finished before lunch.”

And he nodded at the burden Kramer and Zondi were carrying between them, peering short-sightedly in an effort to make out what was wrapped inside the car tarpaulin.

“Some bits of carpet from upstairs that didn’t suit the new place, so she thought the new tenants might like to at least see if they wanted them They can always chuck them out.”

“But they’re not moving in until the day after-”

“I realize,” said Kramer, “but you know what womenfolk are like in this mood-they can’t stop till it’s all done.”

McKay showed gum and sympathized. “I ken fine! I ruddy dread new arrivals-Mr. McKay this, Mr. McKay that. The worst are the ones who think your name’s Jock and that you’re responsible for the dirty books their bairns find left under the bath.”

Zondi gave Kramer a pleading look.

“We better be going, Mr. McKay. Mustn’t hold you up.”

“A wee moment-the keys?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Aye, fine, no hurry, no hurry. Then I’ll be wishing you a good night.”

He hobbled back into his flat and Zondi immediately pushed toward the lift, making Kramer nearly start the whole thing up again outside the door to number IB.

That had been their worst moment. The actual abduction of Chainpuller Mabatso had run like clockwork, while observing to the letter a strict condition Zondi had placed upon it. All they had done was to sneak down the ridge behind the hut, arrange themselves with the tarpaulin on one side of the door, toss up a cocoa tin with some change in it, and wait. Chain-puller had meandered out, buttoning up his fly, and had been engulfed as he stooped to recover his dues.

And the best moment had been when Chainpuller’s current rental, all straight-haired wig and white lipstick, had poked her head out to see the wizard of Peacevale being carried off by two demons without faces-a sleeve of cheesecloth, thoughtfully provided by Bokkie Howells for cleaning the car’s windows, had been easily divided into two masks that didn’t even need eyeholes. While the story she’d tell would be half the battle won already.

Kramer groaned and took a grip on the heavy end again as the lift opened at the fifth floor. As lightweight as Chainpuller might prove on a set of scales, having to lug him all the way up the ridge and then down the other side, to where their car was hidden, had been enervating as well as time-consuming.

“Last lap,” he said to Zondi, “and for Christ’s sake don’t step on that cat.”

Strydom sat up in bed panting. His wife’s plump arm encircled his waist and tried to pull him down again as she muttered endearments. But he stayed where he was, tense and in a muck sweat.

“What is it, Chris?” she finally asked, rousing herself to lie propped on one elbow.

“I don’t know.”

“You haven’t had a dream, hey? You never have dreams- since when did you have a dream? I’ve never known you to have dreams. Never.”

“Hmmm?”

“I mean, with your work you can’t afford to-at least, that’s what you’ve always said. Remember? That time on our honeymoon when I thought you were dreaming? Only it was me dreaming that you were dreaming and all the time you-”

“It was terrible!”

“Hey?”

“No, I meant… it must have been a dream. So lifelike and real, though. Right in front of me. With smells, too.”

“You get smells in dreams sometimes,” she replied reassuringly, taking his clenched hand and patting it. “And colors? Did you see colors as well?”

“Ja, I did. Isn’t it supposed to be black and white, like the newsreels?”

“Not always. Although last time mine was black and white and I was trying on new dresses and it nearly drove me mad. Maybe it was that book you were reading.”

“No.”

“ Ach, tell your little Anneline all about it, and then it’ll go away. Come on, Chrissy, lie down again beside me.”

He lay back, hearing the mattress sigh with him, and moved his head over until he could feel her white curls against his cheek.

“Man, it was terrible,” he said in a low whisper. “I was back in Pretoria Central on a morning of some hangings. Father William was there, and Koos and the commandant-all the usual crowd.”