Roger Smith - Mixed Blood

He wasn’t coming back.

If she didn’t go now, she would lose her courage.

Susan Burn walked to the front door, carrying a small overnight suitcase. Mrs. Dollie was washing the picture window in the living room, vigorously working newspaper across the glass until it offered an unblemished view of the world outside.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Hill?”

Susan shook her head. “No thanks, Mrs. Dollie. I’m fine.” Susan tried a smile, but she could see from the concern on the older woman’s face that it was unconvincing.

Mrs. Dollie hesitated for a moment; then she stepped across the employer-employee divide and gave Susan a hug. Susan almost gave in to her tears, wanted to clutch onto this kindly woman and pour her heart out, sob until she was as dry as that burned mountain looming over them.

But she freed herself from the embrace and managed a more effective smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Dollie. For everything. Tell Matt I’ll see him soon.”

Mrs. Dollie nodded. “You look nicely after you, okay?”

Susan maneuvered herself carefully down the stairs, unlocked the door at the bottom of the garden, and went to the waiting taxi. When he saw her bulging stomach, the taxi driver, a middle-aged brown man, hurried around the vehicle to open the rear door for her. He helped her with her case.

“Where am I taking madam?”

“Gardens Clinic.”

The taxi pulled away, and Susan shut her eyes, the air-conditioning taking the edge off the heat.

She had made the decision that morning before Jack and Matt had left her alone in the house. She was going to the clinic to have her baby induced. Her doctor would support her decision after the episode with the detached placenta. She could no longer stand the waiting. Or seeing the effect her fragmenting marriage was having on her son. God, she owed Matt that at least.

After her daughter was born, she was going to call the U.S. Consulate. By then she hoped that Jack would be gone, to New Zealand or wherever the hell he wanted to run to.

When she had said good-bye to her husband that morning, she had made up her mind that it would be the last time she would see him.

When Benny Mongrel reported for his shift in the late afternoon, he went immediately to the kennel to fetch Bessie. She lay panting on the floor of the cage, a dry water bowl in front of her. These bastards couldn’t even see to that. He filled the bowl at a tap and watched her lap all the water down.

Then he hooked her up to her chain and walked her toward the truck. A voice stopped him. Ishmael Isaacs, the shift foreman, calling for him to wait. Isaacs came striding across the yard, his paramilitary uniform sharp with knife-edged creases. He carried a clipboard.

Isaacs gave him the once-over. “Boss tells me you were in there hassling him the other day.”

“I just wanted to ask him something.”

“Why didn’t you speak to me first?”

“You wasn’t here.”

“You don’t go over my head, ever. You understand me?” Benny Mongrel nodded. “Anyways, I’m pulling you off that building site, as of tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“You experienced enough now to go to one of the factories. One of the new boys can take your place.” Benny Mongrel nodded. Suited him. He turned to go. “By the way, you being assigned a new dog.”

Benny Mongrel stopped and faced the foreman. “Why?”

“Look at her.” Isaacs nudged Bessie’s back leg with the toe of a shiny boot. She whined. “Her hips is fucked, man. We had the vet in here today, and he say she no longer fit to work. Tonight is her last night.”

“Can I buy her then?”

“What for?”

“I want to keep her.”

Isaacs shook his head. “No. These dogs are trained attack dogs. They can’t be released into the civilian population.”

“So what will happen to her?”

Isaacs sneered at him. “What, you gone soft or something? Why do you give a fuck? Her days are numbered; she’ll be put down.”

He walked away, with the clipboard under his arm.

Benny Mongrel looked down at Bessie. So, that was it. It was decided. Tonight was the night they would escape. Only two days to payday, but that couldn’t be helped.

Benny Mongrel walked Bessie toward the truck.

The sun was low in the sky by the time Burn and Matt arrived at the house. When they walked inside, Mrs. Dollie was sitting in the kitchen.

Matt went up to her, carrying the fish. “Look what we got.”

She smiled at him. “That’s a very big fish.”

Burn was puzzled. “Where’s Susan?”

Mrs. Dollie looked uncomfortable. “She ask me if I would stay the night with Matt. She say she had to go somewhere.”

Burn’s mind was racing. Was she in touch with the consulate? Would the cops be here any moment? He calmed himself. “Where did she go, Mrs. Dollie?”

The woman looked at him, saying nothing, incapable of lying.

Burn spoke as reassuringly as he could. “Mrs. Dollie, I know Susan told you where she was going. I need to know. Please.”

She nodded. “She took a taxi. To the clinic.”

“Is she okay? Was she bleeding?”

“She seemed fine. It didn’t look like there was any problems.”

Burn headed for the phone and punched in the number of the clinic. He spoke to a woman in admissions, who refused to give out any information over the phone.

Burn grabbed his car keys. “Mrs. Dollie, I need to go to the clinic. Will you give Matt something to eat?”

Mrs. Dollie was looking at the fish. Burn shook his head. “No, just make him a hot dog or something. The fish can wait.”

He took the plastic bag and put it in the freezer. Then he headed down to the car.

Barnard sat in the Ford, a few doors up from Burn’s house. It was almost dark, and the streetlights were on. He had been there for two hours, tuning out the heat, the boredom, and the rash that was itching like a bastard beneath his balls.

An hour ago he had seen a taxi pull up. The blonde woman had come out alone. She had climbed into the back of the taxi, and it drove away. A few minutes later a half-breed in a domestic worker’s smock had come out and swept the deck. No sign of the man or the boy.

Then, ten minutes ago, the Jeep had passed him and turned into the garage. Burn driving, the kid strapped into the seat in the back.

Now the garage door rolled up, and the Jeep reversed out. The American on his own.

Barnard watched the Jeep slow at the stop sign, brake lights glowing red in the dusk. Then the Jeep turned down to Sea Point and disappeared.

The half-breed woman and the child were alone.

Barnard would wait a few minutes, until it was completely dark. Then he was going in.

Burn walked up to the desk at the clinic. The young receptionist, a bottle blonde with dark roots, flashed a professional smile.

“I’m here to see my wife. Susan Hill. Where do I find her?”

The woman’s fingers flew over her keyboard. She hummed to herself. “Excuse me just a moment.”

She left him and went across to a telephone that was far enough away to be out of earshot. Her conversation was brief, punctuated by a number of nods and head shakes.

She came back without her smile. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Hill has requested that she have no visitors.”

“I’m her husband.”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. Those are my instructions.”

Burn headed toward the stairs, ignoring the woman calling after him.

He took the stairs two at a time, until he found himself on the floor of private wards. He went to Susan’s previous ward, shoved open the door, and stuck his head in. A man sat next to a pale woman propped up on pillows. The woman was weeping and the man held her hand. Burn mumbled an apology and closed the door.