Деон Мейер - Cobra

Enough is enough. Code or no code, you don’t do that. Not to the Kleinboois of Mitchells Plain.

Now he was a player. Now they would pay. Because now Nadia was safely in hospital, the police would be on the scene there soon, and he was beyond fear. Now he was the hell-in.

He called his old phone number, and he hoped they still had it, and that it was on. The phone rang and rang, until at last Hoodie answered it.

‘Yes.’ All formal and semi pissed off, like a man taking a call from his mother-in-law. And Tyrone liked that, because he knew Hoodie would not be pleased to hear from him. Because he had kicked Baseball Cap a snotskoot that he hoped gave the cunt a migraine for a week.

‘Listen, motherfucker, did you think I’m stupid?’

‘What do you want?’

‘It’s what you want. I have a small surprise for you.’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m not stupid. I knew that a guy who just walks in and shoots people is a crazy motherfucker. So I got myself a little insurance.’

‘What insurance?’

‘That ZIP file on the card is bullshit. You used the password I gave you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you saw another ZIP file?’

‘Yes.’

‘If you use the same password I gave you, it will open, sesame. And you will see a hundred and two high-res, full-colour photographs of the beauty of Cape Town, for your viewing pleasure. You want to do that now, to see if I’m pulling your chain?’

Silence over the line.

And Tyrone thought, Take that, MoFo, put that in your pipe and smoke it.

It was a while before the man asked: ‘Where is the original file?’ But cool and calm.

‘I have it right here, in the famous stolen wallet, motherfucker. Do you want it?’

‘You are a dead man.’

It was just a statement, no emotion, and Tyrone shivered, but he said, ‘Fuck you. Do you want the original file?”

A heartbeat of silence, then, ‘Yes.’

‘Then you are going to pay.’

‘How much?’

It was a question he had thought deeply about, all the way from the Mediclinic. His gut feel was one million, but then he thought, these guys are not local, that accent is continental, they work in euros and dollars, one million is chump change.

‘Two hundred thousand euros. That’s about two point four million rand. And that’s how I want it. Local currency.’

No hesitation. ‘That is not possible.’

‘Tough shit, motherfucker. Then you can kiss the ZIP file goodbye. Hang on to my phone. I will call you again later tonight, in case you change your mind.’

And he took the phone he had bought from the Somali, still switched on, and he dropped it in the dustbin in front of Brights Electrical. Let the cops or the Hoodie gang trace it now.

Fuck them all.

He ran for a taxi.

In Mbali’s office he held his hand up in the air for silence. He said to Sister Abigail that he was Captain Benny Griessel of the SAPS Directorate of Priority Crimes Investigations, and they were urgently looking for Nadia Kleinbooi.

‘Yes, the phone belongs to Nadia. You are very lucky, Captain, I was on the way to take her personal effects to storage when you phoned. She was admitted about an hour ago for a gunshot wound. We have already reported it to the Bellville Station. They said they would come as soon as—’

‘Is it serious?’ asked Griessel, while his colleagues stared at him in silence.

‘No, thank goodness, it’s not critical. They are busy treating her wound now, but she is conscious.’

‘Sister, thank you very much. We’re on our way.’ He ended the call and told his colleagues the news. Mbali said something in Zulu that sounded like a prayer of thanks.

‘Bones, is Lillian Alvarez at the hotel?’

‘I didn’t ask, Benny. But she has definitely checked in.’

‘Vaughn, can you and Bones go and find out?’

‘Of course we can,’ said Bones enthusiastically. He was a member of the Statutory Crimes group of the Hawks’ Commercial Crimes branch. For the most part his daily routine involved wrestling with financial statements, but like most Hawks detectives he would never pass up a chance to be part of a violent crimes investigation.

Cupido laughed. ‘There’s a phone and a charger for everybody. Watch the batteries, plug them in whenever you can. I’ll drop off the Giraffe’s on the way out. And I’ll SMS the numbers to everybody.’

Griessel thanked him and said to Mbali, ‘Let’s go talk to Nadia.’

The taxi stopped in front of Parow’s small, grey Metrorail station,Tyrone got out and walked straight to Station Street, nowadays a lively pedestrian market with a host of colourful stalls. It was different from Bellville, here it was mostly South Africans doing business – in cheap Chinese bric-abrac, vegetables, fruit, sweets, cigarettes. But between the butchers, fast food, clothing and furniture shops that flanked the street, there were at least seven cellphone shops. And one of them was Moosa Mobile.

That was where he went, as fast as he could, even though he felt the fatigue in every fibre of his body, and the pain across his back, even though he wished he could just lie down on a soft bed somewhere and go to sleep.

Eat your veggies first,Ty. Work, then play.

That’s what I’m doing, Uncle Solly.

He had come to Moosa Mobile because, in his industry he had heard that if you want to peddle a hot phone in the northern suburbs, Moosa was the fence to see. Tyrone didn’t do business in this area, so Moosa didn’t know him. But he was looking for three second-hand phones that were not traceable.

He walked in and said straight out what he wanted. And the little man gave him that look, and he knew he looked awful, but at least no one was going to take him for an undercover cop. The man took out three phones from the back, no boxes, no trimmings, just the instruments and their chargers. Cheap stuff, that the little man put in a Pick ’n’ Pay plastic bag. Then Tyrone bought three prepaid SIM cards: Vodacom. MTN. Cell C. He put sixty rands of airtime on each one.

Then he walked to the stalls and bought a small, cheap travel case, two shirts, white and blue. A smart pair of black trousers, a grey pullover, a purple windcheater – because that was the only colour they had in his size – six pairs of underpants, four pairs of black socks, and a dark grey tweed jacket. Because a jacket, Uncle Solly used to say, is the ticket.

And then he walked back to the station. He would have liked to be near Nadia. But it wouldn’t help him; he couldn’t afford to go near there, that’s what the cops would expect. But still, the urge to be close to her was strong. To protect her. But he must do the smart thing. The northern suburbs were a foreign country. He must get back to the city. That was his hunting ground. That was where he was at home.

Sister Malgas told Griessel and Mbali what she knew. Someone had drugged Nadia Kleinbooi, and then she had been shot, at Bellville Station. Her brother Tyrone had brought her in.

Griessel took out the photo of Tyrone and Nadia from his jacket pocket, and showed it to her.

‘Yes, that’s the brother.’

He asked if Tyrone was still around, but he already knew what the answer would be.

Had he left a contact number?

Sister Malgas said the number was on the system – she looked it up and gave it to him. ‘But he can’t take calls.’ She explained about a strict boss at a paint contractor.

Griessel nodded as if he believed it, and asked if they could see Nadia.

No, they would have to wait. Perhaps in the next hour.

She had spoken of Nadia’s personal possessions. Could they look through them?

She would ask the superintendent. She made the call, got the OK, and went to fetch them.