Деон Мейер - Cobra

Tyrone ran across the bridge at Salt River Station, past the coloured man with the coat that flapped like Batman’s cloak in the wind. He must catch the train, to Bellville.

His shoes clattered down the stairs, to the platform.

The train wasn’t there yet.

Relief.

He realised his grip on the money-rucksack was so tight that his fingers were cramping.

Relax, Ty, just relax. All that he could do now, was to get to the hospital. Extra insurance against an attack, but it shouldn’t be necessary. No reason for them to harm Nadia, they had the card, the correct file on it. He had the money. Two point four fucking mill. His struggles were over, Nadia had a future.

The train came in. He walked, he had to sit down, he’d been on his feet since the crack of dawn, he was exhausted by all the worry, he just wanted to sit, just relax, enjoy the ride.

There were a lot of empty seats.

He chose the one at the back, at the end of the carriage.

He couldn’t help himself. He pulled the rucksack open again. Jirre , that was a lot of money. He pushed his hand in, pulled out a bundle of notes.

Everything is legit.

The dude with the Batman coat came in through the intersecting door of the carriage and looked round. Tyrone zipped the rucksack closed, fastened the buckles. Batman headed towards him. Sat just one seat away. Cellphone in his hand.

Suspicious-looking motherfucker.

Tyrone put the rucksack on his lap.

The pistol was behind him now, in his belt, the butt pressed coldly against his ribs.

Was he one of them ?

Or just a dude? Wouldn’t it be really funny if he got robbed now?

He moved his hand very slowly, until he had hold of the pistol.

Nobody was going to rob him now.

Batman looked at him and smiled. ‘ Wa’s jy op pad heen, my bru ?’ Where are you going?

Tyrone was so relieved about the Flats Afrikaans, the smile, the fact that Batman might be a nice ou , over the dreadful tension that was broken, that he laughed.

‘ Na my suster ,’ he said. ‘In Bellville.’

‘Nice,’ said Batman. The phone in his hand rang. ‘Sorry,’ he said, and answered: ‘ Jis , Bones?’

59

Batman said ‘OK.’ and ‘ Jissis ’ and ‘Yes, everything is fine’ into his cellphone, and Tyrone tuned out and thought, can you believe it? He took a few deep breaths and exhaled. He felt light-headed, he wanted to laugh out loud. No, he wanted to dance, but that would all have to wait until he was dead sure the cops were looking after Nadia nicely. What he would do, he would phone them again, sommer netnou from Bellville, scare the bejaysus out of them: fifteen gangstas are on the way from the Plain to go and hurt that girlie in the hospital, get your SWAT team in, manne , call in the big guns, this is not child’s play. All his plans had worked out so well, the whole lot, after all his worries. And now there was the small matter of what he was going to do with his share of the two point four. Nadia had six years of study, about fifty grand a year, let’s make it sixty or seventy, let him maar let her have some luxuries too, some nice goeters . That’s more than four hundred thousand bucks, leaves them with another two million. Buy her a little car, nothing fancy, just a little Peugeot or something.

How are you going to explain that to your sister,Ty, don’t be stupid.

Not impossible. He could just say he got this moerse paint contract . . .

Batman said something.

‘Sorry?’ said Ty.

‘It’s not necessary, jy wiet. ’

‘ Ek versta’ jou nie, my bru .’ I don’t understand.

‘You don’t need to go to the hospital.’

Did he just say ‘to the hospital’ by mistake? Hadn’t he told him Bellville?

‘We’ve just caught the guy from the Waterfront. A bunch of Hawks are now on the way to the hospital, just to make sure. Your sister is safe. If I were you, I would just stay on the train.’

Tyrone grew ice cold.

‘Who are you?’ He moved his hand back to his pistol.

‘My name is Vaughn Cupido. I’m a captain in the Directorate of Priority Crime Investigations of the Es A Pee Es. They call us the Hawks, pappie. We’re the hot shit, the top cops, the main men. And if you have a weapon there under your jacket, my best advice is, forget it. They don’t call me Crackshot McKenneth, the Pride of the Prairies, for nothing. I am Quick Draw McGraw, faster than a speeding bullet . . .’

‘OK,’ said Tyrone. ‘I get the point.’

‘So just relax.’

‘I am relaxed.’

‘Have you got a gun?’ Cupido’s voice was very calm, as if he were asking what he had had for breakfast.

It took a long time before Tyrone could get it out: ‘ Ja .’

‘Hand it over. Slowly. We really don’t want anyone to get hurt.’

Tyrone sat frozen. The thought that he was going to lose everything, that it had all been for nothing, all the blood, the running, the terror, the worry, it made him feel paralysed.

Cupido looked at his watch. ‘Time is running out. Just hand it over, everything will be OK.’

Tyrone lifted his hand slowly to his hip, pulled out the pistol reluctantly.

‘Hold it like that so the Hase can’t see it.’

‘The Hase ?’

‘It’s police-speak for the public. Slow and easy now.’

Tyrone passed the pistol over, low and unobtrusively. The cop dude took it.

‘That’s better,Tyrone. Tell me, where did you grow up?’

‘Mitchells Plain.’

‘Me too. What street?’

‘Begonia.’

‘I know Begonia. Hard times, da ’.’

‘’S true.’What did the motherfucker want?

‘I grew up in Blackbury Street. It’s just other side Eisleben.’

‘I know Blackbury.’

‘How long have you been a pickpocket?’

Jirre . He knew everything. ‘Since I was twelve.’

‘Who taught you?’

‘Uncle Solly. From Begonia Street.’

‘Was he your real uncle?’

What kind of conversation was this? ‘No. My foster father.’

‘You and Nadia were orphans?’

‘ Ja . Daddy and Mommy died when I was three and she was one.’

‘ Daai’s sad, my bru .’

‘Uncle Solly was a good man.’

‘But a pickpocket.’

‘Damn fine pickpocket. And he had morals.’

‘How much money is in the rucksack?’

That was a surprise. Such an ugly surprise that his body jerked with the shock of it.

He wanted to ask, ‘How do you know about the money?’

But something else suddenly dawned on him: the Batman cop wanted a cut. Of course he wanted a cut. Or all of it. Everyone knew the cops were corrupt.

‘What money?’

‘The money in the photo that they sent to you. Did they hand it over?’

He kept quiet.

‘Did they?’ Cupido asked again.

‘ Ja .’

‘How much?’

What did it help to lie. ‘Two point four.’

‘Million?’

‘ Ja .’

Cupido whistled softly. ‘And it’s all there?’

‘I think so.’

‘That’s a lot of money.’

‘How much do you want?’

Cupido laughed. ‘If it wasn’t such a lekker day, my bru, I would have bitchslapped you.’

Tyrone dared to look at the cop for the first time.

‘ Ek sê, it’s a lot of money. A lot of responsibility.’

‘It is.’

‘Not many get such a chance. An ou who can put his sister through university. And make something of himself. Get out of Begonia Street.’

‘’S true.’

The cop put his hand in his coat pocket. Tyrone watched the movement. The hand emerged, holding a card.