Deon Meyer - Blood Safari

‘Yes.’

‘What about your head? On Saturday you were shell-shocked.’

The two in the Jeep just sat there. It might be nothing. Just two people waiting for someone. Or not. They seemed to be watching us.

‘Saturday was a rough day. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

‘All right, then …’

‘Don’t look left. I think we have visitors.’ She was an old hand. She kept her eyes on me. ‘How do you want to handle it?’

‘Might be nothing, but I want to make sure. Where’s your car?’

‘That way.’ She nodded to the right, north-west.

‘Good. Did you bring a firearm?’

‘I did.’ We kept walking, seeming relaxed, chatting.

‘What did you see?’

I deliberately looked in another direction. ‘Black Jeep Grand Cherokee, not the latest model, the previous one. At eleven o’clock, facing us, a hundred metres, a little more perhaps. Two in front, too far to say any more.’

‘Police don’t use Jeeps.’

‘That’s pretty sharp for a lady …’

‘The pistol is in my luggage in the back. It’s the Glock 37, ten .45 GAP rounds in the magazine. Yesterday I shot a two-centimetre grouping at twenty-five metres. At fifteen metres it was less than a centimetre. It kicks very little and likes rapid fire. I brought you two magazines and a hundred rounds. You’ll have to put the magazine in if you want to use it now.’

‘I do.’

‘What can I do?’

‘Fit the magazine without them seeing and pass the Glock to me. Then get in the car. Keep the engine running and wait for me.’

‘Fine.’ Cool as ice. No reproaches that I had suddenly found my tongue.

We reached the hired car, a white Mercedes C180. She pressed the remote and the car beeped and flashed its lights.

‘Civvies,’ said Jeanette, and nodded in the direction of an old man and woman getting into a Corolla between the Jeep and us.

‘I see them.’

She opened the boot of the Mercedes and began to open her suitcase. ‘The dock’s numbers have been filed off, but you have parole conditions.’

‘I know.’

‘I’ll put it beside the suitcase.’

She stood back. I bent and picked up the Glock. Keeping my body between the pistol and the Jeep, I pulled my shirt out of my trousers and pushed it into my belt under the shirt.

‘See you.’ I turned and began to walk towards the Jeep, not too fast, not too slow. I looked elsewhere, hoping they would think I was looking for my car. I would have preferred to have the Glock behind my back where it was easier to take out.

Seventy-five metres. I looked at the Jeep in my peripheral vision. Too far for detail, but they were still there.

Behind me the old man started the Corolla.

Sixty metres.

I heard the Jeep’s engine fire. Petrol engine, the V8 growl, unmistakable. Lifted my shirt, put my hand on the pistol butt and began to run.

The Jeep shot out of the parking bay and swung left. They wanted to go to the exit. I ran to cut them off, couldn’t get the Glock out because of the civilians, didn’t want anyone to call the police. Looked at the Jeep. They would have to drive fifty metres towards me before they could take the exit. I might make it. I sprinted. My knee objected and my ribs weren’t keen on the idea either.

The Jeep accelerated, the driver was nearest to me. I couldn’t make out much, but I thought he looked like a white man. Passenger. Where was the passenger? He was hiding, head bent down. I was still twenty metres short when they took the left turn for the exit with screeching tyres. I wouldn’t make it, it was too far.

I focused on the driver, had a good look, then the licence plate number. TWS 519 GP. I turned around and ran back towards Jeanette. The Corolla was approaching, the old man in no hurry. He and his old lady stared at me running around the car park, looking worried, wondering what was going on.

I saw Jeanette driving the Mercedes towards me. I looked around; the Jeep was almost at the exit. Come on, Jeanette, come on. Then the Corolla was in her way, she tried to pass, but the old man turned towards the gate right in front of her. Jeanette braked, the ABS kicked in and she just missed them. I reached the Mercedes, jerked open the door and jumped in.

‘Grandpa and fucking Grandma,’ she said, and put her foot down, a Gauloise between her fingers, swerved around the Corolla and raced towards the gate. The old couple’s eyes were wide. The Jeep was gone.

‘Did you see which way they went?’

‘No. I was watching you brake for Grandpa. But I got the licence plate number.’

‘I should bloody hope so.’

She stopped at the gate. We could go only left or right down the road.

No sign of the Jeep.

‘Fuck,’ she said.

‘Not in front of the children,’ I said.

Behind us the old man honked. Jeanette stiffened for a second. The she laughed, her loud bark, and shook her head. ‘Now Grandpa is in a hurry. What do you want to do?’

‘Nothing we can do. Besides, I got what I wanted: a face and a number. Let’s go back.’

Grandpa honked again, sharply and irritably. Jeanette drove off and made a U-turn back into the car park.

‘Nothing like a bit of adrenalin to brighten up the afternoon,’ she said. ‘Did you recognise the face?’

‘No, but I know him now. What I want to know is, why weren’t they here yesterday?’

‘Probably didn’t know where you were.’

‘Or they were waiting to see if Emma would make it.’

‘You’ll have to tell B. J. and Barry.’

‘I will.’

She parked. I took out the envelope from one of Maggie T.’s letters. ‘There’s a bullet casing in the envelope. Do you know someone who can look at it? Anything. Fingerprints, type of rifle …’

‘Maybe. Give me the Jeep’s licence number too.’ She took a pen out of her jacket pocket. I repeated the number and she wrote it on the envelope. Then she got out. So did I. I looked around very thoroughly. Nothing. Jeanette went around to the boot. She opened it, rummaged around and turned to me with a white-and-blue plastic shopping bag.

‘Extra magazine, a hundred rounds, shoulder holster. I assume you haven’t found your cell phone?’

‘No.’

‘There’s a new one in there. I want to know what’s happening. Pay-as-you-go with four hundred rands’ worth of airtime. And money. Ten thousand in hundred-rand notes. It’s a shithouse full of money, Lemmer. I want receipts.’

‘I’ll do what I can.’

She handed me the bag formally.

‘Thanks, Jeanette.’

‘Nothing to thank me for. Now listen up. Get these motherfuckers, no matter what it takes. But you stay out of trouble with the police. If they catch you with the Glock, you’re going back to jail. You know that.’

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Lemmer, I’m serious.’

‘I know.’

‘OK,’ she said and turned away. ‘Jeanette …’

She stopped irritably and wiped away perspiration. ‘What?’

‘If she’s so rich, why did she take the cheapest option?’

‘Who? Emma?’

‘Yes.’

‘You think you’re the cheapest option?’

‘I know I am.’

She shook her head. ‘You know nothing. She came in and said she wanted the best. Money no object.’

I waited for her to laugh, tell me she was joking. It didn’t happen.

She saw my confusion. ‘I’m serious, Lemmer.’

‘And you gave me the job?’

‘I gave you the job.’

‘You’re pulling my leg.’

‘In this heat?’

She stood for a moment and then she opened her door. ‘Goodbye, Lemmer. Happy New Year.’

‘No kiss or cuddle today?’

‘Fuck off, Lemmer,’ she said, and got into the Merc, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Then she drove off without once looking back.