J. P. Majiedt has always been a writer. At school his language teachers

often held up his essays as the ideal product and his university

lecturers often marvelled at his writing prowess.

He submitted his first manuscript (Skull Hunters) at the age of

fourteen. Rejection has never deterred him. He believed in his ability

and always deemed himself to be in good company as far as his

rejection went.

His versatility is borne out by the fact that he has produced short

stories, novels, plays, and a rock musical. One of his poems has been

included in an anthology of African verse (Crossroads of the Century)

published in 2000.

He is a retired Mathematics and Physical Science teacher and lives

with his wife and two daughters in Cape Town.

L O C E V I L L E

I would like to dedicate this book to Prideel, Cordeen and Lindsay.

J . P. M a j i e d t

L O C E V I L L E

Copyright © J. P. Majiedt

The right of J. P. Majiedt to be identified as author of this work has

been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any

means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,

without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this

publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for

damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British

Library.

ISBN 978 184963 738 1

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2014)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LB

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Prologue

An ominous silence had fallen over the Mardon jail. The riot had been put down.

The police were pulling out.

Warden Dick Conners was standing in the passage on the second floor

looking down on the quadrangle where the prisoners were mulling around

coughing and gasping. From up here they appeared almost unreal through the

thin cloud of shifting smoke from the tear gas shells.

Conners was livid. For a short period he had not been in charge of the

Mardon. He had needed the assistance of the police to quell the revolt. And what

was the revolt all about? Better food? Study time? Longer visiting hours? No! It

was all about that murderer Carl Foster’s thirst for power. He was the one who

had incited and inflamed the inmates to the point where they had become

uncontrollable. Conners had wanted his guards to use live ammunition, but the

minister had insisted on tear gas and rubber bullets. Many prisoners were now

carrying injuries, but everyone was still alive.

Conners raised his fists and shook them while gritting his teeth. He would

take control of the Mardon again! Carl Foster would pay! Yes, nobody had died

so far, but it was not over yet! It would not be over until the Dogs had done their

bit! Conners grinned gleefully when he thought of his Dogs. He rubbed his

hands together and gave a crazy cackle. His grey eyes were watery from the

effect of the tear gas and completed the impression that he was crying.

At that moment officers Dog Ferris and Fred Bunny were entering Carl

Foster’s cell. Foster had been moved to his cell at the start of the riot because of

his adverse influence on the other inmates.

He was lying on his bed with his feet towards the door. He was a big man

with a big bald head. His alert brown eyes were two slits in his hard, scarred

face. There was a tattoo of a cross on his left cheek. His nose was skew and flat

and he had trouble breathing through it. It gave off a whistling sound when he

breathed. Not surprisingly, his nickname in the underworld was Whistles. He

bared his teeth in a mocking grin when he recognized Ferris and Bunny.

“Dick’s Dogs!” he roared in his hoarse voice, “Lean and mean Ferris with

Bunny, his fat crony. Are you here to bark or to bite?”

They did not respond. Ferris calmly closed the cell door behind him and

walked to the chair. He pulled it around and sat down with his arms resting on

the back of the chair. He blinked at Foster. Bunny went to stand beside the chair

like a bodyguard. He did not look at Foster. His black eyes were fixed on the

wall beyond the bed.

Foster spoke again. “Well? Who’s going to bark first? Ferris the faggot or

Bunny the badmash?”

Ferris blinked a few times. Bunny showed no response. Finally Ferris spoke

in his mean, cracking voice. “You have upset the tranquillity of the Mardon.

You have upset the captain…”

“Have I not upset the two of you?” Foster interrupted with a grin.

“You have turned the Mardon into a war zone,” continued Ferris. “The

punishment is death!” He looked up at Bunny who reacted like a robot. He

walked around the chair and came to stand half a metre from Foster. He was still

looking at the wall.

Foster swung his legs off the bed and came to his feet. He was painfully

aware of the nasty hunting knife at Bunny’s side and he knew how fast Bunny

was with it. Everyone in the Mardon knew that Bunny had killed his own

parents with such a knife. The Mardon inmates were scared to death of the

zombie with the lightning knife. But Foster had dealt with all kinds of killers in

his criminal career. He was confident that he could handle Bunny. But Ferris

was wearing a gun. What would Ferris do if he knocked out Bunny? Would

Ferris shoot him? There was no telling how Ferris would react. Did they in fact

come to his cell to kill him? Surely not! Conners would never do such a thing.

Not after the ruckus that had barely played itself out. Foster’s eyes shifted

between the two Dogs. He was getting worried. Conners was as crazy as these

two. Would he stop at murder? It was no secret that he was blaming Foster for

the uprising. It would be prudent to play it safe. Don’t upset these two idiots too

much. Their brains are very tiny.

“Death, you say?” and he looked at Ferris. “Here in the Mardon? What

would that do to the tranquillity of…” But Ferris did not allow him to finish.

“The tranquillity has already been damaged!” he snarled. “And the one who

caused the damage has to die!” He looked at Bunny and blinked furiously.

Foster sensed the danger and turned his head to Bunny. He saw the shiny

blade and the dead eyes behind it. Those eyes were now looking at him! He

knew instinctively what he had to do. He had to knock Bunny’s elbow upwards

while kneeing him in the groin. He had to do it fast! Faster than Bunny could

wield that blade! But then the knife had disappeared! Bunny was turning to walk

away. Why? He tried to talk to Bunny but the best he could do was gape

stupidly. Ferris burst out laughing. Foster gave him a confused frown.

Something was wrong. Breathing was becoming a problem. Then he felt

something warm trickle down his neck. He raised his hand to feel what it was.

But his hand only came up halfway! He raised his other hand. That one also only

came up halfway. He was now standing there like someone holding a tray. Now

the Dogs were growing taller. Even the bed was growing higher. It was now

level with his head!

The next moment Ferris was bending over him, laughing in his face! The

laughing face was floating and shifting, but the laughing voice was clear. “Your

bloody throat has been cut, you fool!”

Chapter 1

Derick Black frowned at the door when the knock came. He was not expecting

visitors. In fact he was never expecting visitors. His parents never came to his

flat and his colleagues were not in the habit of visiting one another. In their

profession it was not only indiscreet to visit your colleagues, it was also

dangerous. He lived in a two bedroom flat on the second floor of an apartment

building in the southern suburbs of Cape Town. Building owners and flat

owners had not yet become security conscious enough to install all kinds of

alarm systems, survey cameras and buzzers. They just kept their doors locked.

Derick just kept his door locked to conform to the ethos of his immediate

community.

Now there was someone at the door who wanted to talk to him. Still

frowning, he put down the newspaper he was reading and glanced at the clock

on the wall. Ten to eleven, Monday morning. Time for people to be at work. Not

to go around bothering other people.

“Yes?” he said with a rasp in his voice. “Who is it?”

“Derick? Don’t tell me you’re still sleeping, lazy bones!” shouted a voice

from behind the door. Derick’s frown was quickly replaced by a smile. He knew

that voice. Davy Sax. One of the very few people who were welcome to visit

him. Davy was more than a colleague. He could almost be regarded as a friend.

Very often people confused the two concepts. If you fraternize with your

colleagues, they don’t become your friends. The relationship between you and

your colleagues is grounded in your working environment. A friend is someone

you meet in a pub, in church or somewhere removed from the working

environment. Derick liked Davy. People who saw them together thought they

were friends. They had met at school and had studied together. That did not

make them friends either. They were classmates. Even though they hung out

together during weekends. And even though Derick would never let anyone lay

a hand on Davy. That was important because while Derick was tall, well built,

strong and fast, Davy was only fast. He was twenty metres shorter than Derick

and thin. His other classmates had often made fun of his physique, but it had

never bothered him. He always boasted that no bully could scare him because no

bully could catch him.

Derick and Davy had been inseparable before they met Harris. Now they

only saw each other during jobs. They now lived by Harris’s rules.

“I’m wide awake,” said Derick and unlocked the door. “Come in!” He

immediately turned and went to the bar to pour two whiskies. His flat consisted

of a small kitchen at the door, a comfortable lounge and two bedrooms. No

passage. As you entered the flat, you passed the kitchen door on your left and

you were in the lounge. The lounge contained a couch, two easy chairs, a coffee

table, a hifi set, a television set and a bar. There were some beautiful landscapes

hanging on the walls. The lounge had one window that looked out on the park

across the road.

The door swung open and Davy entered. He was wearing a pursed smile

under a black top hat. He closed the door behind him with his left hand and took

his hat off with his right. His small head suited his thin body and narrow

shoulders. His black hair was never groomed. He had small brown eyes and a

thin, rather sharp nose. His pink lips were always pursed as if he was planning a

prank. He shouted “hideo!” and tossed the hat onto the couch. The hat and the

“hideo” were a result of his admiration for the outlaw Billy the Kid. He had once

seen a photograph of Billy wearing a top hat and he could not rest until he had

found a hat like that. The “hideo” was just his version of a cowboy cry.

“Hallo there, Mister Black,” he crooned. “I’m sure you are tickled pink to

see your old buddy again, or what am I saying?”

“Sit down next to your hat and have a drink,” responded Derick.

Davy reached the couch with a few dance steps and sat down. “Thank you,

thank you for asking! I’m well, thank you! And may I ask how you are, sir?”

Derick handed him his drink with a wry smile. “I’m glad to see you in such

a good mood. I was wondering what brought you here after only a couple of

months. Now I know it can’t be bad news.”

“It’s three months, not a couple!” reacted Davy and took a long sip from his

glass. “Ooh, this is great! It makes the tiredness drop off one’s shoulders!”

Derick sat down in one of the easy chairs. “Tiredness? What are you tired

of? Idleness or boredom?”

“Idleness and boredom may apply to other businessmen, but not to me!”

replied Davy and he sounded mildly affronted. “But let me look at you. You

look different from three months ago. Am I missing something?”

Derick had a habit of regularly changing his looks. He had dark brown hair

but his hairstyle was nondescript. He could have a different style for each day of

the week. Today his hair was brushed to the front. It was covering his forehead.

He was boasting a three month old moustache. His sideburns were also a little

longer than what Davy remembered.

Derick did not want to be recognized or remembered. Familiarity breeds

danger was his motto. That made sense in their line of work. Davy only had one

disguise and he wore it all the time. He liked to believe that it made him look

like Billy the Kid. What counted in Davy’s favour was the fact that his looks

were incongruent with his line of work. People did not associate his posture with

dangerous work. Someone like Derick, on the other hand, naturally drew

attention. People usually gave him a second look. That was why he tried to be a

chameleon. He had a strong square chin and thin lips. His nose was

asymmetrical as a result of a vicious punch. But there was one thing about his

face that Derick could never change. His eyes. He had deep, dark brown eyes

that could change in a moment, depending on his mood. When he was relaxed,

his eyes were deep and almost soothing. That was why his colleagues and

friends always felt at ease and safe in his presence. But when he was angry or

felt threatened, those dark eyes became two balls of fire.

Derick and Davy were both pushing thirty now. They had gone to university

because they did not know what to do with their lives after matric. Life after the

fun filled school years was an anticlimax. They enrolled for a course in

Industrial Psychology. Derick had a knack for Psychology and easily passed his

first year. Davy was a bit sceptical about the prospects of the course and did not

enjoy it as much. Halfway through the second year he convinced Derick that

they were in the wrong course. They decided to change over to Marine Biology

because that might get them a career in the navy. They were told to come back

in February the next year. So they went looking for a job that could carry them

until the next year. Then they found out how difficult it was to land a job. It was

crazy. They were two well educated, healthy and good looking young men.

Companies should have been fighting one another for their services! Slowly but

surely they became disillusioned and depressed. What would happen to them

after qualifying as marine biologists? Would the navy also reject them? Then

what? Would it be worth their while to even go back to university?

Their parents were no help either. All they got from their parents was

pressure, criticism and stress. Derick’s father was a member of the city council

and his mother was a doctor. Davy’s parents were both teachers. So the message

was clear. Derick and Davy had to study and make something of their lives.

Their parents were fed up with their sitting at home and the atmosphere at home

was becoming almost unbearable. Derick and Davy had regular meetings in The

Flamingo restaurant. They took these meetings very seriously. They were

planning for the future.

In the meantime they were still looking for work, albeit not as seriously as

before. They were gradually getting used to the idleness. And they were

beginning to like it. They were drinking now and taking out girls. Towards the

end of the year they had each settled on a steady girlfriend. Derick had settled on

a brunette called Sandy and Davy on a red head called Lily. As it turned out,

Sandy and Lily had quite an influence on their lives.

* * *

They were having one of their customary meetings in The Flamingo. By

then the girls had become part of these meetings. Then Lily came up with an

idea. “I have an idea!” she blurted out excitedly.

“You? An idea?” mocked Sandy.

“Ok, we are ready to listen to anything,” sighed Derick. “Let’s hear it, Lily.”

“Here it is.” Lily rubbed her hands together. “Boxing!”

“What?” It came from three mouths.

Lily pulled up her shoulders and raised her hands. “Why don’t you go into

boxing? There’s a lot of money in boxing!”

“Do you see me as a boxer?” Davy asked incredulously.

Sandy burst out laughing. Derick just stared at Lily in silence. Then he

raised his right hand. “Wait a moment. This might not be as ridiculous as it

sounds. Davy, there are different weight divisions in boxing. There will be one

for your weight too.”

“But what do we know about boxing, man?” demurred Davy. “We’ll get

killed!”

“My Uncle Harry could train you,” offered Lily. “He runs a boxing stable.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Davy spoke. “Why have you

never told us about your Uncle Harry?”

“Well, it never came up,” responded Lily with hands raised in innocence.

“Can he train someone like me?” asked Davy.

“He can train anybody. He’s good.”

So Lily took them to Uncle Harry’s gym and introduced them to Uncle

Harry. They also called him Uncle Harry. It just felt natural. The other boxers

simply called him Coach. Uncle Harry was a short, thick set man with a bald

head. His head looked too small for his body. He had small eyes that looked as if

they were hiding or planning something devious. His voice made up for the lack

of head size. He had a thundering voice and it did not matter who he addressed,

everybody in the gym got the message.

The gym was a square with an area of about 90 square metres. There were

lots of exercising apparatus everywhere and one boxing ring stashed away in

one corner. There was a door next to the ring leading to the office. Next to the

office was the locker room and next to that the shower room. The first thing that

impressed Derick and Davy was the fact that the gym was busy. There were

guys at every training point and two guys were sparring in the ring and a few

waiting for their turn. Two broad shouldered handlers were organizing the

boxers in the ring while Uncle Harry was walking around to keep overall

control.

Uncle Harry looked Derick and Davy over and gave them their first

instruction. “No smoking and no drinking for the rest of your lives!”

“Not even an occasional beer?” asked Derick in amazement.

Uncle Harry studied Derick for a moment before he replied, “I suppose an

occasional beer is fine, but I’ll tell you when. You’ll have to impress me first.”

“How?” asked Derick.

“Go hit that punching bag,” replied Uncle Harry.

Then he shouted at the guy hitting the bag, “Hey! Stan! Give this guy a

chance at the bag!”

That was how they got into boxing. Derick developed faster than Davy only

because he enjoyed it while Davy was scared of getting hit. The handlers had a

hard time with Davy during sparring while Derick was making his presence felt.

It was not long before Uncle Harry asked Derick to pull his punches a bit. Then

he took Derick to one side and whispered in his ear, “You are ready for a beer.”

Chapter 2

Derick peered at Davy across his glass. There was a hint of a smile on his lips

and in his eyes. He knew exactly what Davy meant. They had known each other

for many years and had been through many ordeals. They did not have to

explain themselves to each other.

“I haven’t changed my nose,” he said.

“I can see that,” laughed Davy. “I actually envy you, you know? I have

nothing to show for my boxing career. Not a scratch!”

“Not anything visible,” said Derick, “but what about brain damage?”

“Brain damage? Wait a moment! Do I sound like someone with brain

damage?”

“Do you?” asked Derick and there were little devils playing in those dark

eyes.

“If I have suffered any brain damage in my boxing career, and I say a big if,

nobody will ever notice it, my friend,” replied Davy and put down his glass on

the coffee table with a dramatic swing of the arm, “but you could never hide that

ugly, skew nose of yours! Would you please refresh my memory? How did you

acquire that nasal trophy?”

Derick laughed. It all came back to him. Four amateur boxing tournaments.

Uncle Harry had promised them that they could turn pro if they won the

provincial amateur championship. All they had to do was win all their amateur

fights. By the time Derick entered the ring for his first amateur bout, he had

developed a disabling body punch and a jaw breaking upper cut. Both with the

right hand. His left hand was the decoy that kept the opponent busy with jabs

while the right was warming up for the kill. He was fighting in the cruiserweight

division.

“You are just a bit too heavy for the light heavy division,” Uncle Harry had

told him. “We can now call you either a cruiserweight or a junior heavyweight.

Which one do you prefer?”

“I don’t care,” Derick had replied, “as long as the scale agrees.”

* * *

Derick’s first opponent was a little shorter than he but with a heavier torso.

He came at Derick bending low and swinging his long arms. Derick retreated

and jabbed over those wide swings. That was the pattern throughout the first

round. During the break Uncle Harry told him, “Look, he’s now used to your

retreating. If you suddenly stop, he’ll be confused. Then you step forward and

hit him with your uppercut.”

That was exactly how it happened. Derick’s opponent did not get up from

the uppercut.

In the second tournament he met a giant of a cruiserweight. There was some

controversy about the man’s actual weight because Uncle Harry saw him as a

heavyweight. But he somehow beat the scale. By now Derick had learned to

combine his body punch with his uppercut. He would send his right fist deep

into the opponent’s body with his whole weight resting on his left leg. Then he

would pull back his right fist just far enough to send it upwards past the

opponent’s chest towards the jaw.

Derick and Uncle Harry decided to use the same strategy that worked so

beautifully in the first fight. This opponent was different though. Firstly, he was

not shorter than Derick and he did not come in low. Secondly, he seemed slow

and awkward. He was too big for his own good. Derick easily evaded his

roundhouse punches and telegraphed jabs. Derick walked around him and

jabbed him at will. The man was not landing anything. He could not touch

Derick. And at the end of the first round he was clearly getting tired. At the

break Uncle Harry was smiling from ear to ear. “You’ve got him, son! He’s

ripe! You can pluck him any time!”

Derick nodded. He was smiling too. It was beginning to look like boxing

was for him. The second round started like the first: Big Boy swinging away and

Derick evading the punches with ease. There was a slight change, though.

Derick did not see the necessity of stepping out of the way of the punches any

longer. He could just sway, bob and weave. That would make it easier for him to

send straight jabs to the head. It went well. The more he weaved, the more Big

Boy hit air. And Big Boy was losing his temper. That was bad. Derick saw it

and started smiling at him. Then he started taunting Big Boy: “Missed again?”

or “Oh that was close! Maybe the next one, hey?”

Then something funny happened. Derick just saw stars and the arena started

to sway. Derick saw two Big Boys in front of him, eyes bulging and teeth bared.

Then he hit the canvas.

* * *

“You were lucky it was the end of the round,” said Davy, “otherwise they

would have counted you out!”

“Was I down that long?”

“You were down long, mister! You were saved by the bell!” laughed Davy.

“You’re enjoying yourself, hey?” said Derick, still smiling. “But you forget

I did get him in the third round!”

“Yes, I meant to ask you: what did Uncle Harry say to you during the break?

You came out like a crazed demon for the third!”

“How should I remember what he said?” asked Derick, feigning innocence.

“I was dazed, remember? And by the way, I didn’t come out like a crazed

demon! I knew exactly what I was doing!”

“So you were not dazed?” smiled Davy.

“Enough about me,” said Derick, leaning forward in his chair, “what was

your division again? Was it super lightweight or junior welterweight?”

Davy pulled a face. “Uncle Harry told me I was just over the lightweight

limit. So I could be super light or junior welterweight.”

“Did he ask you to choose?” asked Derick and those little devils were

playing in his eyes again.

“Yep. Could I have another drink?” was Davy’s reluctant response.

“Nope,” replied Derick curtly. “What did you choose?”

“Super lightweight.”

“Why?”

“You know, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t. Why?”

“I liked the super, damn you! I needed something like that! Boxing was

scary business!”

Derick laughed. “But you won your first fight easily enough, didn’t you?”

Davy’s face lit up. “I did, didn’t I? I boxed that guy’s ears off!”

“You ran him ragged, is more accurate,” commented Derick.

Davy frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You ran so much he couldn’t catch you for three rounds!”

“So how did I win the fight?” Now Davy was leaning forward.

Derick laughed and waved a hand. “All right, you did land more punches.

Mostly jabs.”

“I floated like a bee and I stung like a...” started Davy but then he lost

himself.

“Forget it!” laughed Derick. “You lost your second fight. You were leading

on points. What happened?”

“A sucker punch,” said Davy simply.

“I almost lost my second fight the same way,” said Derick. “The difference

was, my nose was broken, while you were knocked out.”

“Are we then two suckers?” asked Davy.

“No, my friend,” replied Derick in that soothing voice of his, “there is just a

strong affinity between us.”

Davy stared at him for a moment. Then he shrugged. “I’ll take that.

Whatever it means.”

“Now tell me. What are you doing here?” asked Derick suddenly.

Davy looked at Derick. He could see that any wisecrack would be out of

place now as Derick had that business look in his eyes. He pulled a piece of

newspaper from his pocket and held it out to Derick. Derick just frowned at the

paper.

“Take it,” encouraged Davy. “Look at the ad I circled.”

Derick slowly took the paper and searched for the relevant ad. The frown

was gone but his eyes were now two narrow slits. He found the ad. He gave it

one look and put the paper down on the coffee table. The ad was under ‘Personal

Services’ and read: Looking for a man who is not afraid of anything. Call this

number. A telephone number was given. That was all.

Derick looked at Davy. “I suppose you are gonna tell me what this is all

about?”

Davy smiled and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I know what you’re

thinking. It’s only been three months since our last job and here I am …”

“Are you telling me this is a score?” interrupted Derrick and picked up the

paper.

“It sure is,” smiled Davy, still rubbing his thighs.

Derick looked into Davy’s eyes. “You answered this ad?”

“I sure did!”

“So I was right! You are bored!”

Davy just raised his shoulders and gave a guilty smile.

“Come on, man, spill it!” said Derick and threw down the paper.

“Cool it, cool it,” and Davy raised both hands. “I’ll tell you. I went to see

this guy. He works for a security company that delivers money to certain

banks.” He stopped and looked at Derick for response. Derick just looked back

at him with impatience in those intimidating dark eyes.

“Well,” continued Davy, shrugging nonchalantly, “to cut a long story short,

he wants us to take the money.” With that he sat back, sighed, and looked at

Derick.

Derick stared at Davy for a moment. Then, realising that Davy was not

going to say anything further, he also sat back in his chair. “Let me see if I

understand this. This guy advertises for someone who is not afraid of anything.

What he is actually looking for is someone to rob an armoured truck full of

money that he is driving for a bank. An inside job, in other words. Am I right?”

“More or less. I am not sure that he is the driver.”

“You are not sure? Is he going to sit in an office and wait for a report of the

robbery? Are you sure it’s an armoured truck?”

“It must be!” protested Davy. “It’s money from the bank!”

Derick stared at Davy for a moment. Then he got up and poured two more

drinks. He said nothing while he handed Davy his glass. Then he sat down.

“Does this guy have a name?”

“Coulsin,” answered Davy. “Alvin Coulsin.”

“Which company does he work for?”

“He didn’t say.”

“You don’t know much, do you?” There was impatience in Derick’s voice.

“I wasn’t looking for details,” explained Davy. “I was just making the

connection. I couldn’t make any decisions anyway. All I could do was set up a

meeting between you and him.”

“And did you?”

“He will be in Josey’s every evening at eight.”

Derick smiled. It was clear that Alvin Coulsin had never done anything like

this before.

“We’ll have to inform Harris, of course,” he said.

“Why?” asked Davy.

“Why not?” Derick shot back. “We can’t go into a job without his

knowledge.”

“Listen, Derick,” Davy put down his glass, “Harris gives us assignments.

We carry them out. We don’t give him assignments! It’s not our job! If we pick

up something along the way, it’s got nothing to do with him! He doesn’t have to

know!”

Derick stared at him. “So you say we should treat this as a private job?”

“If we decide to do it, of course,” replied Davy.

“And keep the money?”

“Of course! Coulsin will have to get a cut, of course. But it will be a three

way split!”

“Did Coulsin say how much money was transported?” asked Derick.

“About nine hundred thousand!”

Derick put down his glass and folded his arms. “Harris will have to know.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake?” asked Davy in exasperation.

“Because of the planes,” answered Derick patiently. “Have you forgotten

about the planes?”

They had met Harris through Mouse Damons. Derick still remembered his

first meeting with Mouse as if it was yesterday.

Chapter 3

They were having one of their customary meetings in The Flamingo. Derick was

late and the other three were having coffee and doughnuts. Davy was trying to

explain to the two girls why he did not think that boxing was for him. He was

more a man for organization. Violence was not his thing. It hurt him to see the

pain he was causing when he hit his opponents so hard. He actually felt guilty.

He could hardly sleep at night.

Eventually Derick arrived with a newspaper under his arm.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, guys,” he said and pulled out a chair. “Where’s

my coffee?”

“What’s with the paper?” asked Lily. “Are you still looking for a job? I

thought you were happy with Uncle Harry?”

“Don’t worry,” said Derick and unfolded the paper, “this has nothing to do

with a job. Did you guys see the news?”

“What news?” asked Sandy and leaned against Derick to see what was in the

paper.

“This thing here, man. Right on the front page!” and Derick tapped with his

finger on the paper.

“Oh, I see,” crooned Sandy, “a big armed robbery. So what?” and she

looked at Derick. “These things happen all the time.”

“Yes, but don’t you see?” Derick responded patiently. “There were four

robbers. Three were gunned down by the police. The fourth one got away with

the money. He was only arrested a few days later. Without the money.”

“What happened to the money?” asked Davy and waved to the waiter.

“They don’t know,” replied Derick and held up both hands. “Nobody

knows!”

“I’m sure he buried the money somewhere!” offered Lily.

“Yes!” added Sandy. “In some graveyard!”

“Spooky,” said Davy in a low voice. “Spooky!”

“I don’t think so,” said Derick.

“You don’t think what?” asked Lily.

“I don’t think he buried it in a graveyard.”

“Why not?” asked Lily.

Derick shrugged. “People don’t bury money in graveyards.”

“How do you know?” asked Sandy.

“Because … Because it’s just not logical,” Derick ventured.

“If it’s not logical, then nobody would look there, would they?” responded

Lily with a smug smile on her ruby red lips.

“Here’s your coffee, Derick.” Davy pushed a cup across the table. “Was that

the only reason why you brought that paper? To show us the robbery?”

“Yes, but there’s more to it,” replied Derick with a pained expression. “I feel

it.”

“You really look like you’re taking this thing to heart,” remarked Davy.

“What do you want to do? Go dig for that money?”

“Yes, in some graveyard maybe?” laughed Lily.

Davy and Sandy joined in the laughter. Derick just sat there waiting. When

the laughter subsided he said, “You guys just don’t get it. I’m going to see this

guy.”

They all looked at him soberly. Then Sandy spoke. “You are going to see

what guy?”

“This guy who stole the money,” and Derick tapped again on the paper.

“But he’s in jail, isn’t he?” asked Lily.

“Yes, he’s kept in the Mardon jail. He is allowed to receive visitors.”

Davy sat back in his chair and looked at Derick with an incredulous, amused

look on his face. “I must be very stupid, but I can’t for the life of me understand

why you want to go see this guy. What on earth do you want to say to him?”

“Look, Davy,” replied Derick sounding like a parent who is trying hard to

make a child see the point, “I think the money is buried or stored in an unsafe

place.”

“What do you mean by unsafe?” Lily wanted to know.

“Well, the money could be in a building that is earmarked for demolition in

the near future. Robbers like to stash money in unoccupied buildings. And

Damons could still be in jail when the building goes down. See my point?”

Derick looked around for some sign of approval.

“Who is Damons?” Davy asked.

“The man in jail,” Sandy replied, tapping on the paper. “It’s here. Mouse

Damons.”

“Mouse?” reacted Lily. “What kind of a name is that?”

“That is an appropriate name for an armed robber,” declared Davy.

“Let me see,” laughed Sandy. “Maybe there’s also a cat in here.” She

studied the paper for a few minutes. Then she suddenly looked at Derick. “I was

wondering, weren’t the two of you supposed to register last month? Or are you

not going back to varsity?”

Derick and Davy looked at each other. February had quietly come and gone.

They had been so involved with the boxing that they had hardly noticed. Uncle

Harry had waved the professional carrot in front of their noses.

“Why should they go back?” asked Lily: “there’s a lot of money to be made

in boxing. What academic qualifications do you need to knock out a guy?”

“But you need something to fall back on, you know?” responded Sandy.

“Sport is dangerous. What if you get seriously injured and you can’t fight

anymore? It’s also a very short career, you know? Up to what age can you really

make money out of boxing? You need something else after boxing.” She looked

enquiringly at Derick and then at Davy.

Derick shrugged and pulled a face. “You’re right, of course, Sandy. One

needs a life after boxing. We just haven’t decided on one yet.”

“Yes,” added Davy, “that is why we have these meetings. We are planning

for the future.”

“So you’re not going back to varsity?” Sandy wanted to know.

There was a moment’s silence. Then Derick said, “Maybe later. We’ll see

how things work out. As Davy said, we are still planning.”

“Don’t worry, you guys,” Lily said, “things will work out, you’ll see. Just

make a success of the boxing first and put away some money. Who knows, you

might even open up a business when you retire.” She looked at the window and

raised her hands. “I can see it now: Black and Sax Jewellers!”

“Great!” laughed Sandy. “Now I know where I’m gonna get my engagement

ring!”

Lily joined in the laughter and stood up. “Come on, Sandy. We’ll be late if

we don’t move now.”

Sandy also left her chair. She kissed Derick on the cheek. “See you guys

later.”

“What are you going to watch?” asked Davy.

“It’s a movie for girls,” answered Sandy. “Not something you guys will

understand.”

“Oh, yech!” responded Davy and pulled a face. “Enjoy it anyway.”

The girls left and the restaurant grew quiet. There were only three people

left in the place besides Derick and Davy. Derick liked The Flamingo because it

had cubicles where one could have a romantic meeting or a personal

conversation without any disturbance. There were even curtains one could close

if one so desired. Up till now their meetings had not been of the kind that needed

a cubicle. Derick just liked the availability of the facility. They sat quietly for a

few minutes while Derick browsed through the paper. Then Davy cleared his

throat. Derick lowered the paper and looked at him.

“I want to ask you something, Derick,” Davy began. “I didn’t want to ask

while the girls were here because I’m starting to think that I may really have

suffered some brain damage in that knock out.” He looked at Derick and there

was a slight frown on his face.

“What is it, Davy?” asked Derick in his soothing voice and put down the

paper.

“Look, if his Mouse guy has put his money in an unsafe place like you said,

what is it to you? I just can’t see it.”

“I can make his money safe,” said Derick simply.

Davy sat back and stared at Derick for a moment. Then he burst out

laughing. Everybody in the restaurant looked up in surprise because Davy was

holding his stomach and giving himself over to a cathartic fit of laughter. Derick

smiled at the other customers and waited. Eventually the laughter subsided.

Davy picked up a serviette and wiped the tears from his eyes. The occasional

bark still escaped through his lips but he could speak at least.

“Thank you, Derick… Thank you… You make me… feel much… better

now…! Here I was… thinking that I was… the one with brain damage! Oh my

gosh! Now I know I’m not!” He wiped the last signs of tears from his face and

looked at Derick. There was no laughter in Derick’s eyes.

Chapter 4

Derick took a taxi to Cape Town. There was a shuttle taking people from the

station to the Mardon jail. Derick got off the shuttle and joined the queue at the

gate. The jail looked impressive. It was built entirely of stone. The walls were at

least twenty metres high. It was surrounded by a fence of thick wire with electric

cables on top. From the gate one could only see the front view of the jail and at

each end of the wall there was a watch tower. Derick could see the two guards

up there with what looked like rifles in their hands. The guards were studying

the people who piled through the gate one by one. There were two armed guards

at the gate. One of them held a thick hard cover in which the visitors had to

write their name, contact number and the name of the inmate visited. The other

guard just stood around trying to look threatening. He mostly succeeded because

there was an ugly scar down the left side of his face. He looked like he was on

the wrong side of the wall.

When Derick’s turn came he took the book without looking at scar face. He

could feel scar face’s eyes on him. He entered his details in the book. Next to

INMATE he wrote MR DAMONS. He handed the book back to the guard. Scar

face looked over the guard’s shoulder and frowned. Then he frowned at Derick.

“Who is Mister Damons?” he asked in a gruff voice. “The Mouse?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Derick.

“You are visiting the Mouse?” This time the voice was even more

threatening. “What is he to you?”

Derick was ready for that question. “He’s my uncle, sir. But I haven’t seen

him for a long time.”

“You’re damn lucky!” roared scar face. “Otherwise you might have been in

here too! Go on! And don’t talk too long. He’ll corrupt you!”

“I won’t talk long, sir.” And with that Derick entered the Mardon yard.

There was another guard inside the fence but he just watched the visitors go by.

Derick followed the queue without looking at the guard. The door that led into

the building was even more imposing than the gate. It was a double door of

reinforced steel. The door was at least two metres wide. A guard stood about

four metres inside the door. Derick noticed that the visitors turned right at that

point. Then they went through another door and found themselves in a

rectangular courtyard. There were tables, chairs and lots of pot plants staggered

all across the yard. Derick estimated the yard area to be something like eighty

square metres. Along one of the long walls there were windows with chairs

where visitors could sit down to talk to the inmates who would be seated on the

other side of the windows. Some inmates came out to sit at the tables.

Derick waited till all the other visitors were seated. He had not informed the

authorities that he wanted to visit Damons. He had no clue who to contact.

When all the visitors were sitting at the windows, all the window seats were

occupied. Derick turned around. There were still two tables unoccupied. He

quickly walked to one and sat down. There was a guard in the passage on the

other side of the windows and a guard outside in the courtyard. The latter was

quick to notice that Derick was alone. He walked a few paces until he was two

metres from Derick’s table. Then he stopped and studied Derick.

“Who are you coming to visit?” he asked politely enough, but Derick had an

idea he was going to say ‘sir’ if Derick had been a little older.

“Mister Damons, please, sir,” replied Derick.

The guard studied Derick with more intensity before he turned and walked

towards the wall with the windows. He spoke to the guard inside and then turned

and walked back to Derick.

“Damons will be with you in a moment,” he announced and the ‘sir’ was

again thunderous by its absence.

“Thank you, sir,” said Derick and the guard walked away. Derick settled

down to wait but he was feeling excited and nervous. He had no idea what

Mouse Damons was like and how he would react to Derick’s proposal. Well,

Derick thought, what can he do to me? He can’t put me in jail! He laughed

softly at his private little joke, but he could feel his heart beating faster. He

looked at his watch. Eleven fifteen. There were two visiting hours per week. On

Wednesdays. The first one at eleven in the morning and the second at four

o’clock in the afternoon.

The guard accompanied Mouse Damons to Derick’s table. Derick watched

them come. Damons was a little taller than the guard, but thinner. He looked like

he had been looking after his body. The prison shirt was hanging loose but the

forearms that protruded from the short sleeves were pure muscle. Damons had a

rolling walk. He did not look around. He seemed oblivious of all the people in

the courtyard. His hair had been shaved off. Derick assumed it was prison

policy. They reached the table and the guard waited until Damons was seated

before he turned and walked away. Damons looked at Derick. He had an oval

face with a flat nose and a big forehead. There were lines in his forehead and

around his mouth. Derick estimated his age as in the late fifties. Derick was

impressed by the man. What impressed him most were those grey eyes that

seemed to stare right through you. Derick remembered when the 3-dimensional

pictures hit the scene in South Africa, not everyone knew how to look at them.

Davy had told him, “Don’t look at the picture. Look through it.”

“You mean stare?” Derick had asked and Davy had clapped his hands.

Mouse Damons made Derick think of those 3-D pictures. He had an idea

that Damons was looking right through him. Then Damons spoke. There was

some gravel in his voice:

“I don’t get visitors. Who are you?”

“I am Derick Black, sir.” Derick did not know if he should extend a hand,

but there was no encouragement in those 3-D eyes. He kept his hands on his

thighs.

“Derick Black,” Damons repeated. “And who am I?”

“Mister Damons…?” Derick responded a little confused.

“What do you want, Derick Black?” Now there was a little more gravel in

that voice.

“I think I can help you, sir.”

“Don’t talk in shadows, old man! Speak clearly!”

Derick looked into those grey eyes with shock. This man was scary. The

Mouse? More like the Lion! Derick cleared his throat. He had to choose his

words carefully. “You see, sir, I know that the money has never been found,” he

started and looked at Damons for response. None came. He had to carry on.

“The point is, you might have buried or stored the money in a place that is going

to be demolished in the near future. You could let me retrieve the money and

keep it in a safe place for you, sir.”

Damons closed his eyes. Derick watched him with bated breath. Then

Damons opened his eyes. This time they focused on Derick. Derick felt

something crawling down his spine. Now that those grey eyes were focusing,

they were disconcerting. Derick swallowed and waited. Then Damons spoke.

“What is in it for you, Derick Black?”

“I thought you would be grateful when you came out and saw that your

money was safe, sir.”

“So you want a piece of the pie?” Now Derick could see some twinkle in

those eyes. He did not know how to respond to that. Was that a question or an

observation? He decided to say nothing. Then Damons asked another question.

That glint was still in his eyes. “What are you prepared to do for it?”

Derick stared at him. He did not want to upset the man, so he hesitated. But

eventually he had to ask. “Prepared to do for what, sir?”

“For half of the money, of course.” There was now less gravel in the voice.

“Half, sir?” Derick couldn’t believe his ears. How much was half?

“What are you prepared to do for it?”

“Anything, sir!” Derick responded without hesitation. Then he added,

“Except murder, sir. I won’t commit murder for money.”

There appeared a slight smile on Damon’s face. “What else are you not

prepared to do?”

“What else, sir? Nothing, sir. I think nothing.”

Damons stared at Derick for few seconds. He was looking directly into

Derick’s dark eyes. Derick did not flinch. Then Damons nodded his head.

“Do you have a pen?” he asked.

“Yes, sir!” Derick hastily pulled a pen from his jacket pocket. He had

dressed well for the occasion in a blue shirt, blue pants and brown sports jacket.

He also took out a small pocket book. Now Damons was going to give him

directions to the money! He held the book in his left hand and the pen in his

right. The pen hovered above the book. There was a slight tremble in Derick’s

hands. He kept his breath and looked at Damons. Then Damons said, “Write

down this number.” He gave the number and watched Derick take it down. Then

he continued, “That is the telephone number of a man named Bern Harris. Call

him. Tell him you have spoken to me and I want him to give you a red card.”

Derick wrote down the name Bern Harris. Then he looked up. “A red card,

sir?”

“Just tell him that,” said Damons and stood up. “And remember, after you

have spoken to Harris and you understand everything, come and see me again.”

With that he turned and walked away. Derick watched him until he disappeared

through the door. Then Derick blew out his cheeks and stood up. What a

meeting! A red card? Was that the map to the money? Why was Damons so

furtive about it? Derick felt excitement run through his whole body. He was onto

something! Damons had not refused to talk to him. In fact, Damons had invited

him back for a second meeting! That could only mean one thing. He was

prepared to share the money with Derick! Half of the amount! How much was

that? It had to be a fortune! Derick refused to put a figure to that fortune. Keep

the dream alive!

Derick walked out of the building and through the gate. He did not even

notice scar face staring curiously at him. He got into the shuttle with a smile on

his face. He felt light headed. He felt he had achieved something great. He had

read the report in the newspaper, had formed an idea about it and had shown the

courage to act on that idea! How great was that? And Davy had thought he was

crazy! Davy had laughed himself sick! Derick pursed his lips and looked

through the window at the traffic sliding by. Should he tell Davy about his

meeting with the Mouse or call Harris first? He decided to call Harris first. After

speaking to Harris, he would have more to tell Davy. He smiled. He could not

wait to see the look on Davy’s face when he heard the story.

When Derick got home he went to his room and took off his jacket. He took

the pocket book out and looked at the telephone number. It was a Cape Town

number. So Harris was here in town. Derick went out to the living room. The

telephone was there. His father was sitting on the couch reading a book. The

man was always reading. He looked up, saw it was Derick and kept on reading.

He was very much against this boxing madness, but it was better than seeing his

son sit at home, doing nothing. Derick stood there looking at his father. His

father was a big man with a round face. His black hair was always brushed, even

when he was at home. He was always well dressed. Maybe because he received

so many visitors. Council business was people business, he always maintained.

“Hallo, Daddy,” Derick said. His father greeted with a wave of the hand. His

eyes did not leave the book. Derick looked at the telephone. It was not cordless.

He would have to sit here and talk to Harris. He again glanced at his father.

Would the man listen to the conversation or would he be too absorbed in his

book? Could Derick take the chance? Derick knew he could not afford to let his

father know that he had made contact with a notorious armed robber. He only

had three options: he could postpone the call until he was alone in the living

room, he could go out and use a public phone or he could use the phone here in

his father’s presence without letting his father know what the call was about.

Derick smiled to himself. The first two options seemed too easy. The last

one was more of a challenge. To talk in front of his father without giving the

game away. That would take some doing! He had done such an audacious thing

today that he felt he could do anything he set his mind to! He was on a roll! He

walked to the little table that held the phone and sat down. He had the number in

his head. He dialled fast. He listened. The phone was occupied. Derick put down

the receiver and shook his head. Damn you, Harris! Put down the phone! Derick

sat still for a few minutes. He did not want to move too much lest he disturbed

his father. He wanted his father rooted to his book. He picked up the receiver

and dialled again. He got a shock when the phone rang. The adrenaline was

pumping through his veins. Come on, Derick, he thought, let’s see how good

you are!

“Mister Harris’s residence,” said a female voice on the other side.

“Mister Harris, please,” said Derick.

“Who shall I say?” Derick could imagine that female studying her

fingernails.

“Not your business,” said Derick and he pulled his face in amazement at his

own gall.

There was silence on the other side.

“Hello?” said Derick.

“Just a moment,” said the female voice. Derick smiled. Was he on a roll or

what?

“Who do I have the pleasure?” asked a male voice. Derick sat up straight.

“Mister Harris?” Derick shook his head in disgust that his voice sounded

squeaky.

“That’s right,” said the voice. It was a male voice that sounded somewhat

feminist.

Derick cleared his throat. “Derick Black. I spoke to the man and he said you

should give me a red card.”

“A what?”

“You heard me. A red card.” Derick bit his lower lip. Now the truth will

come out!

There was silence on the other side. Then, “Who did you speak to?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Derick replied without raising his voice, “you know.”

Derick kept one eye on his father. Mister Black was reading away merrily.

“Where are you?” asked Harris and Derick pumped the air. Yes! It was

working! He thought for a moment. Harris wanted to meet. Where? Derick made

up his mind.

“The Flamingo. Main Street.”

Silence on the other side. Then Harris said, “The Flamingo tomorrow

afternoon at three.” And he hung up.

Derick opened his mouth to say ‘wait’ but the phone was dead. Derick

looked at his father. The man apparently suspected nothing. But Derick felt

disappointed. How could he meet Harris tomorrow if he had no clue what the

man looked like? How did Harris expect to recognize him? Did he even

remember Derick’s name? He had only heard it once. Was Harris playing games

with him? Did Harris say that just to get rid of him? Derick thought about it.

Then he shook his head. No, Harris would be in trouble with Damons if he

brushed off Derick. On the other hand, maybe Harris knew that Derick was

going to get some of the money and maybe he wanted it all for himself. That

could be a good reason to brush Derick aside. Then another thought struck

Derick. Did Harris know where the money was? And if so, had he taken it out

already? Why would he wait for Damons to get out of jail? Why couldn’t he

take the lot now and escape? Leave the country? What was he doing here, sitting

and talking on the phone to everyone who mentioned a red card? Derick shook

his head. Nothing made sense. If Harris could give Derick a red card that would

lead him to the money, why didn’t Harris just use the red card to go and get the

money himself?

Derick made up his mind. He would have to talk to Davy. Maybe Davy

could make some sense out of all this.

Chapter 5

Derick and Davy arrived at The Flamingo at 14h20. They had had a strenuous

workout in the gym followed by a hot shower. They were feeling, as Davy put it,

‘clean, mean and lean’. Derick had called The Flamingo to book a cubicle. He

had told Mario, the manager, that he had an important meeting and did not want

to be disturbed. Now they were sitting in their cubicle and having tea. Davy

wanted beer but Derick was adamant. For this meeting they had to be sober and

demure. They had to make a good impression on Harris.

“If he is only going to give you money, why should we try to impress him?”

Davy wanted to know.

“Who says he’s going to give me money?” Derick responded. “We have no

idea what he’s going to say to us.”

“Isn’t this all about money?” Davy insisted.

“It is, but there’s also this red card business,” Derick replied with a puzzled

frown.

Davy stared at Derick for a moment while sipping at his tea. Then he said,

“You know, man, I admire you for having the guts to see Mouse in jail, but I

still don’t get it. I know what you are planning to do. You want to go and fetch

the loot wherever it was stored, keep it safe for Mouse until he is released and

then share the money with him. To me that still sounds as crazy as a wedding in

a nuthouse!”

“Mouse and Harris don’t seem to think it’s that crazy,” Derick countered.

Davy shook his head. “In the first place, where are you going to keep the

loot, knowing you can’t invest it anywhere? In the second place, how long do

you think Mouse is going to spend in jail? In the third place, what do you think

Mouse’s people are going to do while you are holding his money? In the

fourth…”

“Hold it,” interrupted Derick, raising both hands. “This is all just

speculation. All the questions will soon be answered.” He looked at his watch.

“Harris will be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Derick, look at me,” said Davy in a poignant voice. “Mouse will never let

you touch that money!”

“Why not?”

“Why should he trust you? Give me one reason.”

“He has to trust somebody. He naturally wants his money safe…”

“Another thing,” interrupted Davy, “you keep on talking as if the money

belongs to Mouse. Has it ever occurred to you that he has no legal right to that

money?”

“What do you expect me to do? Turn the money over to the police?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything! You are getting involved with dangerous

criminals! Forget it and walk away!”

“Walk away from half of the loot?” Derick leaned forward to look deep into

Davy’s eyes.

Davy looked away and shook his head with a sad expression on his face.

Then he sighed and looked at Derick. “Have you forgotten Mouse’s question to

you?”

“What question?” asked Derick and sat back.

“What are you prepared to do for it?”

Derick frowned at Davy. “I answered that question, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you said anything but murder,” responded Davy with a sardonic smile.

“But what does that entail?”

They had closed the curtain of the cubicle only halfway. Now one of the

waiters peered around the curtain and announced, “Someone looking for Derick

Black.”

Derick and Davy got out of their chairs and looked at each other. Davy’s

face was pale, but there was a hint of a smile on Derick’s face. “Thanks,” he

said to the waiter and left the cubicle. Davy followed him. They stopped when

they saw the man standing at the bar. It could not be Harris. The man was

dressed in chauffeur’s uniform. Complete with chauffeur’s cap. He saw Derick

and Davy emerge from the cubicle and approached them. He even walked like a

chauffeur. Erect and slowly. He stopped in front of Derick.

“Mister Derick Black?” he enquired in a smooth and relaxed voice.

“That’s me,” responded Derick in his own soothing voice.

“Mister Harris instructed me to pick you up. I am parked outside.”

Derick looked at him. So the meeting was not going to take place in The

Flamingo after all. Where then? At Harris’s house? This was getting more

interesting by the minute.

“I am bringing my friend with me,” Derick informed the man and pointed at

Davy.

“Follow me, please,” the chauffeur responded and walked towards the door

without looking at Davy. He was not interested in anybody but Derick Black.

Derick shrugged and followed the chauffer. Davy followed quietly. Derick saw

Mario behind the counter. Mario raised his eyebrows at him. Mario was a fat

Italian with an amiable demeanour. He loved to walk around and speak to his

customers. His business policy was ‘nobody should visit a restaurant only once.

If a customer does not return, there is some drastically wrong with the service’.

He knew Derick, Davy and the girls. He always chatted with them when he was

not too busy, but he was never inquisitive. He always respected the privacy of

his customers. When Derick had booked the cubicle, Mario had not asked

questions. Derick knew that Mario would not ask him tomorrow why a

chauffeur had come looking for him. Mario was curious but in a nice and caring

way. Derick smiled at him and waved on his way out.

Derick and Davy looked at each other when they saw the car parked outside

The Flamingo. It was a black, shiny vehicle with a long tail. Not a limousine,

but the next best thing. The windows were tinted. The chauffeur held open the

rear door for them. Derick let Davy go in first and then he followed. Derick

looked through the window and saw some of the customers standing in the door,

staring at the car. The chauffeur got in and drove away. Davy looked at Derick

and pulled a face. Derick looked at his watch. It was five minutes after three. So

Harris was a stickler for time. It is important to know these things. Harris was

also a show off. He did not have to put up such a show for this neighbourhood.

Why could he not come to meet them in The Flamingo like a normal person?

Derick inspected the interior of the car. There was no partition between them

and the driver, no television set and no champagne for the passengers. Not so

grand after all, Mister Harris. Derick looked at the back of the driver’s head.

“What is your name, driver?” he asked in his calm voice.

“James, sir,” the driver answered and kept his eyes on the road.

“Where are you taking us, James?” Derick wanted to know.

“To Mister Harris’s residence, sir,” the driver replied in a monotone voice.

“Where does Mister Harris stay?”

“In Rosewood Heights, sir.”

Derick looked at Davy. Davy raised his eyebrows. Rosewood Heights was

one of the most affluent suburbs in Cape Town. The ‘Heights’ in the name

referred to the suburb’s proximity to Table Mountain. Some of the streets there

had a high gradient and as a result there were a lot of speed humps. Driving in

Rosewood could not be pleasant. That was why most residents employed a

chauffeur. The houses were naturally big and luxurious with gardens in constant

competition.

Derick and Davy knew they had entered Rosewood when the car started a

steep climb. They were almost pushed against the backs of their seats. James

passed two side streets and then turned right. Now the road was level for about

fifty metres. Then another climb of another fifty metres. Another right turn.

Derick noticed that there were no people in the streets. The area was curiously

quiet except for the occasional gardener moving around in a plush little world of

colour and aroma.

Davy nudged Derick and remarked, “Very quiet.”

“These people usually do not mix easily,” responded Derick. “They keep to

themselves. To them a neighbour is just someone who lives next to you.”

“You know these people?” asked Davy.

“These rich people are all the same, man,” answered Derick.

They had arrived in front of a big silver coloured, metal gate. James picked

up a remote control, pushed a button and the gate slid open. Derick and Davy

looked through the car windows. The scenery beyond the gate was amazing. The

house was built of red face brick. It consisted of a main building and a wing on

each side that gave the impression of three separate buildings. The main

building had a beautiful Dutch gable and a big, inviting stoep. In the middle of

the front wall was a two metre wide door flanked by two large windows. The

two wings were almost two smaller replicas of the main building. The only

difference was the absence of the gable and the tops of chimneys sticking out at

the back.

“Three houses?” remarked Davy and looked at Derick.

Derick shook his head. “Crazy. Each of the smaller ones has a chimney at

the back. Like they housed separate families.”

“And what about the gable and the stoep?” commented Davy. “Seems the

guy can’t shake the memories of the colonial era.”

About two metres from the left wing was another building. A double garage.

Derick guessed that it was probably deep enough to house at least four vehicles.

There was a paved road leading from the gate to the garage. On one side of the

road was a well kept garden as well as a pleasant looking fountain. On the side

away from the house there were a few trees with tables and chairs placed under

some of them.

They were driving along the paved road when Davy remarked, “I’m missing

the swimming pool.”

“On the other side of the house, sir,” announced the driver blandly.

Davy looked at Derick with his mouth hanging open. They did not say

anything further. James stopped the car in front of the garage and switched off

the engine. He got out and opened the rear door for them. Derick got out. Now

he noticed that there were more paved paths. There was a path leading from the

main door to the garden. Two paths from the two smaller doors joined the path

leading to the garden. Then there were two paths that curled from the main path

around the two wings to the back of the house.

James had closed the car doors and now he was just standing there. Derick

and Davy looked at him, expecting him to lead them to the front door. Or to

wherever they were supposed to meet Harris. But he was just standing there,

erect and with arms folded.

“Where do we go now?” Derick asked eventually.

James did not reply. His eyes did move towards the big door however.

Derick looked towards the door. There was no movement there. He shrugged

and looked at Davy. “Seems we’re on our own now, Davy. Let’s go.” And he

started walking. He ignored the paved paths. Davy followed him in silence. The

door was made of black oak. It was clearly well looked after. There was no

doorbell but a big shiny brass knocker hung in the middle of the door. Derick

gave two heavy knocks. The door opened almost immediately. Derick stared at

the elongated, clean shaven face with the clear blue eyes that faced him. The

man was dressed in a black tail coat and his grey hair was brushed flat on his

head. His white shirt was pressed to perfection and his black bow tie was sitting

level on his thin sinewy neck. He was a few centimetres taller than Derick and

he peered at Derick along his sharp nose.

“May I be of service, sirs?” the man asked in a melodious voice.

Derick stared wordlessly at the man. Sirs? Into what world have they

suddenly walked?

“Derick Black to see Mister Harris,” Davy responded. “We have an

appointment.”

The blue eyes shifted momentarily to Davy and then the man pulled the door

open completely. Then Derick received another shock. The little space behind

the door was clearly a waiting room. The room was square with sides of

approximately six metres. Along each side wall there was a couch that could

seat four people. There was a small table in the middle of the floor on which

there was a stack of magazines. Derick gaped. Was Harris a medical doctor?

Maybe a cosmetic surgeon? A doctor with a chauffeur and a butler? Whatever

the case may be, the place surely smelled of money. Derick felt excitement

flowing through him. They had come to the right place. They were on the money

trail! But what business would a cosmetic surgeon have with an armed robber

like Mouse Damons? Derick shook his head internally. Patience, he told himself.

There are too many imponderables.