“Tomorrow morning.” The sister tried a smile. It looked like she was spitting out a mouth guard. “I really think it’s best if you leave. I’m sure once the child is born, and your wife is less… less emotional, she’ll want to see you.”
Burn nodded. He turned for the stairs, the two security men flanking him.
Fires had sprung up again on the mountain, tongues of flame licking the night sky, and the smell of burning reached Benny Mongrel’s nostrils. He was tense, now that the time had come. If they left now, they would have nine hours to make their escape.
Benny Mongrel was about to attach the chain to Bessie’s lead and start the walk into their new life when he saw the fat cop hauling himself down the road. Benny Mongrel stayed still. Waiting. He saw the cop ring the buzzer at the American’s house, heard him saying something into the intercom.
Barnard filled the recess in the wall as he pressed the buzzer, his finger bulging like a dick in a condom through the surgical gloves. After a moment he heard a woman’s voice. The half-breed domestic, nervous. Asking who was there.
Barnard held his police ID up to the camera, tilting it so that it caught the light above the door. “Police. Let me in, please.”
The woman’s voice was tentative, full of Cape Flats’ wariness of the cops. “Mr. and Mrs. Hill aren’t home.”
“I know. That’s fine. I need to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Listen, lady, what is your name?”
Hesitation, then a nervous reply. “Mrs. Dollie.”
“Mrs. Dollie, if you don’t want trouble from me and your boss, you better open this door now. You hear me?”
The threat in his voice worked, and the door clicked open. Barnard stepped inside and shut it after him.
Time to move.
Benny Mongrel hooked Bessie to the chain and clicked his tongue softly. “Come, Bessie. Let’s go.” The old dog heaved herself to her feet, taking a while to get movement into her back legs.
They had a long walk ahead of them. Benny Mongrel knew that he didn’t have a hope of a taxi driver letting him and the dog on board. They would have to do it on foot, stopping frequently so the old dog could rest. Benny Mongrel and Bessie walked down the uncompleted stairway, between the piles of sand and rubble, toward the gate and freedom.
Then a red Sniper armed response car pulled up. Right under the streetlight. Benny Mongrel saw Ishmael Isaacs at the wheel, looking straight at him.
Burn sat in his car outside the clinic. He didn’t know what to do. His mind had been made up; he was ready to shove the pain of leaving his family into some deep vault and get on the plane in the morning.
Now things had changed. Susan was in the clinic. Their daughter would be born the next day. Burn couldn’t leave Matt. He trusted Mrs. Dollie, but there was no way he could just leave the boy with her and fly away. Not until Susan was back at home, in some condition to look after herself and Matt. It came almost as a relief, the feeling that the decision had been made for him. He was staying.
He started the car.
Isaacs lit a Camel and took a long pull before blowing the smoke in Benny Mongrel’s face. He sat behind the wheel, the Sniper car idling, staring up at Benny Mongrel.
UWhere you going?”
“Just patrolling.”
“Patrolling?” The sneer in Isaacs’s voice grated on Benny Mongrel. Another time, another place, this bastard would be on his way to Allah. “Where you patrolling?”
Benny Mongrel kept himself cool. Not long now. “We walk the front here every hour.”
Isaacs nodded. “Okay.” He puffed, exhaled. “With the fires we got extra units out. These people here are nervous their bloody houses will burn down.”
Benny Mongrel said nothing, keeping his mind blank the way he had learned in prison.
Isaacs put the car in gear. “I might make a turn here later, so don’t patrol too far, okay?” Isaacs laughed to himself and took off with an unnecessary burn of rubber.
Asshole.
Now they would have to wait.
The half-breed maid stood behind the security gate, watching Barnard as he wheezed up to the front door of the house. He saw she was middle-aged, and Muslim, judging from her head scarf. He had no time for them, bloody heathens.
“Good evening, Mrs. Dollie.”
“Good evening.”
“I’m Inspector Barnard.” He kept his hands, in the surgical gloves, out of sight.
“Yes?”
“Can I come inside, please?”
She was unsure. “I can’t let anyone in. My boss has told me that.”
“I’m not anyone. I’m the police.”
Barnard tried to look reassuring. It spooked her more. She shook her head, stepping back from the security gate, reaching into her pocket for her cell phone. “I’m going to phone Mr. Hill. You can talk to him.”
Before she could move out of reach, Barnard stuck a meaty arm between the bars-it just squeezed through- and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her onto the tips of her sensible shoes, her feet kicking. Her eyes bulged with terror as she gasped for air. He grabbed her phone and pocketed it.
The key was in the security gate, on her side. Still holding her, Barnard reached in with his free hand and turned the key. He pushed the gate open and let the woman drop.
She hit the floor hard, fighting for breath as she started to crawl on her hands and knees toward the living room. She was trying to shout something, but no sound came from her throat.
Barnard closed the door. Then he dropped onto her with his full weight, his knee ramming into her back, pinning her to the floor. He grabbed her head between his hands, and with one twist he broke her neck like she was a backyard chicken. Moving quickly to avoid the stream of urine that flowed from her, he got to his feet and found himself looking down at the boy.
The kid, in a pair of pajamas covered in Disney cartoon charactermove outtood staring up at Barnard. Then his mouth opened, and he was winding up to let rip with one hell of a scream.
Barnard was across to him in an instant, the palm of his hand squashing the scream back into the boy’s lungs. Barnard held on to the boy’s face with one hand and unzipped the waist bag with the other. He took out the cloth and the duct tape. He removed his hand from the boy’s face, allowed him to grab a breath, then shoved the cloth into the kid’s mouth. He taped his mouth closed.
The kid was hyperventilating, sucking air through his nose, his blue eyes wide with terror. Barnard spun him onto his stomach, pulled his hands roughly together behind his back, and slipped one of the cable ties around his wrists, pulling it tight enough to cut into the skin. He did the same with the kid’s bare ankles.
Barnard grabbed the boy, holding him under one of his massive arms like he was a bag of oranges, and stepped over the dead woman on his way to the door.
CHAPTER 17
One thing that Benny Mongrel knew how to do was wait. Spend more than half your life in prison, and you develop a Zen-like ability to live in the moment. Those who don’t, kill themselves or go crazy. Or get themselves killed.
He dug Rizla papers and a bag of tobacco from his pocket and set about rolling a smoke. He would give Isaacs an hour. If the bastard wasn’t back, he and Bessie would start their journey.
Isaacs was all show. There was no way he was going to spend his night driving around the slopes of the
