“So,” Rufus said, sucking on the beer, “why you been a stranger, brother? We not good enough?” He was a big man who wore his 28s tattoos with pride.
Benny Mongrel just gave him that flat look that he’d perfected in prison. The look that said: Here I am. I’m not going anywhere. Do what the fuck you like. Rufus hid behind a shit-eating grin like Benny Mongrel knew he would.
Rufus raised his bottle. “Anyways, welcome home, brother.”
Benny Mongrel spoke to Hector. “I need to know about a fat cop called Barnard.”
Rufus leaned forward. “Gatsby?” Benny Mongrel shrugged, fixed his good eye on Rufus. “Big fat boer with a mustache? Stinks like shit?” Benny Mongrel nodded. “What you want with him?”
“We got some business.”
Hector swallowed some whiskey, wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “He mainly works Paradise Park. He’s in with the Americans there from back in apartheid days, early nineties.”
“Where’s he based?”
“Bellwood South. He’s a bad bastard. Killed more brown men than the HIV. They say he’s a reborn.”
Rufus laughed. “He do it for Jesus.”
Hector topped up Benny Mongrel’s glass. “I hear there’s a warrant out on Gatsby. Seems like he went too far this time, killed a kid.”
Benny Mongrel sat forward. “White kid?”
Hector shook his head. “No, colored. Over in Paradise. The cops is all over the Flats asking questions. You not the only one who want to find him. He’s a popular guy.”
This was making sense to Benny Mongrel. Why the fat cop was taking the chances he was taking. He had his back to the wall. Good. Benny Mongrel liked that.
Something changed on Llewellyn Hector’s face as he looked over Benny Mongrel’s shoulder. Benny Mongrel took a sip of whiskey, felt it burn its way down, and then he turned. And saw Fingers Morkel, the man he had operated on in the jail cell a year before.
Fingers stood in the doorway of the tavern, staring at Benny Mongrel. He looked as if he was reliving the agony of the amputation. Benny Mongrel showed nothing on his face, turned back to Hector and Rufus Jordaan.
Hector rolled the liquround on his tongue. “You need to watch yourself.”
“I can handle Barnard.”
Hector shook his head. “Not that fat fuck. Him. Fingers.”
Benny Mongrel allowed a smile to touch his mouth. “That piece of shit?”
“He’s got power out here. His drugs bring in a lot of bucks.”
Benny Mongrel shrugged. “He stole from me. He was punish.”
Rufus Jordaan chugged back some of his beer. “Says you didn’t go to the Men in the Clouds before you chop him.”
The Men in the Clouds, the old-timers, usually lifers, who made the law in prison. They mediated in disputes and decided on punishment.
“I didn’t need to waste their time.” Benny Mongrel looked back over his shoulder. Fingers was sitting at a table near the door, never taking his eyes off Benny Mongrel. He kept his hands on the table, the stumps of the fingers scarred from the hot plate, the thumbs moving nervously on the wood.
Benny Mongrel felt nothing. “Useless cunt is lucky I didn’t kill him.”
Rufus Jordaan looked on as if the whole thing amused the hell out of him.
Benny Mongrel stood. So did Hector. “His guys won’t touch you in here, but outside is another story. He want your blood.”
Hector called a boy over, a pimply kid with a desperate attempt at a mustache. Handed him a set of car keys. “Ashraf, take Benny Mongrel where he want to go.”
Benny Mongrel shook his head. “I make my own way.”
“Just take the ride, okay? I don’t want no mess out on my street. It’s been nice and quiet lately.”
Benny Mongrel shrugged, and the kid went off to get the car. Hector put out his hand, and they exchanged the shake. “Good luck, brother.”
Benny Mongrel headed for the door, the young punks getting out of his way. People still knew who he was. He passed Fingers, didn’t even look the way of the useless piece of shit. As he reached the door he felt the nudge of a thumb in his ribs.
He turned to look Fingers in the eye. “You know I can’t do anything to you here, you cunt.” Benny Mongrel stared him down. “But I’ll see you again, soon. And I’ll fucken kill you.” Fingers nudged him again with his thumb.
Benny Mongrel grabbed the thumb and bent it back, saw the pain in the amputee’s eyes. “Bring your mother. Save me the trouble of sending you to her.”
CHAPTER 21
It was past 2:00 a.m. and Barnard couldn’t sleep. He had tried the half-breed bitch every hour, and he still couldn’t reach her. Number not available. It was stressing him big time. What if she had sold him out? What if every second that ticked by brought him closer to a trap?
He sat up, wearing only his brief. He wheezed into the hotel bathroom, drilled a stream of piss into the toilet bowl, and washed his face at the stained basin. The water was tepid, and when he made the mistake of drinking some out of his cupped hand, he spit it right out.
He went back into the airless bedroom and stood by the window, trying to catch a breeze. Nothing. The hotel made its money out of a hookers’ bar on the ground level, and darky music beat up through the floorboards.
To calm himself, Barnard thought of the million that would be his tomorrow and the new life it was going to bring him. He was going to leave Cape Town and its seething, Godless hordes and head up the east coast, with a new name and a new identity. One of his old connections from the Security Police days, the only one he stayed in touch with, ran a sport fishing boat out of St. Lucia, north of Durban. There was an open invitation for Barnard to come up and join him. It was time. Now all he needed to do was get his hands on the money.
He grabbed his phone from next to the bed and thumbed the bitch’s number. Not available. Fuck that.
In minutes he was dressed, packing his armaments in the kit bag and getting the hell out of there. He knew it was a risk, crossing the Flats to Paradise Park. But it was late at night, and he had to find out what was going on.
He shoved the. 38 into its holster and headed for the door.
Carmen watched as Leroy brought the match to the bottom of the globe. The tik started to cook, and smoke swirled inside the glass, turning the globe opaque.
She put her mouth to the empty neck of the globe and sucked the tik deep into her chest. The rush hit her, that feeling that was better than anything she’d ever known, and she lay back on her bed, head pumping like it was gonna burst. But in a good way. She felt bright and shiny, all the shit in her life blown away by the smoke.
Leroy grabbed the globe from her and took a hit. A slow smile glazed his face as he exhaled a plume up to the ceiling. “Ja. This is the thing, huh?” He was a real Cape Flats’ Romeo, with his designer labels, his gelled hair, and his muscular arms covered in 28s tattoos. He thought he was God’s gift to massage parlors.
Carmen closed her eyes. She was wearing a halter top and a short skirt. The way she lay left her thighs exposed, and she opened her eyes to see Leroy admiring the view. She brought her legs together and sat up, slapping him on the shoulder. “Hey. I’m a married woman.”
Leroy handed her the globe to finish. “Where is he anyway? Rikki.”
She exhaled, shrugging. “Up the coast. Who the fuck knows?”
“He catch me here, and I’m dead.” Leroy reached across and grabbed her leg above the knee.
She swiped his hand away. “Hey, stop it.” She stood up. “Don’t worry, he’s not coming back in a hurry.”
The only reason she could have Leroy here was because she knew that Rikki had been burned crispier than a McNugget. Leroy was a Mongrel, a 28, the sworn enemy of Rikki and the Americans. But, hey, he scored some
