Molly screamed incoherently.
Andre staggered against the wine rack, bottles fell and smashed on the floor. She fell on her bottom, arms windmilling for balance, then she grabbed at her handbag, got her fingers on it and searched for her service pistol while her head told her she must warn Griessel. Her other hand was on the little microphone that she held to her mouth and said, ?It?s him, it?s him!?
Reyneke was beside her and jerked the pistol from her hand. She tried to rise, but her sandals slipped in the wine and she fell back with her elbow on a glass shard. She felt a sharp pain. Twisting her body sideways she saw which way he ran. ?Main entrance!? she shouted, but realizing her head was turned away from the microphone, she grabbed it again. ?Main entrance, stop him!? she screamed. ?He has my firearm!? Then she saw the blood pouring from her arm in a thick stream. When she lifted up her arm to inspect it she saw it was cut to the bone.
Griessel and Cliffy leapt up and ran when they heard Molly Green scream over the radio. Cliffy missed the turn, bumping against a table where two men were eating sushi. ?Sorry, sorry,? he said and saw Griessel ahead, Z88 in hand, saw the faces of bystanders and heard cries here and there. They raced, shoes slapping on the floor. He heard Marais?s voice on the microphone: ?Main entrance, stop him!?
Griessel arrived at the wide door of Woolworths, service pistol gripped in both hands and aimed at something inside the store, but Cliffy was trying to brake and he slipped on the smooth floor. Just before he collided with Griessel, he spotted the suspect, jacket flapping, big pistol in his hand, who stopped ten paces away from them, also battling not to slip.
But Cliffy and Griessel were in a pile on the ground. A shot went off and a bullet whined away somewhere.
Cliffy heard Griessel curse, heard high, shrill screams around them. ?Sorry, Benny, sorry,? he said, looking around and seeing the suspect had turned around and headed for the escalator. Cupido and Keyter, pistols in hand, were coming down the other one, but it was in fact the ascending escalator. For an instant it was extremely funny, like a scene from an old Charlie Chaplin film: the two policemen leaping furiously down the steps, but not making much progress. On their faces, the oddest expressions of frustration, seriousness, purposefulness?and the sure knowledge that they were making complete idiots of themselves.
Griessel had sprung up and set off after the suspect. Cliffy got to his feet and followed, up the escalator with big leaps to the top. Griessel had turned right and spotted the fugitive on the way to the exit on the second level. He heard Griessel shout, glanced back. Griessel could see the fear on the man?s face and then he stopped and aimed his pistol at Griessel. The shot rang out and something plucked at Cliffy, knocked him off his feet and threw him against Men?s Suits: Formal. He knew he was hit somewhere in the chest, he was entangled in trousers and jackets, looking down at the hole near his heart. He was going to die, thought Cliffy Mketsu, he was shot in the heart. He couldn?t die now. Griessel must help. He rolled over. He felt heavy. But light-headed. He moved garments with his right arm; the left was without feeling. He saw Griessel tackle the fugitive. A male mannequin in beachwear tottered and fell. A garish sunhat flew through the air in an elegant arch, a display of T-shirts collapsed. He saw Griessel?s right hand rise and fall. Griessel was beating him with his pistol. He could see the blood spray from here. Up and down went Griessel?s hand. It would make Benny feel better; he needed to release that rage. Hit him, Benny, hit him?he?s the bastard who shot me.
Thobela Mpayipheli was waiting for the traffic lights on the corner of Adderley and Riebeeck Street when he heard a voice at his elbow.
?Why djoo look so se-ed??
A street child stood there, hands on lean, boyish hips. Ten, eleven years old?
?Do I look sad??
?Djy lyk like the ket stole the dairy. Gimme sum money for bred.?
?What?s your name??
?What?s
name??
?Thobela.?
?Gimme sum money for bred, Thobela.?
?First tell me your name.?
?Moses.?
?What are you going to do with the money??
?What did I say it was for??
Then there was another one, smaller, thinner, in outsize clothes, nose running. Without thinking Thobela took out his handkerchief.
?Five rand,? said the little one, holding out his hand.
?Fokkof, Randall, I saw him first.?
He wanted to wipe Randall?s nose but the boy jumped back. ?Don? touch me,? said the child.
?I want to wipe your nose.?
?What for??
It was a good question.
?Djy gonna give us money?? asked Moses.
?When did you last eat??
?Less see, what month is this??
In the dusk of the late afternoon another skinny figure appeared, a girl with a bush of frizzy tangled hair. She said nothing, just stood with outstretched hand, the other holding the edges of a large, tattered man?s jacket
