Gun Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 2) (7 page)

But she was as distraught as he was
over the death of Sinethemba Ngobeni, coming so soon after the devastating
death of Ed Trewhella. Fiona had met the young constable a couple of times when
popping in to the unit to drop off something for Jeremy. She had been
enormously impressed with her, and the circumstances of her death were as
devastating to Fiona as they had been to her husband.

They both lapsed into silence after
discussing the tragic loss of the young constable. They stared blankly at the
muted television screen, where
The Hunt
for Red October
was being screened for the millionth time, Ryder thought.
Then, as she could see him gazing into the distance, miles past Sean Connery’s
impersonation of a Russian submarine commander and into something far beyond,
Fiona picked up a different thread.

‘You haven’t spoken much about all
the action from last week.’

‘Nope. Some pretty bad stuff.’

‘I know you don’t like to talk about
it at home. Some bad guys all around, I heard today when I was speaking to
Navi.’

‘No, it’s not that. Just a few
threads to wind up from last week, and new stuff coming in all the time.’

‘What’s still hanging over you from
last week? Apart from Ed, of course...’

‘I’m thinking about one guy. One
Skhura Thabethe.’

‘The creep who used to work as a
constable?’

‘The same.’

‘I saw his eyes once. When I
delivered something to the station for you. I can’t remember who I discussed it
with at the time, but whoever it was told me that the guy’s eyes were the
talking point in the unit.’

‘Sure were.’

‘You mentioned once that he ended up
in jail.’

‘Assault. Got a year. Out after just
a few months. We’re convinced that he’s got far worse things stacking up
against him but he’s never been nailed for them. He needs to go away for thirty
to thirty-five, that guy.’

Ryder thought back. Thabethe was
indeed a creepy guy. Intriguing that his wife should pick up on the eyes.
Everyone spoke about his eyes.

‘Was he done for the assault while
still with the unit?’

‘No. Some time after he left. We
nailed him on disciplinary charges while he was still with us. I say ‘we,’ but
not me. I don’t remember ever having spoken to the guy other than maybe a
passageway greeting once. Never had to. Never worked with him. Never in a
meeting with him. Just noticed that he was around. Unbelievable slacker,
apparently. According to Piet and others, and up to all sorts of stuff. Then he
disappeared, at the same time as weapons went missing from the station. Then
before we could bring him in on suspicion of that theft he was nailed for the
assault and was sent down for a year. Released after eight months. Then
disappeared. Until he resurfaced last week. Then he became the prime suspect as
the stolen weapons started turning up. In addition, we put out different alerts
for him on grounds ranging from theft, kidnapping, homicide, you name it. The
guy is as slippery as anyone we’ve ever dealt with.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘We don’t know. He keeps popping up
in different places because no-one knows where he actually lives, and we just
can’t trace him. Remember that newspaper report about the police constantly
finding people living in the bushes up and down the coast? Maybe that’s where
he hangs out. We don’t know. We tried tracking a cell-phone number we had for
him last week but we lost the trail somewhere in Swaziland.’

‘What’s he doing up there?’

‘I don’t think he’s there. Latest
thinking is that he planted the phone on someone else and he’s nowhere near
Swaziland.’

‘Clever bugger.’

‘Not to be underestimated.’

‘But Detective Ryder will get him.’

‘You think?’

She un-muted the television.

‘Sean Connery looks good. Nice beard.
But I think they should have cast you. At least you know how to pronounce the
word ‘adversary’. More wine?’

‘Is the Pope Catholic? Is the Kennedy
family gun-shy?’

She grabbed the bottle and refilled
the glass they were sharing.

‘So how are you going to find your
friend Thabethe?’

‘I have a funny feeling he’s hovering
around somewhere. Maybe I’ll look up some of his old friends.’

21.30.

Thabethe was on the phone calling
Spikes Mkhize.

‘
Aweh
?
Mkhize. Talk,
wena
.’

‘
Heita,
Spikes.’

‘Who’s talking?’

‘
Bra
Spikes. Is me, Skhura.’

‘Skhura?
Heita
, Skhura! You where, man? Is this same phone?’

‘
Nooit,
bra. That phone is now north. Maybe Swaziland. Maybe Zimbabwe. Maybe Egypt.’

They both cackled somewhat
hysterically and enjoyed the thought. Cops on a wild goose chase, running after
the bugged phone Thabethe had concealed on a pantechnicon headed northward to
destinations unknown.

‘Is good, Skhura, is good, man. I
told you,
bra
, I told you. Best way
to get rid of the
boere
. Send them
after their own signals,
moegoes
!’

‘Spikes?’

‘Yes, Skhura, yes
my bra
.’

‘You sell me some bullets. I want
some nines. You got?’

‘Nines I got,
bra
. Nines I got. You still got the Vektor?’

‘
Nxa,
bra
. Is gone. Now I got a SIG Sauer, that German one. You know? Pistol. 15
rounds. I need nine
millimetre
.’

‘I got, Skhura. I got for you,
bra
. I know that SIG one. You got the
SP2022?’

‘Same one, Spikes, same one.’

‘Hey! Good one, that, Skhura. That
one, I definitely got nines for that one. Special for that one.’

‘Is safe at Nomivi’s, Spikes?’

‘Is safe, Skhura. Come now, round the
back.’

‘No, Spikes. I can’t come tonight.
Tomorrow night is good?’

‘Hmmm. Wait. Let me think.
Ja
, OK, Skhura. Tomorrow is good too.
Only after eight o’clock pm. Come round the back. You give me a number for your
phone and I call if it’s not safe any more, you hear?’

‘The number there on the screen, you
not got?’

‘Ag, man.
Struesbob!
Spikes is
mampara
, man. Yes, I see, I see, is here, the number is
here. I got. I save this for you. What phone is this,
bra
Skhura?’

‘Same drunk
fok
who lost the SIG. He leaves the SIG and the phone, both, for
me,
bra
.’

‘
Moegoe
,
that one, hey Skhura? Is good. He give you his gun and his phone. What you do
to him, my friend? You give him a spoke? No, don’t tell me. Anyway, you gotta
phone now. I see you after eight o’clock tomorrow night, Skhura.’

‘I see you after then, Spikes.
Tomorrow night. You see me right, I fix you up good.’

‘
Shweet, mfowethu!
I see you. We talk.’

07.45.

Nyawula was in his office, making a
few calls before he would address them all on the day’s business. Koekemoer,
Dippenaar, Ryder, Pillay and Cronje were outside in the car park in the bright
morning sun. The day was mercifully cooler, with a gentle south-easter coming
in off the bay. Cronje was smoking. The others had mugs of coffee.

They had started in a
sombre
mood, discussing the tragic loss of Sinethemba.
Mavis was off for the day, distraught at the loss of her friend and spending
the day consoling the Ngobeni family and helping them through their ordeal.
Nyawula had been with the family for an hour during the night, and he had
suggested this to Mavis in a phone-call on his way home before informing Cronje
of the arrangement.

The conversation among the detectives
moved from Sinethemba and Mavis to a brief discussion about the different
intended actions for the day. After the Captain’s briefing, Ryder and Pillay
would each have separate robbery and assault cases to work on and then at about
10.30 they would meet in separate cars at the scene of Sunday evening’s
massacre. Koekemoer and Dippenaar also had different tasks to handle on two
burglary cases involving firearms, each arising from separate events over the
weekend, and at about midday they would meet then drive down together to
Folweni to see what they could learn about Lindiwe Xana. Cronje would be
ensuring that the Comms people would continue scouring the country for any news
that might be available on the elusive Skhura Thabethe, assumed to be somewhere
in Swaziland or maybe in Gauteng.

It was noted that there would be
separate family services for each of the four slain constables, with a formal
SAPS memorial service following about two weeks later. Sinethemba’s family
service would be on Saturday. Mavis and the Captain would represent the team at
the private affair, but the entire team would attend the main memorial service.

The conversation drifted from there
into observations arising from yesterday’s funeral. Despite the bitterness that
still permeated the station as a result of Trewhella’s death, now enhanced by
the death of the student constable, there was eventually space for a little
therapeutic lightness of touch as they teased Ryder about his speech. But all
complimented him on having kept it together on the day.

‘I liked that bit about you and Ed in
Paris, Jeremy.
Yissus
, I remember the
scoreline in that match so well. Poor old Ed, hey? Did you go to France a lot
when you were over there?’

‘Not a lot, Piet. Just now and then
on holiday. I was trying to learn French, you know?’

‘Really, Jeremy?
Yissus
. You
Engelse kêrels
.
When you get the chance to learn a language you choose German or French or
Spanish or Italian. Why don’t you learn Afrikaans or Xhosa or Zulu, man? I
heard one
oke
from Wentworth station
talking about you after you cracked those diamond-dealers that time. He said
that if that
ou
Jeremy Ryder was
Afrikaans-speaking or Xhosa-speaking or a Zulu he would be a Brigadier already.
But he’s a
soutie
so they won’t put
him in charge. Especially not in charge of Afrikaners.’

‘Thanks, Koeks. Kind of you to say
so. I think. But I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Get away, man, Jeremy. Koeks is
right. Of course it’s true. These
okes
in Pretoria look at stuff like that more than they look at what a cop actually
does on the ground.’

‘Maybe, Dipps. Maybe. But I have no
desire to sit at a desk all day. So Afrikaans and Xhosa will have to wait.
Besides, I was hopeless at French. I’m not cut out for languages.’

‘So why choose French, Jeremy?’

 
‘Well, Piet, to tell you the truth, there
was no particular reason for me to choose French. I decided at the time to
learn a language, any language, and I just happened to find an adult-education
night class once a week near where we lived in England, offering French. No
other reason.’

‘Is it quite hard, Jeremy? French?’

‘Tell you what, Navi. I’d been trying
to learn the stuff for a couple of years when one memorable night I just threw
in the towel.
I remember it
well. I reckon something happens to the human brain sometime in your thirties.
Maybe it's psychological. Maybe it's physical. But I simply forgot the most
basic lesson. You know, the difference between
être
and
avoir
is the
very first lesson anyone, anywhere, ever learns in French.’

‘Between
what and what?’

‘Between
être
and
avoir
, Dipps.’

‘What’s
that?’

‘To
be and to have, Dipps,’ said Pillay.

‘Whether
you're a French kid aged three, Dipps, or an English-speaking beginning French
student aged thirty or forty or whatever, you will learn the difference between
these two words, and you will learn it over and over again, until it spews
automatically out of your mouth, directly from the brain, without any mediation
by thought. Automatically. Without exception. Hamlet, if he were French, would
NEVER say
To have or not to have, that is
the question!
Such a mistake in French is inconceivable.’

‘
Ja
, Jeremy, I get it, hey?’ added
Koekemoer. ‘Like it’s the same thing, Dipps, you know, with the other word. A
French prostitute is not going to say to a client
Will you BE me?
 
A
hunnert
rands to one says that she is
far more likely to say
Will you ‘AVE me,
m’sieur?
’

‘True,
Koeks,’ said Ryder. ‘The difference between
to
be
and
to have
is sacrosanct to
the French. All over the world. Unless your name is Jeremy Ryder. In that
devastating class, after a few years of off-and-on French lessons, I forgot the
difference between those two bloody words. Those two monsters of the
Apocalypse. Ed persuaded me that there were more important things to do at my
age than learning a foreign language. So I gave up. That was shortly before
Fiona and I came back to South Africa.’

‘
Ja
, and then Trewhella came out a little
later,’ said Koekemoer. ‘I remember, after his Jo’burg stint, he tried to learn
Afrikaans in his first week with us here in Durbs. Gave it up after one lesson.
Or maybe after one day, after he heard Dipps talking Afrikaans. Sounded like
someone farting, he said.’

‘
Fok jou
, Koeks.’

‘But
lissen, ouens
. You guys have had it
easy. I had a
moerse
problem when
they sent me off to learn Zulu.’

‘What?
You learning Zulu, Koeks?’

‘
Ja
, Navi, I’m telling you. I had this
Station Commander in the early days before old Nyawula came in. Told all the
white guys that they had to go on a course to learn Zulu. So that we could be
understood by the black
okes
when we
said
fok jou, bliksem
!’

‘
Lissen
to this, guys. I know this story,
and let me tell you, every word Koeks is gonna tell you is true. I saw it
myself, man.’

‘Thanks
Dipps. I appreciate your help, hey? They wouldn’t have believed a word of what
I’m about to say if you hadn’t said that.’

‘
Ag
, well,’ said Dippenaar.

‘Anyway,
guys. So I’m on this course. Me and Dipps and another four or five
okes
, all white, all in our thirties or
forties. The SAPS paid this company
moerse
money to train us whiteys to speak Zulu, and we had a
blerrie
good teacher, hey, Dipps?’

‘Ntombi,’
offered Dippenaar.

‘There’s
it, Dipps. Ntombi. You remember her, hey? Tall, very good-looking black woman.’

‘
Ja
, Koeks. She was really like, attractive,
hey?’

‘
Ja
, Dipps. She was, hey?’

There
was a slight pause which the others found, momentarily, intriguing.

‘Anyway,
she arrives for her first lesson with us. Doesn’t say one word in English or
Afrikaans. The very first thing she does, she looks at me and points at me. I
think,
jirra,
what’s this
? And she says to
me one word.
Wena!
’

‘
Yissus
, I remember this so well, guys.
It was just like that,’ said Dippenaar.

‘Then
the next thing she does is she points to herself. To her chest, you know, like
where we wear a badge or a name tag, and she says, as she points to herself,
she says one word.
Mina
!’

‘Just
like that,
ja
, Koeks.’

‘Then
she says, again,
Mina
! and she taps
herself there by the name badge, and she says,
Mina, ngi-Ntombi! Mina, ngi-Ntombi!
then she points at me and she
says, again,
Wena?
So by now I get it
and I say, very unsure of myself, you know, but I say
Mina?
and she says
eh-heh!
and I say
ngi
? and she says
eh-heh!
and I say
Koekemoer
and she says
eh-heh!
 
And then she says
immediately,
Eh-heh
!
Yebo! Wena, uKoekemoer! Mina, ngiNtombi.
Wena, uKoekemoer! Mina, ngiNtombi.
’

‘Just
like that, guys, and then she moves on to me, and says...’

‘
Yissus
, Dipps.
Fokoff, man
. I’m telling the story. So she points to Dipps and says
Wena?
And Dipps replies, pointing to
himself as if he had a badge, and saying
Mina,
ngiDippenaar.
’

‘And
she says
Eh-heh
!’ Dipps felt it
necessary to add.

‘So
anyway, this goes on, hey, and Ntombi doesn’t speak one word, not one word, in
English or Afrikaans. Only Zulu words. Once a week for six weeks we met with
her, and by then she still hasn’t spoken one single
blerrie
word in English or Afrikaans to us seven or so white
okes
, and, so, we’re making really good
progress, hey? Then comes the night...’

‘Yissus,
I won’t forget it...’

‘Shaddup,
Dipps! So then
comes the night when Ntombi speaks her first ever sentence in English to us
guys.’

‘Oh
yeah? What happened?’ asked Ryder.

‘
Yissus
, Jeremy, I was embarrassed, hey?
So she asks me to read what I’ve written down for the exercise she gave us, and
I pick up my book and I read what I’ve written, and I say to her: Ntombi,
ngifuna ukukhumula nawe
. And what does
she do? She bursts out laughing. Like amazing, you know? Like giggling big
time.’

‘You
can’t believe how she laughed, guys,’ said Dippenaar.

‘And
when she stops laughing I say
what?
what’s wrong?
and she says to me, in English, you know, for the first time
she speaks to us in English, and she says
Mr
Koekemoer, please look it up when you get home tonight.
’

‘So
what had you said to her, Koeks?’

‘
Jirra,
Navi. I was embarrassed, hey?
When I got home and looked it up I thought I had said to her Ntombi,
ngifuna ukukhuluma nawe
, meaning Ntombi,
I would like to talk with you.
But I
mixed up the
M
and the
L
you know? So instead of saying to her
Ntombi,
ngifuna ukukhuluma nawe
I had
said to her, instead, Ntombi,
ngifuna
ukukhumula nawe.
’

‘Which
means?’ asked Cronje.

‘Ntombi,
I would like to undress with you.
’

The
ensuing mirth at Koekemoer’s expense was broken by Pillay.

‘Maybe
the whole episode says a lot more than we
realise
,
Koeks. Anyway, so what happened when you saw her the next time?’

‘
Ja
, well, Navi, I’m sure you’re right,
hey? But that was also fun, when we met the next time. When the class met the
following week old Ntombi asked me if I had looked up the translation and I
looked at her, poker faced, and I said
ja,
Ntombi, I don’t know what you found so interesting, but I meant every word I
said!
Yissus
, if she hadn’t been
black I would have said she blushed big time, hey?’

‘I
think she was into you, Koeks, secretly, you know?’

In
response to this Koekemoer clouted Dippenaar across the head, just as Nyawula
appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘OK,
colleagues. Can we have five minutes together?’

And
they all went in for the briefing, jostling and teasing Koekemoer amidst
various comments and half-baked Freudian analysis.

10.10.

Thabethe set aside the small hand
spade. He reached into the hole he had finished digging at the base of the
tree. He had concealed twenty-four thousand rands here just a week ago. Easy
pickings from the gangster whose car he had broken into at the time.

He retrieved the tin, took half the
cash, and stuffed it into three pockets. He then buried the tin again with the
remaining twelve thousand rands. Emergency fund for the future.