The Mall (2 page)

The aisle was empty.

If I didn’t find the kid, I would be fucked in so many ways. Just starting to think of it made me feel sick.

My phone beeped. I ignored it, stashed it in the pocket of my combats. It wouldn’t be him; he’s the only kid in Joburg without a phone. I couldn’t talk to anyone until I found
him. But
where the fuck was he?

Then I had it – the computer store. He wanted to check out the games when we’d first arrived, kept babbling about
Grand Theft Auto
or some shit. I hadn’t really been
listening, too busy worrying about the meeting with Jacob, too busy thinking about what I was going to say to convince him to give me what I needed.

I raced blindly out of the bookshop, bumping into an obese woman laden down with late-night groceries. We danced around each other, pirouetting ridiculously as we kept blocking
each other’s paths. I shrugged past her, sending a bag of hair dye and tampons skittering across the floor. I didn’t stop to apologise, too intent on trying to remember which floor the
fucking store was on. Increasing my pace, I pulled my hood over my head, shielding my face from the stares of the passing meanderthals. I dodged bins, skipped past blank-faced cleaners pushing
brooms, and thudded onto the escalator. I shoved my way between two teenage girls standing side by side, ignoring their yelps, and almost fell over my feet at the top. My All Stars squeaked and
slapped over the tiles as I raced past darkened shop windows, and then I saw it.

A Lara Croft cut-out stared back at me seductively, no sign of life behind her. The shop was shut. I rattled the doors anyway; I had to do something.

I had to think logically about this. What the hell did small kids get up to in malls? Then I looked up and saw the stick figure signs for the toilets. That was it! He’d wanted to go just
after we’d arrived.

The door to the men’s screamed as I pushed my way inside, ignoring the stench of piss and the guy shaking himself off in front of a urinal. He looked me up and down then exited hurriedly
as I started booting open the stalls, one after the other. Nothing but stainless steel bowls, sodden discarded toilet paper squares and cracked tiles. One of the floors was wet with Christ knows
what.

Could he have gone back to the car? Would he remember where the hell it was parked? I backtracked, searching for the parking-lot exit, mind blank, but with the vague idea that it was next to a
store selling fake Persian carpets and hubbly-bubblies.

I flew down the escalator again, and that’s when I skidded as my wet shoes hit the tiles. I landed hard, next to a marbled pot plant,
and right into Yellow Eyes’ grip and a world of shit.

Fingerling manoeuvres the mouse with his good hand, and the screen wobbles, comes to life. It takes me a few seconds to realise that the too-skinny, hooded figure racing
blindly down shiny anonymous corridors, leaping up the escalator and pushing past two miniskirted teenage girls, is actually me. My mad rush through the mall hadn’t gone unnoticed –
strangers’ faces stare after me, they shake their heads, look disapproving.

‘It was before this! Look in the bookshop. About an hour ago.’

Fingerling looks up and shrugs. ‘Can’t. Power went out. Lost most of the footage.’

‘No it didn’t.’

I’d remember if it had, wouldn’t I? I don’t recall the lights flickering, dimming, and then surging as they do when the backup generators kick in. I would have been at the Vida
e Caffè in the food court, stomach squirming, waiting for Jacob, toying with my latte, jumping every time I caught sight of a tall rangy guy that could be him. I’d give anything to be
back there now.

‘Just try! Please! Don’t you have backups?’

At the back of the room a lanky guy with cruel eyes, overgrown eyebrows and a name tag reading ‘Simon’ enters. He catches my eye and shakes his head. I can’t read his
expression.

The screen wobbles and rights itself again. I immediately recognise the guy on screen. He’s standing behind the counter of the bookshop, serving a customer who’s buying a pile of
meaty novels with shiny covers. The clerk had blatantly stared at me when I’d first entered the bookshop with the kid. He was ruder than most. Eyes flicked from my left cheek to my chest,
couldn’t tear his gaze away. I’d told him to fuck off. Who was he to stare, anyway? Dyed black hair and My Chemical Romance T-shirt. May as well have had ‘emo’ tattooed on
his forehead. Thinking about it, he hadn’t been there when I’d returned to find the kid gone.

Simon walks over to me. He stands too close, deliberately invading my space. I catch a whiff of cheap deodorant and the tang of a breath mint that doesn’t hide the booze on his breath.

‘Ma’am, we might have a problem here.’

‘Of course we’ve got a fucking problem!’

‘No need for that sort of language,’ Yellow Eyes barks. ‘What do you mean, Simon?’

‘Ma’am, we’ve spoken to the people who work in the bookshop. They say they don’t remember any child.’

My stomach plummets again. ‘What the fuck do you mean?’

‘No one remembers seeing you with a child. They remember you, though. Very clearly.’

‘You need to talk to that guy!’ I say, not liking the way my voice sounds. I point to the screen, at the black-and-white image of the emo guy. ‘That black-haired guy! He saw
us! He definitely saw us!’

‘He says he saw nothing,’ says Simon.

Fingerling shakes his shaggy head, pauses the screen and reaches for the phone.

I’m limp with relief. ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ I say, encouraging him. ‘Call him again. He’s talking shite.’

‘I’m calling the cops, ma’am.’

‘No!’ I say too quickly. ‘The kid will turn up. I know he will.’

‘Madam,’ Fingerling says warily, ‘we have to.’

I check out the distance to the door. Five metres. If I don’t think too hard about it, if I just get up and run, if I do it immediately, I can just about make it.

Chapter 2

DANIEL

I’m sitting in my alcove in the service corridor behind Only Books, eating a packet of Niknaks. I watch Josie and Katrien as they lean against the wall under an emergency
strip light, smoking. They can’t see me where I sit and I get the chance to see Josie acting relaxed.

‘It was hectic,’ Katrien is saying. ‘Five minutes till the end of the shift and there’s a fucking lockdown.’

‘Shame, man,’ Josie empathises. She takes a drag on her cigarette and shifts her foot on the wall behind her. Her knee juts out a little higher and her short skirt rides further up
her thigh. She scratches at her hip. She’s wearing a tight purple shirt with a white design of a phoenix, and her green velvet skirt sits above the knee. The way the light’s falling, I
can see the soft fluff on her upper leg, the part blondes don’t have to shave. I like the way Josie acts when she’s alone, or with someone like Katrien, someone she obviously trusts.
With the customers watching, or even with the rest of the bookshop’s night staff, Josie feels like she has to be on show. She’s that beautiful. Seriously. It must be hard for her.

‘I had to meet Bobby at ten and the bloody lockdown lasted till after eleven,’ Katrien says.

‘Ja, and I heard it wasn’t anything serious. Just, like, three guys with one gun, and they only hit McDonald’s. Complete overreaction.’ Josie takes a deep drag, the smoke
seeps out of her nose as she exhales, trickling out of the corner of her mouth. She pinches the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes and I wonder what she’s thinking.

‘I think I heard there was a politician here for dinner, so I suppose…’

Josie drops her stub and mashes it out with her sandal. ‘It’s ridiculous, I swear.’

She’s about to light another one when we all hear the sound of footsteps along the corridor.

‘Bradley, sweetie,’ Josie performs as he comes along, jangling his keys in his trouser pockets. I can’t understand how anyone could flirt with Bradley. He’s so insipid,
yet they fall over to laugh at his unfunny jokes. That’s what you get if you’re the boss, I suppose. Big boss that he is. Floor manager of a bookshop. Whoopee.

‘Stalker,’ laughs Katrien. ‘I’m going to report you to the authorities.’

‘I am the authorities,’ Bradley says. ‘And it’s time to get back on counter. Movies are over and the zombies have descended.’

‘Another Dan Brown flick and everyone’s suddenly a reader,’ mumbles Katrien.

‘I need to buy a drink first, okay?’ says Josie.

‘Sure, I’ll come with you,’ Bradley says. ‘For the walk.’

They turn and notice me sitting there. Katrien smiles at me. Josie grimaces like the dog just shat on the carpet. Bradley blushes up his scrawny neck. ‘What are you doing here?’

I feel my face burning in response. ‘Uh, dinner break?’

‘Well, it’s getting busy. You’re supposed to be merchandising with Khosi.’

‘Ja, I’m coming.’

Stupid fucker. He always sends Khosi and me to merchandise at the end of a shift so that he can hang over the counter making inane small talk with the girls. Of course, Khosi’s a girl, but
she’s not Bradley’s type, I guess. So it’s always her and me, doing the invisible duties. As if Bradley’s got a chance with any of the late-staff girls anyway. And
he’s mainly got the horn for Josie. Katrien always hangs out with Josie but I don’t think they’ve got much in common. She’s not bad herself, I suppose; she’s like
Josie’s supporting actress, but she dresses in these shapeless outdated hippie clothes.

The three of them walk away and I can hear Bradley saying something in his monotone and Josie replying with a peal of giggles, looking back at me, then giggling again.

I crumple up the Niknaks bag, chuck it in one of the janitor’s buckets and start on the Nosh bar. The minute hand on my watch nudges up to the nine. No fucking way I’m going back on
shift early. In fact, I’m taking an extra few minutes; call it my smoke break.

I hear someone whistling, the echoing slap of rubber footfalls. A butcher from Woolworths, bald head covered in a plastic cap and stained white overalls tucked into blue wellingtons, ambles by,
picking his nose as he goes. He stands for a while outside the coldroom door, its triple-glazed port window spider-webbed from an old robbery, finishes his nostrilful and keys in the entrance code:
1-2-3-4. I’ve watched them dial that code in countless times. Woolworths install this hi-tech security system and then don’t trust their staff to remember the code.

I count down four seconds and the blast of cold meat-air whooshes up the corridor like the wind in front of a subway train. If I were someone else, the stench of frozen blood might put me off
steak for life. But I’m not.

I’d better get back on shift now. As I’m walking toward the mall exit, the neon lights flicker off and the emergency lights come on. The air-con grinds to a halt, like someone
switching off the sea. At first I think it’s another lockdown like last night’s. But this is not just a brief brown-out; the emergency lights stay on. Great, a power cut. They were
amusing the first few times. I’d get to go home early, maybe get a drink first. But now they happen every week, and Only Books has installed minimal battery backups. Which means we have to
carry on working, writing everything down and then spend ages after our shift when the power comes back on entering all the sales and manual credit card transactions. Management has its way of
spoiling my fun.

My heart sinks a little at the sight of the corridor’s double exit doors, lined with their thick and scuffed black rubber fold, sealing Highgate Mall’s workers and deliverymen away
from the shoppers. Out of my safe place and back into the world of retail slavery. I’m just about to open them and step back onto the stage when a kid slams in and runs down the corridor. I
almost shit myself. He’s a fat little dark-haired guy in a red T-shirt and jeans, and goes sprinting past me. But he’s making no sound. Maybe he’s barefoot, I don’t know. I
think about following him to see where he’s going, to see if he’s okay, but then the lights come up with a suck of power and I decide to head back. It’s not as if there’s
anywhere for him to go.

Khosi is on a ladder in the Only Books display window, filling it with the crap that people who proudly say ‘I don’t read’ read. Only Books. Yeah right, make that Only Books,
Coffee, Chocolates, Chips, Gift wrap, Stationery, Even Fucking Cellphones. Corporate bullshit.

When I walk in there’s a sour old bitch haranguing Katrien at the counter. Bradley, who a minute ago was probably regaling her with stories of his weekend Dungeons and Dragons blowout or
some such shit, is nowhere to be seen.

‘I haven’t driven all the way over here to waste my time. You people said the book was here and I expect it to be here!’

Katrien’s saying, ‘Ma’am, can you just tell me who—’

‘I don’t care!’ screams the woman, glancing at the three customers waiting behind her, assuming they’ll support her. ‘My God. The service here is pathetic,
isn’t it?’ They shift on their feet, trying not to be part of the scene.

Katrien’s tapping away at the computer, mumbling, ‘
The Leonardo Code
… we don’t seem to have a record of that one.’ Baiting the woman, seeing whether she can
score a star on the Crack Chart we hide in the back office.

‘Listen, darling,’ the woman drawls in the tone she obviously reserves for retarded waitresses. ‘Just call your manager, okay?’

Eventually Katrien’s forced to call Bradley. Po-faced, he finds the right book on the Evergreen Backlist display heap and sends the woman on her way with the standard ingratiations.
Katrien and the next customer stifle their smiles as the woman huffs out of the shop.

‘Where’ve you been?’ Bradley asks me, tapping his watch.

‘Uh, tidying poetry.’

‘Mm,’ he says, already forgetting me and taking up his place against the counter. I load a trolley with books for shelving.

A few minutes later Simon, the mall security guy, comes into the shop trailed by Sipho, our store security guard. At this hour it must be serious to get Simon out of the security office and away
from their special coffee and porn.

I watch him talking to Katrien and Bradley, then Bradley beckons me over to the counter. Katrien mutters, ‘Something about a missing kid.’