Trackers (74 page)

How did it all fit together?

Johnny October asked, 'Sup, how did
you get this far?'

Joubert gave him the whole story. In
detail.

Jerome Apollis, the bus driver, was
forty-three years old. He had fat cheeks and a beer belly, and he was
frightened. The proximity of the detectives, the looming presence of Mat
Joubert, and the serious circumstances made him look with great anxiety from
Bessie Heese to Butshingi, October and eventually at Joubert, where his gaze
stayed fixed.

They sat in Neville Philander's
office, the room too small for comfort. 'Don't worry,' said Bessie Heese. She
looked just as professional as the previous day. And fresh, though it was
nearly six o'clock. 'The police just want to ask you what you can remember
about the twenty-ninth of September,' and she pointed at Philander's computer,
where they had shown him the video. Without freezing the image.

'I remember well.'

'Can you tell us about it?' Johnny
October asked, his voice respectful and caring. 'It would be a big help to
us.'

Apollis licked his lips repeatedly,
lifted his hands in innocence. 'Mr Flint said it was not an issue. When he saw
the video. He said it wasn't my fault.'

'I understand,' said October. 'We're
not saying it was your fault. But we really want to know what happened that
day.'

'And where,' said Joubert.

Apollis just stared at him.

'Mr Apollis ...' October urged.

Apollis dragged his eyes from
Joubert, focused on Bessie Heese, a safe haven. 'It was between Atiantis and
the R27. Just after the turn- off.' He wiped perspiration from his brow.

'Which turn-off?'

'The road to the shooting range.
There was a sign, but it's gone now a long time.'

'In which direction were you
driving?' Joubert asked.

'Towards the sea. To the R27.' And
then he stopped.

'Go on, Jerome.'

'The Mercedes. They were driving
slowly. I wanted to pass. I had my flicker on already. That's why I was so
close. I had to wait for the oncoming traffic. Then they stopped suddenly. For
nothing. So I bumped him. At the back. On the boot. Behind. We both stopped. I
got out, and they ...'

'Did you see anything strange?' asked
October.

'No, sir,' he answered, a little
bewildered.

'Then you got out.'

'We all got out. Then the one who had
been sitting in front... No, the one with the nose, who had been sitting in the
back, he came towards me. Then the other one said no, wait, wait, wait. Then
they first looked at the damage. I told them, right then. I said, you just
stopped, for no reason. The one man said, don't worry, it wasn't my fault,
everything was fine. So I said no, I have to make a report. Then he looked at
the bus and said no, there's no damage to the bus, and they wouldn't make a
fuss, don't worry ...'

'Where were they standing? Where did
each of you stand while this conversation was going on?' asked Butshingi, head
down, writing frantically.

'We stood between the car and the
bus.'

'Did any one of them touch the boot?'

'It was four months ago,' said
Apollis.

'Jerome, if you can't remember, we
won't blame you,' said Bessie Heese, soothingly.

'I... I think ... the big one with the
face. Maybe he stood with his hand on the boot like this.'

'And then?'

'Then they said I must go. I said no,
I have to get names and telephone numbers, because Mr Flint will want a
report. Then that one got sort of angry, and he said ...'

'Which one?'

'The one sitting in front.'

'Which side in front?'

'Passenger side.'

'And he said ... ?'

'He said, I better not mess around,
he said he would fix it, but I better go then. Then I said no, they don't understand,
it's not that easy with the DRMP. Then he got angry, he threatened me, he would
tell the big one to hit me
moer toe,
get in my
effing bus, sorry madam, but he said eff off. Now. So I got in the bus and as I
drove away, I phoned Mr Flint and told him the whole story. He said, Jerome,
don't worry, if they don't want to make a case and there's nothing wrong with
the bus, I know your record is clean. Then, the next afternoon, when I was
finished, Mr Flint came to me and said he had watched the video, and he could
see what happened, my record would stay clean. And that's the whole story,
madam, on my word of honour.'

'I know, Jerome. You have nothing to
worry about.'

'But then why are all the police here, madam?'

While Johnny October phoned Pollsmoor
to arrange for them to question KD Snyders, Joubert considered what the
involvement of the Resdess Ravens meant. It was they who had broken into Tanya
Flint's business premises.

The danger was greater than he had
suspected.

He asked Inspector Fizile Butshingi
if the SAPS could send a police patrol vehicle to Tanya's house in Parklands.
'If they could just park down the street,' he added, not wanting to upset her
more than she was already.

Butshingi was quick on the uptake.
'Good idea.'

Then Joubert called Margaret.

'I'm going to be late.'

'Is that good news?'

'Looks like it.'

'I'll wait up. Be careful.' A
policeman's wife.

He debated over whether to phone
Tanya as well, but decided against it. There were still too many questions, too
many uncertainties.

They drove in Johnny's car to the
prison at the other end of Tokai. Joubert sat in the back.

'Sup, the bus driver...' Johnny said.
'The law clearly says, it's always the fault of the one driving behind. He was
too close to the Mercedes.'

'Flint must have seen that clearly on
the video, Johnny.'

'And he ignored the offence. Because
he saw the hand in the boot. And the opportunity.'

'And from then on it was easy. Track
down Terror Baadjies with the registration number of the Mercedes. Phone the
home number with your new cellphone, so they can't trace you.'

'Blackmail,' said Butshingi.

'But would Flint have known who he
was dealing with?'

Joubert shook his head. 'I doubt it.
I think he saw the expensive car, that Mercedes costs around 700,000 rand ...'

'And said, pay up or I'll give the
video to the police.'

'Something like that. The Ravens
tracked Flint down, Johnny, he slipped up somewhere. But what bothers me is why
the break-in at Tanya's workshop was so ... half-hearted. A few tables
overturned, a weak message on the wall.. .You would expect more from a gang
from the Cape Flats.'

'You must see it in context, Sup. The
faction war. KD Snyders, the hit man, is sitting in jail, Terror Baadjies needs
all his troops, so he sends two or three foot soldiers, inexperienced, a little
scared.'

'What I can't understand,' said
Butshingi. 'These guys ... I mean, why did they pay at all?'

'What do you mean?'

'The video. It doesn't prove much. I mean,
let's say Flint called Terror Baadjies, and tried to blackmail him. So Terror
torches the Benz. Or he has it chemically cleaned, or steam-cleaned, or
whatever. He makes sure there's no forensic evidence in the boot, and he cooks
up a story, should the police come asking questions. He can say, no, it was my
niece, she drank too much, so we put her in the boot, didn't want her to throw
up on my nice upholstery. And he gets his niece to corroborate ...'

Joubert and October said nothing,
because they knew the point was valid. An awkward one.

'Is he clever enough, this Terror
Baadjies?' asked Butshingi.

'He is,' said October. 'Definitely.'

'So why did they pay? Twice?'

Willem 'KD' Snyders, heavily shackled
hand and foot, didn't say a word. Just sat there at the steel table, staring at
the wall.

Johnny October talked politely to
him. Sketched his position in detail. Said he wouldn't survive in jail,
Moegamat Perkins' Ravens faction would get him. The second he was transferred
out of solitary back to the general prison. Only a question of time.

'You are a dead man walking,' said
Butshingi.

'We can help you,' said October.

No response. The face, so terribly
damaged, remained expressionless. The scar tissue deformed the lips in a
permanent grimace as though he scorned the whole world.

'Right now someone is sharpening a
shiv
just for you,
King Kong,' Butshingi began to play his pre-planned role.

'No, we can hide you. Witness
programme. Protection. A new life, Willem. A new beginning. With a bit of help,
a few thousand rand in your pocket. Anywhere in the country, just where you
want.'

But all that, they knew, was just the
prelude, to get his attention.

'Just think. Never to have to look over
your shoulder again. Never.'

KD Snyders sat as if made of stone.

'You're wasting your time, Johnny,'
said Butshingi.

'Maybe not. Maybe Willem can see the
opportunity.'

'Judge is going to put you away for a
long time, Mr Kong. Murderer like you.'

'Slow down, partner, we can help
him.'

'Maybe he doesn't want to be helped.
Maybe he's ugly
and
stupid.'

'I know you're not afraid of
anything, Willem. I know. But just think a moment about the alternatives. Think
for a moment what it
could
be like . .
.'

And so they played the game, one of
them his friend, offering the olive branch of peace and understanding, the
other his enemy, cursing and insulting him. Snyders said nothing, did nothing.
He didn't react,

wouldn't look at them, even when
Butshingi held his face only centimetres from the twisted mask, and screamed
in rage. Willem 'KD' Snyders was a statue, and Joubert sat silently watching,
wondering if their plan would work.

Eventually, Johnny October said, no,
Fizile, enough. Leave us. Both of you, whiteys and darkies don't understand
what it means to be a coloured. I will talk to Willem.

Butshingi and Joubert pretended to
get up reluctantly, and walked out.

In the next room they watched through
the one-way mirror. They saw how October sat down beside Snyders, his
expression one of compassion, his hands clasped together on the table in
empathy and sympathy. Then he began to play his trump card.

'Willem, I come from Bishop Lavis. I
know what it's like. I know the hardship and I know the pain. I know, yours was
much greater, with the accident. I can't even begin to think how hard it was
for you. And I can't blame you, I'm telling you now, no one can blame you.
You've been through hell. And as life goes on, it just gets worse ...'

'He's good,' said Butshingi.

'Yes,' said Joubert.

'Willem, I know, somewhere there
inside you there is still that child. Somewhere in there is someone who asks,
why couldn't it be different? Why couldn't I have a good life. A normal life.
Now, Willem, I'm telling you, you can. If you help us tonight, I will get the
government to pay the medical expenses. We'll take you to the best place in the
country, doctors who can fix anything. And we will give you your life back,
Willem. Your life back.'

Johnny October let that sink in, before
he said, 'A new face, Willem. New and handsome.'

KD Snyders didn't react immediately.
It took him a while before he started to turn his head for the first time.
Until he was looking right at October. The corners of his mouth moved, slowly,
into a grin.