Gun Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 2) (12 page)

‘
Eh-heh
,
you keep my number private,
nè?
’

‘For sure, Skhura. The car is good?’

‘The car is good, Spikes. I look after
it for you. Is good.’

‘Fast one, that, Skhura. The guy who
is selling it to me...’

‘You got news for me, Spikes?’

‘I got, Skhura. I got.’

‘
Shweet, mfowethu!
You talk.’

‘Skhura,
I talk to that mad
gogo
.’

‘Your
mother?’

‘That
one.’

‘And
she says what?’

‘My
mother, she tells me the name of that detective, and me, I know that same
detective. Even from just last week, I know him, and you, too. You know him.
Bad one. Strong one. Be careful of that one, Skhura.’

‘His
name, Spikes. His name.’

‘That
detective is one Detective Jeremy Ryder.’

There
was a long pause before Spikes continued.

‘You
know that one well, hey, Skhura?’

‘I
know him, Spikes. I know him. He was working there in the station at Durban
Central when I was working there that one time. I never worked with him but I
saw him. Maybe he’s remembering me from then, but I don’t think so. I saw his
wife one time when she came into the station to leave something for him. Smart
woman. Clever one. I heard her say that one time to the sergeant there that she
was going back home to Westville. But her husband, I never spoke to him. I
never worked with him.’

‘Big
guy. Strong guy. Bad guy.’

‘I
know him, Spikes, I know who he is.’

‘He’s
the same one, Skhura, the one that wants you from last week. He’s the same one
who is looking for your old phone. That same one.’

‘I
know, Spikes.’

‘But
he thinks you are now in Swaziland, Skhura.’

‘I’m
not thinking so, Spikes. That one is too clever.’

‘You
think he knows you put the phone on that lorry?’

‘I’m
thinking like that, Spikes. That one detective he is not a
mampara
like the other ones.’

‘Skhura,
now I’m worried. You know, that guy he is talking to my mother, he is talking
to my daughters, then he will be talking to me. I know that one. Him and that
charra
detective. She too. She is too
bad, that one Indian woman who works with him.’

‘I
know, Spikes. I know.’

‘What
you think I must do now, Skhura?’

‘Stay
cool,
bra
Spikes. Stay cool. If they
talk, you stay cool. You tell them you don’t
 
know me.’

‘No,
bra
. I’m not able to say that,
bra
. He knows, that one. He knows I know
you. Remember, I tell him that last time I know you, so that he will leave me
alone. He knows, that one. He knows I know you, Skhura.’

‘
Yebo
. I remember, now, Spikes.’

‘So
what must I do now, Skhura? What you want me to do?’

There
was another pause while Thabethe thought through the implications.

‘Those
three
skabengas
, Skhura, my mother
tells them wrong.
Moegoe
, my mother.
She says the detective is called Jimmy Rider. You know. She’s not knowing the
spelling is funny. She thinks Rider like a horse, and no ‘y’ in his name.’

Thabethe’s
mind was racing. He needed to shut out Mkhize’s chatter.

‘OK,
Spikes. OK. Is good. I call you again. Let me think. I call you.’

‘OK,
Skhura. You call me. If this detective comes, I tell him I know you but I tell
him you somewhere in Gauteng or Swaziland or Zimbabwe,
nè?
’

‘OK,
Spikes. Is good. No. Wait. One more thing. One more thing, Spikes.’

‘
Yebo, bra
?’

‘One
more thing, Spikes. You remember that big
mlungu
,
that one with the red hair?’

‘
uMlungu
with muscles? Big one?’

‘
Eh-heh!
’

‘Red
Rooster.’

‘Red
Rooster! Is him, Spikes. That one. Big Red.’

‘That
one with the boat, and the
whoonga
.
You get the
whoonga
from that one
there in the yacht club by Wilson’s Wharf,
bra
Skhura. You show me that one time.’

‘Spikes,
I want you to do me one thing.’

‘What
is, Skhura?’

‘You
find for me where is that Big Red
mlungu
.
I need some supplies,
nè?
’

‘OK, Skhura. I put out the questions.
I find him for you.’

‘OK,
Spikes. Thanks,
bra
. You find out for
me and I call you… No! Wait!’

‘What
is,
bra
?’

‘Wait,
Spikes. No, I’m not calling you. You call me. Tomorrow. One o’clock. You call
me, OK? You tell me what you find.’

‘One
o’clock. Sharp, Skhura. I call you tomorrow one o’clock.’

‘Good,
Spikes. We talk then.’

And
he was gone.

10.50.

Themba and Macks, staring at the
liquor and beer bottles surrounding them, were prompted again to challenge
Mavuso about the money. He was again evasive but finally, when Macks pointed
out that the gin, whisky, brandy, and vodka were way beyond the beer budget
that Mavuso could normally afford, he admitted lifting the wallet from the dead
Dlamini as they had left the house. He told them he had retrieved just under a
thousand rands in cash from it as they had walked from the back door of the
sergeant’s home to the car in Isithupha Close. That was why, on the return
journey, he had suggested that they pull in to buy some booze and that he would
pay for it with some cash that he had.

Themba was incandescent with rage as
Mavuso produced Dlamini’s wallet.

‘
Idiot!
Wena! Moegoe!
You know what happens when the police they catch you with
that wallet?’

‘They don’t catch me, not me.
Nxa!
They will never catch me with this,
man.’

‘Those blue lights,’ Macks screamed
at him, ‘when we were thinking last night they were after us, if those cops
they stopped us, and they found that wallet, we were dead, man.
Moegoe
! What you thinking?’

‘Hey,
wena!
You not talk to me like that,
wena. Fokoff,
man!’

‘Hey! Hey!
Shaddup
, Mavuso! What you think, man? Macks is right. You get rid
of that wallet! What you think? You want cops to come all over this place. You
finished if they finding that thing.
Hayi
!
What you thinking, Mavusies?’

They gradually calmed down and
Mavuso, in a sulk, agreed to dump the wallet as soon as they were on the road
again.

They gradually turned their attention
back to how they could find out more about this detective that was tracking
them.

11.20.

KoeksnDips drove back from the scene
hugely impressed by Nadine. She hadn’t offered any direct opinions about what
had happened, but she had posed many questions. She wouldn’t be drawn on any
theories, responding to them that she wasn’t too fond of theories, and
preferred evidence.
No jumping the gun
,
she said - acknowledging, in response to their exchanged glances, that it was
an awful expression.

They had watched her dig the slug out
of the wall behind Dlamini’s chair, along with a piece of the wall, place it
carefully into an evidence bag, have her assistant take more photos, walk back
and forth along a line of assumed trajectory for the bullet, frown repeatedly,
scribble notes, mutter to her assistant, and painstakingly map out a
complicated diagram for her own recollections later.

She had asked them to accompany her
to check the back door, and with protective gloves had opened the door, peered
closely at the outside face of the yale lock and elicited their agreement that
there had definitely been some recent scratching there. She called the
assistant over to test for fingermarks.

‘We’ll run anything we find against
the vic’s fingerprints,’ she said. ‘Who knows? Worth checking.’

When asked for her anticipated
timeline on this, Nadine told the two detectives that she had a few other
things on her plate at present, but that she would try to get down to this case
as soon as she could. Certainly, she said, she would have to come back once the
body had been removed, the scene properly photographed and the initial scan
completed. She wanted to do a reconstruction, she told them, so the scene would
remain restricted for now, with a guard in place.

12.20.

Thabethe
had been working through various possibilities. It was risky, but he decided to
try it. He pulled out the cell-phone.

No password needed. He flicked until
he reached recent calls made and received.
Mav.
Mx
. Four other names. But
Mav
and
Mx
were the ones that were repeated, time and again. Mavuso and
Macks from the bush on Sunday. Must be. Who else?

He paused, considering the potential
danger. Then he decided to go for it. He pressed
Mav
and waited. Nothing. It just rang and then went to voicemail.
Thabethe paused. Hung up. Contemplated. Then he pressed
Mx
and waited. It rang.

‘
Yebo
?’

‘Is Macks?’

‘Who’s this?’

‘I want Themba.’

‘Who?’

‘Themba.’

‘Wait.’

Macks held out his phone to Themba,
who took it and answered.

‘
Yebo
?’

‘Me, I’m friend.’

‘You what?’

‘I’m not talking. You want that
detective? That Detective Jeremy Ryder?’

‘Who’s talking?’

‘I’m not telling you who is talking.
I’m telling you where is that Detective Jeremy Ryder.’

‘You know Detective Jimmy Rider?
Maishe he tell you I’m looking for that one?’

‘His name is not Jimmy. His name is
not Rider like in horse. His name is...’

‘Hey! Hey!
Wena
! Who you talking to? Who is this talking to me?’

‘Hey you too!
Shaddup, wena
! You lissen,
isiphukuphuku!
I’m telling you, that detective,
I know where he is staying. That detective is going to grab you one time. I’m
telling you where you can get that detective. Me, too, I’m wanting that
detective finished. I want to
bulala
that one. He is looking for me too, and I’m wanting him dead, that one. I’m
telling you where he is.’

Themba
paused. He was tempted to cut the call. Must be a trap of some kind. But there
was something about this guy…

‘You
check if you want. That detective, he is living in Westville. I know. I was
working with him one time. I know where he is staying.’

It
was enough to keep Themba on the line. Within a couple of minutes Thabethe had
passed on the information that Themba needed in order to be convinced, then
clicked off.

Themba
stared at the Nokia in his hand. Mavuso and Macks waited. Then Themba re-
dialled
the number for his policeman friend Maishe in
Durban North.

‘Maishe?
Is Themba. I found a mistake. Now I know. Now I know for sure. I want you to
check a new spelling. Look for Detective Jeremy Ryder. Spell it with
y
and not
i
.
R-y-d-e-r
. Detective
Jeremy Ryder, and tell me also if he is living in Westville.’

13.45.

Fiona’s extended lunch-hour provided
barely enough time to accomplish all that was needed. She dashed home from
work, picked up the luggage and Sugar-Bear, got them into the car, and dropped
them off with the children and their friends. She thanked the parents profusely
for their generosity in having both the children and the dog for the midterm
break, enjoyed a bit of joking about her and Jeremy having a few days alone for
a change, and then drove at pace back home via the supermarket.

She picked up from the shop the final
few things needed for tonight’s dinner, dashed back into the house, and popped
them into the fridge, cupboard and cabinet. Then she re-set the alarms and
rushed back to the car for the trip back to the office.

As she pulled out of the driveway and
turned left up the road toward the intersection, she didn’t notice the red
Mazda 323 parked twenty or thirty paces in the opposite direction, down from
the house. The three men inside the car watched her go up the hill. Then the
Mazda moved forward, slowly, until it was opposite the driveway. One of the men
got out, looked around, and walked casually up the driveway, trying his best to
look like a delivery man of some sort, though he had nothing in his hands to
suggest that he was delivering anything to anyone.