Gun Dealing (The Ryder Quartet Book 2) (16 page)

‘No, Navi, they actually hit the
jackpot with the market in pistols shortly after the amalgamation of the two
companies. They picked up really big clients very quickly. Firstly the Swiss.
Then the Japanese, Middle East and African countries became really big clients
of theirs. Then Europe got into the act.’

‘I thought the Americans...’ Ryder
interjected.

‘The American market opened up big
time only when their police forces started swapping revolvers for
semi-automatic pistols. That was a really big market so they created an
American base for the company in New Hampshire. As soon as that happened they
took off into the stratosphere, and SIGARMS America then took the lead in
creating massive sales for them.’

Nadine said she and her assistant had
done more work on this brand of pistols than probably all other small arms put
together. They both knew their SIGs quite well, she said.

‘The key question we’ve been
pondering, though, is how two of the three SIGs used on Sunday ended up in the
attack in your home, Jeremy, along with a third and completely different
weapon. The three guys that you took down...’

‘That Fiona and I took down. Don’t
forget my wife’s frying pan.’

‘The three guys that you two took
down - the two SIG guys and the Desert Eagle guy - should give us some
interesting DNA, don’t you think? A little DNA sampling, not to mention
fingerprints and more, could very soon show us a connection to the attack on
Constable Xana on Sunday. Or not, as the case might be, depending on what the
tests prove. The interesting thing for me will be to see whether SIG one and
SIG two were the two rapists. Or SIG one and Deagle. Or SIG two and Deagle. If
you get my meaning.’

Pillay and Ryder exchanged glances as
they considered the permutations, before Pillay spoke.

‘And if Desert Eagle was one of the
two rapists, we then need to know what happened to his SIG between Sunday’s hit
and Jeremy’s dinner party.’

‘Exactly,’ said Nadine.

‘And if he
wasn’t
one of the two rapists on Sunday, we need to know in any
case whether he was one of the three hit-men, and using the third SIG. And if
so, we still need to know what happened to that SIG between Sunday and my
dinner party.’

‘Exactly,’ said Nadine.

‘And where he got his Deagle from,’
said Ryder.

‘Exactly,’ said Nadine again.

‘And isn’t it nice to have three
suspects safely tucked up in bed in Addington Hospital?’ said Pillay.

‘With clear fingermarks on the three
weapons,’ added Ryder.

‘And all nicely trussed up waiting
for their DNA to be tested,’ said Pillay.

‘It just gets better and better,
doesn’t it? Welcome to Forensic Services, detectives. See why I love my job?’

13.00

‘
Aweh
?’

‘Skhura?’

‘
Yebo
,
Spikes.’

‘Skhura,
bra
, I can talk now? You OK? You can talk?

‘
Eh-heh
,
wait one minute, Spikes. You wait,
nè?
I’m driving. I pull over. Just wait.’

Thabethe turned right then left,
found a quiet spot and pulled off the road. He had been aiming for a place half
a mile further on to stop and have his lunch, but this would be as good a place
as any, he thought. He pulled right up onto the verge, clear of any passing
traffic, switched off, and pulled on the handbrake. He wound down the window
and rested his elbow on it as he talked.

 ‘OK, Spikes. OK. I’m OK for talking.’

‘OK, Skhura. The car is still good?’

‘The car is still good, Spikes. Is
good.’

‘I find that Red Rooster for you,
bra
.’

‘You find him? Good one, Spikes. Good
one,
bra.
’

‘That one is being in jail, Skhura.
He was being in hospital, too, for nearly one week. Messed up bad by the cops.
But he got a clever lawyer that one and now he has the bail. Now he is out. No
passport, because the cops they want the passport. They keep his passport. But
he gives big money for bail. They scared he going to run, that one. But his
lawyer he gets him out of jail and now he is out. Trial in six months. Maybe
ten months. You know. Maybe that Big Red is going to buy the docket, and then
there’s no trial.’

Mkhize guffawed as he said it.

‘What they get him for, Spikes?’

‘Wait, bra. You guess. One big cop
beat up one big Red Rooster. One cop you know.’

‘What cop, Spikes?’

‘That big detective cop you know,
Skhura.’

‘That Detective Ryder one?’

‘Is the same one,
bra
. Detective
fok
-face Ryder spelled funny.’

Thabethe frowned. This Ryder cop was
always in his face.

‘You there, Skhura?’

‘I’m here, Spikes.’

‘That Ryder and that Indian
charra
woman. They put Red Rooster in
hospital. Then he was supposed to go to prison. But he is out of the
tronk
,
bra
, and he is looking for the business. You want to buy
whoonga
from him, Skhura? I got the
connection. My connection he tells me the Rooster he is looking to sell. He
needs the money
sharp-sharp
so he is
selling
nyaope
cheap-cheap.’

‘I want to buy the stuff, Spikes. You
want to work with me? I cut you in. I want to buy and sell fast. I’m needing
the money,
bra
.’

During the next three or four minutes
they set the first stage of the plan. Mkhize would initiate the direct contact
with Big Red. Thabethe would bring in the money. They would set up a meeting.
It would happen as soon as possible.

They ended the conversation having
established the next steps. Thabethe closed it down as quickly as he could.
Instinctively, he wanted to keep all conversations on this phone as short as
possible. He didn’t understand the process of tracking and tracing phones, but
he had some intuition about it. Safer to be sparse with the calls, and brief
when they were unavoidable.

He pocketed his phone and reached
over for the box of KFC. This was as good a place as any to eat.

13.05.

As they drove away from Nadine Salm
Ryder and Pillay enthused about her work.

‘I don’t know any forensics people as
good as her, Navi.’

‘And her assistant, too. They both
seem to work incredibly long hours.’

‘Yep. They’ve been working together
for some time, and you can frequently get both of them in their lab late at
night. They live and breathe this stuff.’

‘I wonder if we’ll ever pick up that
third SIG.’

‘It’d help, Navi, if we could. So
many of these perps blow it by sticking to the same weapon. If anyone can trace
them, it’ll be Nadine and her assistant.’

‘What’s your guess, Jeremy? You think
the guy with the Deagle was at the KwaDukuza killings with his cronies and then
simply lost his SIG before they hit your home? And that his SIG is just
floating free out there? Or do you think he keeps his SIG in one drawer and his
Deagle in another, and just randomly chooses which weapon he’s going to use on
his next hit?’

‘Hard to guess, Navi. Whatever the
case, as you told Nadine, we have to know what happened to the third SIG
between Sunday’s hit and my dinner party.’

‘Maybe some other guy just picked up
the lost SIG and has no connection to the three perps. Maybe it’s a matter of
just waiting to see if it turns up in a homicide in the next couple of years.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Fancy a bite to eat?’

‘Sure. What about KFC or McDonalds?
Don’t tell Fiona.’

‘Course not. What are partners for,
but to help one cheat on one’s spouse?’

13.10.

Thabethe sat in the Ford, looking out
over the hills of Cato Manor as he munched his chicken burger and chips with
the three extra chicken pieces. The car was parked right off the verge. No
impediment to passing traffic.

He had the SIG on his lap. He had
checked and re-checked the weapon in between stuffing chicken and chips into
his mouth. The gun was fully loaded and ready to use.

He wasn’t sure of his next moves. He
had to assume, from what he had seen at the Ryder home, that the cop was still
in action.

What were the chances that Ryder
might connect him to the three idiots? He was carrying one of their weapons,
and he had one of their cell-phones. Could the detective put that information
together with other stuff and trace it back to him?

He laid the paper napkin over the
weapon, covering his lap, and poured the remaining chips onto the napkin. He
tore open the tiny packets of salt and sprinkled the contents over the chips.
He tilted his head back as he threw them into his mouth six or seven at a time.

Suddenly he felt something sharp
pricking him on the neck, as a voice whispered roughly into his right ear.

‘Smart car,
nè?
’

Thabethe froze. The adversary
chuckled.

‘
Kahle,
wena!
 
Kahle,
zulu-boy. Move slow. Leave it the keys. Leave it there, the
keys. Keep your chips, if you want, zulu-boy. Keep your life if you want,
nè
? But only if you careful and you
listen to me. OK, you get out, now, slow,
wena
.’

His mind raced. The blade of the
dagger was drawing blood. He could feel it trickling down his neck. How many of
them were there? Thabethe reckoned he had a chance if there was only one of
them. The guy couldn’t have seen the SIG. It was completely covered by the
napkin and the chips.

Although his window was open because
of the heat, the door was locked. The voice rasped again with some urgency.

‘You put your left hand on the
steering,
nè?
Now!’

Thabethe obeyed as he felt the blade
prick again with a small thrust.

‘Is good. Now you open the door with
your right hand. Slow.
Kahle
,
zulu-boy. You open and you come out slow, or I cut your throat.’

As he sensed the assailant stepping
back from the door, Thabethe saw his chance. He felt under the napkin for the
SIG. He clasped it in his right hand, the left hand still visible on the wheel,
and he was able to keep the gun in his grasp as he then unlocked the door with
the little finger of his right hand. He pushed carefully to initiate the
opening of the door. The would-be hijacker completed the job for him, stepping
further back out of the arc of the opening door, and pulling the dagger back as
he pulled open the door from the outside to allow his victim to step out.

It gave Thabethe the chance he
needed. He brought the SIG up from behind the door and before he could even aim
the assailant saw the weapon and panicked. He took another step back, his eyes
widening in terror as he raised his hands and dropped the dagger.

‘
Hayi!
Hayibo!
Please...’

He was no more than twenty years old.
Thabethe glanced around and could see immediately that he was working alone. He
thrust the SIG into the man’s left eye socket, forcing him down onto his knees.

‘You see what you do now to my
lunch?’

The man was weeping in terror, not
understanding Thabethe’s reference to the chips covered in sand at his feet.

‘You see my lunch? My KFC? You see
what you do to my lunch? Zulu-boy?
Wena
ukhuluma lami
!’

‘Sorry,
nkos
i! Sorry. I’m sorry,
nkosi
!

‘Eat,
wena
. You eat, now. You eat. Chips with sand. Sandwich. You
understand what is sandwich, zulu-boy? Is bread with sand. I got no bread. But
I got chips. I got sand. Plenty sand. Now you eat special Kentucky Fried sandwich.
You eat chips and sand. Now.’

The young man wept in terror as he
took a chip, covered in sand, and put it into his mouth. Thabethe bent down and
grabbed a handful of them with his left hand and thrust them into the man’s
mouth. Then as the man choked he grabbed another handful of soil and thrust
that into his mouth, too.

Thabethe stood back as the man
retched and spat and wept. He waited for the man to raise his eyes and look
again at him before he spoke.

‘You think you steal my car,
wena
? You think you can stab me? You
think you cut my throat? You think I’m a pig?’

‘Sorry,
nkosi
. Sorry, sir...’

‘Look at me,
wena
!’

Thabethe’s voice was suddenly
different. Calm. Cold, Measured. The man paused, petrified, as Thabethe raised
the gun and placed the barrel against his forehead. Thabethe applied pressure,
pushing the man’s head back, slowly. The victim clenched teeth, whimpering, and
tears squeezed out from the tightly closed eyelids.

Then Thabethe took three paces back.
He looked all around. No-one in sight. No-one visible. He waited for the man to
open his eyes and look at him. Then he fired one shot into the man’s right
shoulder and another immediately into the left shoulder. The man screamed as he
fell back in agony. Thabethe moved forward and stood astride him. He waited for
the screams to fade away to whimpering. And waited again for the man’s eyes to
open and then to meet his own. As they did so, Thabethe paused, then pumped
four bullets into the man’s face.