Last Train to Retreat (25 page)

‘I told you, your detectives have already been here asking the same thing. Didn’t they tell you?’

‘As a matter of fact they did. They said no.’

‘So, why waste my time, Sarge?’

‘I’ll tell you, Hannibal … by the way, I’m a Warrant Officer and I suppose you know that too?’

It was Hannibal’s turn to keep silent.

Philander said, ‘I’m here because I don’t believe Kuscus and Fritz and I don’t believe you. I think they are being paid off by you and your gang … have been for a long time.’

‘Sarge, so what if the three men you mentioned are members of my gang? Is the problem that they are members – which you can’t arrest them for – or because they’ve committed crimes, which you can only arrest them for if you’ve got proof?’

‘My friend, you are known for being too clever for your own good.’

For the first time Hannibal felt a twinge of unease. It was what the Gnome had said. It was a bad omen. Philander knew something, why else would he be here if he’d already talked to Kuscus and Fritz? With a blank expression Hannibal stared at the man in the steel-grey suit. He was finally in the cage with Detective Warrant Officer Philander.

‘You know what?’ Hannibal said evenly, his eyes a lifeless black, ‘it’s because of your dead wife that you’re here. You’ve wanted to nail me all this time and you can’t, and now you’re trying something else, not so?’

Hannibal saw Philander flinch. It couldn’t be fear – Philander wasn’t the sort – it was more like deep pain. Philander had been trying to take him down from the moment he stepped into the house, like all Hannibal’s opponents did. Hannibal was not only still standing – he had Philander on the back foot.

‘You know and I know your men killed her, Hannibal, and then you paid Kuscus and Fritz to botch the investigation.’ Philander stood up. ‘I’m asking you for the last time, what do you know about Cupido, Gatiep and Curly?’

Hannibal also got up and walked to the door to indicate the meeting was over. He put on his best swagger to show his disdain for the detective. Without a word he let Philander out. Halfway to the gate, Philander said over his shoulder, ‘If you don’t know about them, Hannibal, then I’ll tell you – they’re all dead. And yes, they
were
all Evangelicals.’

‘So?’ Hannibal called after him.

‘Well, your car with two men in it was seen entering the Cape of Good Hope Reserve the week Curly’s body was found at Miller’s Point, the one with the special spoiler, you know.’

Hannibal froze. Fuck those angel’s wings. God had finally taken His revenge. And Hannibal had proclaimed Him dead.

•

An hour later, Hannibal was still thinking. Philander had to be dealt with,
now.
Zane, Chantal, and Lena could wait. How nearly had he succeeded with Zane! He grimaced. That Zane should have been saved by a dumb street hump was almost too much to bear. And then he vanished, just like that. For two days, in the morning and in the evening, Hannibal had waited in vain outside the flat, a new bloodlust pulsing through him in the knowledge that Zane had crossed him twice, first with Chantal then with Lena. When Hannibal realised Zane had disappeared he set out to find Lena’s house
.
For once he was lucky – in the street Sarai had described to him he saw Lena coming home one evening. He had walked away, to plan how he was going to kill her. Then, suddenly, Philander appeared as if he
knew
what was happening.

Hannibal didn’t turn on the lights – they would hurt his burning eyes. All he wanted was to blow Philander to pieces but he knew he couldn’t, not in the house, not anywhere. There was no telling what Philander had written in his files, and the station would have a record of his visit. In a few months yes, then he could do it, but he didn’t have months, he had only days.

He phoned the Gnome and told him he had to see him – tonight.

•

It felt strange sitting in an unfamiliar chair in Sasman’s house, at night, and without Danny. Terrance had been unhappy about the interruption to his evening and he had driven Hannibal to Plattekloof in silence. In a few days’ time he would take Sasman to the airport for his flight to Hong Kong.

‘So what brings you here, Hannibal?’ Sasman asked suspiciously.

‘You’re not gonna like this.’ Hannibal braced himself. He talked rapidly, giving Sasman only the headlines knowing he might not get to the end. He was right.

‘Fuck it, fuck, fuck it!’ the Gnome screamed before Hannibal got to Philander’s telling last remark, his words spitting out like bullets. He seemed to puff up to twice his size. He grabbed a porcelain vase from the mantelpiece and smashed it on the floor. The Dobermans were instantly on their feet, eyes roaming the room for signs of a threat. Hannibal closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

‘I knew it, I just knew it! How you’ve screwed up, Hannibal!’

‘Jerome, he
has
to be killed, we got no choice, man.’

Sasman went still. The Dobermans calmed down but remained upright. ‘I’m not sure. Killing Curly and the Thai girl is one thing, but this …’

‘I know Philander. He won’t give up, especially not now – he knows too much.’ He told Sasman about his car’s angel wings being seen at Cape Point. If that didn’t get the Gnome off his hairy arse nothing would. What Hannibal kept to himself was the identity of the man on the train. Once he’d taken care of Zane, he’d tell Sasman. Wherever Zane was he had to come back, he had a job, a flat, he had parents, and he had a sister.

The Gnome looked horrified. ‘Jesus, it gets worse. Seems we have no choice, but the detective is your problem, Hannibal, not mine. Leave me out of it.’

‘No, Jerome,
we all gotta stay out of it
– me, my men, you, none of us can touch Philander. There are too many connections.’

The Gnome stared at Hannibal. Hannibal plunged in, ‘Let Danny sort out Philander. All we should worry about are our alibis. The triads organise hits all the time and they
never
talk, and if you pay them enough …’

‘Hold it! You mean
you
pay,’ Sasman said bitterly, ‘
you
caused the shit. Maybe I bring my flight forward, and you … you can go somewhere for a few days where people can vouch for you. No, maybe I should make sure he’s history before I go, I mean, how can a man enjoy fireworks and pussy while worrying about a fucking detective?’

‘Hey, I thought we were partners, Jerome? Anyway, I haven’t got that kind of cash … tell you what, how about we go fifty-fifty – I pay half of what Danny wants for Philander, and I take care of Lena and the man who was with her on the train. I know where she lives … he might even be with her.’

The beginnings of a smile formed around the Gnome’s pinched mouth. ‘Ah, something you should’ve done long ago you’re now using to bargain? You’re something else, Hannibal.’ He was almost friendly, ‘Okay, you got a deal – I’ll sort out Philander, you pay half, and you fix Lena and the man. With Philander it’s gotta be
now.
’

Hannibal’s brain went on high alert. It had been too easy. Sasman only ever thought of himself. His style was to float above the shit while everyone else was sinking in it, remain untouchable while those around him got taken out or fingered. The Flats provided a never-ending supply of human fodder for his schemes. It was unlike the Gnome to commit to the killing of an investigating police officer and allow the man who suggested it – Hannibal – to carry on living. It would change their relationship, leave Sasman in charge but weakened. There was no way Sasman would allow it.

Lettie came into the lounge to sweep up the porcelain pieces. The various parts of her didn’t go together – black eyes and blonde hair, wrinkled face and bare feet, full figure and timid walk, distant and aware at the same time. As she cleaned, the sound of colliding shards gave an extra brittleness to the atmosphere. Hannibal had never been able to tell if she was char or lover or both. Could she be the Gnome’s mother? He had never heard her say a word. She was like Terrance and the Dobermans, seeing to the Gnome’s needs in silence, insiders by virtue of never saying no or asking why.

There was no turning back for Hannibal now.
‘
I’m making it real easy, Jerome. Here’s Philander’s address, he lives with his two daughters, wife’s dead. And here are his shifts for the week. The night shift’s good, not when he arrives at the station but when he goes home tired early in the morning. Everyone will have work on their minds, he’ll be thinking about breakfast and sleep. Make it happen in broad daylight, when it’s the last thing he expects.’ He gave the Gnome a dazzling smile, ‘It’ll be just another hijacking, Jerome. Ha, ha, what an amazing irony that he should die in a hijacking just like that wife of his!’

‘Just like that, eh?’ The Gnome snapped his fingers.

Hannibal got up. ‘No more difficult than creating an alibi, Jerome. Let me know which morning.’ But he knew that in the back of the Benz the time for dreaming was over.

H
annibal read the report in the afternoon newspaper with great satisfaction. He was still in Atlantis, forty kilometres from Cape Town on the west coast, having spent the night with a cousin. ‘Detective dies in hijack’ the headline screamed. It went on to describe how Detective Warrant Officer Quentin Philander, in civilian clothes and on his way home after a night shift at the Lavender Hill police station, was shot three times through the window of his unmarked car, dragged out and left on the pavement to die. Two men drove off in the car. A motorist going the other way witnessed the incident at about 6.20 am. The report added that at a thousand per month, South Africa had the most hijackings in the world having held this dubious distinction for twenty years. Police were investigating.

What Hannibal didn’t like was the phone call from Sasman at 6.30 am, ten minutes after the hijacking, demanding a meeting the following night. ‘To tie things up before I go,’ he had said. Sasman had also made sure he was out of Cape Town, in Ceres where he had friends. When he asked if Lena and Bruce Lee man had been taken care of Hannibal replied that alibis came first. The Gnome had insisted that they be eliminated
before
the meeting.

Hannibal had a day and a half to get them. But the thought came to him that maybe, just maybe, they were worth more alive than dead until after the meeting.

•

Hannibal sat rigidly in the Benz. He had checked out Terrance before getting into the car – for a telltale bulge, a facial flicker, eyes that were all over the place. Now he was watching for glances in the mirror or a change in the route. But Terrance seemed too uptight about his spoilt night to pose a danger.

From the M5 Hannibal watched the world flash by just as his own life had been doing with increased frequency, his memories of himself filled with stress created by authority at every step – his parents, teachers, preachers, karate senseis, the local community forum, the police, government (first the Whites and now the Blacks), God, the Gnome – the whole world run on rules. The rules of nature he understood and accepted – the tides, moon, and sun, the birds, the need to eat, sleep, the urge to fuck, and to kill. But rules made by people sucked, what right did they have to make them? Rules were there to suit those who made them. The Flats, Atlantis where he had stayed the night, were they not the result of rules so terrible they could have come from Satan himself? Atlantis – what a fucking name for a place that had been dead for twenty years with 200,000 people still trapped in it. The world was full of places like these, all created by politicians. And God had created these men and had done
nothing
to stop them. Hannibal could find no reason whatsoever not to loathe human beings.

He walked across the courtyard in his bomber jacket, his pace measured, his gaze fixed on Sasman standing in the doorway with his Dobermans by his side. Hairy spider, blood sucker, mother-fucker – a thing so grotesque it caused Hannibal’s eyes to water.

‘Come right in,’ it said, ‘Danny’s waiting. I hope you brought his money?’

Hannibal brushed past the Gnome with a taste of bile in his mouth then waited for him to go up the stairs first – stumpy legs, bloated torso, dressed in black as if for a funeral.

‘Aah, Hannibal!’ Danny said exuberantly. Was the thrill of the kill still with him or was it the bounty he expected to be paid?

Hannibal nodded and sat down unasked making sure he could see the staircase. The Dobermans had led the way and were now next to the Gnome, on their haunches, not at ease even though they’d seen Danny and Hannibal many times. The dogs were like their master.

‘So, Hannibal, it worked, thanks to Danny here. But now what about Lena and Bruce Lee man?’

‘Jerome, I say again, alibis come first. I don’t have to look for them. It’s just a matter of waiting. In fact, Delron’s been watching the house all day.’ Hannibal realised his mistake as he said it – he’d just made himself dispensable. He tried to divert Sasman’s attention. ‘Is Lettie here, I’d love some gingers.’

‘Ha, ha,’ Danny said, ‘he is hungry, Jelome, the boy is still growing!’

The Gnome said, ‘
Biscuits?
What Danny wants is
money,
Hannibal, your half. I’ve paid mine.’ But he weakened at the thought of gingers. ‘Lettie,’ he shouted, ‘more please, and some sodas for the whisky, and a Coke for the kid.’

Sasman put ice in a glass, poured the Coke and held it out to Hannibal, staring at him.
I can read him but not Danny with his slanted eyes like permanent shutters, Danny the triad, the danger man,
Hannibal thought
.
He got up. Like a camera ready and focused the Gnome, Danny, and the Dobermans were now all inside Hannibal’s frame of vision. Should he take the drink? Sasman was pulling at a hair in the hollow of his throat, his eyes flitting to Danny. Hannibal’s life started flashing through him again like a defective bulb. He took the drink, dropped it and slid a hand into his bomber jacket at the same time. His gun came out as the glass hit the floor. For a second everyone except Hannibal looked down. Then Danny’s own gun was out but a bullet in the face followed by one in the chest sent him crashing against the wall. The silencer’s dull plopping sounds and what looked like a matter strictly between visitors confused the Dobermans. Hannibal didn’t wait. He shot the one Doberman behind the ear as it rose and the other in the chest as it leapt at him. It knocked him to the floor its meaty breath in his face as he thrust the barrel into the dog’s mouth and pulled the trigger. The Gnome was screaming now, ‘Lettie, Lettie!’ She rushed from the kitchen. Hannibal’s bullet stopped her like an invisible wall but she had eyes for the Gnome only. It was as if the man who had shot her and the bodies around her did not exist. ‘Jerome, my boy …’ she struggled to speak. It was the first time Hannibal had heard her say anything. She sank to her knees. The Gnome took her in his arms and looked up at Hannibal, tears running down his black stubble like rain. ‘What have you done, Hannibal? The only good person in my life … and you had to kill her! You’re from the Devil, Hannibal, no, you
are
Satan himself …’