Settling the score – Pt 1 and 2

Acknowledgements:

To all who follow my work as a writer, my life as a journalist and my craft as an artist. To all who have believed in me over the years, to all who I have loved and all who have loved me. I write for you all in thanks and appreciation for the shoulders I have cried on, the hugs we have shared and the moments to come which I await with high anticipation.

LeAwesomish

Part 1

The sun was setting in the horizon. Sandra Fair stood by the railings of her twelfth store apartment balcony, staring at it even though the still bright rays of spring sunlight still stung her eyes. It had been a long and trying day at the news desk. Nothing had gone as planned, and her story was not coming together at all. She walked back inside and headed for the kitchen – undressing along the way. The joys of living alone, she mused to herself as she grabbed a beer, jerked off the cap, tilted her head back and took three large gulps before logging into Facebook and check what was going on in her world. That was, after all, the best way journalists got their stories nowadays. The Easter weekend had been a complete nightmare. Accidents at every corner, politics at home rivalled that within the public sphere; from rogue politicians defying sanctions and the death of an African president to fist-fights and supper and endless gossiping sessions in the kitchen. Juggling work and a messy family dynamic was never a pleasant task at all. She clicked on her inbox to start her daily routine of sifting through junk mail, zealot’s death threats, arbitrary “I miss you” nostalgic texts from old high school and University friends when her phone rang.

“Hi,” said a familiar, gruff voice laced with subtle hints of sarcasm on the other end of the line.

“Oh, it’s you. What the hell do you want, Modise?!” Sandra spat, an angry scowl now lining her face. Just when she thought her day could not get any worse, he goes and ensures it does.

“Why, Sandra . . . is that any way at all to treat an old friend?” Modise replied, sadistically relishing in her anger.

“You stopped being my friend when you made me jeopardise my career to keep you out of jail. I’m hanging up now. Go back to hell!” Sandra said, forcing herself to remain as calm as she possibly could before hanging up rather fiercely. Angrily, she gulped down more beer – spilling some down her front. The phone rang yet again, and a she answered only to be surprised by the same voice a second time. She made to hang up instantly, but stalled on hearing how the voice had suddenly turned from smug irony to eerily desperate. He spoke very fast this time, which surprised Sandra even more than his request.

“Sandra, wait! I don’t have time for your petty grudges! I need your help. I can’t say much on this line. I’m sort of in the place you risked a lot to keep me out of and in dire need of bailing out – I’m good for it! It doesn’t matter I got here – I just really need to get out. Tommy’s life depends on it.  I’m in the Hatfield cells. I’ll explain everything when you get here. Please hurry! Time’s running out! I - …” The line went dead.

Instinctively, Sandra dialled her younger brother Thomas’s number to check if he was all right. It went straight to voicemail. She got up from her desk and walked over to where she had dropped her jacket on the floor. She suddenly felt chilly. Next, she dialled her parents’ home number. The last time she saw her brother was at the weekend, and he had said that he’d be staying with their parents for another two weeks or so to “soak up the love and get properly fed three times a day”. That was two days ago, though. She was trembling at the thought of what could have happened in two days when her mother, after what seemed to Sandra as an entire lifetime, finally answered the phone.

“Hi! Mom, could I maybe please speak to Tommy if he’s around?” She said in what she hoped was a calm tone.

“Oh, hello, Sandra! I’m very fine, thank you. And how are you doing on this fine Autumn’s evening?” Mrs Fair replied.

“Mom, it’s really urgent! I would love to do this, but I have to know if Tommy is home or not!” Sandra snapped. Mrs Fair’s tone changed, noting the urgency and impatience in her daughter’s voice.

“Is Thomas all right, Sandra?” She demanded. With that, Sandra knew that he was not home and was probably, as Modise had suggested, in trouble somewhere … again. Sandra hung up and swiftly started putting her clothes back on. In moments, she was dressed and off to the police station.

Part of the perks of being an investigative journalist meant that Sandra had contacts within most police stations in the greater Gauteng context. Lieutenant-Detective Albert Maboe stood outside, leaning against the Hatfield police station wall with one hand in his jacket pocket and the other supplying his dark lips with smoke from the cheap cigar between his index finger and thumb. He had received a frantic call from Sandra asking him to meet her there in twenty minutes – no doubt she needed another string pulled for her. She had been the one behind his promotion to lieutenant after she tipped him off on an illegal chain of ivory smuggling in Polokwane. He set up a task force and, because of her investigation on the case, managed to intercept a transaction between the dealer and his buyers.  Since that day, the two of them collaborated on a number of cases – most recently, since his transfer to the Hatfield police department, the arrest of a drug lord who sponsored local students’ drag-racing tournaments.

Sandra turned into the parking lot and stopped right in front of him. She walked around the front of her car over to shake the lieutenant-detective’s hand.

“You do know you can’t park here, right?” Lieutenant-Detective Maboe said as he blew rings of smoke into the air, his tone more instructive than inquisitive.

“Ken Modise, I’m here to post bail for him.” Sandra said. To Lieutenant-Detective Maboe’s surprise, there was no trace of humour on her face – she was serious.

“What? Are you mad?” He spat angrily. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? That man is bad news! He sells drugs, Sandra! He sells to the students here and God knows how many lives he’s ruined!”

“Albert, my brother’s gone missing. I think Modise knows where he is and I need your help. Please, Al? It’s my brother we’re talking about …” Tears glistened in Sandra’s eyes and long chains had started a steady flow down her high, gaunt cheekbones as she spoke, her voice soft and trembling slightly. Lieutenant-Detective Maboe stepped forward and stroked his friends left shoulder before drawing her into an embrace.

“I will bring him out on the condition that I accompany you on your hunt for your brother.” He said, while continuing to stroke her shoulder. “We have been looking for this man for a long time, and I will not let him out of my sight.”

Sandra gave him a nod and muttered her thanks amid a torrent of sobs. She could not stop crying. It all came rushing back to her in that one moment: the pressures from her editor, her recently failed engagement, the lack of support from her family and all the death threats and rebukes from people she had never before met – yet had to deal with every time she logged into Facebook. She had kept the tears in for a very long time. They stood out in the autumn chill for ten more minutes, before Lieutenant-Detective Maboe lead them to the holding cells to free Ken Modise.

“It wasn’t supposed to go down this way, Sandra! You have got to believe me!” Modise pleaded as Lieutenant-Detective Maboe grabbed him by the collar and hauled him out of the holding cells and all the way to the parking lot. Lieutenant-Detective Maboe produced a set of car keys and opened the back of a large police truck. He threw Modise in there with little regard for the young man, yet gently assisted Sandra up before heaving himself onto the platform. He closed the door behind him and locked it.

“Whoa! No Popo, Sandra! You’re beast takes a walk or I don’t talk! That’s the rule!” Modise said. Lieutenant-Detective Maboe walked towards the young man and smacked him hard across the face.

“Police brutality!” Modise spluttered, blood running from his left nostril. “You saw that, right, Sandra? You – Argh! …” The Lieutenant-Detective struck him yet again, this time with a closed fist. He made to follow up with another punch, but Sandra swiftly stood between him and Modise.

“I think he’s had enough, Al! I think he’ll talk now. Could you please give us a moment?” She said to the Lieutenant-Detective.

Sandra turned to Modise and slapped him immediately after Lieutenant-Detective Maboe had closed the door behind him.

“Argh! Was that really necessary?” Modise screamed.

“Where’s my brother, Modise?” Sandra followed up, not paying any attention to his dismay at her hostility. “I’m not going to ask you again, Modise. I will not hesitate to call the Lieutenant back in, nor will I hesitate to withdraw my bail! So start talking or I swear you will not see the sun again for a very long time!”

There was a slight chill in the air as Sandra left the truck. She collapsed to the ground and started crying. Lieutenant-Detective Maboe stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and rushed to her side. He knelt down beside her and put a large arm around her.

“Tommy’s in Port Elizabeth.” Sandra sobbed violently. “They were transporting drug money. Modise said he didn’t know what was in the bag – I believe him. A gunfight ensued when the drug lord refused to pay them because they were late on delivery. Tommy took a hit to the shoulder. He told Modise to run and he stayed behind. We don’t know if he’s still alive. Modise’s willing to cooperate with us and help us find Tommy; but I there’s a slim chance that he’s alive. Tiger has him.”

“Tiger? As in the leader of the South African Triads?” Lieutenant-Detective Maboe exclaimed. “You’re brother’s as good as dead, Sandra.”

Sandra wiped her eyes, pulled out her phone and dialled a number.

“I am going to PE. I will find my brother, Al.” She started walking towards her car, speaking to someone from the airline as she did so.

“I’ll make a call!” Lieutenant-Detective Maboe called out to her as she started pulling out of the parking lot. “I’ll get you a car and an escort!” Sandra stopped as she was about to drive off. Lieutenant-Detective Maboe ran to her open window and spoke, his voice slightly louder than a whisper: “I will join you in two days. I’ll have to deal with the paperwork to get that Modise out of here. He’s coming too.

Sandra gave a short, affirmative nod and drove off.

 Part 2

It was quiet but for the flapping of wings and the squawks of seagulls from somewhere beyond the darkness. Thomas Fair opened his eyes with difficulty. He was strapped to a metal chair at the wrists and ankles, his face felt swollen and his jaw hurt like hell. His best guess would be that he was in a shipping container – and knowing the triads, that was probably so.

“Fuck!” he sighed, tasting his own dried blood. “You clichéd bastards! Get me out of here!” He struggled aimlessly against his binds, every wriggle sending ripples of a sharp pain down coursing through his veins.

“Tiger!” he yelled continuously, wincing in pain each time. After what seemed a lifetime, he heard the door open behind him and a flood of light rained into the container, illuminating its content in an instant. It was line with cages filled with frightened female faces staring at him. Three silhouettes neared him from behind him. He had already started bracing himself for more torture, when he heard the click of a gun being cocked.

“Oh, how great of you to join me,” he said. “Come, now, enough of this cowardly bullshit. How about you come around front so I can see your faces as you pull the trigger?” This was greeted by an outburst of laughter which lacked any humour at all.

“We’re not going to kill you, Tommy!” said Tiger, whose harsh and emotionless voice Thomas had grown to know quite well over the past 6 months. “You have something of mine, and I want it back. So just tell me where Diamond is and we’ll call it square, eh? Where is she, Tommy?”

“Zuànshí?” Thomas laughed. “That’s what this is what this is all about? I told you, I don’t know, man. I really don’t – …orf!” Tiger raised Thomas’s head up by the hair and brought his gun down along the side of his face for a second time. A fresh trickle of blood ran down the side of Thomas’s left eye as he spat out a clump of blood. Tiger jerked his head back up by the hair again and brought his own nose so close to Thomas’s face that he could count the rings under his cold, compassionless eyes.

“You insult my intelligence again and I will kill you.” Tiger breathed. “Where is Zuànshí?”

Thomas returned Tiger’s glare, refusing to look away, and spat in his face. “Go to hell, Tiger!” he said.

Tiger stood back and shoved the barrel of his gun in Thomas’s face. “This is your last chance, white boy. Where is Zuànshí?!”

Thomas, refusing to look away, continued staring directly into Tiger’s eyes. He knew it was the end for him, but he was determined not to let his fears show. “Do it,” he said. “Do me this great favour and pull that trigger! Zuànshí? She goes to the grave with me – which is just how I want it. So do it! Do it!”

The air erupted as Tiger fired a shot and loud, panicked screams filled the atmosphere. Thomas opened his eyes in time to see Tiger fire more shots at the women in the cages. With nowhere to run, the women pleaded for their lives instead – but Tiger continued shooting at them, and his two companions soon followed suit. Thomas looked down, tears filling his eyes.

“Okay,” he screamed. “Okay. I’ll tell you where she is, okay? Just, please stop!”

Tiger gave an order to his companions in Chinese and they too stopped shooting.

“She’s close,” Thomas continued.

“How close?” Tiger demanded.

“Are we out at sea?” Thomas said.

“Yes, yes!” Tiger replied, his hungry eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Leave the container and hop in,” Thomas said, smiling. “And take your two gorillas with you.”

Tiger’s explosion, though highly anticipated, was a lot more cruel than Thomas had ever expected it to be. In an instant, the gleam in his eyes changed to hate. Before Thomas knew what was coming, or had time to prepare himself, Tiger had withdrawn a short axe from his belt and brought it down on Thomas’s  left hand – severing two fingers. The pain was unbearable, and Thomas had already began passing out when one of Tiger’s companions threw salt over his hand. Tiger then grabbed Thomas by the neck and brought their faces close for a second time.

“I’ll send your regards along with your fingers to that bitch sister of yours,” he whispered. “The journalist, right? If you won’t help us, then she will.”

The last thing Thomas saw was a fist floating slowly in his direction before all went dark.

To be continued.