Night

by Casey Christie

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  “Okay Bravo Lima 14 where exactly do you need back up?” asked Lisa the channel 26 Controller.

  “It’s outside the Game store in Wynberg Control, I don’t know the exact address but we need back up now!” said Student Constable Lubu of Bramley Police Station.

  “All right, stand by Bravo Lima 14, I will arrange back up. Any Bravo Lima vehicle that can provide Bravo Lima 14 with back up at the Game store in Wynberg come in for Control.”

  “Control, this is Bravo Lima 14 again, we have the other two Bravo Lima vehicles on duty with us already. We need more back up!”

  “Okay roger that Bravo Lima 14 I will send more vehicles.”

  “Any November Whisky, Lima X-ray, or Sierra Delta vehicles that can respond to back up for Bravo Lima 14 at the Game Store on Louis Botha Avenue please do so.”

  Night picked up his radio. “Control, this is November Whisky 50 we are already en route and will break in about six Mikes. Please may I have permission with all responding vehicles and with Bravo Lima 14.”

  “Go ahead November Whisky 50. All other non-responding vehicles stay off this channel. If you need to get hold of me do so by phone. Go ahead November Whisky 50 the channel is yours.”

  “Thanks Control. Bravo Lima 14, November Whisky 50” said Night.

  “Send.”

  “What’s happening?”

  Student Constable Brian Lubu of Bravo Lima 14 keyed his radio microphone but said nothing. The sounds of a person screaming and people shouting and swearing could be heard. This continued for a few more seconds then the radio went dead.

  “Bravo Lima 14, November Whisky 50.”

  No response.

  “Bravo Lima 14, November Whisky 50.”

  No response.

  “Bravo Lima 14, come in for November Whisky 50.”

  No response.

  “All vehicles on this channel proceed to the Game store in Wynberg. The shop is on Andries Street just behind Louis Botha Avenue nearest corner 6th Street. I repeat the shop is on Andries Street just behind Louis Botha Avenue nearest corner is 6th Street in Wynberg.”

  “Bravo Lima 14, come in for November Whisky 50.”

  “Send November Whisky 50.”

  “What’s happening man?”

  The radio remained silent once more.

  “Fuck it! These fucking rookies have no idea what they are doing! Damn it, FUCK!” screamed Stanislov in the back seat, his blood now boiling.

  “Bravo Lima 14 remain calm and tell me what is happening?”

  The Bravo Lima vehicle’s radio was keyed. Background noises could be heard. Finally.

  “Mob Justice. Mob Justice November Whisky vehicle and to Control and all vehicles responding. We have one hectic case of Mob Justice going on here. It’s bloody bad hey okes, you guys better get here quick hey cos these guys are dying quick quick” said Sergeant Bradman.

  “Brady is that you?” said Night.

  “Ja boet it’s me hey. Sorry about my shark boetie but he is shitting himself. First Kangaroo Court he has seen and one oke has already been necklaced hey boet.”

  “Roger that Brady but are you boys all right?”

  “Ja we are fine boet. If these fuckers try anything with us we will blow their fucking heads off but you know how it is hey boet they are not after us, they are after the robbers and they are killing them one by one. We just need the numbers to control the crowds if we are to save any of these okes.”

  “Okay my brother we are en route and we have some rubber. Stand by and hold tight, more back up should be arriving from everywhere my brother.”

  “Thanks Mike. More of our okes are arriving. Some Hotel Papa just arrived. Fok me it’s a bad one hey Mike – these guys tried to rob the store and the civilians stopped them after an innocent kid was shot in the head. The one oke, the main robber, he is burning now as we speak, it smells hey. Fok me, anyway you will see for yourself when you arrive. More back up coming, I can see Lima X-ray vehicles now…”

  “Control. Hotel Papa One break Mob Justice.”

  “Control. Hotel Papa Three and Eight break Mob Justice in Wynberg.”

  “Control. Lima X-Ray 100 break for back up for the Bramley Vehicles.”

  “Good old Villa” said Shaka.

  The call for backup was to reinforce three police units based out of the small Bramley Police Station. They were dealing with a case of Mob Justice. An occurrence that was becoming more and more common in South Africa as incidents of violent crime continued to rise to epic proportions and as faith in the country’s justice system continued to deteriorate. They had initially responded to a call of an armed robbery in progress that had come through straight to the police station, therefor not being heard over the police radio channel. Once on scene they had found one young girl had been shot in the face and was dead. Initially they had calmed the scene on their arrival but the first responder, a young inexperienced Constable and his Metro crew member failed to act swiftly to remove the main suspects, who had been overpowered and apprehended by onlookers, from the scene of the crime. The crowd’s anger caught flame.

  Before the veteran Sergeant Brian Bradman, who was at one time stationed at Norwood Police Station, could arrive and deal with the situation the Kangaroo Court was already in full session.

  The untested first responders had been overwhelmed by the vigilante crowd and their service pistols taken from them. The first of the five seized criminals had been shot and killed – the mother of the slain young girl had been given the Metro policeman’s weapon by the other vigilantes and she had unloaded it into the body of the shooter, who begged for forgiveness as she did so claiming he was only aiming for the unarmed security guard who had also been shot in the incident. The first responding police officers had run back to their vehicle to seek refuge and could do nothing as they sat and watched events unfold while waiting for assistance.

  Upon Sergeant Bradman’s arrival he had immediately instructed his student, who was also undergoing field training, to call for backup. Sergeant Bradman had set up a perimeter and shut down access to the huge supermarket’s parking lot and main store, ensuring that the mob couldn’t get any bigger and that the vigilantes couldn’t get away.

  Necklacing means to place a tyre around the head and body of a person and set the tyre and person on fire.

  After the first criminal had been shot to death and the first on scene police members had escaped to their vehicle, the angry horde had taken their time with the remaining four suspected criminals. One of the men had been identified as the leader of the gang by his cohorts. The crowd swiftly determined that this man should be executed by fire. A taxi driver in the crowd happily offered up the spare tyre he kept in his vehicle for just such an occasion. A jerry can of petrol was quickly seized from the store -- volunteered by one of the checkout cashiers ---and the gang leader had been set ablaze. Meanwhile the residual gang members were being flogged by sjambok, bare fists and people’s shoes.

  By the time November Whisky 50 arrived on scene, which had taken longer than they had anticipated – 14 minutes – because of heavy traffic and the fact that Constable Shaka had taken a number of wrong turns, a detail that earned him a severe ear bashing from Constable Stanislov, the suspected armed robbers were all dead. And Hotel Papa and the other responding vehicles, 26 vehicles from all over Johannesburg in total had already broken on scene and still more were responding.

  Sergeant Night had always particularly appreciated the response a call for backup would gather in Johannesburg. He always thought to himself that if ever a criminal or citizen did something wrong they should hope and pray that they didn’t force a police officer to call for back up. A call for backup would summon a blue army that would descend upon the enemy with great vengeance and little mercy.

  November Whisky 50 arrived on scene to find five dead criminals, their bodies in a circle at the centre of the superstore’s parking lot. Four of the corpses surrounded a fifth which lay frozen in a knee
ling position charred white and ashen from being burnt alive. The burning man had only moments earlier been put out by Sergeant Bradman with a fire extinguisher that he had taken from the store. The tyre was still visible around his neck. The other men had either been shot to death or had been beaten so badly with weapons of fist, stone and brick that they had bled out. Death by loss of blood.

  Kangaroo Courts usually delivered a swift, emotionally charged, unbalanced and uniquely African form of justice. It was all over in under 25 minutes. At the moment the armed robbers walked in and attempted to rob a store with only two guns and three knives, an alert licenced gun owner swung into action. The Good Samaritan had placed his gun to the head of one of the robbers which allowed other members of the public to tackle and apprehend him. The other armed robber was responsible for the additional two bodies on the scene – the little girl and the unarmed security guard.

  “Shooting the little girl is what got these men lynched” said Colonel M.D. Elvis of Hotel Papa One.

  “Aandag!” commanded Night. And the Sergeant and the crew of November Whisky 50 stood to full attention and saluted the Colonel.

  Colonel M.D. Elvis was one of the most distinguished officers in the South African Police Force. He was old school Highway Patrol and a man of immense experience. He commanded great respect from all who served under him as the head of the Johannesburg Highway Patrol and from all who knew who he was and what he had achieved as an officer of the law. He was a small man, no more than five foot six. He was lean and strong. Of mixed race, he sported a moustache and a policeman’s short haircut. He had a bullet hole scar on either side of his mouth – from where he had been shot 15 years earlier while on a routine traffic stop on one of Cape Town’s Freeways. The Colonel had operated as a patrolman in all the major cities of South Africa – something no other man had done. Luckily the bullet entered cleanly through one side and exited as efficiently through the other. The suspect who shot the Colonel was polite and seemingly harmless as he sat behind the wheel of his luxury car. The Colonel was about to let the man go free of any ticket or penalty. When the Colonel had lifted his head to tell his crew that all was okay the suspect produced his firearm and shot the Colonel once in the face. He then turned the gun on himself and blew his own brains out. It was such a pity, the Colonel would say, as the car’s interior was ruined -- a brand new Mercedes Benz apparently.

  Night thought that the incident had left a deeper emotional mark on the great Colonel. He hated talking about the incident and was also one of the nicest and most honourable men Night had ever known. Like General Arosi Colonel Elvis wore only field rank insignia, not ceremonial and always underneath his bulletproof vest – not over it like the majority of the pompous officers who performed street duty.

  As always the Colonel returned the salute in the prescribed format of standing to attention himself. Another simple act that earned him further respect. Astonishingly, most officers never returned or even acknowledged the sign of discipline and respect. Night imagined that they must have thought the salutes were a birthright.

  “Sergeant Michael Night, or is that Captain?” said the Colonel with a wry smile.

  Once again Constable Shaka and Stanislov looked at each other with curiosity written on their features.

  “It’s not official yet Colonel so Sergeant will do just fine. Thank you.”

  “Indeed Sergeant. How are you my friend?”

  “I am good thank you Colonel and a damn site better than those poor bastards” he said while pointing to the remains of the slain criminal suspects.

  The wind turned and the foul smell of the burnt flesh reached the nostrils of the chatting police officers. Dlamini immediately turned around and threw up onto the cold cement parking lot floor. Night and the constables all put a hand to their mouths to block the smell. The Colonel was unmoved.

  “Sinuses. Sometimes it comes in handy not being able to smell a damn thing” said the Johannesburg SAPF Highway Patrol Commander.

  “Any arrests Colonel?” asked Night.

  “Yes, a few. We have the mother of the dead girl. She openly admits to killing one of the men – the main issue with her is that she used a stolen Metro peace officer’s weapon to kill the man. We also have a taxi driver who was the main one responsible for the burning and a few others. But I don’t imagine any of the charges will stick. Besides none of the witnesses will give evidence and I doubt the State will want to pursue charges. But we’ll make a few arrests anyway.”

  “Where is your crew Colonel?” asked Stanislov, hoping for a specific answer.

  The Colonel smiled. “Ah, Constable Stanislov. The Russian gunfighter. She is behind you. She was speaking to the store management inquiring as to how they would like to proceed. Apparently they want to stay open and continue business as normal.”

  “Only in Africa hey Colonel.” said Night.

  “T.I.A Mike.”

  Constables Stanislov and Shaka spun on their feet to see Captain Sasha Orlovski walking alongside the supermarket’s building towards them. She strolled slowly and confidently with the grace of a cat. She was tall and slender. An athlete’s body accentuated by the South African Police Force pitch black combat boots, and dark blue trousers and shirt. She never wore a bullet proof vest, claiming it slowed her down, and had full feminine breasts and a slim waist emphasised by the thick combat belt in which she preferred to keep all her equipment. As usual she had an R5 assault rifle by her side carried nonchalantly in her right hand. She was of mixed race. Her father was a Bulgarian national who had immigrated to the country some 45 years earlier. Her mother was an unidentified Nigerian prostitute who had died while giving birth to her. Her skin was a dark velvety black and her hair fine, long and soft, held back in a ponytail while on duty. Her eyes were golden amber with a black outline that gave them a striking resemblance to the eyes of a tiger. She had jagged features, high cheek bones, a slight nose and full luscious African lips. She was quite simply one of the most strikingly beautiful women Michael Night had ever seen. And Night had yet to find a man who disagreed.

  Nickolai Stanislov was besotted with her and they had previously dated. Sasha Orlovski had declined Stanislov’s request to marry him and had broken it off. Nickolai had once declared: “She is a wild creature that can never be tamed by any man. She is strong and blistering and at times the most calculating bitch I have ever known! And I love her for it.”

  Unlike the Colonel she followed the trend of most South African Police Force Commissioned Officers and wore her ceremonial insignia signifying her status as a Captain. The rank emblems shone brightly in silver and with all the elements combined gave her a truly ethereal look.

  Dlamini began to rise to his feet as Sasha glided past him. In truth he wanted to get a better look, but as he stood she stopped him, putting her free hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay down young man. The smell of death by fire will come to you once more and your innocent body will react even more violently this time.” She was right. And Night was right, Dlamini thought to himself as the smell of burnt flesh reached his nostrils once more forcing him to his hands and knees to expel the contents of his stomach. Scorched human skin is the worst odour in the world.

  “I see you are still training the young and inexperienced, Captain Night. Shepherding the naïve into a world of death and violence. Congratulations on your promotion. It was due. I know it’s not official yet but well done anyway. From what I know about you it is deserved. Pity it is a mainly administrative role.”

  She turned away from Night without waiting for a response, as Night suspected she would and turned to Constable Shaka.

  “And you my friend look as magnificent as ever. A strong and proud Zulu man. What a man should be in Africa. Built for the kill.” And she pulled the giant officer into an embrace while standing on the tips of her toes –a gesture that made him swell with desire.

  Constable Shaka said nothing. He had never liked Captain Orlovski. He had once told Night:
“Women like that are the right hand of the devil.”

  The tiger woman, as Stanislov liked to think of her, finally turned her attention to him. She let her eyes linger on him from head to toe yet she said nothing. The male police officers watched her as if in a trance. Their daze was suddenly broken by the sound of the Captain’s police radio crackling into life.

  “Hotel Papa One, come in for Control” said the channel 23 Controller.

  “Send for Hotel Papa One Control” replied Captain Orlovski.

  “Thanks Hotel Papa One. First can you give me a Zero Eight on the call for backup at the scene of Mob Justice please.”

  “Yes Control. All is in order here now. The local Bravo Lima vehicles are in control of the scene. A Sergeant Bradman of Bramley Police Station is in command here and will organise detectives and everybody else on their channel. There are seven fatalities here Control. Two innocent civilians killed by the suspected robbers, including a little girl and five robbers killed by the angry bystanders. So received.”

  “Five dead criminals. Not bad Hotel Papa One. Pity about the young girl. I have another complaint for you. A PVA outside of the November Whisky station. There is a November Whisky vehicle standing off there now as well as paramedics but the duty officer wants you to have a look because of possibly negligent circumstances involving Norwood members.”

  “PVA outside Norwood Police Station. Possibly negligent circumstances involving November Whisky Police members. So received Control. We are en route.”

  “What?” said Night “I know nothing about a PVA outside of the station.”

  “Perhaps you are not in the loop as you think you are” said the female Captain.

  “Why don’t you come with us Mike. We can find out together what happened” said Colonel Elvis.

  “Roger that Colonel, follow us.” said Night.

  And the six police officers all made their way to their respective police vehicles - November Whisky into their V8 double cab and Hotel Papa One into their BMW M3 – The Colonel as driver. Once inside November Whisky 50 Sergeant Night got on his mobile phone to Lisa. He didn’t want his call to the channel 26 radio Controller to be overheard.

  After a few moments Lisa answered her ringing Nokia.

  “Lis, what’s happening outside of Norwood. I was with Hotel Papa One and apparently there has been a PVA there. Why the hell didn’t you tell me Lis, you know I need to know everything that happens in my area!”

  “Sorry Mike. I didn’t tell you because you weren’t needed and I have just found out myself.”

  “Well which one is it Lis, that I wasn’t needed or that you just found out.”

  “Both Michael and I don’t appreciate your tone. You weren’t needed because it happened outside of the station and members from the Charge Office are on scene as well as the Charge Office complaints vehicle which I have just spoken to. All is in order there.”

  “Well details Lisa I need the details, was a police vehicle involved in the accident?”

  “No Mike, at least I don’t think so. It was a hit and run and the paramedics are working on the victim but when I spoke to the crew of the Charge Office Complaints vehicle it doesn’t sound good. He doesn’t think the victim will make it.”

  “Well Lis, something is up as the Duty Officer has asked Hotel Papa One to have a look as there is and I quote ‘a possibility of police negligence.’”

  “Okay Mike, I will see what I can find out and will call you back… and stay away from that Captain Sasha Mike. She’s bad news!” said Lisa van der Westhuizen.

  Night ended the call.

  “Make sure you get us there first Zulu.”

  “Will somebody please tell me what a bloody well PVA is and who the hell that beautiful Captain is and where she is from!” asked Student Constable Dlamini.

  “A PVA is a Pedestrian Vehicle Accident Dlamini. And as you would imagine it involves a vehicle and a person. In this case it is a hit and run. And if you want to know about Captain Sasha Orlovski ask Stanislov” said Night with a twinkle in his eye.

  The student looked across at the Russian sitting next to him and opened his hands. “Who is she boss? She’s amazing. I would love to make her mine! Do you think she would? I think she would if I just use my young Shona charms on her. Hmm yummy I would…”

  “Not another word boy! Besides she would devour you, swallow you whole and spit you back out like a used chewing gum.”