by Javi Reddy
James flung him back against the wall, his back crashed hard against the bricks.
“The one you have with Vinny De Silva. I find it too much of a coincidence that people like Linda and yourself hang around both the Parlour and this place. Places that Vinny is no stranger to.”
“I… I…”
“Spit it out, Fat Albert!”
“Vinny just gave me a chance, that’s all. I was swimming in debt, I got involved with loan sharks, I was a terrible gambler, but he gave me a chance. He gave me work.”
“What type of work?”
“Nothing illegal. I just had to go about my duties at both places. Pour drinks and take customers’ bets. I also had to turn a blind eye to any activities outside of my scope of work. He trusts me, and I haven’t squealed yet.”
“Yet.”
James took out a butterfly knife and pointed it at the barman’s groin. “What happened to Linda? Why did he kill her?”
“She…she was going to squeal.”
“Yeah, I figured that much. But why? What did she find out?”
“Please. I can’t tell you. He’ll do worse to me; worse than anything you’ll do.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
James pulled up the man’s sleeve and started to carve into his forearm. He placed his other hand over the barman’s mouth, so the hippo couldn’t bellow. He took out a nip of vodka from his inner pocket and smeared some onto the man’s cut. Hippo neck wriggled around madly like a guinea-fowl.
“Please…no. I can’t.”
“Speak up. Now.”
James rubbed harder on his arm. Tears began to take over his swollen face as he spoke: “Vinny messed with your brains. Literally. He cut you open and messed with your memory somehow. You and that Jay kid.”
James thought about the circle with the ‘V’ in it. “He wanted you both to forget.”
“To forget what?”
“I…I don’t know. I swear!”
James undid the man’s belt and dropped his trousers and let him linger in the alley in his underpants. He stuck the knife dangerously close to the man’s testicles.
“This is about to go in deep. It will be slow and painful. Maybe it won’t be worse than what Vinny has in store for you, but it’ll come pretty close.”
“Okay, okay! Linda found out the truth. She found out that…”
A bullet crashed into the front of the man’s skull and the blood splattered across the wall behind him. James turned around and saw a shooter on a nearby roof. He began to shoot at James, who flung himself behind the dustbins for cover. After three bullets clanged against the bins, there was silence. James peered out and the shooter was nowhere to be seen. All that was left was the fat man, lying in a pool of his own blood, his chin pressed against his neck as his yellow shirt became redder and redder. He managed to get out his last few words:
“It’s…the leaves….”
8 October 2013. 11:35 AM
James fled to Layla’s flat in Rosebank. He was sure that the shooter would try his best to follow him, so going to Layla’s Morningside place was too risky. He could not put her and Jay in more danger. He stood behind the kitchen counter with the largest carving knife he could find. He waited for two hours for the shooter to come through the door. His grip on the knife slowly loosened and he started to wonder about the barman’s final words. Leaves. Was he smoking leaves?
James could not make any sense of it. Another hour went by and nothing. Just a closed front door. James didn’t know why and didn’t know how, but the rush of blood had given him an urge to write. It was finally coming back and he couldn’t think of anything else to soothe himself. He raced for his Parker pen and after sniffing around like a bloodhound, he eventually caught a glimpse of its glint from underneath his couch. He found a yellowish sheet of paper on the kitchen floor, one that may have been white a decade or so ago. It would do.
He did not think about what he wanted to say or how exactly he would say it. He instinctively let the pen glide across the paper. The words flowed. They returned to him after years of abandonment. He yearned to arrange them in the right order, so that he would find their beauty and everything grand they hoped to stand for. He wrote about Jay and how the boy saved him. How Layla saved him. He captured how lucky he was to watch their three lives unravel together and how the future scared him. He feared that they may not get what they wanted out of this. How could they? What scared him more was if they got what they wanted, and it was not what they thought they needed. This was the honeymoon phase. If the three of them chose to live their lives together, who was to say that this was not as good as it got? Who was to say that…
He continued to scribble hard against the paper but to no avail. His words were strong, but his ink had run out. The cruellest fate to fall upon any writer, let alone a returning one. He couldn’t afford a Parker refill. He unscrewed his sleek, silver bullet of a writing weapon and popped out the refill. It dropped to the floor and rolled across the kitchen tiles. He knelt down, his back slightly aching, as he stretched out to retrieve it. He pulled it up and as soon as it met his eyes, he went squeamish. He read the label on the refill again.
‘Jonathan Tait Media house’.
The name, the company, the man. He knew them all. He remembered them all.
How had he forgotten? Vinny. That’s what he wanted him to forget. He wanted him to forget about Jonathan Tait. James’ father taught him many things….he had to have.
His father was a media mogul. A very, very wealthy one at that.
Chapter 33
8 October 2013. 2:01 PM
James’ father was rich. Super rich. And although he died a few years ago, he must have left his son some money. That money, whatever it amounted to, could help James, Jay and Layla gain the resources that they needed to beat Vinny, and the chance to start a new life anywhere in the world.
James bitterly looked at his pen refill. Vinny had played him and led him to believe that he was utterly powerless. James needed to tell Layla, and he needed to tell her now. Vinny would kill again unless they stopped him and Amritha’s chances of survival withered away with each day. He thought about how Vinny cold bloodedly ended the waitress’ life, right in front of Jay’s young eyes, and then, something clicked in James’ mind. Vinny had shown Jay the video of James’ lookalike, killing his father on a phone.
A phone. How could James forget that he had his own phone? What else had Vinny made him forget? He raced to the bathroom and dug through the small white cupboard under the sink. He found his Blackberry Curve. He scrolled through his contacts, on his Blackberry Messenger, in a silent prayer. Layla was there. He did what he hadn’t done in ages. He sent a message.
James: Darling, it’s me.
A minute later, the conversation was up and running.
RosePrincess: James?
James: No time 4 formalities. I’ve got big news.
RosePrincess: K. Whats up?
James: I remem now. I remem a lot. Look, I knw its nuts but I think I’m the game-changer in all of this.
RosePrincess: What are u sayin? Im so lost.
James: Will explain soon. R u ok? Is Jay safe?
RosePrincess: Darling, ure scaring me."
James: Hang tight. Comin over now. Will explain everything. Going 2 get that bastard. Promise.
RosePrincess: K. Waiting for you.
He sent her an emoticon with hearts in its eyes before he rushed back over to the white cupboard below the sink. He had forgotten what else was there. He grabbed the Vektor SP1 9MM, making sure it was loaded, and then made his way out.
8 October 2013. 2:27 PM
James clutched the handgun tightly in his jacket pocket, as he waved frantically towards the white minibus taxi lumbering towards him. He didn’t know the specific signals associated with specific routes.
The driver lazily cast his eyes over James as he fiddled with a piece of plastic in his mouth. He stopped for James.
“Where does this taxi
go?”
James rushed his words as the driver continued being nonchalant.
“Down Rivonia,” a large lady, with a bandana around her head and a baby in her lap, told him. James hopped in and they were soon on their way. All of them. The casual driver who disobeyed every known traffic law, the lady who cradled her baby in her arms, especially, over the speed bumps and the nervous man with a 9mm in his jacket, trying to save the day.
Moments after the driver shot a red robot, he stopped in the middle of the road, a centre lane no less, and told James that he could get off there. James walked towards Layla’s flat and let himself in through the electronic gate, speedily typing in the access code. He saluted the guard on duty before he took the elevator to the third floor of the five-floor complex. As he neared the end of the corridor where Layla’s was, an ominous premonition came over him.
As he drew closer to her door, his fear was heightened. It was open. He took the 9mm out and crept in. He scoured the area, as carefully as possible, with his right gun-holding hand sticking straight out and resting on his left hand. There was no one here. Just a mess. Clearly, a struggle had taken place—papers were scattered everywhere, vases had been shattered, and there was a touch of blood on the carpet.
Vinny had been quicker. James had failed to keep a promise he had just made to Layla on the phone. The phone. Of course. Vinny must have had hers’ tapped, or maybe even his own? He knew James was coming. Vinny always knew. James dropped to his knees. A miserable ending to a battle that had not yet even begun. He steadied himself to get up when the cold end of a gun placed itself against the back of his head.
“This looks familiar, doesn’t it? When I let you turn around, I don’t want you to do anything stupid. You got that? Nod slowly if you understand me?”
James remained still. The gun was cocked. “Let me ask again. Do you understand?”
The gun was thrust deeper into the back of his head. James finally nodded.
He turned around and it was the first suit whom he had beaten up a few days ago at Jay’s place. “Carl, is it?”
Carl smiled sarcastically at him. “How’s the nose?” James asked him.
“I’ve been through worse. You hit like a girl.”
“Is that so? Drop the gun and let’s go again.” He lowered the gun, slightly.
“Look. A lot of this doesn’t add up,” Carl said.
“I already know that. Where’s Layla and the kid? What have you done to them? And why are you working for that scumbag?”
“De Silva? I have absolutely nothing to do with him, but I’ve been doing some digging on him for a while now and it seems that he’s got the right people on his side.”
“Go on.”
“Well, my buddies and I, all the suits you’ve seen outside Jay’s flat, are deployed by the South African Police Force. We’re part of a division known as the S.I.I. (Special Intelligence Investigators). We take our orders from those in the SAPF hierarchy that we never actually see. We were told that keeping guard of Jay Chetty was a top priority. It didn’t make sense why guarding a teenage boy had become such a matter of urgency. Last time I checked, we were highly trained agents, digging deep to find what we needed, not damn babysitters.”
“So, why did you go ahead and take this specific order?”
“The money was ridiculous. We were making in a day what we wouldn’t make in a whole month of normal duty. How could we turn that down?”
“But you couldn’t keep your S.I.I. nature at bay, could you? You had to investigate a little further?”
“We are who we are.”
“So, what did you find out?”
“I couldn’t find detailed backgrounds on any of the policemen we were dealing with on the diversion program for Jay. In fact, none of them had proper histories or anything else on record when I did checks on them through our systems. They were like ghosts.”
“Shit, of course. I thought you were Vinny’s men. But he infiltrated the police on this project.”
“Exactly. Yesterday, I paid a few visits to people in Rosebank to find out more about Jay, and get this: his coach, his buddies, none of them had heard of any type of diversion program. They all thought that he went on holiday with his father and his girlfriend to London. They had no idea that he was at home, under house arrest.”
“So that’s why no one came to visit him.”
“If you think about it, it actually was a diversion program.”
“Come again?”
“The program was designed to divert Jay away while Vinny went about his business.”
“But it’s not Jay he wanted to divert. It’s me.”
“You?”
“Yes. Vinny wanted to keep me away from everything. So, he framed me for Jay’s father’s death, and got me to stew in my own misery and lay low. He knew that I’d come to Jay and hide out with him.”
“But why you? Who are you?”
“I’m James Tait.”
“Yeah, so?”
“James Tait. Heir to the Jonathan Tait fortune. That James Tait.” The suit clicked his fingers.
“Come here, I wanna show you something.”
Carl guided James to the lounge table where his tablet was sitting. The internet. It had been ages for James. Where did they begin? There could only be one place: Google.
Carl typed in James’ name. Before he even got to the second letter of his surname, Google auto-completed it. He was that popular. Or infamous. He read the by-line of the third search result under the ‘News for James Tait’ section.
James Tait, only son of media mogul Jonathan Tait, has failed in his legal attempt to be transferred from a psychiatric facility in Edenvale to a maximum-security prison, just outside of the City of Tshwane.
10 years ago, Tait was found guilty on three different murder charges and had been deemed mentally ill by a health tribunal. He was ordered to spend 25 years in a psychiatric facility determined by another tribunal…
James could no longer stand the nausea and he let his bile come out into the waste-paper bin next to the desk. He clicked on the first news result, which was published a week ago.
A new twist in the James Tait saga—the mass murderer has disappeared from the Michelle Johnson Psychiatric Hospital in Edenvale. Son of deceased wealthy media man, Jonathan Tait, James was making great strides in his rehabilitation. Years ago, his father stated in his will that as long as his son did not murder again, the fortune would be left in his name.
It is, therefore, rather odd that Tait Junior has gone missing from the facility at this point, with no real links to his disappearance. The police investigation is ongoing and the authorities are following up on a few leads, including those of certain staff members who have been taken into police custody for further questioning.
“So, I’m…a…”
“Yes, you’re a murderer. Until recently, it seems. Vinny framed you, so you couldn’t receive your big pay-out and while you were laying low, thinking you were a wanted man, he was busy trying to find a way to get his hands on your fortune. That type of money in the hands of that type of man? We have to stop him.”
“I can’t stop him. I’m just as bad as he is.”
“Only if you let him get away with this. Get Vinny, get your money, and get even.”
In minutes, James had digested enough information to give him indigestion for an eternity. His head was flooded. He thought about the lady who had confronted him that day at the Staffords. It made sense now, why she’d called him a murderer and more specifically, why she was incensed that they’d let him out. But they didn’t let him out. He didn’t know how he got out of the psychiatric clinic. More agonisingly, he wondered how Vinny messed with his and Jay’s mind. He needed a cup of tea to calm the nerves. He hadn’t had one in ages.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
No tea and his memories were slowly returning. He thought about what the barman had said before he died. Leaves.
James hurtled to the kitchen and ripp
ed open the tea bags. They were not brown. They were slightly green. Is this how he was poisoned and his mind kept at bay? Leaves.
They were also in the many Mojitos he had had at the parlour. How else had Vinny made sure that he ingested them? His thoughts were interrupted by a ringing that slowly filled the room. When he heard the sound, he knew what it was and instinctively ran upstairs. It was an incoming Skype call and he knew it was coming via a large TV screen, and he knew which room that TV was in. Why? Because he knew this flat. He remembered it properly now. The memories kept flooding back. His heart thundered as he made his way to the room. He flung open the door and he was spot on with everything. There it was, the large screen, waiting to be answered. Layla’s face appeared on it.
“Hello, darling…” James froze.
“Technology—it’s wonderful, isn’t it? If only you’d used more of it. Your phone, the internet, Skype.”
James looked around the room, familiarising himself with his surroundings again.
“I know what you’re thinking, and you’ll be glad to know, you’re right. This is one of your father’s flats.”
“How did you…what are you doing?”
“You finally caught up. So, I had to go away for a bit. James, dear, do you know who I am?” James looked at her for as long as he could.
“It was right in front of you all this time. From the first time that you came to see your beloved Jay at his home in Rosebank. When you gave him his gift, and he flung it away and cracked the photo frame next to his bedside. Did you ever actually take time to look at the photo?”
James gulped as he searched Layla’s eyes for the glimmer of happiness that he had always found in them. He could not see any of it.
“The frame is behind you, on the bed. Have a look, won’t you?”
James took the photo out of the frame. A woman was resting against a headboard. He knew the headboard all too well—it was the one in Jay’s bedroom. Then, he realised that he recognised the woman’s features. Those pools of dark and sensual eyes, her jet black straight hair, her pointed yet beautifully sculpted nose. He looked at the TV screen. Same features.