The Lazarus Effect

by H. J Golakai

  ‘Mssh, pervert.’ Vee nudged him away, but it was too late. The coven advanced.

  ‘Hey, no penises allowed up here. No funny business either.’ Tallulah folded her arms. ‘Who might you be and who are you to her?’

  ‘He has no name, and we’re just fr–’

  ‘Joshua Allen. We used to fool around in college, till she started catching feelings. I was the best she ever had.’ Vee’s jaw dropped. ‘I apologise for the intrusion, but this young lady promised to meet me for lunch and then stood me up. My hand was forced,’ Joshua said.

  ‘We never … I never …’ Vee took a deep breath. Charm and deception were Joshua’s forte. The girls were already staring at her as if she’d burnt down an orphanage.

  ‘But I know how she can make it up to me. Let’s walk, shall we?’

  ‘Yes, dickhead, let’s!’ Vee grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the stairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the lewd movement of Chari licking her fingers.

  ‘Please don’t slap me. I couldn’t resist,’ Joshua laughed.

  ‘Slap? More like–’

  ‘That’s great.’ He bounded a few steps ahead and blocked her path. ‘But before we get kinky, listen to my proposition. Last time I came over …’

  ‘You mean the night you broke in against my express wishes.’

  ‘To-may-to, to-mah-to. You mentioned the Wellness Institute and this Dr Fourie, and it rang a bell. Long story short, how’d you like to hit a swank party tomorrow night in Constantia?’

  ‘Pertinent to the WI and the Fouries, how?’

  ‘Rich people, free food, an evening of my delightful company…’

  Vee made a bored face.

  ‘All right, fine, but it’s related. The reference rang a bell because, naturally, our firm is connected to those who live a lush life and, naturally, those folks like to throw their weight around. Sometimes they put their muscle into charity, other times into private and lucrative business ventures, something that makes them look philanthropic but will also make even more money.’

  Vee leaned against the staircase and amplified her bored stare. Joshua brokered in corporate finance, a world that, shameful as it was to admit, was more arcane and complex than her intelligence had command of. He’d been at JPMorgan Chase for years and still wasn’t completely transparent about what exactly he did for a pay cheque. Terms like ‘mergers and acquisitions’, ‘liquidity risk’ and ‘derivatives’ he bandied about with aplomb. Vee hated it. She could explain her job in a few sentences, while his version took hours and several glasses of wine. Whenever she had trouble sleeping, she only had to call on him to explain his work one more time. Every time she felt troubled that he was a capitalist demon working against the very causes she stood for, he did something to reaffirm her faith in him.

  ‘How long and complicated is this gonna be?’ she said.

  ‘I’ll keep to the sidewalk for the pedestrians,’ he promised. ‘The WI is a breakaway from another private hospital that tanked about five years ago: Claremont Life and Medicare Clinic – CLM. Capital issues. One of their backers must’ve seen the recession coming and cashed in their chips early. Some of the doctors left, but others stayed and did the legwork to get a private clinic off the ground. Well, the guy who’s throwing the party is a shareholder in the WI venture. He knows how to spot money and make it, so he didn’t just put his name behind this so the public would thank him for having a big heart. Well, yeah, ass-kissing is a form of currency, too. But the money he sank into the WI is set to make him an even prettier penny.’

  ‘Isn’t that like laundering?’

  ‘Half of how you make money is like laundering. How d’you think banks work? The other half is like …’ Joshua flip-flopped a hand, ‘… lying or stealing. So basically, like life. Depressing, I know. I need to give you the tutorial on laundering again, because I don’t think you got it.’

  ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘Anyway. Philemon Mtetwa. Our Midas in question. Soirée at his mansion tomorrow evening. A little birdie told me that half the board of directors and senior staff will be there, including …’

  ‘The Fouries.’

  ‘Bingo. I’m invited and I need a date. Who better than one who snoops, eavesdrops and asks awkward questions over the entrées? See, I’m always looking out for you.’

  It was true; he always was. There was no snappy answer for that.

  ‘What happened to Bitch in Boots?’

  He shrugged. Flapped a hand like a bird taking off in flight. ‘It wasn’t meant to be. She couldn’t hold an escargot fork.’

  ‘Pssh. Because everybody who got sense knows you eat snails with your fingers.’ She searched his eyes and his eyes smiled back, teasing. It was a dangerous premise for a date, which was what it would be; they both knew it. An evening in make-up and heels, knocking back bubbly, snuffling for gold like a truffle pig on the other … so tempting. She badly needed to get out of the house. But bad things could end up happening, very bad things.

  ‘How did you get invited, anyway?’ she grunted. They trudged into the main hub, where the din was overwhelming. They lingered at the stairwell door. ‘Are you one of the hotshots handling this guy’s investment holdings, or what?’

  ‘Wow. That’s not even in the ballpark of what I do, little one.’ He gave her nose a tweak, then made eyes at his watch. ‘Okay, I’m out. But tomorrow evening, seven, are we on? Please.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll be your date to the rich pipo party. Now …’ She pointed to the elevators and he tipped an invisible hat in farewell and headed towards them.

  ‘Who was that?’

  Vee jumped. The doors of the lift had barely closed in Joshua’s face and here Portia was, barking at her shoulder.

  ‘Nobody. Damn. Is privacy a pipe dream when you work with women?’

  ‘Of course. What did Nobody want? Aside from aggravating my hayfever.’ Portia cut her eyes at the flowers. ‘Is he a source on the case?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Hhmm,’ was all Portia said. For an absurd moment before she walked away, Vee thought she caught a glimmer of respect.

  15

  A spray of sparks arced off a beat-up Honda as a new exhaust pipe was soldered in place. In another corner of the workshop floor, a mechanic gunned the engine of a no-hoper while another two celebrated with greasy high-fives.

  On days like these, Marieke Venter barely felt female. She had to squeeze a boob or sneak into the loo to check down her knickers if her creases and crevices were still there. On the days she was on her cycle there was no need to: the crew, who knew her too well, let her know she was persona non grata. On those days, every word she said (she had to admit, she did snipe a bit) got taken out of context or ignored. It would help if there were another woman around. Unfortunately, the downside of working in a garage – or in the auto-mechanical industry, as her father had insisted on calling it – was that birds of her feather were rare.

  ‘Where’s Ashwin?’ she asked one of the mechanics.

  Pieter shrugged, wiping a spanner on his blue jumpsuit. ‘Thought he was in your office. Typical. If you find him, tell him I need him working on the Golf’s suspension. That lady wants her car today and if he doesn’t want kak like last time …’

  Marieke clenched her jaw and muttered something crude, low enough to stay under the racket. Pieter gave her a look and she flushed. She never griped openly about her and Ashwin’s problems. It stirred up chatter, and the guys sure knew how to gossip like hens. Being the only woman at Venter’s Auto and Electrical Garage was one thing, but it would help to no end if she didn’t have to run the place more or less single-handed while Ashwin farted around.

  She slipped into their cramped office, the only place on the premises besides the toilet that had any privacy. She groaned as she put her feet up.

  I need another job, Marieke thought. Which was crazy. She was the administrator, head of finance, roster organiser and competent under the hood; she had several jobs alr
eady. Besides, Venter’s was family, and you didn’t bail on family.

  She knew full well what Pieter’s look had been about. Despite all her efforts, Ashwin didn’t show her enough respect. The boys on the workshop floor gave her her due, but not her own brother. Some had worked for her father and were proud to see at least one of his children remained dedicated to the garage’s survival. Surgery on automobiles had been her dad’s passion, and busting her ass to keep his business afloat was hers. Ashwin had other ideas, but he would, seeing as the old man’s will favoured him and he owned the shop.

  Marieke tapped piles of bills and orders against the desk and put them to one side, getting grouchier by the minute. She knew she was no genius and her talents were few, but she knew what she was about. She was great at doing what she was told, getting things in order and keeping them that way. Maybe that made her a simpleton to some, but it was her fussing that kept Venter’s out of quicksand time and time again. She had done it, and still did. In the pinch of crisis, she–

  A loud tap sounded on the glass panel separating the office from the chaos of the floor. For the thousandth time, Marieke wished the partition was one-way and soundproof. She wished it was bulletproof too, not so much for her sake as for that of the idiots on the other side.

  It was Pieter again. He gestured wildly, hand to one ear in the shape of a phone receiver as he mouthed something. She frowned and waved him in. Did he want to use the phone?

  He shook his head vigorously and stabbed a finger at the office landline, moving his lips slowly. Come one, come all, was that what he was saying? She threw her hands up. He rolled his eyes and came round to poke his head in.

  ‘Yassis, Marieke, you suck at charades. I was saying, someone called. The same woman that called before, asking for Ashwin. I figured she wouldn’t mind speaking to you instead, but you were out.’

  ‘What woman?’

  ‘She’s called before, even stopped by and waited around on Tuesday morning. I took a message.’ Pieter pointed to the Post-it stuck to the edge of the desk and closed the door behind him.

  Marieke spent a long time deciphering the Khoisan rock painting that was Pieter’s handwriting. Afterwards, she contemplated. Her grey cells were shuffling down a road and she didn’t like where they going. An investigator was looking into an old missing persons case and wanted a word with her big brother.

  For all Ashwin’s past shenanigans, there was only one thing that hovered in the background of their lives, the ghost that wouldn’t move on and leave them in peace. He’d said nothing to her of calls and drop-ins by investigators, but it went a long way towards explaining his volatile mood and unexplained absences that week. He was avoiding the unavoidable. After everything that had happened back then, with everything that she knew, he was still running and still shutting her out.

  ‘Nie meer nie,’ Marieke whispered and stuffed the scrap of yellow paper with a scrawled number on it in her jeans. No more.

  16

  ‘Where do we start?’ Chlöe asked as she and Vee climbed into her VW Polo.

  Vee scratched her nose. Two strike-outs at Venter’s Auto: neither of the eponymous owners was present to give her the time of day. She’d let it slide for now. Ashwin Venter would surface eventually, and when he did she would be there to roast his slippery behind. It was Friday – no harm in switching to go-slow mode for the rest of the day. Chlöe was aglow after her first interview with Daniels and chomping at the bit to tackle Serena Fourie on her own. Vee wanted to ease her in; best not to push it.

  ‘You know what, let’s handle your errands first, whatever they are. I doubt Serena is on campus right now, and if she is she’s probably in a lecture.’

  Chlöe twitched and fidgeted. ‘Forget I mentioned that. My stuff’s not urgent at all. Let’s try to catch her now before she disappears for an early weekend. You know what students are like.’ She started the engine. The radio blasted on, staccato rhymes backed by a crunk beat rattling the doors. She fiddled the dial to low.

  ‘Lil Wayne?’ Vee turned the CD case over several times and squinted at Chlöe. ‘You look more like a Taylor Swift typa gal.’

  ‘White people can’t love hip-hop, ha ha.’ Shaking her head, Chlöe tucked a curl behind an ear and backed out of the underground lot. ‘How prejudiced of you, bosslady. I’m shocked.’

  ‘Just drive,’ Vee chuckled, reclining the seat. Bosslady. It brought to mind a buxom authority figure dressed in colourful lappa, multitasking like an octopus and beating people’s ears with wooden spoons when they dared to idle in her presence. Had a nice ring to it. She ought to act more like it, now that she had her own personal slave.

  *

  ‘What now?’ Vee swirled her tongue around the Steers vanilla cone and stared down the street. There was no ‘what now’ that she could think of.

  They were on University of Cape Town’s Lower Campus, Tugwell residence. On the other side of the road, déjà vu to the scene outside Rosie’s school. Another group of girls, older this time, less awkward, or better at pretending not to be. Far brighter feathers on these birds; the confines of school uniform were buried in their nightmares.

  ‘Pink tights in the twenty-first century. Booty hanging out of ripped jeans. Ugh, it’s like the sidewalk threw up a fruit salad,’ Chlöe drawled. ‘Can’t believe I was ever that duh. What d’you call a display of youth and hotness that no one cares to see?’

  ‘Unrepentant foxismonitism.’

  Chlöe looked at Vee long and hard. ‘Rhetorical question, but okay. Show-off.’

  Vee shrugged and turned her attention back across the street. The foxes shared a laugh as they waited for the campus shuttle service, passing a one-litre Coke between them. One of them was trying too hard to come off casual and upbeat. Serena Fourie was a poor actress and looked visibly shaken.

  ‘She won’t talk to us,’ Chlöe said.

  ‘She will. Give it a minute,’ Vee replied. ‘It’s been, what,’ she checked her watch, ‘fifteen minutes since I tried to corner her and she blew me off. She’s rattled and she has no idea I’m still around. Let it soak in.’

  ‘Then what? You planning to make me wait in the car again while you go over there and snatch her out of the group, or hang around till she comes back from wherever she’s going now and ambush her outside her room? I mean, we can’t just faff around here all day.’

  ‘Shhh.’ Vee waved Chlöe quiet.

  Earlier, when she’d walked up to Serena as she came out of her residence hall and tried to massage her into answering a few questions, two things were clear during their brief exchange. One, that Serena had been genuinely caught off guard. Nothing in her manner suggested that Rosie had breathed a word to her about Vee and their encounter. Two, that Serena’s body language ran several shades deeper than skittish – she was frightened, and not just a little. Serena was prissy and cautious: her ponytail was too severe, she was dressed for the rare burst of sunshine yet still had a cardigan in case the weather flipped again; she wiped the mouth of the Coke bottle with a tissue every time it came around to her for a swig. Serena Fourie was the type to consider all surprises a slap in the face. She was thinking, and thinking fast. If she had anything to defend – or hide, for that matter – they had to act before she regrouped.

  ‘Hide.’

  Chlöe scrunched her nose. ‘What?’

  ‘Hide, or hiding, is what I’m going to do. Not you – you stay put,’ Vee said, dropping to a crouch behind the Polo’s bonnet. ‘She never saw us together so it’s perfect. Now, look over there and tell me what you see.’

  ‘Uhhh. Four girls … terrible fashion sense, very troubled hair. They’ve got satchels and books, they’re laughing, pretending they’re not checking out those guys standing–’

  ‘Not what’s in front of you, what you see. What kind of girls are you looking at? What stands out about the picture?’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Chlöe said, after a long pause.

  ‘Four girls, yes, but what flavour? Three va
nillas, one …?’

  ‘Café latte?’

  Vee flipped a thumbs-up. Maybe Adele’s snide observations had some weight to them. Ian thinks he’s better than his upbringing … those kids were raised to respect only one side of their background. Meaning, by heavy inference, the side that wasn’t coloured. Every friend Vee had seen Rosie with was white. Coincidence, maybe, but her high school had a diverse profile. Why then, didn’t she hang out with a more mixed group of people? Watching Serena with her posse made Vee wonder if she’d found a nugget to mine.

  ‘No offence, bosslady, but either you’re mentally unstable or really racist,’ Chlöe said, leaning over the hood to talk to Vee. ‘Having white friends doesn’t mean she’s any more likely to open up to me than to you. That’s ridiculous. This is the new Mzansi, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Then hustle over there and prove me wrong. I bet you a hundred rand you can get her to meet us … you … somewhere we can talk.’

  ‘What angle could I possibly deploy that you haven’t already?’

  ‘You’re a smart girl, Bishop. Surprise me. Hundred bucks.’ Vee pulled up her trouser legs and got comfortable with her ice cream on the pavement.

  *

  ‘I take it you’re both feeling terribly clever and pleased with yourselves right now?’ Serena glared.

  Chlöe shifted in her seat and muttered an apology under her breath. Across the table, Vee’s smugness was in high beam. The trio took up a booth in a campus bistro, slow on an afternoon that opened onto a Friday night.

  Vee gloated in silence. Serena had followed the rap-loving redhead like a lamb, giving Vee the opportunity to sidle up minutes later and ‘bump into them’.

  Other than winning the bet, there was little to rejoice over, for Serena was proving the antithesis of her awkward younger sister. After five minutes of empty talk and stonewalling, it was clear she was the spokesperson for the Fourie offspring. If Serena wasn’t already using her abilities of deflecting, obfuscating and flat-out lying to her advantage in her law studies, then she wouldn’t be worth her salt as an attorney in years to come. Because lying she was. She kept an eerily cool head for a girl so young but there was a lie in the mix, and she wasn’t giving away specifics to trip herself up.