by Ian Patrick
‘What, Koeks?’
‘We checked out the break-in at Victoria Lodge on Esplanade Avenue. That’s all been sorted out. Quick break-in and a few goods stolen. Not big stuff. But then we followed up on a few things. Questioned a few locals, looked around the area, then came back eventually to Victoria Lodge. Then we ended up trailing two young guys, about twenty years old. We had some help from a security guard who came face to face with these guys earlier and followed them. According to the guard, he was sure they were up to no good and were checking out more joints in the area around Victoria Lodge near where he works. We’re now sitting opposite these two guys. They’re in Albert Park and we’re parked in Diakonia Avenue at the entrance to the park. They’re under the trees about twenty metres away having a picnic.’
‘And, Koeks? You’re not just telling me this to suggest we come and join you for a picnic in Albert Park.’
‘I am, Jeremy.’
‘What?’
‘We think you and Navi would like to join this picnic.’
‘Tell me more, Koeks.’
‘The security guard told us that one of the two guys in question has deep furrows on his right arm. The other one has the same kind of scratches on his forehead.’
Ryder was silent, so Koekemoer continued.
‘And the two guys are drinking beer in the park with friends. With four friends. Six guys drinking together.’
‘We’re on our way, Koeks.’
13.55.
Ryder and Pillay conversed in the car on the way there. Pillay knew the area well and described to Ryder what she knew about it. The Qalakabusha intervention project, she said, aimed to address loitering, vagrancy, and drug abuse in places where the homeless gathered: under bridges, alongside railway tracks, and in Durban’s inner-city central spaces like Albert Park. It tried to deal with the problem positively by addressing the social needs of homeless people, but it faced an uphill battle with the influx of petty criminals, drug dealers, and the like. Albert Park, she told her partner, was a good example of the normal mix: some people trying to get themselves back onto the right path, and others leeching off the system.
‘I remember the day after my first posting to Durban Central way back when. It was my first visit to Albert Park as a cop, but I used to go there as a laaitie. Remember the old Tropicale Restaurant?’
‘Double-thick chocolate milkshake,’ replied Ryder, grimly. His mind was on the action ahead.
‘There’s the one. You too? Tropicale Double-Thick. My favourite.’
‘Everyone’s favourite. We went there quite often in the old days.’
‘Ja. Anyway, the Tropicale as we knew it closed down long before the whoonga moved in. In fact, we only started talking about whoonga and nyaope around 2010. Before then we talked about sugars…’
‘I remember.’
‘So anyway on my second day at Durban Central we picked up a dealer in the park and he had about a hundred straws on him, selling them at about fifteen to twenty rands each. As we checked into this particular case we began to learn a helluva lot about what was really going on down there. Some guys were taking eight to ten straws for every hit. Their brains were being fried and they just carried on. It was crazy.’
‘Expensive habit.’
‘You don’t know the half of it, Jeremy. Some of them were going for three and four hits a day, six to eight straws each hit. Five hundred rands a day, some of them. So how do they pay for that? Simple. Major escalation in burglaries, muggings, and armed robberies in the area. The place became wild.’
‘What were the municipality doing to handle it?’
‘There were so many interventions, but the guys kept on coming back. I heard there were maybe one to two hundred people sleeping rough in the park on any given night, but during the day you could find between a thousand and two thousand people coming in from everywhere for their daily hits. There were raids on people for loitering, attempts to relocate them, targeting of dealers, everything was tried. What do you do if they just come back again? Think of the work involved in charging these guys. No room in the prisons. All of that. So we heard stories about some of the really bad guys, dealers included, being released with no more than a warning or a rap on the knuckles.’
‘So that they could pop out and pillage people like the Khuzwayo family,’ added Ryder.
‘You got it… OK, Jeremy, there’s KoeksnDips.’
The two detectives arrived quietly and unobtrusively, and joined Koekemoer and Dippenaar in their car at the entrance to the park. In the course of a two-minute discussion they quickly took in the situation and agreed on the line of action. They alighted from the vehicle slowly, and each of them took a bearing on the targets. Then they sprang into action.
As Ryder sprinted toward the six men sitting under the tree, Pillay broke to the left to cut off any escape route down to Lloyd Street, from where she would also take down any of them trying to get to Margaret Mncadi Avenue. She was the fastest among them and could cover most ground. Meanwhile KoeksnDips both broke to the right, Dippenaar to cut off any escape toward Maydon Road and Koekemoer to cover the entrance and also prevent them scaling the fence on Diakonia Avenue.
More than twenty illegal aliens, homeless people, vagrants, and those with dubious passports and papers scattered in all directions as if Home Affairs had finally decided to unleash Armageddon. They ran in every direction to escape Ryder, who looked like a raging elephant in full attack mode.
The six targets, well into their beers, were among the very last to react. One of them managed to pull a pistol: it was the man known as Loku to his friends, a homeless vagrant would later testify as a witness. Too late. Ryder hit him with an open hand straight on, against the bottom of his nose, fracturing the nose instantly and sending the pistol flying. Loku hit the ground flat on his back, the impact of the ground on the rear of his head snapping his jaws shut. Ryder finished the job by crushing his rib-cage with the heel of his right foot.
The second man foolishly scrambled across the ground to grab the downed weapon. Ryder stepped off the rib-cage of the first man, took one pace, planted his left foot in front of the second man as he grabbed the weapon, then with his right foot unleashed a kick at the man’s head that would have pleased any Kaizer Chiefs supporter. The man was unconscious before he hit the ground, his skull fractured in four places, as the medics would later report.
Ryder didn’t pause to consider the damage. Two of the men backed up against the tree that had provided their picnic shade. They stared in shock at the damage wrought by the detective on their two companions, and only then decided to make a break for freedom past Ryder, one on either side. But his enormously long arms reached out like long tendrils from a Triffid, grabbing each of the men by the windpipe and then drawing his hands together in front of him, smashing their heads together with a sickening crunch that put the lights out in both cases.
Ryder immediately began spinning one hundred and eighty degrees counter-clockwise to his left in time to stretch his right leg as far across his body as he could manage, to trip the fifth man as he left the starting blocks. Then, as he saw the man drawing a flick-knife while struggling to get back onto his feet, Ryder grabbed him by the left ankle with both hands and swung him in two full three-hundred and sixty degree circles before letting him go. The man’s back broke in two places as he landed against the tree. Before he hit the ground Ryder was off in pursuit of number six, who had been in such a state of panic that he ran straight into a refuse bin, testicles first. He gasped in agony and bent forward, clutching his genitals. Ryder caught up with him then walked casually in front of him. As the man lifted his head Ryder saw a dagger in his right hand. He immediately brought his right knee up into the man’s chin, knocking him upright just in time to knock him flat down again with a right roundhouse that shattered his left temple and made him permanently deaf in the left ear. The massive brain damage would see him taking his meals through a straw for the rest of his life, however long the rest
of his life might be.
All around the park the fleeing illegals had stopped and turned to watch the spectacle. The six men lay strewn across the battlefield like broken dolls. Pillay, Koekemoer and Dippenaar each walked in slowly from their positions on what they had planned to be an outer cordon meant to contain the envisaged action.
‘Jeez, Jeremy,’ said Pillay. ‘If you don’t need me to help you, just say so and I’ll stay at home watching daytime television.’
‘Yissus, ou boet! Jeremy, why didn’t you tell us to just wait in the car, man?’
‘Sorry, Dipps. I thought that waiting for you to help would be like waiting for the Sharks to score a try. Only eighty minutes to a game you know? Got to score early. Maybe next time?’
‘I never seen you so fast, man, Jeremy. I reckon maybe you could give Navi a go at the hundred metres, hey?’
‘I don’t think so, Koeks. No-one’s faster than Navi.’
‘Don’t you believe it, Jeremy. I reckon maybe Koeks is right. Maybe we should test you on the track. I’ll take you on, any day.’
‘No way, Navi. Your record’s safe. I’m too chicken to try it on with you.’
Sirens and blue lights started arriving. The crowd of spectators, realising that they were not the targets of these cops, began approaching closer to the scene. Koekemoer shouted out at them to back off, to keep clear of the men on the ground.
‘If any of you come closer than ten paces to any of these men on the ground, we’re going to ask you for your papers and passports. OK?’
That did the trick, and the approaching men - they were all men, Ryder noticed - stopped at a distance that created a natural circle around the scene of the action.
The uniforms started pouring in. An ambulance pulled up next to where the detectives had parked their cars. The medics ran in with stretchers.
Ryder and Pillay were looking at the scratches on the arm of the man who had pulled the pistol, and on the forehead of the last man that Ryder had taken down. Numbers one and six, as Pillay identified them to the medics. She gave specific instructions about how she wanted them to treat the wounds of those two, especially. Then she turned back to Ryder.
‘Mr and Mrs Khuzwayo are going to derive some satisfaction, Jeremy.’
‘Some satisfaction, Navi. A little. Maybe.’
Pillay noticed, as he spoke, that tears were welling in Ryder’s eyes.
5 TUESDAY
07.45.
Nyawula’s concentration was broken by a loud guffaw bubbling up from the car park through Cronje’s window and the inter-leading doorway.
‘Where’s everyone, Piet?’
‘They’re in the car park, Captain. When I came in they were telling the guys from Dietrich’s team all about Jeremy’s hand-to-hand combat skills.’
‘Hand-to-hand? I heard it was more like hand-to-head.’
‘Ja. You’re right there, hey, Captain. Some of the guys from other teams have been gathering to hear the details. The news spread quite quickly. I think Dipps has told the story three times, now, and each time it gets more exaggerated. By lunchtime he’ll be telling the okes that Jeremy single-handedly took down the whole of the KwaZulu Mafia in one fist-fight.’
Nyawula emerged from his office to join Cronje and, each holding a mug of tea, they moved outside to listen and observe. Dippenaar, Koekemoer and Pillay were holding forth at the foot of the stairs leading into the car park. They had an audience of detectives who had gathered, along with a few uniformed constables, to enjoy the sun and the camaraderie, the jokes and the laughter. KoeksnDips were regaling them with the previous day’s action. Word had got around to other units, and Ryder was the toast of the station. Comparisons with boxers ranging from Mike Tyson to Floyd Mayweather peppered their talk.
‘Ag kak, man, Dipps. Mayweather would be no match for Jeremy. He just back-pedals and runs away. He defends all the time. Jeremy attacks, man. Old Floyd would find no place to hide in the ring against Ryder.’
‘Ja, Koeks, I reckon you’re right,’ said Dippenaar. ‘Navi told me she’s thinking of letting Jeremy take over her martial arts group.’
‘Rubbish, man, Dipps,’ said Pillay. ‘Jeremy will have to learn to kick higher than his own head before I let him do that.’
‘Twice as high as you, Navi?’ said Dippenaar. ‘That’s not fair.’
Pillay punched Dippenaar on the arm, hard, in response.
Mavis Tshabalala came from the far end of the car park to join them.
‘Howzit, Mavis, what news you got?’
‘I was just with Pauline at Forensics, Detective Koeks. She said they’ve already matched the shoes of four of the six men from Albert Park. They were definitely at the Khuzwayo house in Glenwood.’
She paused momentarily for the cheers and high-fives, before continuing.
‘She said they still have a lot of work to do, and it’ll take a couple of days, but it looks very clear to her already. But that was Pauline. And you know Nadine. She won’t say definitely until the full report is in. I was also talking to another one of the team there. The first report from the hospital is that two of the men have brain damage and two of them are paralysed. All of them will live. One of the paralysed men is also one of the brain damaged ones. He’s also the same one with scratches on his forehead from the Khuzwayo girl. Then there are lots of broken bones...’
‘And headaches all around, I bet,’ added Dippenaar. ‘Yissus, you should have seen some of those punches, okes.’
The hubbub of chatter and commentary finally subsided, and they all started trickling back into the building except for Tshabalala and Pillay, who remained behind. Nyawula and Cronje followed the group back into the building, leaving the two women alone in the car park.
‘What else did you get from Pauline, Mavis?’
‘She said they worked late last night…’
‘Nothing new for Pauline and Nadine.’
‘That’s right, Navi. But Pauline did say that she was worried about Nadine. She thought maybe she’s working too hard, or something, because apparently, according to Pauline, she keeps on crying. It was strange. Pauline’s really quite worried.’
‘That doesn’t sound good. You know Nadine. She works through the night. Can’t be good for anyone to keep going at that pace.’
‘I agree, Navi. Anyway, Pauline says the two guys with scratches are definitely the two who attacked the girl, and all the fingerprints have been matched to somewhere in the house, and…’
‘Open and shut case?’
‘Pauline said they’ve already got more than they need but Nadine’s still asked them to go on with some more tests.’
‘Thanks, Mavis. That’s great. Why don’t you come along with me and let’s see if Jeremy is back from IPID. He’ll be pleased with the news.’
‘OK, Navi. But a case like this will keep Jeremy going for more than a week with IPID, I’m sure. Here. Have a look at this. It’s the notes that I took when I was speaking to the people at Forensics.’
Pillay took the page from her and once again was impressed with the young constable. Mavis had numbered each of the six men taken down by Ryder, and had recorded the names of four of them next to the relevant numbers. She explained to the detective that Forensics said they were still trying to establish the names of two of the men.
Pillay read with fascination the details that Mavis had recorded. Number one had scratches on his arm, seven broken ribs, a fractured sternum and a broken nose. One strange thing in addition. The notes also indicated that the medics had found that a thin splinter of wood appeared to have penetrated number one’s soft palate. They thought it was a toothpick or a matchstick or some other thin object. Whatever it was would have to be removed surgically, according to the notes. Because number one was one of the two men whose names had not yet been ascertained, the medics were temporarily referring to him as ‘Mr Toothpick’.
Number two had permanent brain damage. Three and four had nothing more serious than severe headaches and very
bruised throats. Five was paralysed. Six was paralysed, had brain damage, was deaf in the left ear, and had deep scratches on his forehead. There was another sentence scribbled down by Mavis where Pillay could only decipher the word nyaope and found the rest of the handwriting difficult to decipher. Mavis clarified.
‘Sorry, I was writing quickly while Pauline was talking. She said the hospital told them they did tests on all the men and all of them had smoked lots of nyaope. I was thinking that maybe you and Jeremy want to investigate where the six men got their nyaope.’
‘Sounds like a good idea, Mavis. Let’s see what Jeremy’s thinking.’
They went up the stairs into the building.
09.55.
Nyawula, seated at his desk, had called them together for a quick update. Koekemoer and Dippenaar were standing with their backs up against the wall next to the window. Ryder stood leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded. Pillay and Tshabalala were sitting in the two chairs that had been pulled back a metre from in front of the Captain’s desk so that the group formed a rough circle.
‘Thanks, people, for responding so quickly. I know you’ve each got a lot on the go, but following a suggestion from Mavis Jeremy and I have been discussing the report from the hospital on the nyaope that these six bastards consumed before he took them down. Jeremy?’
‘The Captain and I have some other news, too,’ added Ryder. ‘Who do you think of when you think of whoonga?’
‘Thabethe!’ Koekemoer, Dippenaar and Pillay chorused the same response half a second before Mavis spat out the words Skhura Thabethe.
‘Dead right, everyone. Our favourite Durban skelm. I’m very pleased to see that you all have him still lodged there uppermost in your minds. I’m going to ask Jeremy to give you an update on our slippery little friend.’