by Quig Shelby
John had often seen Din around the casino, and even bought some gear. Eventually he became Din’s runner. That was two years ago, but he’d now become a heavy user, and a liability. Some of the profit had gone into John’s veins, and not Din’s pockets; so much that he now owed five thousand pounds.
‘Is that it?’ asked Vankoni.
‘Yes,’ replied Din.
They were sitting in the car outside John Lacey’s council flat, and it was time to collect his payment in full, one way or another.
On the greasy kitchen table in front of John were packets of cocaine, neatly parcelled, and some pretty LSD tabs. There was also a pile of heroin waiting to be cut, and sold to Joost van Houten. John checked the cupboards, but there was nothing he could use. He’d go to the shops, and get some milk powder. But looking through the net curtains, to see if it was still raining, he saw Din’s car outside, and there was someone else with him. This wouldn’t be a social visit.
John noticed the slim glass bottle on the sideboard. Inside there was some of Dela’s powder. He mixed it with the heroin, then swept the drugs into his satchel. Tentatively he went outside.
‘There he is,’ said Din, and they both stepped out of the car.
The flats were like a warren, and John was down the ramp on the other side of the street before they could get near him.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Din turning to Vankoni ‘he’ll be back.’
Din handed Vankoni a twenty pound note.
‘Get us some food from the shops. We’ll wait in here,’ and he used a spare key to open John’s front door.
‘He had a break-in last year,’ said Din ‘and I bought him new locks.’
‘Hello is that Mr van Houten?’ asked John on his mobile from the back of the bus.
‘Yes.’
‘Joost it’s me, John. I’ve got your delivery.’
‘That’s great, be at my place at seven, and don’t be late, I’m going out tonight.’
John had already sold the coke, and it just gave him enough time to visit Mr Pandalay. He was sure the cash would placate Din.
Pandalay Arts and Antiquities read the sign in gilt edged lettering on the frosted glass entrance door. The shop itself was in a quaint arcade, surrounded by other suitable upmarket establishments. It was situated in Wellford, half-way between London and Mr Pandalay’s cottage in Bishopsfield. It was on the tourist trail, and the rain tapped on the arched glass roof above their heads like a cash register.
To his friends Mr Pandalay was known as Pandy. John, however, was never invited to be informal.
‘I have your blotters Mr Pandalay,’ said John.
‘Good boy.’
Mr Pandalay was 64, reasonably in good shape, apart from his asthma, and still looked debonair, cutting quite a dash in his silk suits. He was seated at the back of the shop, behind his large walnut bureau, which was respectfully cluttered.
John placed the rainbow LSD blotters next to the phone. Pandalay was old school, brought up on flower power, and loyal to his digressions. He pushed an envelope across the desk, and John checked the money.
‘Oh Din was on the phone earlier, looking for you,’ said Mr Pandalay.
‘What did he say?’
‘Not to worry, and things would sort themselves out.’
The moose’s head on the wall was looking down at John, disdainfully. Below was a full set of knight’s armour, and John wished he could wear it.
‘Mind the step,’ said Mr Pandalay, as John made his way out.
Too late, and he tumbled sideways into the angry stuffed bear in the window.
‘Are you alright John?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
He had a small cut on his left hand, it was bleeding.
‘Well have a good day,’ said Pandalay.
He didn’t say see you next time.
Pandy picked up the phone.
‘Hi Din he’s just left. I told him what you said, not to worry.’
‘Thanks Pandy.’
‘He still looked a little worried though. I hope you’re not going to do anything silly Din.’
‘Of course not, you know me - peace man.’
Pandy smiled. He liked Din, though he wouldn’t want to cross him, or his sister come to think of it; high priestess Dela Eden Obi.
John pressed the buzzer. He’d been caught in the rain, and looked more bedraggled than usual.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi Joost it’s me, John.’
‘Excellent, I’ll come down.’
Joost appeared at the foyer. He was clean shaven, wearing his favourite crisp white shirt, with a thin black tie. His aftershave was citrus and cedar, with a subtle hint of mint. He really looked the business, and was reminded of his favourite English expression - the dog’s bollocks.
John handed Joost seven bags of smack. He quickly buried them in his blazer pockets.
‘Hope it’s as good as the last stuff John.’
‘Always quality Mr van Houten.’
‘In that case it’s worth the extra you charge. Here...’
He peeled some notes off of his silver money clip, handing them to John, who was already looking forward to passing them onto Din.
‘Enjoy,’ said John, and he was gone before you could say remember me.
The lift was out of order again, but Joost vaulted his way to the third and top floor. He put the bags inside the crocodile mask. The heroin was a beautiful beige-brown, ideal for smoking. He checked his watch, then the mirror; it was time to meet the delectable Bheki Ncube.
He switched on the lounge light, and nearly died a fright.
‘Hi John,’ said Din, sitting on the dilapidated sofa.
He’d take his suit for dry cleaning tomorrow.
‘This is my friend; he’s been dying to meet you.’
‘Din look sorry about the money, but I’ve done pretty good today,’ said John.
John emptied his satchel of the notes, and passed them to Din.
Din shook his head.
‘It’s not nearly enough John, you know that.’
‘So what’s going to happen then?’ asked John, nervously looking over his shoulder. But Vankoni was blocking the door.
‘We’ve known each other a long time John, and Dela likes you. But in this business, reputation is everything. If my other pushers hear I’ve gone soft then I have a problem, and believe me I don’t like problems.’
Vankoni nodded.
‘I won’t say a word Din, honest,’ bleated John.
Din stroked his chin. There was stubble, and he was in two minds whether to grow a goatee or not.
‘I know I can get the rest back soon,’ pleaded John.
He was sweating profusely. Both men knew he’d promised before.
‘I tell you what, let’s go and see Dela, maybe she has a solution,’ said Din.
He unfolded his arms, and his tone was lighter, less threatening.
‘Why not,’ said John, hoping Dela’s fondness would save him from a beating.
‘And John please don’t make a run for it this time, or it really will be curtains,’ said Din, whilst flicking back John’s grubby nets from the window, and checking it was clear outside.
They walked to the back of the flats, and down a side street to Din’s car, with John sandwiched in between.
Sergeant Cooper was whistling a requiem in John’s ear, and perhaps Dela would give him some more of the powder. But at least Din and Vankoni were beginning to sound light hearted, even if he couldn’t understand a word.
‘Hi John,’ said Dela as he was bundled into her flat.
Felix was doing a night shift at Blackfriars.
‘Hi,’ said John, trying to raise a smile.
; ‘Din tells me you’ve got yourself into a bit of a mess.’
‘Yes, but I just need a little more time Dela.’
‘Of course you do. By the way how are the voices?’ she asked.
Din and Vankoni were sitting side by side on the sofa, and Din had poured them both a scotch.
‘Knocking at the door,’ replied John.
He was thin, skinny even. And pale to the point of anaemic.
‘Perhaps this will help,’ and she handed him a tumbler.
‘Relax John, we’re all old friends here,’ said Din. ‘Here take it with a spot of malt.’
Din poured a drop of whisky into the glass tumbler. John looked around the room, everyone was smiling. There seemed no other choice.
John slouched back in the leather chair. The voices sounded muffled, everything was blurred. Worse, he couldn’t move.
‘Think you can manage it?’ Din asked Vankoni.
‘No problem,’ he replied.
‘Be careful,’ said Dela as they dragged John to the bathroom ‘Felix has just retiled in there.’
With John in the bath, Din and Vankoni went to work with the machetes. It wasn’t long before he was at the bottom of Dela’s freezer, and his parts would fetch a pretty penny in charms. Shame they couldn’t let him scream though; that really would have increased the muti’s power. Unfortunately John still felt every chop.
Chapter Ten
He was almost frightened to phone her number, in case it was switched off. All he could think about was that dress; the fabric, the cut, and most importantly - the contours.
‘It’s Joost. Where are you?’
‘Right behind you,’ replied Bheki.
She’d been watching him for a while, hiding in the shadows, letting his frustration build.
Joost gave her a kiss on the cheek. It caught Bheki by surprise, but she didn’t admonish him. In fact her designs couldn’t be any clearer. She wore a see through plastic coat, with a two-piece emerald suit underneath. Her make-up had been lifted from a porn review, and her shoes were pointed and the heels were high.
The bell bottom trousers were tight around her thighs, and with her long brown wig she stood just under Joost’s chin. He was tongue tied.
‘Shall we make a move?’ asked Bheki, smiling.
‘Sure. Hungry?’
‘I haven’t eaten all day.’
They took the short walk to ‘The Blue Samurai’, although why he was blue no one was quite sure, even the owner. Still they did the most fantastic sashimi and sushi.
The cloakroom staff took Bheki’s coat; Joost preferred to hang his blazer on the back of a chair. He made sure his mobile was switched off, and the waiter took them to their table.
It was a small restaurant, where the prices more than made up for the numbers. There were live piranha in the fish tanks, but they weren’t the only predators in tonight.
‘Good to see you again Mr van Houten,’ said the waiter, placing the crocodile bound menus in front of them.
‘Thank you. It’s good to be back.’
Bheki wondered how many women he’d brought here, but she wasn’t celibate.
They were sitting at Joost’s favourite table, looking out over the river. Bheki tried not to stare at him. Joost’s jaw was square, and the symmetry in his face timelessly handsome.
‘First time?’ enquired Joost, as Bheki looked at the menu puzzled.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you can trust me to order?’
‘Do I have a choice?’ she asked.
‘But let me warn you, I can take a lot of pleasing,’ she said.
No doubt thought Joost. But then again, he had a lot of pleasure to give.
He was tempted to order the bento box for Bheki, which gave a little taste of everything, but he wanted them to share the moment. After seeing Bheki recoil from the squid, he plumped for wagyu beef nigiri with truffle salsa, and ponzu jelly. It was presented with rice, miso soup, with a side dish of sweet raw shrimps.
Joost had a couple of bottles of lager, whilst Bheki delicately sipped green tea. She’d resisted the wine list, wanting to feel every moment should Joost take the hint, and unburden himself of his manners.
The meal was a success, with cutlery and fingers, but they both knew what was really on the menu; their palates unsated. The waiter brought them each a bowl of red bean ice cream.
‘So you don’t hate the Boer?’ asked Joost out of the blue.
‘Why should I?’ she replied, dabbing the ice cream from her lips.
Joost wanted to raise the temperature a little, and he sensed Bheki did too. The top two buttons on her blouse were now undone, and her foot was touching his underneath the table.
‘Well you’re African, allegedly from Zimbabwe,’ he said.
‘Meaning?’
‘Just that I know a lot of Zim’s, and you don’t quite fit the mould.’
‘Really,’ she said, not in the slightest offended.
In fact the pretence was always a burden. She hated hiding her upbringing, but it had been the surest way to bury her past.
‘You’re right, I’m originally from Mozambique.’
‘Now I’ve shown you mine, you show me yours,’ she said.
Joost smiled. She did like to play.
‘Two years ago I met this guy. He had all this cash to launder, and helped me set up the agency.’
‘Lucky you.’
So he wasn’t as clean cut as his appearance.
Bheki twisted the warm moist towel around her fingers, slowly removing the sticky paste.
‘I’m going to freshen up,’ she said.
Joost looked at his watch; there was still no sign of Bheki. Leaping up the steps to the washrooms, he caught Bheki as she was coming out; her sparkling purple lipstick newly coated. Joost held both of her arms, turning her around, and pushing her back inside.
Joost was on his knees, comforting Bheki, who gasped in delight. She was finished when Joost bent her over to proclaim his desire. Bheki held the washbasin tight, grateful her makeup was unsullied.
Joost returned to the table a little after Bheki. He could tell from the glow in her eyes they had some mileage ahead.
‘You know Joost, I’m not really sure if I like you.’
She poked the tip of her tongue between her lips.
‘Same goes for me,’ he replied leaning forwards.
‘Well I guess that’s good news for both of us,’ she said, smiling broadly.
It seemed harsh to part, upon leaving the restaurant. Instead they went for a stroll along the riverbank, not quite holding hands.
‘It’s called mosaicism,’ explained Bheki about her features.
‘It doesn’t do it justice,’ said Joost, still staring.
Bheki had African features, with a porcelain wrapper. Her brown eyes kind of read your mind in a filthy way. And under the wig lay a head of cropped blonde hair, ready for some role play.
‘Thanks. But in Africa we have to be careful. It’s not just the sun that can kill us.’
‘I know it’s the witchcraft too. There were quite a few albino killings before I left South Africa,’ said Joost, his accent becoming more pronounced with thoughts of home.
‘Why did you leave?’ asked Bheki.
This was a tricky one for Joost. As much as he wouldn’t relinquish the past, he didn’t want to sound heartbroken tonight, even if he was.
‘The crime,’ he replied.
‘Not man enough Joost?’ she enquired, then bit his ear, hard.
‘Bitch.’
‘And for that I deserve ..?’ she teased.
He quickly looked around, and led her down the embankment. Under the bridge, she was pinned to a wall. Their lips locked, and hands fu
mbled in the darkness.
Finally, her mouth slipped free.
‘Let me make it easy for you,’ she said, pushing him away, and hurriedly undoing her trouser buttons.
It wasn’t too late for a pleasure cruise.
‘My you really are an animal. And don’t worry, I’m on the pill,’ said Bheki afterwards.
Joost waved her off in a black cab. She’d almost changed her mind on sleeping at his flat. Instead she left saying ‘don’t worry I’ll phone.’
As for Joost, he just had to see her again - with every living breath.
Chapter Eleven
Nightfall had sneaked into the village, and the good citizens of Bishopsfield were tucked into their beds. Though there were those with more esoteric tastes. Charles Carney was playing host, and Bill and Barbara were last to arrive; even if their pub was a stone’s throw away.
Bishopsfield’s resident vet was talking with Vankoni, and bestowing upon him all the hospitality a friend of Din’s deserved. Charles was softly spoken, and when speaking, moved his hands in a demonstrative and languid fashion. He was agonisingly thin, and one had the feeling that senility would look little different on Charles than middle age.
What struck Vankoni most about the house were the real fur rugs, stretched across the wooden floors. Perhaps they gave his host strength, vitality.
‘Excuse me,’ said Charles ‘I must check the kitchen.’
There were two enormous orange sofas in the lounge, calf leather, and either side of a marble table. On one sofa sat Dela, Felix, and Din. Across from them were James Middlemass, Gladys the church warden, and Gasper Owido. They weren’t discussing the weather.
Christine Middlemass stood by the window alone, looking out at the night sky. Vankoni went to join her, at the far end of the room.
Mr Pandalay and his Mistress came down the stairs giggling, and raising an eyebrow or two. Pandy had an acquired taste for shemales, and Susie Chang, his long term Malaysian partner, had an even more alarming taste for short skirts.