The Score

by HJ Golakai

  Vee glugged juice into a glass and held it out. After a lengthy, mutinous squint, Chlöe took it. “Sorry, I had to. It was worth it. Damn, as this thing gets curiouser and curiouser, it gets juicier and juicier.”

  “How?”

  “Gaba wasn’t telling us the truth yesterday, for one thing. Each time we hit her with a question, she hit us with another one, or some half-cocked theory.”

  “Like, duh. Frickin’ artful dodger, that one.”

  “Not just that. She was smarter than just giving us the run-around. She kept referring us to Akhona, like she didn’t want to rat, but there was definitely something to rat about.” Dismayed, Vee snatched the LiquiFruit from Chlöe’s overeager fingers after she refilled. “Think about it. That disk? That bogus ‘fired for insubordination’? She can hold that over two grown people for this long, make them tap-dance like monkeys, for years?”

  “Thought about that too. That ‘consultant scam’ comment was a hot tip for us to look into.” Chlöe pursed her lips. “Emphasis on us.”

  “Yeah, fine. But, the way it panned out!” Vee recounted her morning. By the part on the scam, counter-scam and extortion, Chlöe’s bottom jaw was flopping like a puppet’s.

  “She wanted how much?!”

  “Ehn you jek! Imagine if we’d been bribed for even half that. Not that we’d ever take dash –”

  “No, never. Never.”

  “But gadaaaamn.” Vee mimed wiping sweat off her forehead. “Bishop, we’re poor. We even think like the prole. We should learn how to strong-arm better.”

  “But …” Chlöe tugged at her bottom lip, counter-thoughts clearly blurring round her mental racetrack. “She’s crazy. Why take Gavin out, kill the golden goose as it were? There’s enough dirt to make them shit their pants for as long as she wants. Why not hang in there for more?”

  “To the first, did Gaba strike you as a woman of overflowing patience, or vengeance? She and Berman had a long history, one that didn’t end in laughter and kisses. Strangulation was business and pleasure. Plus, I didn’t get to the best part.”

  By tale’s end, Chlöe had a hand over her mouth, her blue irises like tiny planets adrift in seas of white. “Whoooaa …”

  “I know. When you think about it, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Akhona’s great in a team but no way she can run that place. Not without Gavin; he was the main act. But if she sells up …” She twirled a finger at Chlöe, nodding sagely.

  “She’s in the clear. Monkey off her back.” Chlöe spoke slowly, cogs whirring now. “She gets a tidy sum. Working off their reputation, a very tidy sum. She can even start fresh. Oh my word.” She flipped the blue planets on Vee, the white oceans expanding, if that were possible. “Even if the scam gets exposed. Her hands aren’t clean but by the end of the day, who cares. The dead partner will get most of the heat, she’ll be seen as a mere sidekick. However it plays out, eventually it blows over. No wonder she’s got no problem giving us the exclusive.”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, she can be taught!” Vee pumped a victory fist. “You shoulda seen her hustle round that office. It’s a mess and a graveyard at the same time. Like when you’re packing up a house to move. What, her staff suddenly have a day off? Please. After I ran into Aneshree outside, it clicked. She’s putting her affairs in order. Once it goes through, she can hand us the scoop, what’s to stop her. On top of that going public means –”

  “Gaba’s leverage goes out the window. Once the stink is on the wind Xoli doesn’t have much to hang over her. She’ll be too busy trying to stay in front of this to dream of going after Akhona.” Chlöe rubbed her forehead. “Bloody hell.” She held her hand out. “But can she do this, though? Can she?”

  “Can which-she what?” Vee chugged a final gulp and pushed the juice at her. “Oh, you mean can Akhona close shop and go on ’bout her business. Legally, it looks so. I been at it since I got back, Darren was a big help. True there’s an open investigation, but Moloi’s actions concerning the company look to be governed by their by-laws. She’s now the major stakeholder and chairman of a three-person board of directors. Berman’s only got an ex-wife he divorced a long time ago and no kids. His siblings, he’s got two, most likely get a provision from his will but it’s doubtful they have a say in the running of B&M. Even if they do …” She twisted her mouth and popped a flippant shrug.

  “Exactly. So what? If their two cents is worth anything, they’ll more than likely look to Akhona for guidance with executive decisions, long as they get their share of the profits. If Gavin trusted her, they will. And if they don’t, well, it’ll be a very expensive fight, which no-one ever wants.” Chlöe pushed her mouth into a snout and wiggled it around, a crease furrowing her brow.

  Knowing what that meant, Vee rolled her eyes heavenward. “Come on Bishop, this works and you know it. Akhona’s only holding out until she’s sure her ass is covered, but this scoop is ours. You should read what I’ve put together for the Saturday print, incredible. Go take a look at it.” She tipped a finger. “I’m telling you, we’ve scored big time.”

  Chlöe didn’t take her eyes off the ground. “That’s not my issue. It’s that … the way you talk. You got the scoop. Have a look at the story you’ve written up already. Are we still a team on this or are you making all the decisions while I carry your hem?” She lifted her head and the expression in her eyes was one of hurt. “Is this about what I did? I know it was seriously offside b–”

  “Aaaaggh,” Vee groaned. “Lord above, will you stop! I’m over it. Yeah I ambushed Akhona without you, but I had to move fast. Now we’re even closer because I did. It wasn’t a deliberate attempt to cut you out.” She made a fist and thrust it out. “We’re still a ‘we’ in this, I promise.”

  Chlöe dithered for several seconds before she bumped Vee’s fist with one of her own. “Okaaaay. But no more …”

  She stopped. Vee followed her gaze through the glass. In the newsroom Nico was on the prowl, rubbing a hand over his dome as he scanned the area, stopping intermittently at desks and clearly barking enquiries.

  “Think he’s looking for us?” Chlöe asked.

  Almost as if he’d heard her across the distance, he looked up, spotted them, hit a purposeful stride and in no time flung the tearoom door open.

  “Ebony, Ivory, status meeting, now,” he ordered, and stalked off.

  They crumpled, exchanging exhausted looks as the rest of the day disappeared into thin air.

  Blink

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Stay here.” Vee looked up at the ‘Private Ward B’ sign emblazoned above the long corridor. Somewhere on the other side of those double doors lay Akhona Moloi, beating in her breast an exclusive that would lay waste to everything else in print for weeks. All they had to do was –

  “What – why?! Why do I always have to man the rear while you blaze the trail?”

  “Because. Only one of us can pull this off, and the way your mouth can run, you’ll slip up and mess it up.”

  “Ohhh reeeaaally?! My running mouth came in handy when we had to corner Xoliswa at African Bank, didn’t it? It stopped you from beating her face in.”

  “It appeared to have achieved the desired effect, yes.” Vee felt a familiar squirm of guilt as the incomprehension on Chlöe’s face slowly melted away, as her eyes widened, then darkened to anger.

  “Wait … you pretended you were that angry so I would step in and stop a fight that actually had no chance of starting? You played me at the same time that you were pumping her for information?”

  “Oh come on, played you, now that’s a bit dramatic. Look, we’ve done our synchronised good cop-bad cop routine plenty times, but Gaba’s not our average audience. You saw how lightning-quick she was on the uptake. And she makes you nervous, so I couldn’t risk us doing a pre-planned bit that she’d sniff out. I mean, of course I was pissed off for real, she did try to break my arms off, but not enough to …” Vee made an incredulous snort at the thought of losing her wits to the exten
t of launching an unprovoked physical assault on someone involved with an investigation, of Nico’s face when he heard about it. She’d have to fire herself; he wouldn’t even need to touch that legal nightmare. She snapped off her thoughts and met Chlöe’s outraged glare. “I had to sell it, get her emotional so her guard was down.”

  “Wow! And all of that makes me a screw-up and a risk. Noted.”

  “That’s not what I said.” Vee put a placatory hand on her shoulder. “We need this bad, Chlöe. This interview takes us,” she spread her hands to demonstrate, “head and shoulders, leaps, above the pack. After Saturday’s print, we’re already front-runners.”

  “And I’m the one about to piss it away?”

  Vee sighed. “Stay here. When I make it in, I’ll beep you and you can sneak in.”

  She shouldered through the double doors, relieved as they closed on Chlöe’s mounting grumbles. A nurse hurried past her and she unconsciously squashed her handbag closer to her side, as if expecting the woman to sense its contents, rip it off her arm and fling it into the nearest incinerator. She needed the tape recorder, hers, and the Nikon camera, office property, more than ever. The thought of taking snaps of a battered and bruised victim to splash in a newspaper that prided itself on steering clear of tabloid antics unsettled her quite a bit, but she’d been cajoled into bringing it. Nico wanted them just in case; Darren the voyeur liked his sleaze now and then, even if it had so slender a chance of ever running in an issue.

  Vee slowed as she came to the end of the corridor. Up ahead she spotted the open glass shutter of the cubbyhole in the wall, behind which no doubt breathed another dragon in a nurse’s uniform. It wasn’t a bright idea to cool her heels for too long. Taking a deep breath, she hunched and hustled down the short, narrow hall, zooming by the window at sufficient speed to see the snapping up of a head out of the corner of her eye. She nearly made it past the small adjoining office.

  “Hey hey hey! Hey! You! Come here, come back here please. Yes, you!”

  Vee cursed under her breath and back-pedalled. She stopped in front of the cubbyhole, plastered on her most enchanting smile and began to murmur profuse apologies. The nurse, face screwed up, slammed the shutter in her face and came around to the front. Vee braced herself.

  “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t simply walk through here. This is a hospital, not a bar. Are you a bar girl? Because I’m not a bouncer, my dear.”

  “Of course not. I’m so sorry.” How’d we get to bars all of a sudden? “I didn’t realise anyone was back here.”

  “Someone is always back here. This is a hospital. Nurses are back here. Who have you come to see?”

  “Akhona Moloi.” The second the words hit the air, the futility of the entire mission sank its teeth in. Mediclinic was a private outfit, made of sterner stuff. You couldn’t sift in and out through wards like at a public hospital. They should’ve waited till the fuss died down. Ridiculous; no way could they afford to spin their wheels right now, not when a fresh angle cropped up. They should’ve used a rear entrance. Vee scratched her nose. She and Chlöe had snuck up the stairs past the emergency exits and slipped through the least manned routes to get up here. As had, she was certain, every other journo on the prowl for fodder.

  The nurse made a series of exasperated grunts, like she already knew where this was going and didn’t know why she should waste her breath. “Who are you?”

  “I’m a relative. She called and told me she was here and I could come visit.” Not entirely a lie.

  “Really? And who would this be?”

  Vee spun in the direction of the woman’s accusatory finger and bared her teeth at the sight of Chlöe.

  “I’m her … sister,” Chlöe said. Instantly, she grimaced, shut her eyes and swore.

  “You journalists, I’m tired of all of you! Get out now, before I lose it. No, no, I – listen here. I’ll call security to remove you, no joke.”

  “Well, this isn’t shaping up as planned.”

  “You think?” Vee snapped.

  Tired of apologising, Chlöe folded her arms and leaned against the gold bonnet of the Chrysler. She could make out the vehicles of at least two other rival newspapers in the lot, one of them the good old Mail & Guardian. If M & G were sniffing around, that sucked big time. They had the numbers and clout to drum up a piece hard-hitting enough to make City Chronicle’s offering read as electrifying as a shopping list.

  She followed Vee’s eye-line to find her staring in the direction of the competition, muttering ‘pack of vultures’ to herself. She opened her mouth to retort ‘a tad hypocritical, don’t you think?’, thought better of it and clamped it shut. Vee covered her face with her hands and groaned. After a while she dropped them, face cleared of aggravation and bright with inspiration. She pulled open the driver’s side, cranked the seat back and sighed into it, proceeding to unstrap Nine West kitten heels. “Damn this heat. Every year I learn to appreciate winter more.”

  “You shouldn’t’ve parked in the sun. We wouldn’t be baking in our skins now. We’re not all blessed with natural SPF.” Chlöe yanked open the passenger door, cranked the seat back as far out of the sun as it could go and plonked onto the leather. She had to admit, the GMX was upholstered and kitted out so beautifully, it fell just short of a pimp mobile. The perfect androgynous shade and lines, with a sound system done up to preserve the original aesthetic but still give wicked sound quality. She reached for the volume dial to turn up the rhymes of Drake and Nicki Minaj throwing down on a track, and Vee gently smacked her fingers.

  “Can we at least close the doors and put the air-con on?”

  “I beg you. You helpin’ to pay for my gas?” Vee’s thumbs flew across her phone’s touchpad. “Enjoy the breeze, missy.”

  What breeze? Chlöe wanted to snap. She had no doubts she’d look incredible behind the wheel, cruising the N1 highway down to Muizenberg on a carefree weekend, a long-haired, perky-breasted beauty by her side. Too bad only Titus or Joshua were awarded that privilege. Clearly she didn’t have the right enhancements.

  “Gimme your phone.”

  “What? No. What’s wrong with yours?”

  “Nothing. It’s …” Vee rolled her eyes at herself, “the airtime’s finished, okay? Amateur mistake, I know. I burnt it up trying to get to Xoli–”

  “Xoli,” Chlöe corrected, executing the click with perfect aplomb.

  “Look, you know I can’t manage all that clickety-clack. Have mercy.”

  “Well, you should. Western Cape,” Chlöe twirled her finger at the general surrounds, “is a Xhosa haven. Look into it, instead of stuff like mastering a firearm and web editing.”

  “Uhh, I’ll take it under advisement,” Vee answered slowly, giving her a confused look. “But can you lend me your phone?” She gave an impatient grunt when Chlöe folded her arms with a tiny shake of her head. “Bishop, seriously, you yourself know the kind of hellish day this has been communication-wise.”

  “And the office line wasn’t good enough for you.”

  As the words left her mouth, Chlöe realised how silly and unfair they were. Since news of the attack on Moloi had hit the grapevine in the wee hours of the morning and dragged them both out of bed, they’d been on the grind, employing every resource and calling in every favour they had at their disposal to stay ahead of the pack. They’d begun at the hospital, soon realising it was everyone’s first idea and a bad one. Since their victim was indisposed, so to speak, the next best move was getting a fix on suspect numero uno, a far trickier manoeuvre. They’d made enquiries at Gaba’s flat in Parow, where she hadn’t been seen since the previous morning. A trip to her familial residence in Gugulethu, followed by a stop at African Bank, had yielded nought but loud instructions to piss off and put things where the sun didn’t shine at the first venue, and shrugs and cold replies at the second. It hadn’t been helpful either, that both visits had been pre-empted by the police’s. Vee had had her cell practically sutured to her ear since five a.m.; fie
lding calls from the office, getting updates on Moloi’s condition from Walsh, leaving message after message in Gaba’s voicemail to get in touch and strong-arming Richie into tracing her cell, which he’d been hugely reluctant to do and hadn’t been able to anyway, seeing as it was switched off.

  Wisely, Vee didn’t rise to the jibe, merely casting her eyes heavenward in persecution. “Lend me yours for a sec, I’ve got an idea. Aay man Chlöe, for God’s sake, gimme the phone! Please. I’ll buy your credit back.”

  “It’s a contract line, but whatever.” Vee snatched the iPhone from her and brought up the touchpad, paused, bit her lip and reached into the back seat for her handbag. “Whatever hare-brained idea you’re concocting, it won’t work. Since I’m guessing it involves calling Akhona to talk, now that we can’t get to her in person,” Chlöe said.

  “Why it won’t work?”

  “You serious? Because we tried it already, and she’s not answering. This woman was severely beaten last night in her own office, by none other than our mutual acquaintance and reigning psychopath. She spent her Sunday night in pain and in surgery for God knows what, and now she’s awake you expect her, the very next day, to stay true to her word and give us an exclusive.” Chlöe snorted. “Akhona’s been through hell. She’s pathetic enough without all this extra drama, so even I’m feeling super sorry for her, as I’m sure she’s feeling for herself. If I were her, I’d be giving anyone connected to this case the middle finger. That would include us by the way. Seeing as how the prime targets for her ire, Gavin and Gaba, the dead fraudster and the alleged murderer who’s on the run, conveniently aren’t around to take the flack.”

  “Brilliantly put, ma chérie. What’s your solution, then? Give up and go crawling back to the office?” Vee leaned over and flicked Chlöe’s nose with a rectangle of white paper.

  Chlöe swatted her hand. “What’s that?”

  “A number to die for,” Vee intoned, brandishing the embossed business card. She covered her face with one hand. “Wow, that’s a tasteless joke. Forgive me, Lord. It’s the business card she gave us, the very first time we visited B&M.”