by Ian Patrick
The three men followed their companion’s lead and fired off all the rounds in their weapons. One of them fired off six then click. Each of his two companions fired off eight rounds then click. When the last round had been fired and the last click heard, they slowly lowered their weapons, arms exhausted from the effort. There was a moment of silence.
Then the detective spoke again to his colleagues, dropping the volume slightly.
‘Did you see these men, people? I give them a simple order to put up their weapons, and what do they do? They fire at us. They fire thirty rounds at us! I think, in fact, that I counted exactly thirty. No. Thirty-one. Yes, thirty-one bullets. If any one of the six of you has not yet had a chance to prove yourself a good cop and put down a really evil skollie rapist and murderer, this is your chance. Self-defence, my people. I want ballistics to prove that a bullet from each and every one of your guns went into at least one of these evil murdering tsotsis.’
There was a moment of sheer terror for the lead fugitive as he realised what was happening, and before he could dive under the water.
The seven cops, lined up on the edge of the beach, fired at will.
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