The Top Prisoner of C-Max

by Wessel Ebersohn

  ‘Of course, Robert. When do you want to meet?’

  ‘I hoped I could come over now. I won’t take up much of your time. I have a file I need to show you.’ Again the same hurried way of speaking. Hear me out, it said, before you hang up.

  ‘Yes, sure. Come on over.’

  Robert was coming. Abigail barely acknowledged her excitement to herself. Nor did she acknowledge that she had not felt this way before any of the dates with her three recent suitors.

  Without planning the action, she found herself in her walk-in clothing cupboard. Unlike Beloved, Abigail was not conscious of the effect she had on men. And, unlike Beloved, it was not important to her. But like Beloved, it was not one particular characteristic that drew male attention, but rather the package. The straight, lean legs, the high bosom, the firm buttocks, a mouth that was full by European standards, but neat by African ones, cheekbones that were wide, but not excessively so, and a zest for life that could scarcely be contained: together the effect was as devastating to men as the one Beloved made. Her African curls were cropped close to her head. She had never made any attempt to tame them. Apart from a monthly cut, her hair received no special attention whatever.

  She had an off-the-shoulder white cocktail party dress that revealed her figure perfectly and contrasted breathtakingly with the brown of her skin. Robert had loved her both in and out of the dress. He had often asked her to wear it. He said he loved watching the way she moved in it. And he loved even more slipping it off her.

  She had removed her bra and was starting to pull the dress up over her hips when she stopped to consider what she was doing. He’s not yours any more, she told herself. Robert belongs to another woman now. A woman? Hardly. She was no more than a girl. God, it was hard to believe, even after all this time, that she had lost him, or perhaps chased him away. How had she allowed the divorce to go through without fighting it?

  Abigail slipped the dress off and replaced her bra. She found the plainest house dress in the cupboard. It was a cotton print and had what looked like gingerbread men along the bottom of the skirt. That was more appropriate, she commended herself.

  She had barely sat down to wait when security rang from the front gate. ‘Mr Robert Mokoapi wants to come,’ the voice of the guard said.

  ‘Thanks, James, let him in.’ Did my voice shake? she wondered. It sounded as if my voice shook.

  Listening for it, she heard his car stop downstairs, then his footsteps as he bounded up the stairs in his usual two-stairs-at-a-time fashion, followed by his knock on the door.

  She opened it, and he was standing there, the file under one arm, his shirt partly unbuttoned and his tie knot pulled loose till it was halfway down his chest. It was Robert, just the way she had always known him. ‘Abigail.’ His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper.

  Later, she was not sure that she had even said his name, how the door got closed or what had happened to the file. He had never been in her place before, but he found the bedroom, carrying her in his arms at almost shoulder height. And it really did not matter which dress she had on or whether she was wearing a bra.

  Afterwards, they lay naked in bed, her head on his chest. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Tell me you haven’t cheated on Thandi with anyone else.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad that you haven’t.’

  ‘Does it make a difference to you?’

  ‘A very big difference, a huge difference.’

  ‘I didn’t intend to this time either.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘I’m glad we did though.’

  ‘Me too. But I’ve never thought of myself as an adulteress.’

  ‘You’re not the one who committed adultery. I am. You’re not married to anyone.’

  ‘That’s comforting, but I don’t think it’ll stand up in court.’

  They made love a second time before they got dressed. Then, sitting across a small table from each other in Abigail’s lounge, he handed her the file he had brought with him. ‘It’s about Mpumalanga,’ he said.

  ‘The political killings there?’

  ‘That’s right. These are the notes of our journalists who’ve been working on it. Also a few clippings from our papers, but the notes are what make really interesting reading.’

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll read it carefully.’

  ‘The orders seem to be coming from very high up, so high up that even I am shocked.’

  She knew Robert better than she had ever known anyone. He was wrong about her knowing Yudel better. And she knew how important it was to him that those governing the country should not behave like Third World dictators. He hated it when he felt they did.

  ‘I don’t know that anything can be done about it, but I need to give it to someone I can trust. Just promise me one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You will do nothing to put your own life in danger. Promise me that. Someone will have to prosecute, but I’d prefer it if it wasn’t you.’

  ‘I promise I won’t put my life in danger,’ Abigail said, but she was not sure that this was a promise that could be kept.

  FOURTEEN

  CONVERSATION between Yudel and Rosa during dinner died early. He seemed to be absorbed by his green salad, but in truth the absorption was with his thoughts. Ten minutes after dinner, he would not have been able to testify to having eaten a salad or to Rosa having consumed a slice of pizza.

  None of the events of the last two days made sense to him. The Dongwana matter, especially what had been done to Penny, was troubling, but it was the meeting between Beloved and Oliver Hall, and Hall’s release the next day that were most disturbing of all.

  It was after eleven by the time he keyed in the number Beloved had left for him. It was important to speak to her. With Hall about to be released, today was the wrong time for her to be interviewing him. This girl was smart, but sex had a way of confounding the clearest thinking.

  The phone rang for a few seconds, then it was answered by a female voice that he recognised. ‘Hello,’ the familiar voice said.

  Yudel knew the voice, but it should not have been answering. While he thought about it, Abigail spoke again. ‘Hello, is someone there?’

  ‘Abigail?’ he asked at last.

  ‘Yudel.’ The pleasure in her voice was unmistakable, but she sounded sleepy. She was in the grip of the profound afterglow left by Robert’s lovemaking.

  Yudel hoped that his own delight at hearing her voice did not show as readily, but feared that it did. ‘Abigail. I didn’t think …’

  ‘She’s been staying with me.’

  ‘She’s staying with you?’

  ‘She is. But tell me, Mr Gordon, what are you doing calling my attractive young friend so late at night? Is this something Rosa should know about?’

  ‘No, of course … I …’ She was so gorgeous, but no, there was nothing Rosa should know about. The idea was ridiculous. ‘No, certainly not … I’m not …’ Yudel tried again. ‘I’m definitely not …’ he only stopped when he realised that Abigail was laughing on the other end of the connection.

  ‘Relax, Yudel. For heaven’s sake. I think I know you a little by now.’

  Perhaps not as much as you imagine, Yudel thought.

  ‘I’m just jealous that young women so often find older men attractive. Why can’t it be the other way round?’

  ‘Well, it’s your own fault,’ Yudel told her.

  ‘Come again.’

  ‘I have it on excellent authority that before we are born we choose our lives on earth. So if – knowing that this is a man’s world – you chose to be a woman, you have only yourself to blame.’

  ‘And who is the excellent authority who told you that we choose our lives on earth?’

  ‘A Buddhist told me.’

  ‘A Buddhist monk?’

  ‘No, just an ordinary, regulation, common-and-garden Buddhist.’

  ‘Does this Buddhist have a name?’

  �
�Rosa Gordon.’

  ‘Oh, Rosa. How is she?’ Abigail was laughing again.

  ‘She’s well and discovering Buddhism.’

  Abigail brought her laughter under control. ‘Oh, Yudel. I’ve missed you. No one I’ve ever met can talk such sublime nonsense as you do.’

  ‘In this context, what does sublime mean?’

  ‘It means your brand of nonsense is okay.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s comforting.’

  ‘By the way, I know Beloved was with you in C-Max today. But she’s not here now. She’s out with friends.’

  ‘She makes friends fast.’

  ‘Very. In this case, two men who tried to pick us up in a restaurant.’

  ‘And only succeeded with half of us?’ Yudel suggested.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘And you? Why is she staying with you?’

  ‘It’s no accident. Our Miss Childe is not as guileless as she looks. When she contacted me from the States I didn’t realise what she was up to. She wanted contact with you, and she’d read about us working together. It’s you she’s after, or perhaps your work. She seems to want to know everything that you know.’ Abigail’s tone softened. ‘But you, Yudel, how are you?’

  Things were a little puzzling. Abigail was wrong about Beloved wanting him, or even his work. Her last words to him that afternoon had told a different story. Her real interest lay with Oliver Hall. ‘Yudel?’ Abigail was still on the other end of the line. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘I thought I was talking to myself there.’

  ‘No,’ Yudel said. ‘You were talking to me. But where did Beloved hear about Oliver Hall?’

  ‘Oliver Hall? Who’s he?’

  That night in C-Max, Oliver Hall was a worried man. Enslin Kruger had arranged for him to change places for the night with Jacky April, Kruger’s regular wyfie. Usually there was only one reason Kruger made that sort of exchange.

  What was he going to do when Kruger made the move on him? When he first came to C-Max a member of the Twenty-Sixes who had tried had been lucky to come away from the incident with his life. Since then, no one had dared to treat him that way.

  But Kruger was different. How did you refuse him anything?

  The lights in the cells went out at the usual time, leaving only a faint glow from the one small window set high above the floor. Kruger was sitting on the edge of his bunk. ‘Over here. Come sit nex’ to me.’

  Jesus, did the old bastard really want him? Where was his idea of respect?

  ‘Over here, nex’ to me.’ His voice was kept very low, not wanting to draw the attention of the section warder.

  Hall did as he was told and sat down close to Kruger.

  ‘A bit further away,’ Kruger said. ‘I don’ like anyone so close to me.’

  What the hell is he playing at? Hall wondered. But he moved another hand’s breadth away.

  ‘It’s time for a man to take action.’

  Thank Christ, Hall thought. He spoke to Kruger, ‘You want me to do something about Dlomo?’

  ‘No. Dlomo is nothing. The Twenty-Sixes, they nothing too. Dlomo tried something, now he’s scared. Gordon’s the one I want.’ Kruger was a deeper shadow in the darkness of the cell. His breathing was heavy. ‘I want that bastard Gordon. He’s fucked me up for more than twenty years. Every time I make a move, he’s blocking me. I coulda been paroled, but he blocks me. I want him.’

  ‘He’s not careful,’ Hall said. ‘It’s easy to get him. We get him alone in a passage and we fix him—’

  ‘Not like that.’ Kruger brought his head close to Hall’s. ‘Nobody touches Gordon. I don’ want to give the boer any satisfaction neither. There’s a better way.’

  ‘What then? His missis?’

  ‘No, leave his missis alone.’ The tone of his voice was intended to convey to Hall that he alone had all the answers and Hall should never forget it.

  ‘What then?’

  Kruger’s head was almost touching Hall’s. ‘First tell me, who’s the top man in this place?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You got the power.’

  ‘You want it?’

  ‘What about you?’

  Kruger knew his man. He knew what excited him and what he would kill for. He knew how long Hall had waited for this and he could see the compulsion in Hall’s eyes. ‘Everybody knows I’m going to be white bones soon. And everybody knows you not going to be outside long. When you come back, you can be top man in this place. I can give it to you and, if you do something strong, you’ll have respec’ from everybody, lighties, old smokers, soldiers, everybody.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘I want you to help me with Gordon.’

  ‘What, Boss? Just tell me.’ It was not difficult for Hall to imagine himself in Kruger’s place in C-Max. He knew how much money flowed to Kruger and so far he could only dream about it flowing to him. He could feel the power he would exercise over stupid brown boers like Alfred Dongwana. He got the start of an erection when he thought of the young boys he would be able to fuck and nothing they could do about it. Tell me what do you want, he thought. Tell me what it is. Give me that kind of power. Give me something worth killing for.

  ‘You see the way Gordon is with that woman?’

  ‘Beloved?’

  ‘He’s all over this Beloved woman, making like he’s the man and he protec’s her. Like she’s a child and he’s her daddy. Isn’ that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, yes, yes.’ He tapped a forefinger on the coir mattress with each yes. ‘He’s all over the bitch like a rash, guarding her. I seen him at work for a long time, too fucking long. I seen him with other women. He treats this one different.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘This is the time to take blood. I want her. Nothing will hit him that hard.’

  ‘You want me to do it?’

  ‘I want you to do it. I want her fucked. I want her face gone, her tits too. I want nothing left of her. I don’t want her left alive like the Dongwana woman. I want her finished in every way. I want her to pay for the way that Gordon has fucked up my life. She’s got to pay, but not so bad like he’s going to pay. He’s the one who’s going to live. They’ll show her remains to him. He’ll see pictures of what’s left of her and that will be the end of him. Every day he’s alive after that he’s going to be in hell. He’ll see those pictures in front of his eyes all the time.’ He drew away from Hall for the first time, as if bringing him into focus. ‘You understan’?’

  Hall understood. During the night, he had thought about this very thing. He had imagined her dying while he was inside her, the final beats of her heart drawing him into the ultimate orgasm.

  Kruger saw the excitement in him and smiled, an altogether humourless expression. ‘That’s my boy. Fuck her to bits, but after that I want nothing left of her.’

  Kruger slept well that night, confident in the knowledge of what awaited Beloved – and Yudel Gordon. The three who had handled Penny Dongwana were boy scouts compared to Hall. If Hall moved on this Beloved bitch, she had no chance, specially not now that she had a thing for him. It was going to be too easy. And that bastard Gordon would never get over it.

  Kruger would have been only slightly less satisfied with events had he known that his conversation with Hall, muted though it was, had been overheard by the block warder, and before the night was over, Elia Dlomo would know of his plan.

  Hall was even more satisfied. To say that he was content would not be accurate. It was impossible for contentment to reside anywhere in the void where his soul should have existed. But a fever of conquest could. His satisfaction lay in the conversation he had had with Beloved when they had been left alone, with the way she would contact him, and with the slight unevenness that had entered her voice when his hand touched hers. He was going to have her, he told himself, as completely as it was possible for a man to have a woman. Not in the way
that other men had women. He was going to have her so completely that no man would ever have her again. And her death was going to open the door for him to the top spot in C-Max, if he was returned there, or any other prison they sent him to. No one would stand in his way, least of all Elia Dlomo.

  C-Max will be mine.

  FIFTEEN

  OF THE PRISONERS in C-Max, Elia Dlomo was probably the one who had the worst night of all. He tried to sleep, but without success. Unconsciousness came for the first time after four in the morning.

  Life in C-Max was tougher than it was in low-security prisons. And for him, C-Max had been harder than it needed to be. Enslin Kruger had wanted him in the Twenty-Eights from the time he arrived in C-Max, but he had been a Twenty-Six since the first time he was imprisoned. The other gang members had always stood by him and he was not going to rat on them now, not even for Kruger. He had never known a mother or father, and the Twenty-Sixes had become mother and father, brother and sister to him. He would die before he deserted them and he knew that, at some future time, he may well have to do that.

  But it was not Kruger who was worrying him. Kruger was a dying man. Dlomo knew what they were planning and he knew that, if Hall came back, he would be taking over from Kruger. And the Twenty-Eights outnumbered them maybe four to one. In some blocks it could be as high as ten to one. Kruger was a bastard of the worst kind – Dlomo knew that – but Hall was mad.

  Dlomo never thought of himself as being other than sane. As far as he was concerned, all his life he had only done what he had to do to protect himself. From the time he was a child, he had tried to survive. When he had killed, it had been for that reason.

  The family where he had grown up had never been his. As far back as he could remember, he had slept alone in a small lean-to, made of a single sheet of corrugated iron, resting against one wall of the cottage. He sealed the ends himself with a few layers of cardboard sheeting taken from grocery boxes discarded at a neighbourhood spaza shop. The floor too was made of the same cardboard, which had to be replaced every few weeks.