The Top Prisoner of C-Max

by Wessel Ebersohn

  ‘Just Hall, not you, Mr Enslin.’ Despite his hostility, Dlomo felt he was in the presence of a man who was senior to him. It was a seniority that extended beyond Kruger’s age to his position in the criminal community.

  Kruger shook his head slowly. ‘That’s not how it works. You try to kill Hall, you try to kill me. You want to kill me, Elia?’

  ‘No, Baba, I don’t want kill you.’

  Addressing Kruger as a father was not a device to put him off guard. Dlomo was not capable of that. Kruger did not even try to keep his satisfaction at this apparent deference out of his voice. ‘What you want, Elia?’

  ‘Yesterday I want to kill Hall. When you die, Hall come back and he’s a big man. When he’s a big man, he do anything. He make war on the Twenty-Six. I don’t want wash first one side of my face, then other side – every day like that.’

  Kruger had no doubt what the anything was that Dlomo thought Hall might do. ‘So? You made a mistake when you join the Twenty-Six. I tol’ you then, you remember. Long time ago, I tol’ you. You could be with me now.’

  ‘I work for you on the thing you want, Mr Enslin.’

  Kruger cocked his head slightly to one side, his eyes half closed. It was an expression of complete scepticism. ‘Your boys are standing there. Mine are here behind me. What you wan’ to do for me?’

  ‘I help you with Gordon.’

  The anger that rose in Kruger rested chiefly on the idea that he needed help with Yudel. ‘Gordon is nothing. I can handle Gordon. That little bastard has fucked with the wrong man for too long.’

  ‘I help you.’

  Kruger’s anger calmed as quickly as it had arisen. The calculating, planning side of his personality was never in submission to the inner hatreds for long. ‘Talk,’ he said. ‘Le’s hear.’

  ‘The thing with Hall, the thing you want from him.’

  And this was a surprise to Kruger. He had never guessed that Dlomo might know what he was saying to his inner circle or the nature of his most secret plans.

  ‘I do it also,’ Dlomo was saying. ‘Maybe Hall can’t. Maybe I can.’

  ‘How?’ Kruger wanted to know. ‘You here, inside. What can you do?’

  ‘Maybe I can do something.’

  ‘Even if you do what I wan’, you still a Twenty-Six.’ And yet Kruger was interested. This could be insurance. If Hall was not successful, perhaps Dlomo might be. ‘You gotta man you can send?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Fuck this bastard and his maybes, Kruger thought. He looked straight into Dlomo’s eyes without blinking. He thought that was the way an honest man would look at another. He had used it often and it worked well on people who did not know him. ‘The word is this Beloved bitch is working at a place called Freedom Foundation every night.’

  That’s better, Dlomo thought. ‘And my Twenty-Sixes?’

  ‘Our two will be one thing. The Twenty-Eights and the Twenty-Sixes, they will work together.’

  Another lie, Dlomo told himself. That had never happened in his experience. But with or without Kruger, if he did this thing, he knew he had a chance to be the top man. ‘Thank you, Mr Enslin. But I need you help me with something first.’

  Kruger looked at him in the same direct way. ‘What you want, Elia?’

  ‘I need your phone – just tonight.’

  Kruger nodded. He never doubted that Dlomo would know about his cellphone. Now everything was clear. ‘You got a man outside?’

  ‘I got man outside.’

  ‘He’ll do the job for you?’

  ‘He do the job, not for me, he do it for you.’

  ‘You can have the phone, jus’ for tonight.’

  Robert Mokoapi had spent much of the morning on the telephone. Johnny wa Mzansi, his man who had been gathering information on the political killings in Mpumalanga, had been arrested late the previous night and was being held in the police cells in Mbombela, the province’s capital. He was responsible for most of the contents of the file that was now lying on Abigail’s desk.

  During the morning, Robert had spoken to the company’s attorney and to the attorney’s associate in Mbombela, to two Mpumalanga politicians he knew personally, the provincial commissioner of police, the director general of the Department of Justice, and briefly to the reporter himself. All the government people advised him to be in court with his attorney the next morning when Johnny would appear on a charge under the Official Secrets Act. The attorney told Robert he had spoken to the prosecutor and would be in court the next morning, and agreed that it would be useful if Robert was present. But it was the call to Johnny himself that was disturbing. ‘For Christ’s sake don’t leave me in a cell here overnight,’ he had said before the police cut the call short.

  Johnny had been packing to leave Mpumalanga when he was arrested. It seemed that he felt he was ready to write the whole story. Robert’s concern had to do with the contents of the file and whatever new information Johnny had found, but, more than that, it had to do with the fear in the reporter’s voice. Whatever Johnny believed about the killings in Mpumalanga, it was clear that he also believed his life was in danger.

  Robert had gone home to pack a bag before setting out on the four-hour drive. Before he was halfway to Mbombela, he decided that he would go to the police station first. Even if he was not allowed to see Johnny, he would make as much noise as he could, as high up the chain of command as possible. He would try to see the provincial commissioner, the officer in charge at the station where Johnny was being held, every policeman who had anything to do with Johnny’s arrest and, above all, try to see Johnny himself. It was possible that some of the police were involved in the killings in the province, so Robert’s objective would be to let them understand how closely they were being watched.

  Robert was a great editor-in-chief of the group’s newspapers, but in some ways he was an innocent. He was also a fearless man. If he investigated corruption in the police or elsewhere, he never saw danger as applying to himself. He was the one who came to the protection of others, not the one who may be attacked.

  It was for this reason that he never noticed the three cars that followed him at different times on his journey. It was also the reason that he thought nothing of the main road being blocked by roadworkers where it wound to the right before dropping from the escarpment into the beautiful Elands River Valley. And because he did not look back, he did not see that the barricade was removed as soon as he had been diverted onto the old Schoeman’s Kloof road.

  The main road had been quiet so it was no surprise that the old road was almost completely free of traffic. It was narrow and went steeply downhill through one of the region’s many passes, compelling Robert to drive more slowly. He was so deep in thought that he hardly noticed the lovely, steeply sloping hills on both sides. He did see a delivery truck off the road to his left near the bottom of the pass. It was standing in deep grass and at an angle that made it look as if the driver had lost control. At the back, the doors were open and someone was offloading boxes. A man, perhaps the driver, was lying on the running board on the driver’s side, apparently unconscious. Two other cars were parked on the roadside and, as Robert watched, two men were carrying large cardboard boxes from the truck in the direction of the cars. They glanced in his direction and started running, still carrying the boxes.

  Robert was a patriot in the deepest possible sense. He was aware that his country’s stage of development was still somewhere between the developed and the third worlds, and he hated moments when his countrymen behaved like the worst elements of the Third World. And, in his view, looting was one of the worst.

  He braked hard and brought his car to a stop just short of the other two cars. By the time he had leapt out of the car, he was already shouting, ‘You, does that belong to you?’

  Both men dropped their boxes and ran for their cars, one of them slipping on the roadside gravel. The one who slipped was young and the other middle-aged, but neither wanted to stay to discuss the matter. Robert could se
e that the boot of one of the cars was open and a number of boxes were already packed inside. The driver slammed the boot closed. A moment later, both cars were accelerating away in the direction of Mbombela.

  Robert watched them go for only a few seconds, then he started down the slope to see if he could help the truck driver. It was only then that he realised the man was no longer lying on the running board. He was now standing in front of the truck, as if ready to take cover.

  The rifleman under a tree to the left of the truck only drew Robert’s attention when he fired. The blow of the bullet felt like a heavy punch, thrown from close range. It struck Robert in his lower stomach. He went down hard on his back in long grass. God, how could I have been so stupid? he thought. He rolled onto his side. The pain had not yet started.

  Through the grass, Robert could see the rifleman approaching. Then he hesitated and turned to hurry away into the trees. On the road a truck carrying farm labourers was coming to a stop. ‘Over here,’ Robert tried to shout, but the sound was little more than a croaking whisper. ‘I’m over here.’

  SEVENTEEN

  ELIA DLOMO’S approach to Yudel had always been one of deep suspicion. Life had taught him that no officials of police or prison could ever be trusted. None of them ever spoke the complete truth to you. Everything they said, every action they took: all had an end in mind that was in their interest, never yours. They all had agendas of their own and, if you were on the other side, they never shared those agendas with you.

  Yudel found Dlomo in the infirmary where he was undergoing a routine check-up and had him brought to one of the offices. By meeting him there, Yudel hoped to keep Enslin Kruger from knowing about the meeting.

  Dlomo stopped sharply at seeing Yudel. Clearly this was an ambush. The warder who had brought him remained in the doorway.

  ‘Come in, Elia. Sit down,’ Yudel said.

  ‘I stand.’ The skin around his eyes was bruised, but he could see.

  ‘Stand if you must. You know Hall’s gone. You knew he was leaving, but you attacked him the day before. Why?’ Yudel spoke evenly, without passion.

  ‘You going to make a case, Mr Gordon?’

  ‘I don’t make cases against anyone. Director Nkabinde makes those decisions. Why attack him when he’s leaving the prison the next day?’

  ‘You can make a case. You want to make a case, you can make it. What you can do to me now? I’m here till I die.’

  ‘This is not about making a case against you. I want to keep you alive, that’s all.’

  ‘Why you want that?’ To Dlomo, Yudel was the enemy.

  ‘Elia, if you keep your nose clean, maybe you can still get out before you die. Don’t you want to walk outside again?’

  ‘Why you care?’

  Fuck it, Yudel thought. As with Hall and many other prisoners, Yudel knew more about Dlomo’s past than the prisoner could ever have guessed. He believed that, while nothing could have changed Hall, Dlomo was different. Under different circumstances, he may have been a man of another sort.

  ‘Why don’t you just serve your time? Don’t you want to go home ever?’

  ‘Home? Where is home? You got home. Elia Dlomo got no home. C-Max is home.’

  Even Yudel was struck by the bluntness of this truth. ‘Family?’ It sounded so lame and Yudel knew he should not have said it. He was showing the other man a weakness that he should rather have kept hidden.

  ‘What is family? You tell me what is family.’

  Yudel tried to bring a more demanding tone to his voice. ‘I can help—’

  ‘What you can do?’ Dlomo demanded. ‘You got no power. You nothing in here.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t have power, but the director listens to me.’

  ‘Director.’ Dlomo spat out the word like a curse. ‘He got no power.’

  Yudel was beginning to understand. ‘Who has power then?’

  ‘Enslin Kruger.’

  ‘And you want it?’ Dlomo said nothing and Yudel knew that his understanding, at least of this matter, was accurate. ‘Let me straighten something out for you, Elia. You’re not going to start a war in this prison.’

  ‘You protect this bastard? You protect him?’

  ‘I’m trying to protect you. We’re not going to let him start a war here either.’

  ‘Who stops him, you?’ The way Dlomo said it, the idea seemed ridiculous. ‘You bring food, you lock the door, you tell, do this, you tell, do that. But Kruger, he the boss here, not you, not Nkabinde.’

  ‘Not Hall?’

  ‘Hall is nothing.’

  ‘Then why did you try to kill him?’

  ‘Kill him? I never try kill him.’

  ‘You tried.’

  ‘If I want to, he’s dead now.’

  ‘You tried and failed. Why?’

  ‘You want to be in here? You want to be in here, like me?’

  He wanted power in the prison, but that still did not explain the attack on Hall. ‘What are you telling me, Elia?’

  Suddenly, altogether without warning, Dlomo could no longer contain himself. ‘Fuck you, Gordon. Hall going out, Hall coming back. When he come back he’s the big man. I’m not walking in C-Max hall when he’s the big man. How long I live like that?’

  ‘Who says he’s coming back?’

  ‘Me. I say.’ Dark eyes, filled with hatred, stared at Yudel. ‘You know Hall coming back.’

  ‘If he goes to prison again, it may not be here.’

  ‘They want him here. Nkabinde want him here.’ The finger was now pointing at the ground. ‘You want him here. Here, C-Max.’

  ‘Maybe Kokstad.’

  Dlomo was silent. Kokstad was not a place to be treated lightly. He believed himself not to be scared of anything, but he was afraid of Kokstad. The only man he had ever met who had spent time in Kokstad and then been released into the general prison population had told him about the place. And this was a man he trusted not to exaggerate. When he compared those stories with his own experience in a number of prisons, even C-Max seemed like a camping trip by comparison. ‘Maybe here,’ he said at last. Dlomo had been interviewed by Yudel a number of times in the past and, despite his apparent contempt, he had been impressed by how much Yudel understood about the men inside and how much he knew about their lives. Now, he was surprised by Yudel’s seeming inability to understand. ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Hall go out and do big things, Hall come back, who the boss inside then?’

  Yudel was silent for so long that Dlomo thought the interview was over.

  ‘I can go?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Yudel looked at the tortured man in front of him. Rosa had said that before we were born we chose the lives we would live on earth. It seemed unlikely when you looked at Elia Dlomo. Surely no one could choose such a life. ‘I’ve already discussed your case with the director. You’re going to Baviaanspoort.’

  ‘You transfer me?’ Dlomo was starting to rise. There seemed to be a real possibility that he would attack Yudel. ‘You send me away? Why you not send Kruger? Why not Hall?’

  ‘Sit down,’ the warder in the doorway commanded.

  ‘Gordon, you bastard—’

  ‘Sit down,’ the command came again. ‘You sit down now.’

  It’s not safety you want, Yudel thought. You want the power you think Enslin Kruger possesses.

  EIGHTEEN

  The main gate of C-Max – 1 463 kilometres from the Freedom Foundation

  THE PRETORIA CENTRAL and Pretoria Local prisons were just down the hill and within the same security perimeter as C-Max. Of the three prisons, only Local had a door that emptied onto the street. Yudel had expected Hall to be released there, but a parole officer had been sent to collect him. It seemed that Brigadier Sibiya was taking the matter seriously after all. Yudel wondered if he owed the brigadier an apology.

  Yudel had also expected a gathering of former political friends to welcome Hall on his release. That sort of thing was normal whenever one of the movement’s own was released. But this time there wa
s no one. It seemed that old political contacts had come to understand what they were dealing with and he was now not welcome in those circles.

  Sitting in his car in the C-Max parking, Yudel watched as Hall and the parole officer passed through the main gate and walked to a small sedan that had seen plenty of usage. The department probably did not pay parole officers well, Yudel thought.

  There was none of the expected swagger in Hall’s stride. He walked a step or two behind the officer, a big balding man, who barely glanced at his ward. It seemed that the victory Hall felt at his release was something that could be turned on or off. He looked straight ahead, his face without expression.

  After the car had moved away down the hill to the perimeter gate, Yudel got out and went into the building. The foreboding that had descended on him when he first heard of the plans to release Hall was more intense than ever.

  From the office he was still using he called Brigadier Sibiya. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’m not calling your competence into question.’

  He heard the brigadier’s sigh. ‘This is about Hall, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We are taking him to the place where he’ll be living and working. Tomorrow the parole officer will visit him again And every day for the first week. Does that satisfy you?’

  Yes,’ Yudel said. ‘Of course it does. Thank you very much.’

  For some men who possess an effeminate walk and figure, prison is a continuing nightmare. This was not the case for Jacky April. The role he played in sexual relations with more powerful men while in the prison was no different to the role he played outside.

  It had been no burden for him to accept the invitation from Enslin Kruger. He willingly met the old criminal’s needs, but since the day Kruger first showed an interest in him, he knew that all other inmates were out of bounds. That degree of abstinence was not difficult to achieve. Once another inmate had become Kruger’s boy, others stayed away. Sex was too readily available to risk your life over the likes of Jacky April.

  He was in prison for his role in the murder of a senior, sixty-year-old businessman. The gang of which he was part had been told about the businessman’s vulnerability to the likes of April. He had pressed the bell set into the high security wall around the businessman’s home and, when a voice answered, said he was looking ‘for gardening work or anything’. He managed to impart such promise to the word ‘anything’ that in five minutes he was inside the house and neither felt the need to discuss gardening.