Night (Night Series Book 1)

by Casey Christie

  By the time November Whisky 50 arrived on scene, which had taken longer than they had anticipated – 14 minutes – because of heavy traffic and the fact that Constable Shaka had taken a number of wrong turns, a detail that earned him a severe ear bashing from Constable Stanislov, the suspected armed robbers were all dead. And Hotel Papa and the other responding vehicles, 26 vehicles from all over Johannesburg in total had already broken on scene and still more were responding.

  Sergeant Night had always particularly appreciated the response a call for backup would gather in Johannesburg. He always thought to himself that if ever a criminal or citizen did something wrong they should hope and pray that they didn’t force a police officer to call for back up. A call for backup would summon a blue army that would descend upon the enemy with great vengeance and little mercy.

  November Whisky 50 arrived on scene to find five dead criminals, their bodies in a circle at the centre of the superstore’s parking lot. Four of the corpses surrounded a fifth which lay frozen in a kneeling position charred white and ashen from being burnt alive. The burning man had only moments earlier been put out by Sergeant Bradman with a fire extinguisher that he had taken from the store. The tyre was still visible around his neck. The other men had either been shot to death or had been beaten so badly with weapons of fist, stone and brick that they had bled out. Death by loss of blood.

  Kangaroo Courts usually delivered a swift, emotionally charged, unbalanced and uniquely African form of justice. It was all over in under 25 minutes. At the moment the armed robbers walked in and attempted to rob a store with only two guns and three knives, an alert licenced gun owner swung into action. The Good Samaritan had placed his gun to the head of one of the robbers which allowed other members of the public to tackle and apprehend him. The other armed robber was responsible for the additional two bodies on the scene – the little girl and the unarmed security guard.

  “Shooting the little girl is what got these men lynched” said Colonel M.D. Elvis of Hotel Papa One.

  “Aandag!” commanded Night. And the Sergeant and the crew of November Whisky 50 stood to full attention and saluted the Colonel.

  Colonel M.D. Elvis was one of the most distinguished officers in the South African Police Force. He was old school Highway Patrol and a man of immense experience. He commanded great respect from all who served under him as the head of the Johannesburg Highway Patrol and from all who knew who he was and what he had achieved as an officer of the law. He was a small man, no more than five foot six. He was lean and strong. Of mixed race, he sported a moustache and a policeman’s short haircut. He had a bullet hole scar on either side of his mouth – from where he had been shot 15 years earlier while on a routine traffic stop on one of Cape Town’s Freeways. The Colonel had operated as a patrolman in all the major cities of South Africa – something no other man had done. Luckily the bullet entered cleanly through one side and exited as efficiently through the other. The suspect who shot the Colonel was polite and seemingly harmless as he sat behind the wheel of his luxury car. The Colonel was about to let the man go free of any ticket or penalty. When the Colonel had lifted his head to tell his crew that all was okay the suspect produced his firearm and shot the Colonel once in the face. He then turned the gun on himself and blew his own brains out. It was such a pity, the Colonel would say, as the car’s interior was ruined -- a brand new Mercedes Benz apparently.

  Night thought that the incident had left a deeper emotional mark on the great Colonel. He hated talking about the incident and was also one of the nicest and most honourable men Night had ever known. Like General Arosi Colonel Elvis wore only field rank insignia, not ceremonial and always underneath his bulletproof vest – not over it like the majority of the pompous officers who performed street duty.

  As always the Colonel returned the salute in the prescribed format of standing to attention himself. Another simple act that earned him further respect. Astonishingly, most officers never returned or even acknowledged the sign of discipline and respect. Night imagined that they must have thought the salutes were a birthright.

  “Sergeant Michael Night, or is that Captain?” said the Colonel with a wry smile.

  Once again Constable Shaka and Stanislov looked at each other with curiosity written on their features.

  “It’s not official yet Colonel so Sergeant will do just fine. Thank you.”

  “Indeed Sergeant. How are you my friend?”

  “I am good thank you Colonel and a damn site better than those poor bastards” he said while pointing to the remains of the slain criminal suspects.

  The wind turned and the foul smell of the burnt flesh reached the nostrils of the chatting police officers. Dlamini immediately turned around and threw up onto the cold cement parking lot floor. Night and the constables all put a hand to their mouths to block the smell. The Colonel was unmoved.

  “Sinuses. Sometimes it comes in handy not being able to smell a damn thing” said the Johannesburg SAPF Highway Patrol Commander.

  “Any arrests Colonel?” asked Night.

  “Yes, a few. We have the mother of the dead girl. She openly admits to killing one of the men – the main issue with her is that she used a stolen Metro peace officer’s weapon to kill the man. We also have a taxi driver who was the main one responsible for the burning and a few others. But I don’t imagine any of the charges will stick. Besides none of the witnesses will give evidence and I doubt the State will want to pursue charges. But we’ll make a few arrests anyway.”

  “Where is your crew Colonel?” asked Stanislov, hoping for a specific answer.

  The Colonel smiled. “Ah, Constable Stanislov. The Russian gunfighter. She is behind you. She was speaking to the store management inquiring as to how they would like to proceed. Apparently they want to stay open and continue business as normal.”

  “Only in Africa hey Colonel.” said Night.

  “T.I.A Mike.”

  Constables Stanislov and Shaka spun on their feet to see Captain Sasha Orlovski walking alongside the supermarket’s building towards them. She strolled slowly and confidently with the grace of a cat. She was tall and slender. An athlete’s body accentuated by the South African Police Force pitch black combat boots, and dark blue trousers and shirt. She never wore a bullet proof vest, claiming it slowed her down, and had full feminine breasts and a slim waist emphasised by the thick combat belt in which she preferred to keep all her equipment. As usual she had an R5 assault rifle by her side carried nonchalantly in her right hand. She was of mixed race. Her father was a Bulgarian national who had immigrated to the country some 45 years earlier. Her mother was an unidentified Nigerian prostitute who had died while giving birth to her. Her skin was a dark velvety black and her hair fine, long and soft, held back in a ponytail while on duty. Her eyes were golden amber with a black outline that gave them a striking resemblance to the eyes of a tiger. She had jagged features, high cheek bones, a slight nose and full luscious African lips. She was quite simply one of the most strikingly beautiful women Michael Night had ever seen. And Night had yet to find a man who disagreed.

  Nickolai Stanislov was besotted with her and they had previously dated. Sasha Orlovski had declined Stanislov’s request to marry him and had broken it off. Nickolai had once declared: “She is a wild creature that can never be tamed by any man. She is strong and blistering and at times the most calculating bitch I have ever known! And I love her for it.”

  Unlike the Colonel she followed the trend of most South African Police Force Commissioned Officers and wore her ceremonial insignia signifying her status as a Captain. The rank emblems shone brightly in silver and with all the elements combined gave her a truly ethereal look.

  Dlamini began to rise to his feet as Sasha glided past him. In truth he wanted to get a better look, but as he stood she stopped him, putting her free hand on his shoulder.

  “Stay down young man. The smell of death by fire will come to you once more and your innocent body will react even more violently th
is time.” She was right. And Night was right, Dlamini thought to himself as the smell of burnt flesh reached his nostrils once more forcing him to his hands and knees to expel the contents of his stomach. Scorched human skin is the worst odour in the world.

  “I see you are still training the young and inexperienced, Captain Night. Shepherding the naïve into a world of death and violence. Congratulations on your promotion. It was due. I know it’s not official yet but well done anyway. From what I know about you it is deserved. Pity it is a mainly administrative role.”

  She turned away from Night without waiting for a response, as Night suspected she would and turned to Constable Shaka.

  “And you my friend look as magnificent as ever. A strong and proud Zulu man. What a man should be in Africa. Built for the kill.” And she pulled the giant officer into an embrace while standing on the tips of her toes –a gesture that made him swell with desire.

  Constable Shaka said nothing. He had never liked Captain Orlovski. He had once told Night: “Women like that are the right hand of the devil.”

  The tiger woman, as Stanislov liked to think of her, finally turned her attention to him. She let her eyes linger on him from head to toe yet she said nothing. The male police officers watched her as if in a trance. Their daze was suddenly broken by the sound of the Captain’s police radio crackling into life.

  “Hotel Papa One, come in for Control” said the channel 23 Controller.

  “Send for Hotel Papa One Control” replied Captain Orlovski.

  “Thanks Hotel Papa One. First can you give me a Zero Eight on the call for backup at the scene of Mob Justice please.”

  “Yes Control. All is in order here now. The local Bravo Lima vehicles are in control of the scene. A Sergeant Bradman of Bramley Police Station is in command here and will organise detectives and everybody else on their channel. There are seven fatalities here Control. Two innocent civilians killed by the suspected robbers, including a little girl and five robbers killed by the angry bystanders. So received.”

  “Five dead criminals. Not bad Hotel Papa One. Pity about the young girl. I have another complaint for you. A PVA outside of the November Whisky station. There is a November Whisky vehicle standing off there now as well as paramedics but the duty officer wants you to have a look because of possibly negligent circumstances involving Norwood members.”

  “PVA outside Norwood Police Station. Possibly negligent circumstances involving November Whisky Police members. So received Control. We are en route.”

  “What?” said Night “I know nothing about a PVA outside of the station.”

  “Perhaps you are not in the loop as you think you are” said the female Captain.

  “Why don’t you come with us Mike. We can find out together what happened” said Colonel Elvis.

  “Roger that Colonel, follow us.” said Night.

  And the six police officers all made their way to their respective police vehicles - November Whisky into their V8 double cab and Hotel Papa One into their BMW M3 – The Colonel as driver. Once inside November Whisky 50 Sergeant Night got on his mobile phone to Lisa. He didn’t want his call to the channel 26 radio Controller to be overheard.

  After a few moments Lisa answered her ringing Nokia.

  “Lis, what’s happening outside of Norwood. I was with Hotel Papa One and apparently there has been a PVA there. Why the hell didn’t you tell me Lis, you know I need to know everything that happens in my area!”

  “Sorry Mike. I didn’t tell you because you weren’t needed and I have just found out myself.”

  “Well which one is it Lis, that I wasn’t needed or that you just found out.”

  “Both Michael and I don’t appreciate your tone. You weren’t needed because it happened outside of the station and members from the Charge Office are on scene as well as the Charge Office complaints vehicle which I have just spoken to. All is in order there.”

  “Well details Lisa I need the details, was a police vehicle involved in the accident?”

  “No Mike, at least I don’t think so. It was a hit and run and the paramedics are working on the victim but when I spoke to the crew of the Charge Office Complaints vehicle it doesn’t sound good. He doesn’t think the victim will make it.”

  “Well Lis, something is up as the Duty Officer has asked Hotel Papa One to have a look as there is and I quote ‘a possibility of police negligence.’”

  “Okay Mike, I will see what I can find out and will call you back… and stay away from that Captain Sasha Mike. She’s bad news!” said Lisa van der Westhuizen.

  Night ended the call.

  “Make sure you get us there first Zulu.”

  “Will somebody please tell me what a bloody well PVA is and who the hell that beautiful Captain is and where she is from!” asked Student Constable Dlamini.

  “A PVA is a Pedestrian Vehicle Accident Dlamini. And as you would imagine it involves a vehicle and a person. In this case it is a hit and run. And if you want to know about Captain Sasha Orlovski ask Stanislov” said Night with a twinkle in his eye.

  The student looked across at the Russian sitting next to him and opened his hands. “Who is she boss? She’s amazing. I would love to make her mine! Do you think she would? I think she would if I just use my young Shona charms on her. Hmm yummy I would…”

  “Not another word boy! Besides she would devour you, swallow you whole and spit you back out like a used chewing gum.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Just under 15 minutes later and Sergeant Night and Colonel Elvis were standing behind a Johannesburg EMS paramedic who was performing cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) on a dying man who lay in the middle of the road outside of the Norwood Police Station. The police vehicles, including the November Whisky complaints vehicle, parked on one side of working medics and the victim, the ambulance on the other side. A young Constable from the station’s Charge Office was directing traffic around the scene on the narrow street. Passers-by were rubbernecking and creating a drip feed effect of traffic moving past the scene of the accident. In most countries the entire street would have been cordoned off and traffic shut down. Not in Africa though. Not for one victim in a country that suffers 50 murders a day. Life must go on – as uninterrupted as possible and it was part of the South African Police Force’s job to make crime and accidents have as slight an impact on the general population as possible. So what good would shutting down the entire road do?

  Night looked across to the main entrance to the police station and saw the shift Charge Office Commander standing there, hands in her pockets. Night moved across to speak to her. While walking from the road towards the Warrant Officer Night observed Captain Orlovski sitting in the passenger seat of Hotel Papa One talking on her cellular phone. Night noted that she tracked his walk with a thoughtful expression on her face. Night sensed she was talking about him.

  “Hello Amanda” said Night.

  “Hi Mike” said the Warrant Officer, her voice weary.

  “What happened here?”

  “Ay Mike you know these stupid people they come to the police station for everything man!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That guy, that bloody guy there, dying in the street, he came to us to die here and now it’s my problem. Eish!” she said clicking her tongue in disapproval at the dying man. “That guy Mike he came to the station about an hour ago and said that he had been robbed and stabbed in the head. So he came here. He first spoke to my Constables and was angry and swearing at them so they refused to help him. So then I came to help the guy you know I could understand that he had been hurt and was angry. But then he started to swear and shout at me calling me a black bitch and all that shit so I told him to shut up and sit and wait for an ambulance.”

  Night thought it was fascinating that the man should call the policewoman a black bitch when he himself was black. But it didn’t surprise him. He was used to the colour of one’s skin being the protagonist in most situations involving the police. Sou
th Africans it seems were obsessed by colour.

  “So what happened, how did that… happen?” said Night while discreetly pointing to the accident scene.

  “The bloody guy didn’t wait. I left him and told him nicely to sit and wait in the Charge Office while I called an ambulance for him… but when I was on the phone I heard an accident and looked out of the office window and saw that he had been hit by a car.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  “Why are Hotel Papa here Mike, who called them?”

  “It was channel 23. They just asked them to have a look. Just go inside and make an OB entry about what happened. But first go into the Station Commissioner’s office and tell her everything that happened. And write the OB entry with her.”

  “Am I in trouble Mike?”

  “No I don’t think so. The man was irrational and short of physically restraining him there’s not much you could have done.”

  “And you know Mike, that man walked here from where he was robbed in Sydenham. It would have been better for him to walk to Linksfield Hospital and much closer. But no, they always come here first!” said the tubby Warrant Officer while walking into the police station.

  Night turned to go back to the accident scene. A low whistle came from the Highway Patrol vehicle and Night looked to see the Highway Patrol Captain beckoning him over with a curl of one of her slender index fingers. While accepting the invitation to talk to the mysterious Captain and while walking over to join her, Night thought about the current circumstance.

  The victim of crime had opted to walk almost double the distance to a police station after being mortally wounded rather than go to a hospital. This, Night had come to learn, was not uncommon and it taught him a very valuable lesson about human beings. In many cases victims of violent crime were more immediately concerned about obtaining justice than seeking out medical treatment even if the injuries sustained were very seriously life threatening.