Night In London (Night Series Book 2)

by Casey Christie

  Dozens of people walked along the pavements either side and crossed the road at the busy four way intersections while street merchants sold their wares, anything from sweets and loose cigarettes to mealies, beers and boerewors.

  Some people stopped and had their haircut under a makeshift canopy while others just stood and loitered, unemployed with nothing else to do.

  “November Whisky Fifty! Come. In. For. Control!?”

  Night, Shaka and Kalahari laughed. This controller was obviously new and hadn’t quite figured out the way things actually worked on the streets. The truth was that a good controller found horses for courses and would always try to avoid conflict with his or her vehicles, even if by regulation they could ‘force’ vehicles into taking complaints, it wasn’t unheard of for some controllers having to be reassigned after being totally ignored by vehicles on their channel. Night and his crew would avoid Bravo complaints like the plague, but would respond instantly to the more dangerous Alpha calls and as this new controller would certainly find out the majority of the vehicles booking on air for duty were the exact opposite.

  “Hey, guys, lets take it, it might be some action, hey!” said Dlamini.

  “Hey wena (you), shut up, back there, we will tell you when you must move that mouth of yours and make silly suggestions” said Shaka.

  Night picked up the mic and keyed it: “Send for November Whisky Fifty, Control.”

  “Thank you, Cappy. It’s getting boring in here” said Dlamini.

  “November Whisky Fifty, I have a recently deceased person, an elderly gentlemen, gone from natural causes, that needs to be taken care of, stand by for the address, copy that?”

  “Ah, shit, boss, we’ll be there for hours!” exclaimed Dlamini.

  “At this time of the morning, with only two mortuary vans serving the whole of Johannesburg, cleaning up from the night before, we’ll be there for the entire day, until the end of shift!” said Night to the student.

  “Control, this is Captain Night, please give me permission with November Whisky Ten?”

  “I will after you take my complaint, Captain!”

  “Listen, young man, we are not a vehicle you want to lose for the entire day to a Bravo complaint, something we can all do absolutely nothing about. I have a bloody Task Force Member in my vehicle, on duty, and ready to serve the more high risk calls. For God’s sake! Now give me permission with November Whisky Ten so that I may ask them to attend your complaint. So received?”

  There was a pregnant pause for a few moments and then finally..

  “Received, I didn’t know you had a Task Force member with you, Captain. Go ahead with your permission.”

  “Thank you, Control. November Whisky Ten, come for me?”

  “Send Cappy.”

  “Did you hear all of that about the Bravo?”

  “Ja, Cappy. I was going to take it but I wanted to see how far the new guy would push you, boss.”

  “Ha. Ha. Funny guy. But thank you, later on if you need us to bring you some food just let me know, my student has volunteered to buy you and your crew lunch today. And once you’re on scene just give me a call on my mobile and give me a quick SIT-REP (Situation Report - Update).”

  “Wonderful, thank you, Captain and I will do.”

  “My pleasure constable Jacobs. Control, did you copy that? Send your Bravo to November Whisky Ten.”

  “Yes, I copied that. Thank you, Captain. November Whisky Ten come in for Control..”

  The controller then gave the full complaint details including the address to November Whisky Ten.

  “Does Jacobs like dead people, Cappy?” asked Dlamini.

  “No, well I don’t think he does. But he’s the oldest constable we have on our strength and so he likes the paperwork and doing as little physical work as possible.”

  “That’s really, really strange. Who likes paperwork?”

  “As much as I agree with you about paperwork I am glad that we have him. Now, Zulu, my brother, as much I know you will object, I think it’s time we had some breakfast!”

  45 minutes later and after filling their stomachs November Whisky Fifty was on the road again. Thankfully they didn’t have to abandon their breakfast and rush off to any urgent, in progress, calls. Night received the promised SIT-REP from November Whisky Ten and was told that a man in his early nineties had passed away peacefully overnight due to suspected heart failure. He was alone, his wife had passed a year earlier and the neighbour who checked up on him each morning found him dead in his bed. He had no known family. Night knew that the man’s passing would probably go completely unnoticed, apart from the kindly neighbour. And he felt a pang of guilt for not responding to the call himself. He made a mental note to say a prayer for the man when they visited the scene later with some food for the crew of November Whisky Ten.

  The vehicle’s radio burst into life: “Any November Whisky Vehicle for a 41 Alpha in Highlands North, come in for control.”

  Night picked up the radio and responded instantly: “Send for November Whisky Fifty, Control.”

  “Thank you, November Whisky Fifty. The address is 3 8th Avenue in Highlands North. The owner of the property says that someone is breaking into her home through the gate, so received?”

  “Copy that, Control, 3 8TH Avenue, Highlands North, 41 Alpha. We’re close control and will break in about three mikes.”

  “Copy that, thank you, please let me know when you break.”

  “Will do, Control.”

  “Control, November Whisky 18 also en route.”

  “Copy that, November Whisky 18.”

  Night lowered the sound on the radio and looked at Shaka and gave a him a wink and a nod. Shaka smiled back.

  Night turned the dial to activate the siren, or did he.

  “Shit, Zulu. Looks like the lights and sirens have blown again!”

  “Oh no, Mike, what are we going to do?”

  Night turned around in his seat and considered his student.

  “Looks like it’s up to you, Dlamini!”

  Wide eyed Steven Dlamini responded: “What is, Cappy?”

  “We need you to clear the way, our siren system is broken again.. hey, did you break Shaka’s blue light system?”

  “No way, boss. It was working when Juhu put it on, I was even angry that he used it!”

  “Well, it’s broken now!”

  “What are you two talking about?” said a confused looking Shaka.

  “It wasn’t me boss, I swear.”

  “There’s nothing else for it then, be our siren, Dlamini!” said Night.

  “Yeah, boy, you can do it, I believe in you” said Kalahari sitting next to him.

  The student now straightened his back at the praise from the STF member.

  “No way, he can’t do it, he’s too skinny to be a proper siren” said Shaka.

  “Yes I can, just watch me, you big bloody fig tree!” replied Dlamini now also relieved that the large Sergeant had seemingly missed the fact that he was the one responsible for taking The Beast’s keys.

  The young student then hesitated and looked at his commander: “How, Cappy?”

  Struggling to keep a straight face Night instructed his young charge: “Just stick your head out the window and make the sound of a siren.”

  Dlamini scratched his head for a moment and then rolled down his window. After a moments more thought he began at the top of his lungs:

  “WEE WOOO…. WEE WOOO…. WEE WOOO… WEE WOOO.”

  It was all the veteran officers could take and they, as one, burst into raucous laughter.

  Dlamini, oblivious to the sound of laughter coming from inside the vehicle continued being the best and most effective police siren he could be until eventually he felt a hand grip him by his thick police belt and pull him back into the vehicle.

  “Well done, boy. That was one of the best police siren impersonations I have ever heard from a shark” said a grinning Warrant Officer.

  “Thank you, Warrant!”
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  “Alright boys, enough fun. Let’s get serious here. We’re about a couple of minutes out” said Night as he cycled his shotgun.

  Kalahari followed suit and made his R1 assault rifle ready by simply switching the dial from S for Safety to R for Repeat – he had one more option on the weapon, A for Automatic, Fully Automatic or as known by members of the Force A stood for ‘Aksie’, Afrikaans for Action, but a house-breaking in progress didn’t necessarily call for Fully Automatic capabilities.

  Steven Dlamini took his weapon out of his side holster and he was right to feel that all eyes were on him – Night and Shaka via the rear view mirror from the front and Kalahari from beside him. How he handled his weapon in the close quarters of the vehicle would tell a great deal about his future as a South African Police Officer.

  Dlamini kept the muzzle of the weapon aimed towards the floor of the vehicle and gripped the edge of the slide from the rear with his left hand’s thumb and forefinger and pulled it back to cycle the weapon, effectively chambering a round. He then used the thumb of his right hand to safely bring the hammer of the weapon forward via the safety catch and once the hammer was down once more removed the safety, the weapon was now hot and could be fired by simply squeezing the trigger, in double action mode now that the hammer was in a forward position, but safer considering that they were still in a moving vehicle with no enemy in contact. He then kept his weapon between his legs, always pointing towards the floor, at the low ready.

  All three veteran officers were pleased to see that despite the young man’s naivety he certainly seemed to be able to handle a weapon properly. Night quietly breathed a sigh of relief, as after all, he was the man sitting in front of the rookie.

  Night was pleased that Dlamini was sticking to Standing Orders and was not walking around on duty with ‘one-up’ (a round already in the chamber). For the time being that was fine. In the future though, when the young constable had more street experience under his belt, he would have to correct that. Night, Shaka and Kalahari all carried one-up. Too many empirical experiences before hand had taught them all that in a real life contact situation there simply wasn’t enough time and sometimes space to cock a weapon.

  “Good to see that you seem to know how to handle your sidearm, Steven” said the Warrant Officer.

  “Thanks, Senior General. She is my baby and I practice with her every day in my room.”

  Night smiled to himself at Dlamini’s words – he used to do the same thing with the first firearm he ever owned. He was just 19 years old.

  The Beast turned the final corner leading November Whisky Fifty into 8th Avenue, Highlands North.

  “Top or bottom, Mike?” asked Sergeant Shaka.

  “Bottom, the house numbers this side are large. Stop before the final block and Steven and I will walk the rest of the way and approach tactically on foot then take the vehicle and circle round approaching from the opposite side of the road.”

  “Copy that.”

  Moments later and The Beast stopped just long enough for Night and Dlamini to debus and start walking the rest of the way on foot. Shaka turned the vehicle right into the next street and would then make three more lefts to approach the house from the opposite side. Night noted that the Special Task Force member had now moved to Dlamini’s side of the vehicle and was leaning out of the vehicle with his R1 at the low ready. Sending the Sergeant and the Warrant Officer in case the suspects had already gained entry and were now fleeing the property from the other side of the house or to look for any get away vehicle stationed there.

  Night moved quietly but quickly down the opposite side of the road where the odd numbers were located while reading the numbers of the houses on his side as he did, 16… 14… 12.. 10.. 8.. 6…

  Night keyed his shoulder mic “Control, November Whisky Fifty, Break 41 Alpha.”

  “Copy that, thank you, November Whisky Fifty.”

  Night then walked a few more paces and raised his weapon, delighted to see Dlamini do the same from the opposite side of the street also some twelve feet from the suspect now in their sights. The boy had a good mind for street tactics.

  “POLICE! DON’T MOVE…. HANDS, LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS!” Commanded Night.

  The man, shoeless and wearing a pair of faded old jeans and just a dirty white vest staggered away from the gate, that he was ostensibly trying to pry open, and turned to view the source of the interruption. Night immediately noticed his blood shot eyes and the stink of alcohol on his breath.

  “What.. who, oh, fuck you, white man, stupid umlungu, why should I… listen to you, eh!?”

  “Don’t listen to me, my friend, listen to my black friend here instead, my pump action, eh?”

  The man squinted his eyes and they seemed to focus in on the weapon in the hands of a …

  “You’re a policeman!? Why didn’t you say… so.. boss?” said the man while slightly swaying from side to side.

  Night had seen enough. The man wasn’t an immediate threat and nowhere on his body’s profile could he see any opportunity to conceal a weapon. That didn’t mean the man was unarmed or not a threat-to-be but he definitely was not a housebreaker or an armed robber, not at the moment, anyway. Probably the boyfriend or lover of the house’s maid Night thought. Night lowered his shotgun and approached the man.

  “Hey bubba, you’ve been drinking, hey?”

  “Ja, bass, too much!” the man then fell to the floor, his arms hanging off his knees.

  From the corner of his eye Night was pleased to see that his young trainee had not once taken his eyes or weapon off of the supposedly drunk man. It was a common tactic for criminals to pretend to be drunk. But if this guy was acting he deserved to be in Hollywood. It would have been a command performance.

  Seconds later and screeching tires marked the arrival of The Beast and Sergeant Shaka and Warrant Officer Kalahari appeared in November Whisky Fifty, shortly followed by the arrival of November Whisky 18. Shaka parked his vehicle and November Whisky 18 stopped just long enough to be briefed by Captain Night that this wasn’t a housebreaking.

  “Dlamini?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Come and interview this man for me and find out what he is doing here.”

  “Copy that, Captain but who’s going to cover me, us?”

  Night smiled. This kid was a serious operator. Or perhaps he thought his Field Training Officer was trying to catch him out making some stupid and potentially dangerous tactical blunder.

  “Don’t worry son, I’ve got you covered” said Kalahari while he tapped his assault rifle which hung at the low ready off of his tactical bungee cord over his chest.

  Dlamini holstered his weapon and began talking to the inebriated man.

  Night was happy with the way the student interviewed the man, he was respectful but maintained an air of authority. It didn’t take long to establish that the man was in fact the live-in gardener for the property but had been robbed the previous evening of all his possessions, including his shoes, sweater and house keys, while leaving a shebeen in Alexandra. He had to walk home as he didn’t have enough money for a taxi but before he got home he met one of his friends who lived and worked a couple of blocks away and had continued drinking. He wasn’t interested in opening a case with the police for the robbery but said he knew the men who had robbed him and would settle the score in his own time.

  Night pressed the buzzer and asked Shaka to sound the siren and switch on the blue lights to let the owner of the property know that the police were there.

  Dlamini noticed this.

  “Hey! So the blue lights and siren do work?!”

  “Must be magic, hey!” said Shaka with a smile.

  The woman eventually came to the gate many minutes later after Night had called the radio controller and had asked him to call the complainant and confirm for her that the police were indeed outside her property.

  She was a nervous wreck. Night could actually see her shaking as she opened the gate. She explained that
she lived alone in the large property, after her husband had died and her children had emigrated to Australia. Her home had been broken into four times over the last two years and that the man, Polite, was her loyal gardener and had been with her family for over 15 years. She didn’t think that it was him as he had keys and wouldn’t need to try and force the lock.

  Dlamini asked the obvious question of “Why didn’t you just call out and ask who was there?” but Night knew the answer before she spoke. She was terrified and thought that if whoever was trying to break in knew that she was there she would have been raped and probably murdered, like her neighbour was one year previously. She did however say that she tried to call Polite’s mobile phone before calling the police, to ask him to check who was at the gate, as he also acted as her security guard, as she thought he was still on the property but that his phone was off. Night told her that Polite said he had been robbed and advised her to bring him to Norwood Police station when he was sober so that he could open a case of robbery.

  Shaka then singlehandedly picked up Polite, who had now fallen into a drunken stupor, and carried him through to the back of the property and placed him onto his bed within his small quarters to sleep off the booze. The police left with many thanks and offers of tea and biscuits from the kind, frightened old lady, all had refused, except Shaka, who had wolfed down a half dozen of the offered Tennis Biscuits. The woman seemed pleased that the giant policeman enjoyed her treats.