“No, I’m not.”
“Well, you will be, once you’ve spent enough time in the ‘new London’ as I like to call it, you’ll hate them. Just prepare yourself and keep your eyes down. Let’s go.”
Night never did much like constable Freddie Le Roux and found his dismissal from the service to be fair and just. Freddie just wasn’t police material and often looked for petty bribes and drank while on duty but was always jovial enough so was often forgiven for his flaws. But now Night had the distinct feeling he was going to find the man odious.
It was then a relief to find that apparently talking to your travelling companion while on the Underground was not the done thing, so much so, that besides telling Night when to get off and on a train to change for another, Night’s guide seemed to actually make a point to studiously ignore him. The journey was a lot longer than Night had anticipated – both in actual time travelled and in how long the 90 minute Underground voyage felt. It seemed to Night, more used to travelling in his own vehicle, often distances of 700KM or more in about six hours, to take an eternity. And for the first seven or so stops on the Piccadilly line the words ‘Mind The Gap’ firmly imprinted themselves onto his mind. Then the closer the journey got to central London the overwhelming aspect of this particular form of travel was just how overcrowded it was.
Night was also engrossed by just how multicultural London had become. In Night’s youth he had travelled to his mother’s place of birth many times with his family but his memories seemed at odds with what he was seeing and experiencing now.
Night heard many languages and accents from all over the world but perhaps most surprisingly to him the language and accent he heard least of was British- accented English.
Other than Night’s people-watching activities which for the most part he found peculiarly easy to do as it seemed that one of the unwritten rules of riding the London underground was: No matter what and at all costs make sure that you do not look at anyone else on the train and to do this effectively one must: A) Read a book, printed or digital. B) Listen to music with headphones. C) Both A and B simultaneously. D) Play a pointless game on your smartphone. Or finally E) Read the newspaper, and if you’re a veteran Londoner then you will be reading a free newspaper.
Night found the bus journey from Seven Sisters station to Stamford Hill to be slower than the Underground but more enjoyable and gentler, the way Night remembered London from his youth. Although he couldn’t help but notice that he and Freddie were the only ‘white skinned’ people on the packed bus. Night had insisted on taking a seat on the top floor of the double decker so that he could enjoy the view and was somewhat disappointed to find that their journey was as short as it was.
Some minutes later and Freddie led Night down Upper Clapton road and to the door of the building where the South African expat rented a bedsit. Freddie directed Night through a shared corridor and up a steep flight of stairs before unlocking his door, first via a small padlock that then revealed a more orthodox keyhole that opened the door itself. After sometime and much fiddling the two men entered Freddie Le Roux’s little world and Night turned on his heels to take it all in. It was dark with a single window covered completely by a blanket that Freddie hung over it ‘to keep the light out as I often work nights and sleep days’.
In one corner of the room was Freddie’s washing line which was littered with his drying clothes next to which stood an ironing board and a couple of wash buckets. In the opposite corner there was an old sink with some dirty dishes in and next to it. Further along the room running along the side of it Night noticed a hot plate and a filthy microwave. A large double bed filled most of what was left of the room with a fat TV and a large and torn faux leather reclining chair taking up any remaining space.
“This is it Mike, my castle. You can have my bed tonight, I’ll sleep on the floor, unless of course you want to share, it’s big enough?”
“I would never dream of putting you out of your bed, Freddie. I’ll happily sleep on the floor, probably better for my back anyway.”
“Suit yourself!”
“I do have a question though, Freddie?”
“Ja, ask away boet?”
“Where do you shower and attend to nature’s call?”
“Ah, follow me, my old mate.”
Freddie led Night out of the bedroom door and back down the steep set of stairs and to the end of the entrance corridor which seemed to get darker the further down the pair walked until eventually they came to a bruised old wooden access. Freddie knocked on it and after waiting an appropriate amount of time without getting any response he opened the door and stepped forward with Night following close behind him.
The two men stood rooted to the spot as they witnessed two people having sex. A women, who seemed in Night’s estimation to be dressed as a professional, was expertly straddling a large man sitting on the toilet. The man was completely naked and the woman’s skirt was wrapped up around her waist allowing easy access to the man’s massive member, it took only a moment for the male to notice the two intruders watching them. Without a word the gentleman effortlessly raised the women off of himself and put her down without breaking a sweat. The woman saw Night and Le Roux and ostensibly not bothered by the new arrivals sat on the toilet in the man’s place and crossed her legs and began to examine her nails.
“Extra for your friends but I do two for one deal, they look sweet.”
The man, who Night judged to easily stand at six foot three, walked over to a still motionless Le Roux and put a heavily muscled hand on his shoulder.
“Freddie, my little fat brudda, you want to fuck the girl with me, you share cost?”
“Ah, no, thank you, Mamadoo, I was just showing my friend here the toilet and shower that we all share, we’ll be going now.”
And without a backwards glance Freddie Le Roux actually pushed his way past his guest, ran down the hallway and climbed the stairs two at a time. Mamadoo flashed Night a bright smile before the police Captain managed to turn and follow his host.
The two men now stood, safely, back in Le Roux’s ‘Castle’ and the master of the bastion doubled over onto his knees taking in deep breaths before finally asking his guest.
“Would you like a drink?”
Night couldn’t help himself but smile as he replied.
“After actually seeing a man with three legs in the flesh? Yes, I think I deserve a drink!”
Freddie Le Roux searched one of his messy cupboards and produced a small and cheap, quarter full, bottle of whisky and took a large swig directly from it before offering his guest the bottle and its remaining liquid.
Night hesitated in taking the bottle just long enough for Le Roux to notice so he quickly withdrew the offer of the alcohol and drained the rest of it. He then let out a long, contented breath and then a large belch signifying his satisfaction.
“Shit, I needed that after such a long journey. We need to go and get a few things anyway, put your gear down and follow me, there’s a 24 hour off license just down the road.”
“Will my stuff be safe here, Freddie?”
Le Roux looked at Night clearly thinking about the best way to answer his guest’s question and after some thought answered the simple query with a much lengthier explanation than was called for.
“Well it’s not as dangerous as South Africa but it’s not really safe either, here I mean, in London, well East London mostly, though where your hotel is, is East London but it’s pretty good, they’ve put a lot of money into it, but particularly here in Upper Clapton…”
Le Roux sat on the edge of his bed and gestured to Night to take a seat on the arm of the only chair in the room. Apparently this explanation was going to take long enough to require a seat. Night declined Le Roux’s offer to sit and stayed on his feet as his thoughts quickly turned towards booking himself into his hotel, even if he was a day early.
Le Roux pressed on regardless.
“We’re in Hackney, right, it’s dirt cheap and it s
uits my needs of going unnoticed, but it’s bloody dangerous, well in European terms, not African terms although Upper Clapton road is known as ‘murder mile’, so take from that what you will but in our South African footings it’s manageable. With most of the residents not being from England. And we have a lot of Hassidic Jews living here – but they’re all right, they invested heavily in the area and turn their homes into mini-palaces. But, is your stuff safe? Well I’m sure you’ve noticed the locks, so no, it’s not really but I don’t suppose you have any really expensive kit in there do you, laptops, smartphones, that sort of thing?”
Night shook his head, accumulating materialistic possessions had never been important to him.
“Good, so just keep your cash and passports on you, and while we’re here take out about fifty quid in smaller notes, tens and fives if you have. Taking out that wad again in public as you did at the airport and we’ll be having the locals at our throats with knives.”
Freddie waited as Night did as he was asked and separated his money into more manageable bundles.
“Your accent has changed, much more English now, Freddie?”
“Yes, well I’ve had my medicine now haven’t I? And that’s another thing you’ll learn soon enough, ‘Londoners’, as they all like to call themselves, don’t like South Africans, so if they hear your accent they’ll look down on you as some racist arsehole and treat you like rubbish.”
Night laughed at the irony of Freddie’s latest revelation.
“They will think I’m racist and treat me badly based solely on my accent?”
Without a hint of understanding Night’s reflection Freddie continued.
“And because you’re white! Of course. So it will serve you well to clean up your accent. Trouble is I seem to slip into my old accent when I’m around other Saffas. And when I’m thinking about the old days, like I did on my way to fetch you from the airport. Thankfully though you don’t have such a strong one. Probably because you’re a rooinek, hey my English buddy, Michael Night!”
Night laughed so heartily he actually surprised himself. It took him a few moments to regain his composure.
“Do these ‘Londoners’ know how much the Afrikaners and the black people of South Africa dislike them and see them as the colonial evil that destroyed their beautiful country!?”
It was Le Roux’s chance to laugh.
“Not a clue! They still think that Winnie Mandela is saintly and that the ruling ANC love the English for all they did in the fight against apartheid. They seem to acknowledge nothing about Rhodes etc. But don’t worry about that, as you will see, London isn’t like the rest of England. In fact Mike, it’s like another bloody planet!”
Night looked around the room once more and then glanced at his wrist watch.
“I know what you’re thinking, Mike, and it’s not worth trying to get to your comfy hotel now, it’s too late. Besides we still need to discuss how you’re going to kill that English bastard. Don’t we?”
Without waiting for an answer Freddie Le Roux got to his feet, opened the door and beckoned for Night to go first.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Hours later and Night was glad he had decided to stay. Le Roux turned out to be a wealth of information, not only about London and England, which Le Roux repeatedly insisted were two very different ‘planets’ but about Major Mann. And unlike most drunks Night knew and he knew a lot of them from the South African Police Force ranks, Le Roux became more erudite and polite the more he drank. But if there was a similarity between Le Roux’s alcoholism and that of the majority of alcoholics Night knew, it was that the more he drank the more he let his mask slip and Night was starting to see that there was a lot more to the man than a sad, fat and poor driver living in a one bedroom ghetto.
Le Roux took another sip of his can of Stella beer or ‘Wife Beater’ as it was apparently known in London, before taking another biscuit from his packet of dark chocolate digestives.
Night now perfectly understood where the man’s weight problem came from – apparently surviving on a diet of beer and biscuits.
“So you’re sure you’re going to do this thing, Michael? Because, and I hope you don’t take offence to what I’m about to say, actually it’s a compliment really, but you’re not exactly the normal kind of operator that Arosi would have do a job like this?”
“Why?”
“Why? Well, there are so many reasons, Mike. First of all you’re a serving member of the police and a Captain at that! Secondly you’re engaged. And that’s usually an absolute no-no from the General’s point of view, as I remember. And well, you’re not as reckless as most of the trigger men in the game these days.”
“I’m not engaged anymore.”
“Ah, well that explains that, good for you!” Le Roux smiled happily to himself at the news before realising that Night was now glaring at him. “Obviously it wasn’t your choice?”
“You could say that.”
“Well, I would tell you that I am sorry, but I’m not. A man does better in this world without a woman always holding him back, just look at me!”
Night made a show of looking around the depressing room the two men were now sitting in and raised an eyebrow at Le Roux’s bold statement before downing his fifth Budweiser.
“Ah, you think this shithole is all I’ve got eh… well, wouldn’t you like to know!” Le Roux tapped the side of his large nose expressively.
Night reached into Le Roux’s fridge, the only thing that seemed to be new, clean and in perfect working order in the bedsit and took out his final bud from his six-pack.
“This will be my last for the evening, Freddie, I want to get an early start tomorrow and get to my hotel.”
“What? I’m just getting started, anyway, suit yourself, I will come after lunch then and join you once you’ve settled in, if you don’t mind? We’ll need to get some op-prep done.”
“You’re not just a driver, are you, Freddie? What is your part in this ‘game’ exactly, as you refer to it?”
Freddie tapped the side of his nose once more.
“Information, Michael James Night. Information! Or as it’s more commonly referred to in this game, Intelligence.”
At that moment Night saw something in Le Roux’s eyes - the man was incredibly cunning, intelligent and insightful. There was also a deep humanity about the man coupled with something very sinister. Night suddenly realised why General Arosi kept the man.
“So, Michael, will you kill this Lord of War that has been directing this hunt for you and your friends, all in the name of some paper and some gold? This man that has even turned your former comrade and commander against you, will you kill him?”
Night suddenly felt uncomfortable as Le Roux’s question seemed to drill into Night’s soul as though the man knew that Night didn’t want to be here and that Night didn’t want to do this thing. That Night secretly wished this Mann would just go away and that this problem would just solve itself or be solved by someone else. Night drained his final beer in one long slug.
‘I haven’t decided yet, Freddie. Like I told the General, I will come here and assess the situation and make my decision once I have all the relevant facts. Besides I might even be able to talk some sense into this man. I’m not an assassin after all. Now, good night, Freddie and don’t worry about seeing me out in the morning, I have your directions to the hotel and I’m sure I’ll be able to make my own way.”
Night climbed into the sleeping bag that Le Roux had provided for him and closed his eyes hoping that his exhaustion from flying combined with the alcohol would claim him from the world of the conscious soon enough.
But the image of Le Roux smiling, knowingly, back at him stalled his slumber.
“Sleep well, Michael.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Crowne Plaza Hotel, Royal Victoria Docks, Docklands, London.
Having had a surprisingly refreshing good night’s sleep in his bag, Night opened the curtains of the window of his hot
el room and looked out at the water in front of him, first taking in the impressive sight of the boats and people on them and then looking across at the Emirates Cable Cars as they seemed to float into the air and then back down again into North Greenwich. He took a moment to appreciate the spectacle of humans going about their business in peace and without the threat of immediate violence being visited upon them and then reflected on his journey from Hackney to the Crowne Plaza earlier that morning. Besides the number of hooded youths and thugs he had passed while in Upper Clapton it had been uneventful and Night had particularly enjoyed walking, the simple act of walking without fear – something he now realised he and his fellow countrymen couldn’t do in South Africa, black or white, without the very realistic fear of being robbed, raped or murdered.
He pulled the chair out of its desk and placed the writing pad and pen, that he had just purchased from the convenience store downstairs, on top of the desk’s working space and made himself comfortable as he prepared to write the letter to the person he loved most in the world, that had been on his mind since the moment he left African soil.
Dear Lisa,
I write this letter to you while being thousands of miles away from you and that is perhaps one of the reasons why my heart feels as painful as it now does. I miss you and while I do not enjoy this feeling it at least has clarified to me just how much I love you and hate being away from you.
I realise this may just come across as me being the lonely traveller in a strange city but I’ve been putting a lot of thought into us for a while now and everything, both mental and emotional, tells me that we can and should be together. Having said that I am well aware of my shortcomings and how I have, unintentionally, always put our relationship second, after my work as a policemen and bodyguard. Now though, if you will have me back, that will all change.
I am finally in a position to offer you a house, a place that we will be able to call home, a place even big enough for Wamba! I’ll not have to come and impose myself on your parents anymore. Imagine that, and about time too.
Night In London (Night Series Book 2) Page 28