Free Gallows Hill by Margie Orford Page A

him and Rita leave. Then she opened her bag and found her bottle of Rescue Remedy.
    ‘You want me to tooth-comb this lot?’ asked Rita,her haul of papers clutched under her arm as they walked back to the car.
    ‘Everything,’ said Riedwaan, getting into the hot car. ‘Crosscheck, double check, match it with the other stuff you have. I’ll work on it with you.’
    ‘I like seeing you do paper work,’ smiled Rita. ‘Really brings out the best in you.’
    ‘Lifestyle audits,’ said Riedwaan. ‘It can really make a man happy, seeing howgood people are at spending my taxes.’
    ‘They’ll just tell you that you’re lucky to have a job that earns you enough to pay tax,’ said Rita, easing the vehicle into the traffic.
    ‘Fuck them,’ said Riedwaan.
    ‘If we check out the paperwork,’ said Rita. ‘Maybe we can. Fuck them, I mean. I need something to eat.’
    ’Ja, I’m hungry too,’ he said.
    ‘What do you want?’ she asked.
    ‘Whatever you’re having,’ he said. ‘Order me one.’
    Rita stopped outside a café in Sea Street and got out. Riedwaan checked his voicemail.
    ‘Samoosas,’ said Rita, returning with a bulging bag of takeways in her hand. ‘They can make anything right, neat little triangles of heaven. Here.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Riedwaan, biting into one. ‘Clare wants to know when that warehouse floor was thrown.’

    ‘That’ll be in the files we got from the Council,’ said Rita. ‘You seeing her later?’
    ‘Is that a personal question, Mkhize?’
    ‘Get over yourself,’ said Rita. ‘Everybody knows.’
    ‘Knows what?’
    Rita rolled her eyes.
    ‘Okay,’ said Riedwaan. ‘I am. Later. First we’ve got to get through the paper work. Then I’ve got another plan.’
    ‘Plan for what?’ asked Rita.
    ‘A bit of dogtraining.’
    It was well past 9.30 pm when Riedwaan left Rita with her rows of documents. It was time to find Hond Williams. Riedwaan drew a blank at the first three hotels he tried. He was in luck at the One and Only. The black Hummer was in the parking lot, and for 50 bucks the doorman sold him the fact that Williams was on his cell phone, pushing sushi around his plate at Haiku. The waitresstold Riedwaan for free that Williams was a cunt. But it cost him another 50 to hear from her that Williams had mentioned Nefertiti’s. The perfect venue for a consultation with a lawyer.
    Riedwaan headed for the strip club. The night air was stale, the homeless boys were unrolling their bedding in the doorways on Darling Street. There was no sign yet of the Hummer, nor of the Jaguar that hehad seen in Malan’s parking bay in Keerom Street at midday. The new strip club was close enough to Parliament to have survived the recession. Riedwaan Faizal took his time at the entrance. He was the only member of his unit who didn’t get clocked as a cop at the door. But he was not convinced that this was a character reference. Rich scum, poor scum – he blended as easily with one lot as with theother.
    The interior was air-conditioned to an arctic temperature. Even so, it was a relief from the heat. And it had the added benefit of keeping the waitresses’ nipples perky. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The decorator’s brief must have been ‘gentlemen’s club’. Red leather sofas, with gleaming brass studs. Wine-red carpet, plush curtains. Gold tiebacks. Potted palms. A goldVenus in a clamshell. A lot of stuff that would get in the way of a good bar fight.
    There was a kitchen off to the right. The sushi adverts were not enough to quell the smell of burgers and chips.
    Two exits.
    One past the toilets. One behind the bar. For the staff.
    The bar ran the length of the room.
    Riedwaan ordered a Jameson’s and retreated to the arse-end of the bar.
    The place was filling up. Two cabinet ministers he recognised from the newspapers, neither of whom featured because of well-run ministries. There was a smattering of fat MPs. Most of them from Jo’burg, waiting for