Free Daddy Long Legs by Vernon W. Baumann

You! You! You! You are the super detective, né ?’ She held him at arm’s length to admire him.
    Wayne Human smiled fondly at Lerato. ‘Really, you do have a sense of the dramatic, don’t you?’
    ‘ Eish , broer, (brother)’ Jali said, ‘even the papers are calling you Sherlock Holmes now.’ A beefy white detective with a walrus moustache edged past the group with a hint of irritation. ‘So, broer , some of the guys are meeting at the Horse and Keg later tonight. You gonna make a turn?’
    ‘Oh, Wayne, you must, you must.’ Lerato giggled with excitement. ‘Promise? Hey? You promise?’
    Human drew a hand through his thin wispy hair. ‘Lerato, I’ll ... erm ...I’ll see, okay?’
    ‘Eish, you, you’re such an old man, you.’ Lerato patted him on his shoulder as she ambled away. ‘Sharp, né ,’ she said throwing him a thumbs up. ‘You must come tonight.’ She disappeared into one of the dozens of offices lining the long corridor.
    ‘Wayne, well done, broer .’ Jali punched him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll see you later, né ?’
    ‘Sure thing.’
    Jali walked off, then stopped and turned. ‘Hey, Curry wants to see you, okay.’ Wayne Human nodded, smiling. ‘Get that bastard to give you a raise, eksê. ’
    Jay ‘Curry’ Govinda was the divisional head of detective services, and Wayne’s immediate superior. He chuckled. As always, the western swear words in the mouth of an African sounded so incongruous and starling to him. He paused for a moment in thought then headed off to the end of the corridor and Govinda’s office. In the ante-room, Ilse Venter loudly greeted Human. She came out from behind her desk and embraced him. ‘Jou doring ,’ she said fondly, speaking in Afrikaans, ‘I heard you got a guilty.’ Ilse was Govinda’s secretary and one of the longest serving members on the sixth floor of the Wachthuis building.
    ‘Yep. Sentencing hearing later this week,’ Human said in faltering Afrikaans.
    Ilse grabbed both Human’s arms in her meaty hands. She looked at him with beaming pride, as if he had been her son and not one of the unit’s top detectives. In many ways, he was. ‘We’re all so proud of you, you know that, Wayne?’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Susan told me old Bulldog Brussouw was on fire.’
    ‘Oh yeah,’ Wayne said with genuine admiration. ‘He didn’t miss a beat.’ Kobus Brussouw was the chief prosecutor for the city of Johannesburg. An old hand who had been one of the few to make a seamless transition into the new ANC dispensation of the post 1994 elections.
    ‘I’m glad. It’s always such a shame when they mess up the hard work we do over here.’ She winked at Human. Then released him and adjusted her blouse. It was back to business. ‘Curry’s expecting you,’ she said resuming her position behind her desk. Ilse’s use of Govinda’s nickname came easily and was without derision. It was true that many of the members of the detective division had nicknames that carried racial connotations. It was a testament to the relative success of South Africa’s political transition that these nicknames existed in an atmosphere of amicability. After decades of forced racial divisions, it seemed few had need of the uptight obsessiveness of modern political correctness. ‘You can go right in.’
    Human headed for Govinda’s door and turned the handle.
    ‘Wayne?’ Human turned to Ilse. ‘Well done, boykie .’ Human winked at her and entered.
    Jay ‘Curry’ Govinda was seated behind his massive desk, scribbling intently. ‘Sit down,’ he said curtly. Wayne seated himself without taking offense at Govinda’s tone. By now he was used to the division head’s brusque and formal nature. Having grown up near destitute in the Johannesburg suburb of Florida, it was the former detective’s no-nonsense nature that had allowed him a swift ascendancy up the ranks of police bureaucracy. Despite his abrupt manner, Human was glad that someone like Govinda was in charge of