Free Allegiance by Trevor Corbett Page A

thing.’
    ‘Yes, exactly. Every Pakistani wants to be successful. We’re a hardworking people. We don’t cause trouble.’
    ‘Fine, so your business?’ Durant was losing hope there was anything in this meeting. The hot car started to seem like a better choice.
    Tanveer rubbed his chin with his thumb and lowered his voice. ‘There are some people from Pakistan who are destroying my business and the businesses of other Pakistanis who want to work here.’
    Durant raised his eyebrows. ‘The Pakistani mafia?’
    Tanveer looked over his shoulder, but Durant was sure it was for effect. He hoped it was, because he really didn’t want to get shot by the Pakistani mafia that afternoon. ‘When a Pakistani comes to South Africa he works through a system. It starts in Karachi, goes through Africa into Swaziland and into this country.’ He outlined the route on the table cloth with his finger. ‘When you land here, the Pakistani community already knows about you and they keep track of you. When you start making money here, they come to you and force you to make contributions.’
    ‘Protection money?’
    ‘Yes. Every week they come to me and demand money.’ His voice was just above a whisper.
    ‘What do you do?’
    ‘If I don’t pay, they threaten me and my family.’ He looked down and then put a hand to his neck. ‘I have a wife here and a small child.’
    Durant scribbled some notes in his book. He was trying to look interested and hoped it wasn’t obvious that he wasn’t. This wasn’t a case for the Intelligence Agency. This seemed petty. Almost personal. ‘What do they threaten you with?’
    ‘They say they’ll cause me harm. And they will. I know of some Pakistanis who have been beaten so badly they’ve returned to Pakistan crippled.’ He slid a hand across his throat and his face reflected genuine fear.
    ‘Do you know who these guys are?’
    ‘Yes, they’re Pakistanis.’
    ‘I mean, is it the same people who come every week and try to extort money, or different people? Have you got any names?’
    ‘They’re very organised. And operate secretly. The people who come are just the, how do you say, the—’
    ‘The runners?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘They just collect for the big guys?’
    ‘Exactly.’ Tanveer looked over his shoulder again and Durant was starting to get worried. This guy feared for his life. ‘This thing is big, Mr Shaw. It’s a whole big syndicate, and there’s a lot of money involved.’
    Durant wanted him to get to the point, and fast. ‘So what do you want out of it, Mr Tanveer?’
    ‘I want you to dismantle this evil thing. It’s killing ordinary Pakistanis who just want to make an honest living.’
    ‘And you, Mr Tanveer, what’s your current status here?’
    ‘I am very proud to say I am married to a South African woman now and have a child. I started off on the wrong foot but I have mended my ways. I am a respectable person, Mr Shaw.’ He certainly looked respectable, but so did most of the evil people he had ever met.
    ‘What’s your wife’s name and your son’s name?’
    ‘It’s Mariam, sir, and my son’s name is Siraj.’
    ‘Kevin, you’re not the same any more.’ Stephanie’s voice had that characteristic tremble to it that Durant knew could be the prelude to trouble. He knew he wasn’t the same any more – he didn’t even look the same any more. The morning glance in the mirror wasn’t as pleasant as it was before the shooting. Durant was blessed with the gene that pegged your age at a certain year and you hovered around there, with only minor changes in your physical appearance that weren’t necessarily awful. So his ash-blond hair had stayed ash-blond into his forties and he had kept the look of a rugged, but well-maintained man who was fit and could easily compete with men in their thirties. The stress of the shooting had somehow altered the age-pegging gene. The fine lines around his eyes had deepened and the mirror showed signs of grey hair that made