Free Of Cops & Robbers by Mike Nicol Page B

gunships swung at anchor, firing cannonballs at the mountainside.
    Colins clicks his fingers. ‘You’s wants to catch them?’
    ‘Could be useful. A bigger reward.’
    Colins laughs, settling the bag back in its hiding place, repositioning the rocks. ‘Colins, private investigator.’
    Fish says, ‘Here’s the deal.’
    ‘What deal?’
    ‘Listen, okay?’
    Colins strokes his beard.
    ‘I’m thinking those men you heard aren’t gonna come back in daylight. They’re gonna wait for tonight.’
    Colins glances into the bush. ‘Ja?’
    ‘My problem is I’m helping a friend this afternoon. No ways I can sit here waiting. Understand? But you sit down near the gate to the path, you can watch for them. They’re probably gonna be in a car. Rhino horn’s not the sort of thing you want to carry through the streets. I’m gonna fetch you a cellphone. If they come, you call me. No hero stuff. You just phone me. Understand.’
    Colins shakes his head.
    ‘What? It’s not alright?’
    ‘Half,’ says Colins.
    ‘Half what?’
    ‘Half the money.’
    Fish thinks about it. ‘Sixty-forty.’
    ‘Half.’
    ‘Look,’ says Fish, ‘it’s sixty-forty, okay. I’m the person going to be in the firing line. Without me you’ve got nothing: sixty-forty.’
    ‘You’s a hard man, gentleman,’ says Colins.
    ‘I gave you toast and coffee. Served you, even.’
    Colins waving this aside. ‘They see me I’m in trouble.’
    ‘They’re not gonna see you. Like you said, you’re a bergie. You’re lying there at the bottom of the path, drunk, resting, sleeping, it doesn’t matter to them. They come and fetch their package, if a bergie sees them it doesn’t matter. Like you said, a bergie’s not gonna tell the cops. Bergies don’t even know about the burglary.’
    ‘I do.’
    ‘Yeah. Well, you got lucky.’
    They head down the mountain, Colins grumbling about being short-changed.
    Gets up Fish’s nose. He rounds on Colins. ‘Bro, we haven’t been paid anything yet, so give it a break.’

17
    Seven gets rid of the white chickee in his room, tells her he’s hungry, tells her to make some food, spaghetti and mince.
    The chickee says there’s no mince.
    ‘Poppie,’ says Seven, putting a hundred note into her hand, ‘Go to Checkers ’n buy some.’
    The chickee pads barefoot out of his room, wearing her school dress, a chunky jersey.
    ‘And, poppie, close the door.’
    She does, banging it.
    Seven sighs. Shouts, ‘Yusses, what’s your case?’
    The chickee screaming back, ‘I’m not your bloody cook, Seven. You want a black bitch, get one.’
    Seven about to wind up a reply, lights a cigarette instead. Puts a call through to Mart Velaze.
    Mart Velaze coming on short and sharp, ‘Yes?’
    Seven rolls his eyes. ‘Howzit, Mr Mart, remember me, Seven. We’s done business before. I got you good-time pilletjies for partying. You remember?’
    ‘What’s it, Seven?’ says Mart Velaze. ‘You don’t call me, I call you. If this’s a shit story, I don’t want to hear it.’
    ‘No, Mr Mart, everything’s hanging, everything’s fine,’ says Seven. ‘I got a little thing I’m selling, that’s all.’
    ‘I don’t need anything.’
    ‘You need this, Mr Mart. This’s a big-time score. You need this like God needs a sinner for sure.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘You read the papers, Mr Mart? A man like you reads the newspapers.’
    ‘Seven, no funny stuff.’
    ‘Front page, Mr Mart. Onna front page.’ Seven listens to thequiet. ‘You there, Mr Mart?’
    ‘I’m here. We need to end this call, Seven. Why don’t we meet, same place as last time. Seven o’clock. Same time as your name so you won’t forget.’
    ‘Alright, Mr Mart. I’m there. Must I bring them?’ But Seven’s talking to dead air. He keys off his phone, sighs, ‘Ja, Mr Mart, always the main man.’ Shouts out, ‘Jouma, we gotta go fetch the horns.’

18
    ‘Nice car,’ says Jacob Mkezi to Daro Attilane. ‘You have the service