Night of the Black Bastards (An Action-Packed Thriller) (25 page)

This enraged her and they had a loud domestic in their room, while the young girl scurried out and ran home. Tom and Gary found this hilarious but Tom stopped laughing when Ronald charged out of the house and floored him with a right hook to the face and a few kicks to the head for good measure. Gary the quieter and more timid of the two ran and hid in the bathroom. A couple of hours passed and the guests forgot about what had happened. Except Gary who continued to drink at a ferocious rate and his rage, fuelled by the spirits, built up inside of him until he could contain his emotions no more. When most of the party goers had left the house Gary confronted Ronald about beating up his lover, who had been doing a line of coke in the bathroom at the time of confrontation. Ronald actually apologised and admitted that he thought their jokes were funny as his wife was actually a fat bitch. Perhaps Gary saw this as a weakness and so struck Ronald across the face with the ceramic cup that held his brandy and coke. Ronald did not like that one iota. He stood up and ran after Gary who vaulted across the garden, screaming at the top of his lungs, into the garden flat and into its bathroom where he barricaded himself in. This move proved fatal for Gary as it gave Ronald the time he needed to go into the main house and fetch his favoured butcher’s knife from the kitchen. He then returned to the bathroom door and methodically started to kick it down. This was when Tom called 10111 and reported the murder in progress.

Eventually Ronald broke the door down and Gary attempted to jump past his attacker and escape. He failed. Ronald raised the butcher’s knife high into the air and brought it down with great force into the top of Gary’s left shoulder, slicing his clavicle.

Ronald removed the knife and calmly walked away and took a plate of food for himself from the bar. Ronald was a stone cold killer and knew what he was doing. He effectively executed Gary by stabbing him in this way. Once the clavicle is cut in this technique and the knife removed the victim will usually bleed to death very quickly, within minutes. Even the responding paramedics remarked that had they got there after only a couple of minutes there was not much they could have done. Gary was a dead man the moment Ronald chose his weapon. Gary’s last few moments on earth were spent stumbling around the garden flat aimlessly seeking sanctuary, painting the walls and roof red with his blood which was evacuating from his body at an incredible rate, spraying a couple of metres into the air.

The crew of November Whisky 50 spent another four hours at the house in Third Avenue in Sydenham going through the same protocol as earlier in the day which effectively ended Dlamini’s first diurnal of training. Night and Shaka went to the station to charge Ronald with murder, they also added a secondary charge of statutory rape for further investigation and booked him into the Norwood holding cells while Stanislov and Dlamini guarded the scene of crime while the crime scene experts and investigators carried out their respective responsibilities.

Dlamini would never forget that day as it was the first time he had to actually handle a dead body as he had to help put, what once was called Gary, into the mortuary van. He had seen plenty of death in Alexandra Township where he grew up, which was why he was seemingly unfazed by the suicide and overdose deaths earlier that day but he, like most people, had never had to handle the rigor mortis dead before.

The only other state morgue van had responded to the call and the driver was alone and made the usual request for help in moving the corpse.  Constable Stanislov obliged by offering the services of young Steven Dlamini. To carry the dead body was always the responsibility of the rookie. The driver asked the student which end of the form he wanted to carry. Dlamini thought about it for a while and then decided on the top end. Dlamini picked up the physique that used to house the soul named Gary and was immediately shocked by the cold timber-like feeling of the corpse. Gary’s old garb felt like wood. The body was naked as the clothes had been cut away and taken for forensic evidence. Dlamini got a scare when blood spurted out of the open and large knife wound in the shoulder as the mortuary worker picked up the legs first, tilting the body. Dlamini held his nerve and helped place the form into a packed van. He literally had to help squeeze Gary’s body into the van which was overflowing with human meat. Dlamini’s first day on duty was full of death and it earned him the nickname “body-count” by the Black Bastards as even by South African standards dealing with three dead bodies, in two separate incidents, in one shift, in one area of jurisdiction was infrequent.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“Never violate a woman, nor harm a child. Do not lie, cheat or steal. These things are for lesser men. Protect the weak against the evil strong. And never allow thoughts of gain to lead you into the pursuit of evil.” David Gemmell.

Field Training - Day Two

“Any November Whisky vehicle for an Five Alpha in Orange Grove come in for Control?” asked Lisa.

Unsurprisingly none of the six November Whisky units booked on duty responded to the call to attend a scene of Domestic Violence in Progress.

“Any November Whisky vehicle for an Five Alpha in Orange Grove please come in for Control.”

“She knows that we are on duty Mike, she knows that you are on duty Mike, even if we haven’t booked on air yet” said Stanislov.

“Yeah I know and her voice is already making me feel guilty. We talk about it often but she just doesn’t understand what it’s like getting in the middle of someone else’s domestic dispute and private lives. No civvies will ever understand.”

“And it’s not just us South African cops” said Stanislov, “who don’t like responding to Domestics. I was reading in the I.P.A’s (International Police Association) private forum online that cops all around the world hate responding to them.”

“Yah, now imagine that and put an African twist on top of it!” said Shaka.

“Any November Whisky vehicle for an Five Alpha, Orange Grove, come in for Control.”

“You might as well answer Mike. She knows you are listening and if you don’t you will have your own Domestic to deal with later” said Shaka.

Stanislov and Shaka laughed. Dlamini was about to start laughing but thought better of it when he saw his Sergeant looking back at him in the side mirror of November Whisky 50.

“She’ll nominate us on the next call anyway, watch” said Night.

A couple of minutes passed. Radio silence. Then: “November Whisky 50 come in for Control.”

“Ah well gents here we go, into the breach once more.” Sergeant Michael Night picked up the vehicle’s  radio mike and keyed it. “SEND! for November Whisky Five Zero Control!”

“Thank you November Whisky Five Zero. Did you not hear me calling for any Norwood vehicle to respond to a complaint of Domestic Violence?”

“I did Control but we are a reaction vehicle – we respond to Alpha calls, only. We are not a complaints vehicle. Perhaps you should assign this call to a Charge Office vehicle.”

“This is an Alpha call Sergeant Night and your assistance is needed. And if you give me any more backchat over the radio I will make an official complaint of my own.”

Night was silent.

“She’s right you know” said Stanislov to Dlamini “We are duty bound as police officers to respond and to not question our radio Controller.”

“Sho! but she’s hard hey. I bet she’s built like an ox. But her voice sounds so nice hey” said Dlamini.

“Not like an ox at all. She’s very beautiful in fact and the best damn radio Controller in Johannesburg. We are lucky to have her on our channel and Mike knows it. I think he just likes testing her authority, you know, showing her he’s still the boss.”

Night cut in: “You know I can hear you two ladies skinnering (South African slang for gossiping) in the back there. Zulu my friend let’s point the Beast in the direction of Orange Grove. Okay Control give us the details and we will respond for you, this time.”

“Thank you November Whisky 50, how decent of you. I have a complaint on my screen for a Domestic Violence in Orange Grove at 36 Louis Botha Avenue in the apartment building of Good Hope, flat 26. Apparently a man is beating his pregnant wife with a sjambok (heavy leather whip). Please respond.”

“Roger that Control we are en route, ETA four mikes.”

“Thank you November Whisky 50.”

“Control, Yankee Nine permission with November Whisky 50.”

“Permission granted Yankee Nine. Go ahead.”

“Thanks Control. November Whisky 50 come for Yankee Nine.”

“Send Snyman!”

“Night, how are you my friend?”

“Good. How are you Sergeant? Hope Flying Squad is okay after you lost your boy last week.”

“Ja boet we are fine. We continue to fly. Let us know how that Domestic turns out and we will provide you with back up if needed. I have been posted to your area again. Lots of action here.”

“How many vehicles with you?”

“Just mine. But I am with my crew this time, Demon and Putter.”

“I want to talk to you so let’s meet up anyway.”

“Roger that. We will head towards the Five alpha.”

“Copied.”

“Thanks for permission Control.”

“That’s a pleasure Yankee Nine but before you go aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Ah… negative Control I don’t think so.”

“I heard you tell November Whisky 50 that you are working in the Norwood area today. So where is my Zero One then Sergeant?”

“I have already booked on with my Control, Control. On channel 23 – the Flying Squad channel.”

“Good. But I will need your Zero One if I am to give you Alpha calls and if I am to receive your Zero Eights (report back) on those calls. Please proceed Sergeant Snyman.”

“Haha, your woman doesn’t take shit hey Mike!” said Constable Shaka.

Flying Squad vehicle Yankee Nine duly proceeded to book on duty with the sharp channel 26 Controller and November Whisky 50 headed to the place of Domestic Violence.

Night and his crew well knew the Orange Grove residential apartment building on busy Louis Botha Avenue, called the Good Hope. They had responded to calls for assistance to the address many times before. Night always thought a more appropriate name would have been the “No Hope Motel” as the people who lived there seldom stayed there for longer than a few weeks or months at a time and the building was dominated by illegal immigrants from across Africa and mainly Zimbabwe.

November Whisky 50 arrived at 136 Louis Botha Avenue a few minutes later. Constable Shaka mounted the pavement with the large double cab police vehicle outside the big, ugly, grey building. The arrival of a marked police vehicle sent a number of the young men in and around the structure running.

“Why are they running?” inquired Student Constable Dlamini.

“They’re illegals and they think we are raiding. They’ll return once they realise we aren’t on a special” said Constable Shaka.

A “special” was a Special Operation conducted by the South African Police Force about once a month, that involved the deployment of a large police contingent, often bringing officers from other stations and jurisdictions to a specific area to combat a particular crime or make a large amount of arrests – usually B Category, misdemeanour detentions. The amount of illegal foreigners in the country meant that more and more often these Special Operations would include civilian officials from the Government’s Home Affairs Department to help process the high numbers of illegals arrested. Large prisoner trucks were brought in to transport the detainees, commonly referred to as “Gumbas”. On the last special operation in Norwood the South African Police Force had arrested over 300 illegal immigrants who would have to be repatriated to their home countries. The joke of it would be that nearly every single one of the unauthorised and arrested pilgrims would be back in Johannesburg within seven days.  And the policemen making the futile arrests knew it. South Africa’s borders are incredibly porous and where there is a semblance of border Control corruption is rife.

The Black Bastards entered the “No Hope Motel” via a broken glass front door and security gate. A sleeping security guard lay on the floor under his desk. They were greeted by the familiar sounds of despair.  People were being sick in their rooms. Prostitutes were loudly giving their clients pleasure and a woman could be heard crying out in pain. Constable Shaka woke the sleeping guard with a sharp kick to the ribs.

“Brother, where is flat 136?” demanded Shaka.

The guard opened one eye, looked directly at the Constable, gave him the loud African click of the tongue displaying great displeasure and then rolled over and went back to sleep pulling his trench coat over his head to shield him from the annoying police officers. Bad move. The colossal Zulu was most displeased with this explicit display of disrespect. He leaned over the foul smelling excuse for a security guard and grabbed hold of both feet with just one of his mighty mitts. He raised him into the air and the guard began to swear in anger.  As the male’s head reached an appropriate height Constable Shaka gave him an almighty clout – the sound of the slap reverberated around the old building. The occupants of the rooms became quiet. They were familiar with the sound of a South African policeman’s PK or PoesKlap (similar to a bitch slap but delivered for the specific purpose of gaining a person’s attention or dishing out some African street punishment.) Shaka’s PoesKlaps were legendary and he always knew the right amount of force to deliver to gain the desired reaction from the slappee. The guard stopped swearing, tears welled in his now wide open eyes, and immediately he became acquiescent, even offering to walk the officers to the door of flat 136. Constable Shaka carefully placed the guard back on his feet in one impressive manoeuvre – He held the man’s neck in place with his slapping hand and used his other to twist the man upright. The sleeping sentry then explained that they would have to walk up to the tenth floor where flat 136 was as the lifts were broken. Upon hearing the news of the great trek Constable Shaka volunteered to guard the entrance in case the suspect made a run for it. Constable Stanislov seconded the motion and stayed behind with his Zulu brother. Night and Dlamini followed the now placid watchman and made their way up the stairs.