An Ordinary Day (19 page)

‘Mike, I’m going to help you, because I need you.’ Ali turned to look at Shezi. ‘My organisation is made up of loyal and dedicated people like you, people who help my business succeed. I appreciate your work for me. I really hope your agency is looking after you.’

‘Some people there look after me.’

‘You should be in charge there. Are you the big chief?’

‘No, they … they just, they don’t appreciate what I do. Except maybe one person.’

Ali nodded. ‘A white guy, right? He appreciates you because it makes him look and feel good. Meanwhile, he hates your guts and gets impatient with you because he thinks you’re dumb and slow and incompetent, right?’

‘No, I really think …’

‘You’re just a pawn there, Mike. You’ll never go anywhere. The elites there will look after each other. If you’re not in the circle, you’ll never get the power you deserve. And you won’t get into the circle unless you’re connected. But I’ll let you into another circle … my circle. It’s better, more rewarding.’

Ali turned and looked at Shezi. ‘I can see you take me seriously, and I take you seriously. I don’t make promises which I can’t keep. That’s why I’m so wealthy. You profiled me, so you know I started as a shipping clerk. I used to stamp documents and the larneys said if I worked too slowly and the containers were delayed, they lost thousands of dollars.’ Ali smiled and Shezi looked away. ‘I didn’t want to stay a shipping clerk after that. I wanted to be the larney who worried about his containers being delayed. I did something about my situation. If I’d waited for the company to promote me, I’d still be stamping bills of lading today.’

‘Yes, I wrote all that in your profile. I admired your vision.’

‘Now. Do your colleagues trust you?’ Ali asked.

‘We’re like a family.’ As Shezi said it, he felt a wave of nausea sweep over him. ‘Of course they trust me.’

‘You have a new family now. I hope you’re a good liar.’

‘They train us well.’

‘You’re master of your own destiny, Shezi. With wealth comes power, and it’s the best feeling in the world. I don’t have stress. I don’t have to beg the banks to lend me money any more. The banks offer me holidays to move some of my accounts over to them. How much money do you have in your pocket right now?’

‘A few rand.’

Ali took out his wallet and unfolded a wad of
R
200 notes.

‘Information is a valuable commodity; it’s the commodity of the twenty-first century. Business intelligence is the career you’re in now. Consider it a privilege.’

‘Thanks, I just …’

‘You’re privileged to be allowed in. Think of yourself as a security consultant of mine. And this as your first salary.’

Ali tossed the wad of bills into Shezi’s lap.

‘Don’t disappoint me.’

Durant’s house felt cold when he walked in, despite it being a typically humid summer’s day. It was a week before Christmas, and the bright decorations usually provided comforting warmth. He’d looked forward to his first Christmas with the baby, to family time, a time to reflect on the past year, but he hadn’t even taken the Christmas tree out of the box in the garden shed and the coloured lights still lay in a plastic bag in the linen cupboard. He blamed himself for the missing warmth, for allowing so many other, less important things to take precedence.

Durant expected to find Stephanie asleep on the couch, as he usually did, but she wasn’t. He was momentarily puzzled, and then astonished as the front door opened and Stephanie stood in the light of the doorway, the late-afternoon sun distinctly silhouetting her shape and that of the pram, in which Alexis gurgled contently.

‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully.

‘Am I seeing things, or have you just taken Alex for a walk?’

‘I had to get out the house, I’m dying in there. I had breakfast out this morning then went shopping and now we went for a walk around the neighbourhood. It was great.’

‘How do you feel?’ Durant asked, lifting Alexis out of the pram and cuddling her to his chest.

‘Surprisingly enough, I feel great.’

‘You had breakfast by yourself?’

Stephanie fumbled with the nappy bag and a wad of nappies fell to the floor. ‘Sorry?’

‘Let me get that. You should’ve called me. I would’ve met you this morning. It’s no fun having breakfast alone.’

‘Next time I’ll definitely invite you.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘For breakfast? I went to the Park Restaurant. I know you don’t really like it there.’

‘Amina also went there this morning to wrap up a lead on an old case we’re closing. Did you see her?’

Stephanie felt cold. ‘Um, no, didn’t see her. Did she see me?’

‘Didn’t say. Well glad you had a good day. I had quite a successful day as well. We’re close to nailing a lady who’s up to no good in our country.’

Stephanie was surprised by her husband’s unwonted willingness to talk about his work. ‘Kevin,’ she said, half amused, ‘you really don’t have to tell me about your day. Just tell me when you’ll work late so I don’t worry.’

‘I’d like you to know what I’m doing at work, Steph. I’m dealing with big issues and I want to share some of them with you. I’ve got nobody else to share them with.’

Stephanie smiled. ‘Big issues at work and big issues at home. I feel sorry for you.’

Durant took Stephanie’s hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me. I can deal with big issues.’

‘You liar. You don’t even know how to deal with me.’

‘You know, I spoke earlier today about sacrifices. I told my team that we’re all making incredible sacrifices to make this operation work, and it’s working. But no sacrifice is too big for you. I want you to be happy.’

Stephanie’s eyes filled with tears. ‘But I
am
happy. I’m just confused, that’s all. I don’t know what I want.’

Durant closed the front door. ‘Let’s talk for a change.’

Anja expected Elhasomi to have an accident any moment. Her small hired car was not designed to be driven so fast, so recklessly, with such utter disregard for any generally accepted driving courtesy. At first, Anja radioed to the surveillance team following closely behind that Uptown Girl was tail-wise, and was engaging in active counter-surveillance driving. But after a while, Anja realised that this was no counter-surveillance; it was simply terrible driving. At one stage, Elhasomi turned a corner too soon and actually mounted the pavement, sending a destitute man scurrying for the safety of a wall. When Anja came past the scene, the homeless man was walking briskly away from the street corner, board under his arm, clearly deterred by the hazards of his roadside occupation. Anja pulled back from the a position to let the vehicle behind her overtake and assume that primary spot closest to the target vehicle.

Anja used the opportunity to calm herself down and allow her own overworked vehicle to recover from the rigours of the surveillance. She made a quick call to Durant to indicate that the target was mobile and heading in a southerly direction towards an industrial area close to the airport. The vehicle in the a position radioed that Elhasomi had stopped outside an old building which looked abandoned. Anja approached from a parallel street and brought her car to a halt. The other watchers took up positions around the building. Anja walked to a small tearoom across the road and entered.

The woman behind the counter was bent over, her abaya embracing her like a shroud. She looked at Anja through the opening of her purdah. Her eyes were tired but gentle.

‘Good afternoon, madam,’ Anja said.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m a consultant for the Roads Ministry. My name’s Lara van der Merwe.’

The shopkeeper’s eyes smiled. ‘I am Mrs Mariam Meer. This is my shop, it’s all I have in the world, I’ve been here for twenty years. I’m starting to get tired now, standing for twenty years.’

‘Is the shop busy?’

‘Not any more, dear. Too many shebeens around here and the wages are low. My prices are good. You should try some of my chicken biryani today, it’s not too hot.’

‘Thanks. Have you heard of the plan to build a freeway to the airport?’

Mrs Meer shovelled a generous portion of biryani into a plastic container and wrapped it in plastic wrap. Looking at the size of the portion it was surprising she’d been in business for twenty years.

‘Just rumours, dear. Ten years people have been talking about new freeways coming through this area. I don’t pay attention. They’ll have to build the road through my shop, I’m not moving. I tried to sell once, after the attack, but this shop’s my life.’

‘The attack?’

‘They were boys, just boys, but the hatred, you could see it in their eyes. They beat me. Took the cash from my till. I lost over two hundred rand.’

‘Sorry to hear that, madam. Any buildings which are appropriated for destruction would be valued and the owners paid out.’

There was a little pause and then Mrs Meer said: ‘I’ve got nothing else to do. Where would I go?’

‘The prices would be market-related, but actually, it’s the area a little over that way which would be more affected,’ she pointed out the window. ‘There, where that big warehouse is.’

‘That factory gives me some business, but I don’t like the people.’

‘Why?’

‘Foreigners. They want to buy a few packets of cigarettes and pay in dollar bills. I’m not a foreign exchange place. No, I don’t like them.’

‘Foreigners from where?’

‘I’m sure it’s Libya. They’re Muslims, but not like they should be. I run a clean business and Allah’s blessed me.’

‘How do you know they’re Libyans?’

Mrs Meer lowered her voice. ‘They say Gaddafi owns the building. He was here.’

‘Who, Gaddafi?’ Anja asked incredulously.

‘Gaddafi. A few months ago – lots of people in suits, fancy cars, everybody running around. I see a lot from my little shop, you know. I’m eighty-three; I know when something’s not right.’

‘What type of business is it?’

‘They say it’s a storage place. I don’t know what they’re storing. There are about ten people working there. They never talk about what they do. I don’t ask. I mind my own business, you know. I don’t poke my nose into others’ affairs.’

Anja nodded. ‘Well, I’ll certainly let you know once the plans for this new highway are approved, and then perhaps you’ll be able to leave this terrible area. I’m sure it’s not safe for a person such as yourself.’

‘I’ve been robbed twelve times over the past five years. Twelve times. And two months ago, in front of people from that place.’ She thrust her finger accusingly in the direction of the target building. ‘And they didn’t come and help me. They just stood and watched while they kicked me on the ground.’

‘That’s terrible.’

‘And they have guns.’

‘The robbers?’

‘No, the people from that factory. Big guns, machine guns, I’ve seen them carry them under their jackets. And they just stood by and watched while those youngsters walked away with my money.’

‘Machine guns? Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure there will be more attacks and one day they’ll probably kill me.’

‘Mrs Meer, I’ve got a friend in the security industry. She owes me a favour so I’m going to send her to you. She can advise you on how to protect yourself better here.’

Mrs Meer leaned forward and took Anja’s hand. ‘Thank you, child.’

‘And perhaps you can also talk to her about that building across the way where the foreigners are.’

‘Allah be merciful to you, you’re a good white lady. You are so kind …’

Anja smiled and walked towards the door. ‘I’ll have my friend drop by later to see you.’

‘As Salaam, child, as Salaam!’

As Anja exited the shop, contemplating when last she’d been called ‘child’, she flipped open her cellphone and dialled a number. ‘Hi, Amina, it’s me. I need a big favour …’

Durant looked at Amina as she terminated the call. The mobile monitoring van was unbearably hot and Durant had taken Amina across the road for a juice while Shezi monitored the townhouse.

‘That was Anja,’ she said. ‘Uptown Girl went into a building in Prospecton, near the airport. Anja apparently got talking to a shop owner across the street who said that the building’s owned by the Libyans. She said Gaddafi himself was there last year. Anja told the shopkeeper someone would be coming to talk to her about securing her personal safety – she’s apparently been robbed a few times and once in front of the occupants of the Libyan building – so she’s bitter towards them. She offered my services.’