Night of the Black Bastards (An Action-Packed Thriller) (20 page)

The yearly average time for the new, eager, recruit to climb the barracks stairs to his living quarters, change into full uniform and meet Night and his men was twenty two minutes. 

“Yes Captain, I ran up and down the stairs and I had my uniform ready!”

Student Constable Dlamini had seemingly promoted Constable Stanislov to Captain now.

“Where’s your pistol Dlamini?” asked Constable Shaka.

“I haven’t had one issued to me yet Constable. The station logistics officer told us to wait and see who won the fight first, to see who would be working on the road, he said he is short of weapons.”

“All right then Dlamini come with me and we will go to Martin together and get you a SAPF 35, a weapon authorisation form and then we will go to the armoury. Gents, you guys can hit the road and go and get some Nandos, this may take a while, and get me a half chicken and chips, extra hot and two 500ml cokes please, thanks” said Night.

“And where’s the ammo for that chicken Mike?” asked Constable Shaka.

“Haha, I forgot, you bet on the farmer boys, because they were ‘big and strong’. Stanislov will take care of it, I got the last one.”

“Thanks for the nomination to pay Mike, I appreciate it. Anyway I feel bad for the big guy he didn’t get a piece of the gig last week so I guess I’ll sponsor him a meal for a day.”

“Haha, funny guys, gloating and kicking a guy when he’s down. Very funny, anyway how much ammo did you guys make from that CP gig?”

Sergeant Night and Student Constable Dlamini headed off to the Norwood Logistics Officer. Martin was inside sitting at his desk.

“Ah Mike, how you doing my brother?”

“I’m good thanks Marty. Yourself?”

“I am okay thanks, I just miss the road man, now all I do is push a pen around. Anyway to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am here with my new shark, Steven Dlamini, he won the selection and is riding with us today. He needs a nine.”

“Ah shit Mike, I’m low on weapons man, I only have a couple left. I am expecting a delivery from province but by the time all the necessary bullshit paperwork is done it’ll be a few weeks even a couple of months before the new weapons arrive. What does he want anyway?”

Dlamini burst out: “When we were shown around the station the other day I saw in the armoury that you have those niners that look like a Glock, I want one of those please Marty!”

“First of all Student Constable Shark Shit, my name is Martin to you, not Marty! Secondly what the hell is a ‘niner’ and lastly they are not Glocks!”

“Okay, sorry Martin, a niner is a nine millimetre you know and I don’t really care if it’s not a Glock it looks cool, like the FBI use it, I want one please Martin and the name is Dlamini.”

“Fine Shark Shit you can have a R.A.P 401, I have plenty of those.”

At this point Sergeant Night felt he should intervene in the interests of clarity.

“You mean a C.R.A.P 401 Marty. Look, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, he’s just a cocky green rookie and he’ll take a Vector Z88 if you have any decent specimens around and he’ll buy you lunch for it.”

“Why don’t I want the Glock gun General?”

“Because Dlamini, It’s not a Glock. It’s a R.A.P or what we call a C.R.A.P! And it’s rubbish, it’s small and cheap and was only brought into the force for female officers who request it. Trust me on this Dlamini you don’t want it. That’s why there are so many around. End of discussion.”

“I have two new ones available” admitted Marty, “but they were meant to be for those Afrikaner boys. They um, reserved it, from me the day they got here.”

“Well Marty, just let us have one of those and I’ll make sure the brothers aren’t out on the road together for a while yet so they both won’t need a weapon at the same time. And Dlamini here will buy you lunch today and clean your car once a week for the next month.”

“All right Mike, only because it’s you. I’ll take the lunch offer, one a week for the next month, the prisoners clean my car.”

“Nando’s?”

“Nah, I have had to cut down, the Peri Peri Sauce is bad for my ulcer, KFC will do me, bucket meal my man.”

“Deal, got it Dlamini, a KFC bucket meal for the LO here, once a week for the next month.”

Martin the Logistics Officer logged onto his SAPF intranet and made the bureaucratic magic happen. Fifteen minutes later an official SAPF 35 form was spat out of the printer and signed, authorising the issue of one Vector Z88 service pistol to Student Constable Steven Dlamini, to be collected from the Armoury. Sergeant Night and his student left the Logistics Office and made their way to the Norwood Armoury.

“General that’s going to cost me nearly R30 a week feeding civilian, nerdy, square head Marty, was that really necessary?”

“Yes Dlamini it was. First rule of the South African Police Force is that you do whatever it takes to get the kit you need, remember these words; In the cops you beg, borrow and steal and do what it takes to make sure that when you are out on the front line, out on the streets of Johannesburg fighting in the war on crime that you have what you may not need but never need what you don’t have, understood? Good. And he’s not a square head civilian, he used to be one of us but he took two rounds to his spine, leaving him paralysed from the waist down. The station commissioner gave him the civilian job as a Logistics Officer to try help the guy out but don’t underestimate him, he’s a good man and I fought with him a number of times against some of South Africa’s worst. If you had shut up for a second you may have noticed that he was sitting in a wheelchair behind his desk. Another lesson for you Dlamini. Talk less and observe more.”

“Yes General I will talk less but I just want to get out on the road and be a hero like you!”

Night stopped walking and looked at Dlamini , his eyes focused, searing into Dlamini’s own, looking straight into his soul.

“Listen to me boy. Up until now I like you and so do Nickolai and Daniel, well Daniel kind of, but it’s time you tone down that mega mouth of yours a bit and start to listen and absorb more. We are not heroes, there are no heroes in this world and specially no heroes in this South African Police Force, we are just the stupid grunts who protect the civilians and being a cop isn’t going to make you a hero.  You must seriously shut the fuck up more and listen. I am here to teach you and while I may find your banter amusing, enough is enough, there’s a time and a place for that. I know you are a smart boy and that you have got a good brain on you, so listen to me carefully now. Bring it down a notch and listen and learn. The game gets serious now Dlamini and if you persist in acting like a little kid I will book you off duty and send you to the charge office. Get it?”

“Okay General, got it.”

“Good, and for the last time address me as Sergeant.”

“Yes Sergeant.”

Sergeant Night and Student Constable Dlamini went to the Armoury and were met by Warrant Officer Van Der Heerden. Dlamini handed over the form and a few minutes later was handed a 9MM Vector Z88 with two ammunition magazines, exactly 30 rounds of ammunition and a holster and one magazine pouch.

Warrant Office Van Der Heerden said his piece: “When and if the Sergeant signs off on you and you make it as a police officer, at the end of your on the job training you must return these rounds to me minus anything that you may have used, these used rounds must match records in the station occurrence book and your own pocket book, then you will be issued with nanite tagged ammunition directly from National Headquarters. Good luck Student Constable Dlamini and look after your weapon, if you break it, lose it or have it stolen from you I will not issue you with a new one. Goodbye.”

National Headquarters had taken the decision not to tag a Student Constable’s ammunition with DNA nanites until after they had been signed off by their FTOs as qualified officers. This was down to the large expense of carrying out the tagging procedure. And provided a much welcome gap for the students to get comfortable with their issued weapons without every stray round being recorded.

“First thing we have to do Dlamini is get you to a range so that you can test that weapon of yours, rule number one – always field test your equipment, specially your side arm.” said Night.

“Awesome General, I will show you that I can ride the lightning! Umm, I mean, thank you Sergeant, I look forward to testing my handgun.”

Sergeant Night and Student Constable Dlamini left the station at the rear exit that led to the car park and were greeted by the giant Zulu and the Russian Stanislov who each had a leg of chicken in their mouths. Night dug in. Dlamini looked on.

“What did you get for the boy?” asked Night.

“Nothing, he didn’t ask for anything” replied Shaka.

Steven Dlamini looked like a balloon that had just been deflated.

“There, he can have my chips.” said Stanislov.

Night offered a piece of his chicken to Dlamini.

“Thank you Constable, thank you Sergeant. And thanks for nothing Tree.”

“So we have both been demoted, I see.” said Stanislov.

“Yes,” said Night, “the young Dlamini here has put away the clown for the moment and has got his more serious hat on. Isn’t that right Steven?”

“Yeah Sarge. It’s time to be a proper copper.”

The officers finished their meals and climbed into the Beast. First stop would be the local gun range, Dave Sheer Guns on Louis Botha Avenue, where Dlamini could test out his new weapon.

They arrived at the gun range that was a short five minute drive from the station and parked in the small and always busy parking lot. The four officers approached the heavily fortified front gates and were buzzed in, through the first set of entrances and into the next, the holding area where any men entering the store were evaluated and If cleared were buzzed in past the final security barrier and onto the shop floor -- monitored all the time by twenty four hour CCTV camera systems. 

Alarms were linked to an armed response company as well as the provincial SAPF call centre. The shop was filled with tactical gear including holsters and ammo pouches, tactical knives and batons, caps, wrist watches and high powered flash lights. It was an operator’s dream store that included the latest in armaments including high powered hunting rifles, where Stanislov had bought his, semi –automatic assault rifles. Fully automatic rifles are illegal for members of the public or security companies – only the police and army are licenced to carry fully automatic weapons.

Posters of gun manufacturers hung on the walls, there were Glock prints reading “Glock Perfection” and “Suck on my Glock” and Heckler and Koch adverts with semi naked woman holding their compact weapons or legendary sub machine guns. The shop was jam packed with customers, each vying for a position at the counter, waiting for an opportunity to hold and test one of the many hand guns on sale.

Dave Sheer Guns had them all, from the diabolically cheap and nasty Chinese Norinco small arms, inexpensive pistol clones of the more popular handgun models constructed out of disused railway tracks to the incredibly expensive and high quality Sig Sauer models. The difference in price could be as much as R20 000 (£1700) with an entry level Norinco costing as little as R1500 (£120). The affordability of these cheap and nasty weapons meant that the South African pool of licenced gun owners was flooded with Norincos.

Night moved to the front of the queue and was greeted by the store manager.

“Michael, how are you my buddy?”

“I am good thanks Gareth, very well indeed my man. I see business is good, as usual.”

“I can’t complain and business can always be better. What can I help you with today?”

“This is Steven, he’s a Student Constable and one of the new recruits starting at Norwood. He has just been issued with his state weapon and we need to check it out, if you know what I mean.”

“You mean you need to see if it even fires. So cynical Michael.”

“Yeah well you know the shit we get issued from the state, they don’t give a crap, anyway is the range free?”

“It is for the time being but I have a class going in there in the next twenty minutes to do their competency tests so you’ll have to be quick. Where’s the weapon, I’ll let Akmal have a look. But I thought you guys had your own armoury at Norwood that Van Heerden runs?”

“Yeah he we do and he does but the state issue the weapons brand new sealed in the box as you will see and Van Heerden refuses to open them and test them at the station armoury. See if he does and a gun is found to be defective the station might have to recall all similar weapons issued. Leaving us without said weapons and he will get the world of shit come down on him if he reports a fucked up firearm. So we take the problem out of his hands altogether, we take the weapon, still sealed and make do. We usually take the guns to Golden City range and check them out there, it’s just that it’s closed today for official state business.”

“I’ll have Akmal meet you in the range. You need ammo I take it?” said Gareth.

“Yeah, a box of fifty, reloads, will do, thanks.”

Night and Dlamini went to the indoor shooting range at the back of the gun shop. Constables Shaka and Stanislov stayed in the shop and browsed for some tactical accessories.  The area behind the shop used to be the location of a garden and swimming pool but was converted into an underground firing range. No bells and whistles just a bog standard place in which to fire a weapon. Sound proofed with old egg cartons and fitted with industrial fans for ventilation. The old pool was made bullet proof with the use of armour plating to the rear where the targets would be and a mixture of old tyres and sand. It appeared rickety and makeshift in places. Streaks of sunlight penetrated parts of the roof and when smoke from the exploding rounds filled the air the range took on an eerie vibe and a Hollywood action movie/horror feel about it.

Akmal stood waiting for them at the steel door entrance to the range.

“Sergeant Night, how are you my friend?” said Akmal the cheerful gunsmith.

“Great thanks Akmal, it’s good to see you man. This is Steven and he would appreciate it if you had a look at his new state issued Vector. Still sealed, new in the box.”