Fourteenth Power up Prompt! Crime Noir! Three Sections: From Bradley Ramsey
The air in Joburg was a lie. Heavy with dust and smoke, sure. But heavier with the stink of every deal. Every transaction had a price. The law books? They were for the fools. The real rules were scrawled on the back of a cigarette pack.
Police no longer just an extension of the state; they were a part of the criminal underworld. Dockets bought and sold. Crime only investigated if bribes were paid. The cops on the street, some running syndicates that hijacked cars or sold drugs.
Detective Naledi Maseko sat at his desk. He was deeply worried. Cold cases piling up. Victims let down. Suspects walking free. He picked up a case on his table. Thabo Molefe, the previous detective, was signed off. He was shot in the leg which led to complications. Now a drunk and on soft drugs. What a waste.
Hope was a word that wasn’t used much. Only the people who understood the rot got by. The Mayor and the Mob boss. The ones who were part of it. The system wasn’t broken. It was ripped apart, built this way. It just worked for a different kind of man. The kind who liked the dark.
Naledi looked through the case. Thabo did an excellent job. Chronological. Perfect in detail. Nothing left out. The very last action was awaiting DNA results for an item of clothing sent to the SAPS Forensic Science Laboratory in Pretoria. He was taken back when he saw the date. Two years had passed. No results. Two years! This was an instant red flag. He checked the database, but no returns had been logged.
He went to the archive taking two steps at a time, a smell of damp in the air. He had called in advance explaining what he needed, the clerk found the entry. Thema Zunga the Provincial Commissioner logged it with a different case number. Alarming! The clerk had retrieved the envelope. Passed it to Naledi, he mumbled a thanks, opening the envelope whilst walking, blue shirt, and the results - astonishing!
Bang, bang, knock, knock, knock. Thabo woke up, startled, his hand dropping his beer. Smash! He sat up, the room swimming. He grabbed the side of the chair, his weak legs barely holding him. He walked to the doorway on very shaky legs. Looked through the peephole and saw Naledi Maseko. He knew him. A newcomer. A nice guy.
He opened the door and greeted him. “Thabo, we need to talk. It is about the Thembi case.”
Thabo stepped outside gingerly. He didn’t want anyone to see how he lived. He went around to the back garden, which was in a better state. They sat on the patio chairs. The air was warm and the birds singing. Vastly different from the centre of Johannesburg.
Naledi discussed what he found, emphasising who had logged the evidence under a different case number. Thabo was vividly upset. “Themba! How odd. It is as if he was deliberately hiding evidence.” Thabo shook his head, burying it in his hands. Tears wanted to break through.
Two years, three months, and fifteen days - each day he remembered. The chase, the bullet through his upper leg. The blood. The complications. The days alone. Recovery long and hard. He picked up the bottle; helped pass the days, Es for pain as they were easy to get.
“Naledi, I need to finish this case.” He shook.
His mind went back to his case. A young lady, Thembi Khumalo, was investigating irregularities in the government offices. She went missing after she reported the anomalies she came across. The information incriminating. The Mayor Kabelo Dlamini, and the Provincial Commissioner Themba Zunga were implicated.
More irregularities emerged, right in the middle was someone he disliked a great deal. Ever since his arrival from Russia this individual was responsible for the drug running, prostitution, tender manipulation and more.
They agreed that Thabo must stop the booze and Es, speak to the doctor about his night issues, and exercise. Fitness was paramount if he was to go back. Naledi left feeling a lot lighter. He would tighten up the witness statements and keep the new evidence under lock and key.
Load shedding - no lights, roads full of potholes some the size of swimming pools. burst pipelines, copper stolen from electricity stations, bridges closed, roads diverted, you name it. High-level corruption wasn’t a secret; it’s an open secret. Tenders given to family members so no works done. Money pocketed. The centre of Johannesburg was rife with crime. The infrastructure eroding by the day.
Jacob Malele knelt beside his police van; across the street a drug deal went down. He waited patiently; his informant told him not to act too quickly. A bag switched hands. An envelope passed.
“Police, hands in the air!” His shout cracked the evening. His gun ready in his hand held high.
The hooded guy on the motorbike froze, his eyes wide. He lifted the stand, revved. Jacob fired a shot warning shot. The dealer dropped to his knees. The bike roared twice, then peeled off down the street. Jacob let rounds crack after him, sharp and short, echoing off the buildings.
He walked towards the guy kneeling. “Phumela, rest easy bro, we see you.” Jacob put his firearm into his holster under his arm.
“Sir, I did what you said, are we even?” He cried.
“Depends on my policemen catching him.” He knew otherwise. “What’s in the envelope?” Jacob took the envelope and opened it up. Inside twenty thousand Rand.
“Phumela, you did good.” He handed him one thousand Rand.” “Go now you are safe for now!”
“He he he,” he laughed walking towards his van. “See you bunch of idiots how easy that was. Money for the rainy day.” Jacob got into his van and drove away. His team dispersed and went their own way. The “borrowed uniforms” discarded. Left to rot in the undergrowth.
Jacob took the road to Sandton. The money wasn’t really his, only a cut of it. He stopped off near the drop off point and called the number he was given. A short while later he saw lights in his review; a Hummer stopped. He got out the van and approached the drivers side.
“Malele my bro, you got something for me, you know Oleg, he wants everything now.” Jan held out his hand.
“Jan the man, yes. Got my cut?” Jacob handed the envelope over. Stepped back.
“He he, this is your cut boet!” A hand appreared and put bullet in his head. Jacob dropped and the Hummer drove off.
Crime flourished, the city decayed - and one shrewd man grew rich. Decay wasn’t his concern, his bank account in Dubai was getting fatter by the day. Oleg Petrov looked out of the window from his hotel room in Sandton City. Setting up the Iron Circle was ingenious.
He came in from the cold and smelled of old money and vodka. Said he wanted to do business and put the feelers out. The mayor and the Provincial Commissioner saw a way to cut out the middleman. Oleg’s operation wasn’t some back-alley thing. It was corruption corrupted. He moved his drugs and his girls through a system that had been greased from the top down.
Every tender, every city contract, had a piece for him. The old crime families worked like rust. Oleg worked like a machine. And with the mayor smiling at him on television and the Commissioner looking the other way, you knew the city wasn’t just rotting. It was being sold off, piece by piece, to the highest bidder. And Oleg had the cash.
Thabo returned to work two months after his contact with Naledi, Provincial Commissioner Themba stressed that he was assisting on the case. Naledi was shrewd and gave the reigns to Thabo straight away.
Their first duty, visit Thembi’s parents. They were struggling. Angry. Let down. Thembi was known for her meticulous note keeping, her laptop and cell phone clear. She was clever and covered her tracks nicely. So devastatingly sad she was found in a ditch in Soweto - a bullet to the back of her head.
It was pretty obvious Thembi’s mother was holding something back. During the discussion Thabo watched her. She fidgeted and kept offering tea, coffee, cakes. He decided to go to the kitchen to chat. He bumped Naledi and nodded towards the kitchen.
Thabo offered to slice the plum loaf. She gave him the knife and a plate. “Mrs Khumalo, Thembi was a wonderful girl. Her colleagues admired her. They told me that Thembi was meticulous and kept things very neat and tidy. I need your assistance.” He cut the loaf.
She stood at the kitchen sink quietly. Her Thembi was a beautiful, faithful child.
“Thabo I am afraid of the police, they are corrupt.” She switched the boiling kettle off and filled the teapot. Thabo was desperate. She was a tough lady. However, he convinced her that he was in an uncorrupt department and they wanted to bring justice for Thembi.
Bettie placed the cups and saucers on the table with spoons and forks. “Thabo, come back tomorrow. She whispered. “I will have the information ready.” She said. “Call Naledi and my husband, let us enjoy tea and cake.”
Thabo and Naledi left and drove to the cemetery so that Thabo could pay respects as he wasn’t able to attend Thembi’s funeral. Not many kilometres away Oleg and the mayor, Kabelo Dlamini were having drinks in the hotel where Oleg stayed.
The Leonardo Hotel was on Africa’s richest square mile, surrounded by corporate headquarters, multinational banks, and the Sandton Convention Centre. It’s a place where power is brokered.
“Thabo is back on the Thembi case, Oleg.” Kabelo took a sip of his vodka.
“So, he won’t uncover anything. Themba saw to it. Don’t worry so much. Relax. You are getting enough money.” Oleg laughed, his jowls shook.
“Naledi, a new detective from Cape Town is lead on the case. He is clever. I am worried. What if they uncover too much.” He watched the waiter place another drink next to Oleg.
“Drink up Dlamini. I have something to surprise you. Remember the prostitute, Anna. Well, she is here.” The corrupt will lead the corrupt it seems.
Naledi drove in silence. Mrs Khumalo came through. He was glad. What were they going to uncover he wondered.
“Over there,” said Thabo. “There she is. Just pull up next to her. Then we drive to the place we discussed. I fear that there are too many eyes on us.” He was uncomfortable.
Mrs Khumalo handed over the Checkers plastic shopping bag. Naledi drove off glancing in his review mirror. Thankfully, they weren’t followed but regardless, took a roundabout way to get to Edenvale, changing highways and going downside streets.
Naledi pulled up outside an office block in Boksburg. Luckily, his sister was the cleaner of this office block and gave him the keys to an empty office. Trust her, a sign was put up on the door “Smith, Naidoo & Partners” a perfect cover. They pulled up chairs and opened the bag. A laptop and what looked like the plum loaf in silver foil. They smiled.
Thabo opened the laptop, on the keyboard a yellow stick-it note with numbers and letters. The password. Mrs Khumalo came through. He logged on, Thembi’s private laptop it seemed.
Each icon proved nothing, then saw Majong, wrong spelling. Clicked. A screen opened. Data and photos sprawled across it. And there - right at the top - “Hello Detective Thabo.”
Contracts. Bank Accounts. Invoices. Names stretching hundreds deep.
Then - the photo: the mayor, provincial commissioner, Chief of Justice, and Oleg, Sitting together. Dining together. Smiling. Private. Untouchable - until now.
They leaned in. The city’s rot laid bare. Thabo pressed the flash drive into the port. One download. Then another. Duplicate. Secure. The Mahjong account? Deleted. They had expected corruption, not on this scale. Not the evidence that could burn the entire system down.
Thabo opened up the tin foil, a delicious smell arose, the plum cake. He turned the loaf upside down, made a hole in the bottom. Placed one of the flash drives into a small plastic bag and inserted it into the hole. He carefully wrapped the loaf. He placed the other flash drive into his brief case with the folder. Thembi’s laptop would be taken back to her parents—but on a day when everything was over.
Taping the other flash drive to the bottom of the dash, they drove back to the office feeling very sombre. They walked up the stairs to their office and sat down. This needed reporting. Who? Naledi looked at Thabo, who was chewing his thumb nail. Themba walked in, they both stood.
“Any news on the case? He asked. “You seem to have been busy, not seen you around much.”
“Commissioner, it has been busy. Following up, seeing witnesses, tightening things.” Replied Thabo. “Naledi has followed up on some enquiries and we seem to have come across some information that would help the case.”
“Is it another “dead end”, I am getting impatient with you guys. Forever stalling.”
“No Commissioner. This is solid, a witness has photographs, we are meeting tomorrow to fetch them.” Naledi swigged his coke.
“I need the report. The powers that be are getting impatient. The case is costing a fortune.” He walked out of the office. Naledi and Thabo looked at each other - they felt so uncomfortable. “Brother, who do we take this to? Themba is corrupt.” Naledi rubbed his eyes.
The long road south from Johannesburg was a kind of silence Naledi and Thabo hadn’t felt in years. The air was cleaner, the light felt brighter. Two days of driving. Two days of quiet. They didn’t talk much. The briefcase was on the back seat under their jackets. Thembi’s flash drive safe, the duplicate taped under the dash. Just in case.
They found the place in the small, quiet town by the sea. A small, unassuming house, much like the man himself. Jack Pou opened the door. He didn’t look like a hero. Just an old guy. Tired face. Sharp look in his eye.
“You’re the guys from Joburg,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Thabo nodded and handed him the briefcase. Pou took it, his face unreadable. They sat at a worn wooden table. He smiled when he saw that the plum cake contained the flash drive. He plugged the flash drive into a laptop. A few clicks. A moment of silence. Then the images and documents came up on the screen. The mayor, the Commissioner, Oleg, the contracts, the bank statements. A whole damn city on a flash drive.
“Gold,” Pauw said, a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Pure gold.”
He looked at them, a new respect in his eyes. “How did you find all this? The details are... incredible. Like you had a source inside their heads.”
Naledi looked at Thabo. Thabo just smiled a thin, weary smile.
“We had a gem,” Thabo said, looking at the screen. “A special kind of source. Knew where to look.”
Pauw nodded slowly, not questioning it. He closed the laptop. The deal was done. The truth was out of their hands now. It would be in the paper. On the news. The city would have to face what it had become. Thabo and Naledi would have to disappear, find new jobs, new lives. But they would know. They would know they finally won. They finally did the right thing.
The air in the quiet room was heavy, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t a lie.
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