Night in London Read online

  General Arosi and his bodyguard left Section Four as sharply as they had arrived.

  “All right Students, you have 20 minutes to change into your PT gear and to jump into the ring. The last man standing after a 15 minute brawl will be given 30 minutes to recover and will then be expected in full uniform for duty on the road. The losers will prepare for duty in the charge office. Go!

  “Dlamini, wait, not you, not yet, you owe me 100 push ups, now.”

  “Yes General!”

  “What do you guys think?” Night asked Stanislov and Shaka.

  “I’ll put 50 rand on this one” said Stanislov pointing to Steven Dlamini who was now pumping out the push ups as though he was simply clapping his hands. “You should have given him more to do!”

  “I’ll put my money on the farmers,” said Shaka, “they are big and powerful. Although there’s something about this little boy, he must be a Zulu!”

  “I’m not a little boy you big tree and I am a Shona not a Zulu!” said Dlamini.

  “Well that explains the big mouth and lack of manners!” said Shaka.

  “How many are you on, Steven?” asked Night.

  “Um, I don’t know, I lost track General, the big fig tree put me off” said Dlamini still pushing out the chest exercises at a blistering rate.

  “Then start again and when you are finished go and get changed and make it 250 now because you have a shit memory, big ears and are distracted easily.”

  “Yes General!”

  The trio turned and left Section Four to head to the canteen to get something to drink.

  “Who do you think will train with us Mike?” asked Shaka.

  “That Dlamini boy without a doubt, he’s a hard little fucker and you can see he’s fit and strong as hell, you know that weird wiry kinda strong.”

  Thirty minutes later the six Student Constables had lined up on parade once more, now wearing the SAPF PT kit. Constable Shaka was dishing out headgear and the MMA gloves.

  “All right Sharks, you have all chosen to enter the ring in a contest to determine who will be allowed to train with us on the road first. Let me explain the reason for this selection test. Quite simply it is to determine the strongest and most determined candidate among you. I am not going to bullshit you about deeper physiological reasons for doing this. We simply want to know who is the hardest here, physically and mentally. For when you ride with us you will need to be robust. We will not take it easy because you are in the vehicle. And you have a higher than normal chance of dying while travelling with us. Dlamini what you failed to mention was that last week a Student Constable from Flying Squad was also killed at the enemy engagement outside the Metropolitan Bank, did you know that?”

  “No General I didn’t know that. The newspaper only said that two Metro square heads, umm, officers died. It didn’t say anything about one of us dying.”

  “That’s because you probably read one of the state Controlled newspapers – they won’t print things like that, like young aspiring rookie cops getting killed while training on the job. From now on Dlamini you will do well to read a better quality publication such as The Times – the headline for their coverage of the story was about the young student being killed. Anyway that Student Constable was under the command of a veteran Warrant Officer. And the Warrant used the boy as a decoy, well that’s what I believe, both of the young rookies that were riding with the Yankee vehicles that day made basic tactical mistakes but provided the Warrant Officer with good lures to distract the enemy’s fire. Which they did.”

  “But that’s wrong man! That’s kak (crap)!” said Jan the farmer boy.

  “That’s war” said Stanislov.

  “That’s right gentlemen, that’s the reality about what’s going on out there. Think about it for a second. Our crew, Shaka, Stanislov and myself, our safety is determined by how well we each do our jobs and how well we are trained as individuals, now if Stanislov is tactically weak then he will make us vulnerable as a crew, but he is not weak and neither is Shaka nor I. But now we have to put you boys in the picture and you become part of our unit. If we do not carefully monitor you and tactically think about your position in relation to ourselves your weakness and inexperience could get us all killed. Let me reassure you though that we will never use you boys as cannon fodder. And that is part of my conundrum as I know all too well that both Shaka and Stanislov will put their lives on the line to save yours and as much as I love you boys, or will grow to love you, I would rather lose you than one of my brothers. This is why this is your first examination, we need to see who has the will to survive and the will to destroy your enemy. Do you understand?”

  “I understand General, you want to know if we are pussies , if we are weak babies! But I am strong like a cow! I am a Shona and will kill all the motherfuckers!” said Dlamini.

  Night started laughing as did Shaka and Stanislov and soon the students laughed as well, Steven Dlamini didn’t laugh. He was dead serious.

  “Stani open the doors and let the men in. Shaka my brother, get the boys in the ring and prepare them for battle.”

  The large sliding doors of Section Four that led out to the back of the Gymnasium parking lot drew open to show approximately two hundred police officers standing outside waiting to see what had been dubbed “The Rookie Ringer!”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Constable Shaka geared up the young cadets and lined them up against the boxing ring, each rookie displayed a number from one to six and the watching crowd of police officers , most in uniform, started to size up the fledgling aspirant cops and then place bets on who they thought would win. After the final tally was taken by Officer “Clever” who was also the station bookie the odds on favourites were either Jan or Piet, the farmers or “the boers” as the chalk board now read. Steven Dlamini was the second least favourite to still be standing after the 15 minute round of boxing was over.

  “Gentlemen” said Night “at the sound of the bell you must begin to fight as if your life depended on it. Almost the entire Norwood front line is here to watch you, and believe me they are judging you. The man left standing at the end of the 15 minutes will ride on the streets of Johannesburg today as an officer of the law, as one of us, as a brother. If after 15 minutes, more than one man is left standing, which has never happened before and would in itself be a failure, then another 15 minute round will commence until only one man is victorious. Apart from all the usual rules associated with boxing there is one rule that you must follow and if you do not you will be disqualified. And that rule is aggression in action. You must display real, raw unadulterated aggression in every action, without emotion, without hate for your enemy, you must be emotionless but fearless and committed to destroying your enemy. Understood? Good luck gentlemen. Dlamini, don’t let me down boy, I have a thousand rand riding on you!”

  “No problem General, I will knock these square heads on their asses. It’s time to ride the lightning!!”

  “What the hell did he just say?” asked Stanislov.

  “I think he said it’s time to ride the lightning?” answered Night.

  “I thought so. That’s one strange kid!”

  Ding Ding!

  The cadets stood still in the ring. Facing each other in a semi-circle.

  “FIGHT!” shouted the crowd “FIGHT!”

  Steven Dlamini needed no more encouragement and leapt in to action striking first, he lunged at one of the other cadets, Jonathan, who was rated third most likely to win, and punched him under the chin, catching him clean with a well-directed and powerful uppercut, Jonathan’s mouth guard flew out of his mouth and out of the ring into the crowd of police officers. He stammered, dazed, confused and off balance. Night and Stanislov looked at each other both mentally asking each other the same question. “Will Steven Dlamini hesitate, will he show mercy.” He didn’t, he followed up his initial attack with a vicious blow to Jonathan’s face, a straight hit, following through with his body. Jonathan’s head snapped back against his spine,
the sound reverberated around Section Four, the crowd held its collective breath momentarily, how could the third favourite, a man nearly twice the size of Dlamini, have been defeated so quickly, so viciously, his body turned on the spot and then collapsed to the ground, out cold.

  The Boers had commenced their attack at the same time going for the weakest of the bunch the man voted least likely to win, Ben. He stood no chance. Jan and Piet fought him together as one. As Jan faked a jab and Ben put up his hands in weak defence Piet would strike a blow on the opposite side, it took only three attacks from the powerful young men and Ben was on the floor, down and out.

  Zak, cleverly stood back and watched what was happening and timed his attack perfectly. He waited for Steven to deliver his final blow on Jonathan and as Jonathan hit the ground, Zak hit Steven, clean on the side of his cheek, hard. He put so much into the punch that his entire body followed through and he passed in front of Steven after delivering the side strike. Steven’s eye flared up and he could be heard to swear, calling his attacker a coward, he turned on Zak and rushed him, anger filled his body and he charged, rugby tackling Zak up onto the ropes. Once there he let loose a torrent of upper body blows, left, right, left, right at an incredible rate. Zak, who had his hands up protecting his face made the mistake of moving them down to try and stop the bombardment of pain against his kidneys and chest. Steven was waiting for this. He pulled out of the upper body attack and went back in - this time aiming higher, striking at Zak’s now undefended head, he delivered a dozen powerful blows, left and right, in under four seconds. Zak didn’t stand a chance. His body gave up, his brain stopped transmitting signals to his legs and arms and he fell to ring floor face first. Out cold.

  The two brothers stood side by side and faced Dlamini. Steven turned and met their gaze.

  Steven’s eyes had changed. He looked possessed. He looked dangerous. The two brothers noticed this and turned and looked at each other. This pause was enough to allow Steven to rush in. He grabbed one of the brothers by the arm and ran him into the other. The brothers fell to the floor in a tangled heap. Steven followed up by delivering an illegal knee to the face of Jan. Jan’s eye opened up from the jagged blow and blood squirted out of the open wound, spraying blood on his brother and the ring floor. Jan screamed in pain and rolled himself out of the ring holding his bloodied eye.

  Steven stood back and allowed Piet to stand. Piet squared up to Steven and could be heard calling him a cheat. Steven replied that boxing was a one on one competition and that he needed to take out one of the brothers, some way or another or the fight was already lost.

  Piet waited, calm and confident in his strength and stature and called Dlamini forward with his hand, goading him to attack. Steven took the bait and surged forward aiming a blow to Piet’s head. Piet skilfully dodged the attack and struck hard, landing a crisp hammer strike to the tip of Steven’s nose. It broke instantly and blood flowed and Steven fell to the mat, dazed and confused. Piet smiled and walked away from Steven now lying on the floor seemingly defeated.

  Piet pranced around the ring and raised his large arms in victory, his ego drowning out the desperate cries from the crowd. He faced them basking in his glory. But the cries grew louder and louder until he finally heard the unified call that was now one chant, “FINISH HIM, FINISH HIM!” The gambling men who wanted to see a return on their wager by seeing their man win were also professional South African police officers and they knew the golden rule of always making sure one’s enemy was well and truly defeated.

  By the time Jan had realised what the crowd was trying to communicate to him and had turned around Steven was already on his feet and coming in hard. Dlamini unleashed a hell fire of punches as he had done so before and didn’t stop until Piet was on the floor well and truly defeated and until he was on top of him and Night had pulled him off.

  “It’s over Steven. You won, he’s finished. Today you ride with November Whisky Fifty!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The station medics treated the wounded students who when suitably patched up were then lined up on parade once more. The crowd of Norwood front line police officers who gathered to watch the fight and wagered on who the winner would be then filed passed the parade and greeted and congratulated each and every one of the six battered students, welcoming them into the brotherhood of police officers.

  After the induction was over Night dismissed the Student Constables; five of them on charge office duty in the Norwood Police Station performing administrative duty, filling out Accident Reports, Commissioning Oaths and taking witness statements.

  And Dlamini changed into full duty gear to be the first Student Constable in that yearly intake to work on the streets of Johannesburg. The Black Bastards waited for their new Student Constable at the back of the Norwood Station where the Beast was parked. Student Constable Steven Dlamini arrived exactly twelve minutes after being dismissed from the Rookie Ringer.

  “That’s a new record Dlamini, twelve minutes is the fastest yet, you’re keen!” said Stanislov.

  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.”