Night in London Page 3

  “Any word on the duty officer, Control?” inquired Sergeant Night.

  “Yes. General Arosi is coming down himself. He left when the call came through. He should be with you shortly.”

  Just then Sergeant Night heard the unmistakable deep voice of General Amos Arosi from behind him.

  “Mike, this looks and feels a bad one. Are you all right my friend?”

  Sergeant Night turned, stood to attention and saluted his General.

  “How many times have I told you not to salute me Mike. You are a dear friend of mine and it is not necessary.”

  “With all due respect General, it is necessary. I am on duty and you are my commander.”

  Sergeant Night continued: “This was an absolute cluster fuck! Having the Metro Units allowed on our radio channel has just led to another two of them being tortured and killed!”

  “Well it’s not our fault the ‘Peace Officers’ aren’t trained well enough. After all, their mandate is to write tickets not to respond to Alpha calls. From day one I have opposed the decision to allow them to respond to the more serious stuff. You know this full well but the Commissioner himself pushed for it. He thinks why should only his men die in this war on crime in the new South Africa. And I almost agree with him.”

  The General pushed on, his voice intensifying: “Did you know that we are currently losing an officer once every five days across the country? And I am losing one of my men once every three days here in Johannesburg. Do you have any idea what that is like? Two funerals a week I must attend. Two families a week I have to explain why their son or daughter is dead. In fact I am glad the Metro units are involved. Perhaps they can catch a few of the bullets that my officers would have taken. I am sick of it…”

  Sergeant Night interrupted the General.

  “One of those Metro officers was Henry, Zulu’s brother.”

  “Oh no. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. The Metro commanders are supposed to give us duty rosters so we know who is on shift and where. If I had known Henry was posted to Norwood I would have redeployed him somewhere safer as I have done in the past. I am so sorry Mike. I didn’t know. Where is Daniel now?”

  “He is in the bank’s safe with his brother’s body. The bastards cut their arms and legs off and hung them from the roof.”

  “My God” uttered the General.

  “It was ‘the Devil’ himself General. I saw him as he left the bank.”

  “uSathane? Are you sure Mike? Why would he accompany his men on a bank job?? … Anyway we can discuss the matter later. Let’s get this crime scene sorted out and let’s look after Daniel.”

  The detectives had arrived along with the photographers, fingerprint specialists and crime scene experts. The lead detective was Detective Warrant Officer Sipho Mnisi. Sergeant Night was happy about this as he had worked with D/I Mnisi in the past and knew he almost always secured a conviction.

  D/I Mnisi was effective in performing his duties yet not very personable. He was a tall thin man of fair complexion, almost always in a tired looking grey suit and wore a small thin moustache. He unmistakably had an ancestor among the San Tribe of the African desert. From a proud tradition of hunter-gatherers he was now gathering evidence and hunting criminals.

  “Okay Sergeant I am officially taking over this crime scene. You and your men are free to leave. I have your contact details and will get in touch tomorrow to get full statements from all of you. I take it the dead criminals outside are you and your men’s work?”

  “They are not all ours. I believe Sergeant Snyman got one of them as well.”

  “And the one with the knife wound to the heart? I assume that’s Constable Shaka’s handiwork again. How many times must I tell you guys that it is hard to explain to the prosecutor why one of the suspects died by knife. What is the reason this time Sergeant?”

  “Let’s say Constable Shaka’s Nine mill jammed and he had no choice but to go to his knife.”

  “Well, whatever you say just get your story straight. As usual I am compelled by South African law to open up murder dockets against all of you. I wouldn’t worry though with three cops being killed there will be little sympathy for the dead criminals” said D/I Mnisi.

  “Okay detective I will talk to you tomorrow and would like to be involved in the investigation if possible.”

  “Well I would normally deny your request but given who one of the deceased is I shall allow it”. Mnisi gave a derisive snort and added: “Besides if I didn’t I am sure your friend the General would overrule me anyway. Do you have any pertinent information for me now? Without going into detail as I have to wrap up this scene – the bank manager is already nagging me to hurry up as he wants to get back to business. He estimates that the bastards got away with over a million rand.”

  Sergeant Night stared blankly, thinking about the words of the detective and wondering what his beautiful country had come to that a bank manager cares not that two police officers hang dead in his safe.

  “Well Sergeant. Anything?” snapped D/I Mnisi.

  “Yes, detective. It was uSathane and his crew.”

  “And you know this how, Sergeant?”

  “Because I saw him with my own eyes. It was unmistakably him.”

  “Interesting, why would he be present himself?” the detective muttered to himself. “Perhaps it has to do with that shipment from Libya flagged up by Intelligence last week” he continued, seemingly forgetful that Sergeant Night was still standing there.

  Then snapping out of his temporary trance the hardboiled cop looked at Sergeant Night once more.

  “All right thank you Sergeant, you and your men are free to leave the scene and carry on with your duty or whatever it is you are going to do.”

  In most countries around the world after police officers were involved in a deadly gun battle with criminal suspects they would be put on compulsory leave for six months to a year or more or desk duty and their weapons confiscated for ballistics testing. And they would receive enforced trauma counselling. Not so in South Africa. Not so in Norwood. Officers were involved in shootouts so often that to take these officers off the street for a lengthy period after every fire fight would be to leave the streets unpatrolled and devoid of police officers. It was simply not feasible.

  Instead each officer was linked to his or her weapon/s and ammunition via DNA identification tagging, an ingenious modern technique crafted by the South African National Ballistics Unit – a special component of the South African Army. This inventive method involved all police officers having samples of their DNA taken at National Headquarters. This DNA would then be replicated and loaded onto a national database and a unique signature created for each officer’s personal DNA. These signatures were then imprinted on each officer’s personal issue weapons via pioneering nanotechnology. The officer’s ammunition, which was issued directly from National Headquarters, was then imprinted with nanites with a matching DNA signature. The key element here was that an officer’s state issue firearm would not fire without ammunition with corresponding DNA signatures of each individual officer being detected. This led to a dramatic decrease in unexplained officer shootings and greater Control of state weapons and ammunition -- which was greatly needed as in the previous five years before the “Nano-tagging” was introduced just over 10 000 state issue police firearms went missing. This figure has dramatically reduced to almost zero as an officer’s weapons become useless without the officer. And there is greater pause for thought in each and every police officer’s trigger finger.

  As for the obligatory trauma counselling – that too had to be rethought as a world first was occurring. The trauma counsellors themselves started to show signs of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD after counselling members of the SAPF.

  This had the dramatic result that the South African National Association of Police Trauma Counsellors refused to give counsel to South African police officers. This ultimately led to the highest rate of suicides by members of SAPF amongst police officers an
ywhere in the world and to members of the public wondering what is was that the South African National Association of Police Trauma Counsellors actually did, in spite of their impressive title.

  General Arosi walked up to Sergeant Night with Constable Shaka by his side.

  Constable Shaka spoke quietly: “Mike, the General has arranged for the Air Wing to put me in a transport plane and send me home to Natal with my brother.”

  “Okay, let’s go” replied Sergeant Night.

  “I must do this alone Mike. I must face my family and tribal leaders and explain why I let him die.”

  “But…”

  “No Mike. I must do this alone. It is the Zulu way. Besides how would I explain to my elders being accompanied by a white man on to ancestral land. I love you Mike, you know that. But this I must face alone.”

  “All right my brother. So be it.”

  With that Zulu gave Sergeant Night a massive bear hug and Sergeant Night paused, gathering his thoughts and then announced: “When you get back we will kill all of the men responsible. The Devil will know God and his messengers.”

  Constable Shaka looked at Sergeant Night and said in full agreement “That is also the Zulu way.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  General Arosi informed Constable Shaka that a provincial chopper was outside and would transport him and his brother’s body to Provincial Headquarters where they were to be transferred to a SAPF Air Wing Pilatus PC 12 single engine turboprop passenger and cargo aircraft and transported to KwaZulu-Natal where Constable Shaka’s home village was located.

  Constable Shaka said goodbye to Constable Stanislov and General Arosi and left the Metropolitan Bank following his brother’s body as it was pushed out in a collapsible gurney.

  “Gentlemen, the Radium? Shall we?” asked General Arosi looking at Sergeant Night and Constable Stanislov.

  “Yeah let’s go” replied Night.

  “Not today General,” said Stanislov. “I have a previous engagement that I cannot neglect, besides my liver is still recovering from the last time I went out to have a ‘couple’ of drinks with you two.”

  “Sounds mysterious, constable. A woman perhaps?” smiled General Arosi

  “He has a habit of being mysterious General with the greatest mystery being a Russian who doesn’t drink properly.”

  “I do drink properly it’s just that you South Africans don’t make decent vodka and you drink to get drunk while I drink because I like good vodka.”

  “I take offence to that constable – the General and I have never been drunk a day in our lives.”

  The three men laughed a painful laugh.

  “Ok Stani, I will talk to you in a few days then and we will start tracking down our new enemy. I think it’s best if we took a few days off following today’s happenings. Is that OK with you General?”

  “Yes, that’s perfectly fine. Take ten days. Constable Shaka should be finished with tribal business by then. I also have some private Close Protection work for you Mike, if you are interested that is.”

  Constable Stanislov left in the Beast and Sergeant Night and General Arosi travelled in the General’s state vehicle driven by his bodyguard and driver Constable Tony Tshabalala. They headed for the Radium Beerhall a few minutes down Louis Botha Avenue.

  Established in 1929, the Radium Beerhall is the oldest surviving bar and grill in Johannesburg. It is situated on the main traffic artery Louis Botha Avenue in Orange Grove. Not far away drug dealers reign in Hillbrow and in the opposite direction gangsters swagger in Alexandra Township. But the Radium had improbably survived and flourished.

  For decades it had been a favoured hangout for newspapermen. The walls are covered in bizarre newspaper posters like THE AIR IS VROT WITH TENSION (vrot is an Afrikaans word meaning rotten.) There are photos of jazzmen who have played there and press clippings that record the Radium's colourful history.

  Opened as a tearoom by the Khalil family in 1929, the Radium also operated as an illegal shebeen. It sold liquor to black customers who were barred from drinking "white man's liquor." Eventually a wine and malt licence was acquired and the Tearoom became a Beerhall. The ancient scarred bar, which is now more than 100 years old, was rescued from the demolition of the Ferreirastown Hotel.

  A new era arrived in 1986 with the advent of Manny Cabeleira, a strong character who added some Portuguese flair and replaced the billiard room with a restaurant. It was a new Radium, anticipating the New South Africa by quite a few years with a cosmopolitan mix of new customers, including blacks -- and women, who had been banned during the macho epoch. Then came live music and a Radium tradition -- the Fat Sound 19-piece jazz band performs on the first Sunday of every month. The orchestra is a jazz powerhouse, fuelled by original arrangements by members of the band, especially its colourful leader, British trombonist John Davis who always wears a white hat. Always.

  Sergeant Night recalled how just a couple of weekends past a shootout occurred at the Princess Shebeen directly across the road from the Radium. Shebeens were very common in South Africa, servicing the poorest drinking man by providing cheap, strong booze. Often unlicensed and without running water or electricity, the majority of these taverns were breeding grounds for criminal activity and often caused death and destruction through paralytic drunken behaviour.

  The Princess was different in the fact that it had electricity and water, pool and soccer tables and was grander than most, attracting large crowds of men and women who lived a hand to mouth existence and had nothing to lose except the beer in their hand.

  The Princess was a constant headache to the Norwood Police Station and it was responsible for a large percentage of the crime statistics on any given weekend. It also attracted a fair amount of off duty police officers from the Norwood police barracks, literally a couple of minutes’ walk down the road. No man in Africa is immune to the lure of cheap strong booze, Sergeant Night thought.

  The particular incident Sergeant Night was remembering involved an off duty police officer getting in an argument with another man over a pint of spilt beer and eventually chasing him out of the shebeen while shooting at him. An innocent bystander was hit just outside the Radium while another round miraculously lodged itself in the thin railing just outside of the venue, narrowly sparing the customers who were packed inside while listening to some jazz.

  Constable Tshabalala parked their vehicle outside the Radium on the one way 9th Street in Orange Grove. As they walked down 9th Street Sergeant Night noticed that the Princess shebeen across Louis Botha Avenue was still closed. He scanned right and left looking for any criminal activity. The café on the right was clear, no armed robberies taking place. The bicycle shop on the left also clear.

  Sergeant Night and any decent police officer in South Africa knew to always be tactically aware of his surroundings. It was always possible to walk into an armed robbery in progress or past one and being in uniform they would be targeted first without warning. The men entered the Radium, again making sure it was not in the middle of a stick up, though the Radium would be a stupid place to rob with all members of staff carrying private pistols licenced for self-defence. There were two powerful and respected bartenders, Fernando and Tsepho and a crazy alcoholic chef who often greeted any complaining diners with a wry grin and a butcher’s knife in hand. Although it was rare that anybody would complain about the food at the Radium. It was grand. And well-priced too.

  Sergeant Night and General Arosi took up their usual position at the bar -- at a corner with their backs to a wall. They had a perfect view of anybody entering or leaving the Beerhall. The General’s bodyguard and driver Tony had taken a seat at a table on a platform a level higher and overlooking his principal as he usually did. And as usual he was in plain clothes. Nobody would suspect who he was. Which was the objective.

  Fernando greeted the two uniformed officers and ignored Tony. Sergeant Night always respected him for this and smiled at the thought that Fernando was also somehow a police officer, deep undercove
r.

  “General, Sarge” he nodded.

  “Hello Fernando, how are you today?” inquired the General.

  “Good, thank you. Well as good as I can be with world war three breaking out around me, again.”

  “Ah yes I suppose you heard the commotion.”

  “You call that a commotion General? It sounded as though 50 men were involved in trying to kill each other, again. I heard Nine mills, AKs, police assault rifles and shotguns… pretty much like the one you are carrying now Sarge. I suppose you were involved hey and that’s why you are in the area hey General?”

  “We must be mistaken Mike, I thought we had walked into a bar not a police station.”

  “Ah, I get it I am behaving more like a cop than a bartender, right General?”

  “Something like that Fernando. Could we get a drink now?”

  “Sure. And I am glad you officers are all right; the usual?”

  “Sure, it wouldn’t be usual otherwise. And two tequilas.”

  South African Police Force National Standing Orders forbid uniformed officers to drink alcohol while still in police uniform in a public bar. However, some time ago National Headquarters had granted the Radium Beerhall official status as a policemen’s bar. This permitted uniformed officers to drink on the premises under two conditions. One, that they removed their rank insignia and two, that they surrendered their weapons to the establishment for safekeeping under lock and key. Condition one was largely followed.

  As Sergeant Night and General Arosi removed their rank insignia Fernando placed their drinks on the bar -- a double Captain Morgan and Coke for the General and a double Johnnie Walker Red on the rocks for Sergeant Night and the two Tequilas with lemon and salt on the side.