Murderous by David Hickson (best ereader for comics .txt) 📕

let me get to the point.” He puffed at his cigar and disappeared for a minute behind the smoke. When it had cleared he said, “This nasty business in Minhoop, the church. It has highlighted our situation, our vulnerability.”

“I understand,” said the colonel.

“We have a farm, as I mentioned. Very vulnerable out there.”

“Of course.”

Piet sat back in his chair and discovered that his cigar had gone out. He leaned towards Roelof, who produced a flame to rekindle it. “We’ve done a little due diligence,” he said between puffs. “Wanted to be sure that you were the men of integrity you seemed to be.”

“Trust is the only basis for any relationship,” said the colonel. “Very important.”

Piet nodded, and for a moment he held the colonel’s eyes. I knew very well that any due diligence they might have performed would have returned an echoing void of information. But Chandler had insisted we could leave it all to the assumption of our association with Richard Mabele and his reputation, because there was a wealth of information about him. Our presence here this evening was probably vindication of that.

“You’re here,” said Piet, and he opened his arms as if we were a manifestation of some magical trick he had performed. He exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke.

“Very pleased to be here,” said the colonel in a soft voice. We had arrived at the moment of truth.

“Guns,” said Hendrik suddenly. “We want guns. Big fucking guns.”

Piet’s face compressed with irritation. He didn’t look at his son but kept his eyes on Chandler. Roelof made a small sound of annoyance. Chandler nodded solemnly.

“Richard Mabele’s name was mentioned,” said Piet.

“Ah,” Chandler smiled as if the name brought back fond memories. “The things they say about Dicky aren’t true. A man of integrity, that’s what Dicky is.”

“You’ve had dealings with him?” asked Roelof, his eyes hard and cold.

“Dicky and I go way back, don’t we, Freddy?”

“You do,” I said without enthusiasm, and shared a look of right-hand man kinship with Roelof.

“That’s what we thought,” said Piet. “That he was a man of integrity. We had that impression.”

Chandler nodded and then smiled.

“Dicky might be your man,” he said. “What do you think, Freddy?”

“Best there is,” I said. “Dicky works miracles.”

“He does,” agreed Chandler, and sipped at his wine to seal the deal.

“Full disclosure,” said Piet. “We tried a direct approach, but no dice.”

“Dicky only works with people he knows,” said Chandler.

“We wondered whether our meeting at the airport might not have been coincidence. Whether Richard Mabele was doing some diligence of his own.”

The colonel’s smile broadened. “Dicky has an unusual approach to his work.”

Piet nodded and looked pleased. Roelof looked doubtful. Hendrik looked blank and Melissa looked inebriated.

“Give us a wish list,” said Chandler. “We’ll set something up.” He raised his glass towards Piet. Piet raised his glass and Roelof obligingly poured a little more dessert wine into it so that the deal could be made.

“Transport is the issue,” I said.

“Logistics,” said the colonel. “I’ll let you work that out, Freddy. Always fussing about the details, is Freddy.”

“Why is transport an issue?” asked Roelof.

I turned to him. “State of emergency. Moving anything by road has become impossible.”

“We’ll sail them down,” said Chandler.

“Sail them?” asked Roelof, as if we were planning to load the weapons onto a private yacht.

“Sea is better,” I agreed. “But even the cargo ships are subject to endless searches.”

“Hendrik already has guns,” said Melissa, who had roused herself from her reverie. We all looked at her. “They’ve got him into enough trouble already. You shouldn’t be getting Hennie any more guns, Oom.”

“I wonder,” said Piet, “whether your fiancée is tired?”

Hendrik looked around the table as he wondered how many of us were in possession of a fiancée.

“The fire has made me a little dizzy,” admitted Melissa.

“She’s had too much wine,” said Hendrik, but he stood up to help Melissa out of her chair.

Piet gave a tight smile and turned back to us.

“I might have a solution regarding transport. Bit of a ‘get out of jail free’ card. I have government clearance to transport live animals during this time. For the farm.”

“That sounds good,” said the colonel.

“It is,” agreed Piet, and he drained his glass as we said our farewells to Melissa.

“We Afrikaners will keep going to our churches, you know,” said Piet, after Melissa had been escorted by Hendrik to a lower floor where she could rest and recover from the dizzying effect of the warm fire. “We will keep going even if the shooter, when they find him, declares that he is the advance scout of an army preparing war on our people. We will sing our hymns and say our prayers because that is what our religion is to us. It’s our identity. Not a belief. It’s who we are. Good Christian folk, that’s how we see ourselves. We will carry our weapons into the house of our God. And we will make promises to remember Him with gratitude when He protects us.” Piet emphasised the capital letters without irony.

The shimmering veil of wind on the water made a dash for the shore. The glass wall had been opened now that the business of the evening had been done. Piet shivered and blew his nose as the chill wind reached us.

“Melissa was correct in saying that we Afrikaners made a vow before the Battle of Blood River. A vow to our God. That if He would help us to victory in battle, we would forever remember Him on that day. It became a holiday in this country. The Day of the Covenant. It was celebrated every year until the end of apartheid.”

“Is that so?” said the colonel.

“After that it seemed inappropriate to remember a God who had helped us to kill so many Africans.”

“So no more holiday?”

“Well … there’s the funny part, colonel. We still celebrate the day. But we have changed the name of the holiday. It is now the Day of Reconciliation. A little ironic, but there it is. It