Present Darkness by Malla Nunn

Author:Malla Nunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2013-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

It was the big one who did the stabbing. The pissant who grabbed the girl didn’t have the guts,” Labrant said. “I reckon Vickers knew them, let them in to rob the place.”

“That was his name?” Emmanuel pocketed the bloody handkerchief, which would now have to be thrown away or burned.

“Ja.” Labrant blew out a loud breath. “Should never have trusted him. I saw him beat his dog once.”

“It’s finished,” Emmanuel said. The time for analysis had already passed. “We have to move. The thieves won’t come back after the beating they’ve taken but they might call the police or get the immorality squad down here.”

“Right.” The Sergeant glanced to the black spot where the body lay. “I’ll take care of Vickers, find him a resting place in the Orange Free State.”

“We could leave him and call the body into the police tomorrow morning.” That presented the least illegal option. “He might have family.”

“Lucky for us, Vickers had no family and no friends: just a job and a boss who’ll report him missing when he fails to show up for three shifts in a row,” Labrant said. “A miserable death for a miserable man. I’d shed a tear but I’ll be too busy digging up a bush grave on my brother-in-law’s…”

“Don’t say any more,” Emmanuel interrupted. “I don’t want to know. Let’s clear the place, first. Get everyone out.”

They re-entered the corridor of shed twenty-five. Patrons streamed out as if they were running from a burning building; their valuables clutched in their hands, faces drawn with fear, elbows shoving to clear a path.

“Calm down, people!” Labrant shouted. “The thieves are gone. Move to your cars and leave in an orderly fashion.”

The crowd gave no sign of having heard. In less than five minutes the room and the corridor were empty. The teenage hostage and her white sweetheart were the last out, their arms wrapped around each other.

Dust motes swirled in the light of the hurricane lamps, stirred up by the rush of departing couples. Fatty’s working girls bunched together, smoking and chattering in high-pitched voices. Sergeant Labrant would eventually escort them back to the southern edge of town where they lived together in an isolated house screened from the road by tall slash pines. Davida stood by herself, deep in thought or in shock.

Labrant stripped three tablecloths and rolled them into a ball. “Ready, Cooper?”

Emmanuel walked out to help remove the body.

♦

Half an hour later the jukebox had been wrestled onto the back of Fatty’s pick-up truck and the prostitutes packed into the rear of the police van. Vickers Steyn, rolled in tablecloths, occupied the space farthest from the door. A road patrol would see the girls, not the body. Emmanuel said his goodbyes and returned to the shed to collect Davida. At the very least, he’d spared her the sight of Fatty’s girls joking with each other in the presence of a corpse.

“God above,” the Sergeant Major said upon entering the emptied tin building. “This is, without a doubt, the worst first date in the history of mankind.

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