Read Payback - A Cape Town thriller Online
Authors: Mike Nicol
Five days into the New Year, Mace and Pylon set up a logistics meeting with Mo Siq.
‘Make it my apartment,’ he said. ‘Come’n be jealous of my view.’
Getting to the Waterfront was a nightmare, Mace and Pylon pulled in twenty minutes late. Mo waved aside their apologies. Mo was expansive, until Mace and Pylon explained the situation. Then Mo, in shorts and a flashy Madiba shirt worn loose, was not relaxed. Paced the balcony of his apartment most agitated. Mace and Pylon standing, beers in hand, letting the man adjust to the information. Typical Mo, Mace thought, the ostentatious address. Rich Jews his only neighbours. From three floors up good view, though, across the V&A to the harbour and back to the mountain. Nothing to be jealous about, given his own aspects. When he beat the bank off.
The situation they’d outlined to Mo ran: cargo scheduled for loading Wednesday afternoon, Duncan Dock, Berth D, ship sails that night, deposit paid the next day.
Mo stopped to take a swallow of a single malt he’d splashed with water. ‘Again. I’m dispatching early Wednesday morning, therefore loaded Wednesday afternoon, and your boat sails away with my goodies and only twenty-four hours later do I get to see some money.’
‘As agreed,’ said Pylon.
Mo stared at him. ‘I took it you were joking. I thought in this day ‘n age you’d do business better. Professionally.’
‘It’s straight,’ said Mace. ‘You have our word.’
‘Word’s not what I care for. What I care for is this’ - he held up his right hand, rubbed his thumb against his fingers. ‘Moolah, Mace Bishop. Moolah.’
‘The arrangement’s solid,’ said Pylon.
‘Yeah sure it is. I’ve got to take the say-so of security guards.’
Mace said, ‘What? What’d you say?’
‘Goons. Thick necks. The word of guard dogs.’
‘Up yours, Mo.’ Mace feeling heat rising in his face, taking a step forward.
Mo smirked. ‘The boy’s flushing. Macey the hammer. Good to smash fingers, the only thing he could do. You’re nowhere, Mace. Nowhere ‘n no one.’ Mo gesturing like he was throwing corn to chickens. Turned away.
Mace angled to get past Pylon, reaching to get a grip on Mo’s fancy shirt. ‘Don’t come the high and mighty.’
Mo squirmed out of Mace’s hold, keeping Pylon as a shield. Pylon blocking Mace.
‘You cheap shit-’ but Mace got no further, Pylon shouting, ‘Okay, okay, let’s cool it.’
Mo grinned. ‘Touched a nerve, hey! Bit raw there.’
‘Stuff off,’ said Mace.
‘Guys,’ said Pylon. ‘Guys. Help me out here. Wind it down.’
Mace shrugged free of Pylon’s hold. ‘This was the deal, Mo. This was the deal in November. This is the deal now.’
‘Except in November you were gonna pay me on delivery.’
‘A deposit.’
‘On delivery. Now you tell me one day later. Like I’m
smelling
a set-up. I’m thinking you’re hanging me out here. I’m feeling done over.’
‘It’s nothing like that,’ said Pylon.
‘Convince me.’
Pylon set his beer bottle on a table beside the remains of Mo’s breakfast. ‘What more can we say?’ He faced Mo, holding out his hands. ‘This is the way it is, bru. We’re all taking a risk. Me and Mace most of all. It’s our lives on the table.’
‘My career,’ snapped Mo.
‘Sure it is. But you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t consider this worth the pot.’
Mo grunted dismissively. ‘Get me,’ he said, putting a finger in Pylon’s face. ‘Understand me word for word. I find out something else’s going down here, you’ll become unhappy. You will want your life to end.’
Pylon stared him out.
Mace said, ‘Oh shit.’
‘Try me,’ Mo said.
Going down in the lift Mace thought, we do things for people, what thanks do we get? Nothing but grief. Said, ‘It’s not as if he’s even putting out personally. So what’s with the heavy stuff?’
‘Can’t help it,’ said Pylon. ‘That’s part of Mo. In the old days, in exile, Mo was paranoid all the time. Never went to London because he reckoned someone would stick him with a poisoned umbrella.’
The lift doors opened onto what would be a marina but was still a building site. ‘Bloody paranoid,’ said Mace, imitating Mo’s accent. ‘Why doesn’t he bugger off back to the curry basin, I ask you?’
Isabella slept off her jet-lag before she called Paulo. Stood now at the hotel window looking over the trees towards the city’s downtown. What she’d seen coming in from the airport a nice place for an African city, if you ignored the squatter mess either side of the highway: tin shacks, igloos of black plastic sheeting, goats, cows. You turned away from that, not a bad place to spend your last days as Paulo was doing. She thumbed in her husband’s cellphone number. He came on groggy in the middle of the afternoon.
‘Honeypie! Did I wake you?’
Paulo’s voice coming over irritated: ‘Why’re you calling?’
Isabella loved it. ‘Oh, hon, I’m concerned. I’m here to cheer you.’
‘Here?’
‘Same place you are. Think you should come to mamma quickly. Leave the little bimbo for a couple of hours, huh!’
She smiled at the silence. Paulo eventually saying, ‘Ludo told you?’
‘Hon, Ludo tells me everything. I told Ludo, relax, no harm done, if she’s gonna make you work better then wonderful.’
What she’d also told Ludo was to make an arrangement for Paulo and Vittoria for after. Which made Ludo happy.
‘So surprise, surprise, hon. Here I am. Bit earlier than expected but a wife has to support her hubby too. Come ‘n talk to me.’
‘Where?’
‘Pink place called Mount Nelson. Say in an hour?’
‘Jesus, Isabella.’
‘Jesus nothing,’ said Isabella. ‘I’ll be waiting.’
Next she hit Mace Bishop in her contacts list.
‘Was wondering when I’d hear from you,’ he said.
Isabella laughed. ‘Such a welcome to your beautiful city. You’re sounding a bit stressed Macey-boy.’
‘Just a little,’ said Mace. ‘Mostly about a payment that’s due.’
‘Relax.’ She turned from the window. Slipped into her shoes. ‘In about an hour you’re going to hear it from the horse’s mouth.’
‘Really. From your husband?’
‘The great man himself. All the details. So how about dinner?’
‘Could be arranged,’ said Mace. ‘Where’re you? The Nellie?’
‘If that’s Mount Nelson.’
‘I’ll pick you up. About eight?’
‘Oh, and Mace,’ she said before he could disconnect, ‘go easy on my beloved. Paulo’s Paulo, that’s one thing he can’t help.’
Vittoria shifted onto an elbow, watching Paulo head for the shower. ‘That Isabella?’
Paulo’s affirmative coming over the toilet flush.
‘She’s in town already? Where?’
‘Hotel called Mount Nelson.’
‘Think we should do her now?’
Paulo came back into the bedroom. ‘Too many complications. We gotta sell the snow. Get the cash to her, sort it out after. What we don’t want is Francisco on our ass.’
Vittoria dipped a wet finger in her bedside supply. ‘Thing is, Paulo, what if she flies away again?’
‘Let me find out, okay? Get her schedule.’
Vittoria sucked her finger. ‘Best thing’s to kill her now, Paulo. Statistics say a tourist’s gonna get killed it’s gonna happen in the first forty-eight hours.’
Paulo shook his head. ‘You take too much of that stuff.’ He disappeared into the shower steam, still shaking his head.
‘You not gonna go soft on me, baby?’
Paulo didn’t answer.
Vittoria lay back wondering if Paulo had the balls or was he going to move out of this the way he’d tried with the queers.
When his cellphone rang she took it. ‘Yeah!’
Isabella’s voice: ‘Where’s Paulo?’
‘Taking a shower.’
‘Let me talk to him.’
Vittoria thought, screw you, said in mock posh English, ‘Of course, ma’am’ - and took the cellphone to Paulo, lobbing it over the glass panel, ‘Catch, Paulo.’
Isabella heard Paulo swearing, the sound of the shower, the phone bouncing around. The noises stopped.
‘Honeypie,’ she said, ‘bring the money with you.’
Paulo got to Isabella’s room and she hit straight into the stuff he was jumpy about. Counted the money, wanted to know why he was so far off the target.
Had him wound up with her bitchy voice. ‘Paulo, honeypie, this is me, your wife, on the line here. Not you, or Ludo, or Francisco, but me.’ Talking down to him, really talking down to him as if he were ten years old. Paulo having to sit on the edge of the bed while she played teacher. ‘So Francisco would be disappointed. Nobody likes to lose money. But Francisco loses this, he doesn’t notice it. Not really. People who notice it are people like me. My agents. People who’ve really got their asses in the flames. They’re the ones going to get burned, Paulo. Not just third degree. I’m talking full-on cinderisation. Full-on black stump and crispy. And why? Because my little honeypie didn’t pull his finger out. Kept it waggling in his girlfriend’s pussy when he should’ve been out there pitching, pitching, pitching.’
Paulo shifted uneasily.
‘You stop being useful, Paulo, you’re finished. Worm chow.’
She went to stand at the window so he could see nothing but this black spectre against the light. Thinking, Vittoria’s right, the bitch’s at the end of usefulness. Time for an accident. Time to move on. After the job.
‘You want to listen now, honeypie, hear a thing or two about the loop you’re working?’
Paulo nodded. What options?
‘Let me hear you.’
‘Yeah.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Tell me.’
Isabella smiled. ‘What you’re doing, hon, is not simply turning chemicals into money. What you’re doing is setting up a stream. Cash becomes hardware. Hardware becomes diamonds. Diamonds become dollars. As I said, a lot of people’re drinking from this stream. Mostly people who don’t drink from your cut-glass crystal. What I’m saying is, you don’t set up the stream you’re the man who gets fingered first.’
She came away from the window took her cellphone off the dressing table, put in a number, and listened. ‘Who I’m phoning is a guy called Mace Bishop. I’m going to tell him you’re the money man for the down payment and the whole deal. You’re going to tell him your landline number and address. That address is where he comes to collect the cash.’
Turned out Mace Bishop was cool about this arrangement. Isabella gave the phone to Paulo.
‘Hey,’ said Paulo.
‘I’m listening,’ came the response.
Paulo gave the Llandudno address and the house telephone number.
Mace said, ‘I’ll be round to collect the down-payment Saturday morning. Say about eleven. Be waiting.’
‘Fuck you,’ said Paulo.
‘That’s not the line you want to take,’ said Mace. ‘Be nice and friendly.’
Paulo disconnected.
‘I wouldn’t say things like that to him,’ said Isabella. ‘The guy’s a hyena.’
‘Like everyone,’ said Paulo, handed the cellphone back to Isabella. ‘What if I don’t make the down-payment?’
Isabella tapped the phone against the palm of her hand. ‘I don’t think you won’t. Four nights to go, one of those a Friday. Shouldn’t be a problem.’
Paulo thought, shit, she’s hanging me out. Said, ‘I can do it.’
‘Course you can. Dealer like you this is no hassle at all.’ She gave him a dazzler, flash of teeth, lips thinned. Dangerous as a snake Paulo had always found that smile.
‘And if I don’t?’
She grimaced. ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t go there’ - held out her hand to him, ‘How about a cream tea?’
Paulo dabbed the scone first with strawberry jam, then cream. The only problem with the English habit was how to get it in your mouth without hoovering cream up your nostrils. Not an issue for anyone else he’d noticed. A lounge of them going at the scones and cream.
‘What you think?’ Isabella said. ‘Something else, you must admit.’
Paulo took the serviette to the cream smearing his upper lip. He swallowed. ‘What would be a help, would be getting say ten days out of your friend. Five days is tight.’
‘Nothing I can do, hon. Out of my hands. The deal’s going down Saturday. Why’s there a problem here?’
Paulo thought, a problem here! A problem like how to get four hundred K from three hundred K max worth of powder. In four days. Pushing it in every sense of the word. ‘No problem,’ he said.
Isabella leant across, holding out a serviette. Paulo pulled back. ‘There’s a tag of jam on the end of your nose,’ she said, blotting at it. ‘Better’ - and sat back. ‘Don’t you love this place?’ - gesturing round the hotel lounge, popping what was left of a scone into her mouth. ‘Probably they didn’t even have to theme it colonial.’
‘Maybe I should drop the money with you?’ Paulo watched Isabella top up his coffee, coffee that was as piss poor as instant. ‘Would make sense. He’s your friend. Your contact. Maybe you should close the deal with him.’
‘Ordinarily, that’s how it would’ve gone. Except this time I want you in the loop. Prove something to Francisco. I want you to handle this all the way.’ She brushed crumbs from her lap.
‘What about Ludovico?’
‘Paulo, hon. I told you. You want in with Francisco, you do this. Ludo’ll be around.’ She reached across to stroke his hand. ‘It’s just a pick-up. You worried, get your girl on the scene. Mace goes weak at the sight of a babe.’ Isabella’s fingers curled over his, she stood.
Paulo looked up at her smiling down at him. ‘Poor honeypie.’
Afterwards Paulo felt like shit. Walked back to his car thinking, Christ, Christ, Christ, why’d he let her dangle him like that? Freaking bitch. To hell with her.
He Zippo’d a smoke. His hands shaking. Anger, humiliation, the indignity of obeying her giving him the sweats the more he thought about it. He needed to be calm, to consider this thing through. Sat in the car staring down the avenue of palms to the fella in the pith helmet at the bottom directing a 4x4 between the pillars. An entrance like a Greek temple: columns and plinths. The 4x4 roared up in low gear, a Grand Cherokee, Ludo at the wheel.