Rachel had given Nick directions to her guesthouse in Norwood, but she called again an hour before he left to tell him she was still with Khani’s aunt, who was packing up the flat he’d rented in Yeoville.
‘The police have just left. They’ve been questioning her all afternoon, so I stayed with her. I’m in flat 203 Aloe Mansions, on Bezuidenhout Street.’
Bezuidenhout Street sliced diagonally through the suburb of Yeoville. As Nick drove down it, the names of the intersections brought back memories from his youth. When he’d been a teenager, Yeoville had possessed just the right blend of seediness and mystique. It had been home to a host of super-trendy restaurants and clubs – Mama’s, Rumours, Rockafellas, Ba Pita. Places with reputations so iconic that even the cockroaches that swarmed in their kitchens had had bragging rights.
These famous establishments had been crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with each other in the main shopping area of Rocky Street; most nights there’d been no spare tables to be found.
Then Nick had joined the army and spent most of his time out of the country. When he returned, he found that the Rocky Street era was over. As nearby Hillbrow succumbed to a terminal case of urban decay, the rot spread outwards to the neighbouring suburbs. Cars were stolen from the streets faster than their owners could park them. The artists and students that populated the flats moved out and poorer people moved in.
Nick had heard from Laki that central Yeoville was still a great party destination, although these days the people that thronged into the nightclubs were more likely to be from Zimbabwe or Nigeria than from Sandton or the northern suburbs.
He couldn’t see any sign of aloes when he reached Aloe Mansions. No evidence of mansions either. The squat brick building was surrounded by withered strips of garden, like a fortress in a waterless moat. He parked on the litter-strewn street, wondering if his Jeep would be there when he returned.
Two small children in T-shirts and dirty shorts were playing outside the building in full view of the darkening road. They stared at him, wide-eyed. He wondered who was keeping an eye on them.
‘Where’s your mommy?’ he called.
The girl sucked her finger and looked at him shyly. The boy’s lips parted in a gummy grin. ‘Mabenkele,’ he said.
Nick recognised the Sotho word for shops. He hoped the woman would be back soon. He walked over to the two youngsters.
‘Why don’t you go back inside now? It’s not safe for you to be playing out here so late.’ Nick didn’t know if they understood his words, so he pointed to them and then at the building.
The children stared up at him, eyes like saucers. Then they scrambled to their feet and scurried round the corner. Nick heard a door slam.
He turned away and headed inside.
His feet slipped on the worn treads of the stairs as he hurried up to the second floor. Walking past the wooden door of flat 204, he noted that at some stage the lock had been smashed. Instead of repairing it, the tenants had simply drilled two giant holes through the door and the jamb and looped a length of thick chain through the ragged gaps. Nick guessed it was padlocked together on the other side as he could hear shouts and laughter coming from the room. The unmistakable odour of cooking cabbage wafted into the warm evening air.
Ahead of him, at the next door, Rachel was saying goodbye to a tearful black woman with a dark scarf wrapped around her head. Seeing Nick, she gave the woman a final hug and told her to take care. Then she turned away and walked downstairs with him. He grabbed her arm as her shoe slid on the tread.
‘Careful,’ he warned. ‘These stairs are as slippery as ice.’ Rachel proceeded more carefully, clutching the banister and placing her platform sandals squarely on each step.
‘Poor Patience,’ she said. ‘She was hysterical by the time the police left. They were asking her who Khani’s friends were, and whether he had any unexplained amounts of money in his flat. I suppose they think he was involved in this somehow, that he knew the robbers. Which is nonsense. Khani would never be part of something like that.’
Relieved to find his vehicle where he’d parked it, Nick opened the passenger door for her before getting into the driver’s seat. Glancing back at the building, he saw the two children peering out of a downstairs window. He stuck his hand out of the car window and waved. After a pause, he saw a small hand emerge from behind the glass and wave back at him.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘Rhythm Town. It’s on the corner of Miriam Makeba and Jeppe Street.’ Rachel fastened her seatbelt and pushed her hair away from her face.
‘Right.’ He’d been there before. It was the place where he’d treated the alcohol-poisoned teenager who’d collapsed in a corner, unnoticed and ignored until it was nearly too late. The youngster had already pissed and soiled himself, and almost choked to death on his own vomit by the time Nick had arrived. It had taken ten minutes to reach the place in the response car, and another ten to force his way through the packed masses of revellers to the back wall where the boy lay.
Nick hadn’t liked the place much on first acquaintance. He suspected it would be no better the second time around.
When they reached the club, it was closed.
Nick found a parking bay and pulled over. The evening air was dense with the fumes of departing traffic. A minibus taxi, bonnet crumpled and headlights shattered from a previous collision, rattled past. The vehicle’s tinted windows were so dark they looked like negative space. A few pedestrians hurried by, definitely going home rather than going out. He walked across to the high wooden doors. They were bolted shut.
‘Damn,’ Rachel said. Her shoulders sagged in disappointment and she bit her lip. He realised she’d been working up to this, that it had taken a lot of courage to make the decision to see the place where her former student had died.
Nick checked his watch.
‘It’s only twenty to seven. It might open later. Let’s get some dinner and come back in an hour or so.’
They found a restaurant called Sophiatown on the next street and sat down at an outside table. Bugs fluttered round the table-lamps in the darkening evening. A young, anxious black waiter took their order. Nick guessed he was around the same age as Khani. Judging from the expression on Rachel’s face, she thought so too.
Inside, the walls were lined with sepia-toned posters of musicians whose faces he didn’t recognise. The original black township of Sophiatown had been a musical and cultural destination for people of all races until the apartheid government had bulldozed it to the ground and moved its residents elsewhere, but all this had happened years before Nick was born. To him, Sophiatown was history, nothing more.
‘Why do the police suspect Khani?’ he asked, when the waiter had gone.
‘There were three people in the room when the robbers walked in – Khani, a cleaner, and the nightclub manager. He was the only one who was shot, six times in the chest. The others were unharmed.’
Nick recalled Natasha’s words, whispered through bloodless lips. ‘Tell him to go …’ At the time he’d thought she meant to say more. But perhaps that had been all she’d needed to say. Perhaps it had been a warning. Tell him to go.
A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
‘If I were a detective, I’d think the other two were insiders, not him,’ he said.
‘Exactly.’ Her dark eyes widened. ‘I’m certain Khani wasn’t involved. But if I tell the police why I’m so sure, it will make them suspect him even more.’
‘Why are you so sure?’
Rachel looked down and broke a small piece of wax off their unlit candle.
‘Because Sipho, his brother, was definitely involved in something illegal.’
‘What was he doing?’
She shrugged. ‘He dropped out of school a few years ago, after his mother had died, and went to Johannesburg to look for work. I tried to convince him not to, but he told me he was the eldest son and it was his duty to support the family. A while later he started sending money home.’
‘And you think it was illegally obtained?’
‘The cash amounts that he deposited each week in Patience’s account – she showed me – they were enormous. About five thousand rand every time. How could he be earning that when he was too young to work legally, when he hadn’t even finished school?’
Nick shook his head.
‘Khani asked Sipho where he was working, but he wouldn’t say,’ she continued. ‘Then, a few months later, he just disappeared. He stopped phoning home, stopped sending money.’
The waiter brought two glasses of red wine and set their food down carefully on the small table. He lit the candle and left.
‘I tried to help Khani find him,’ Rachel continued. ‘For two weeks, he came home with me after school and we spent the whole afternoon making call after call. To the police, to the ambulance services. We phoned all the hospitals in Gauteng, and in Limpopo, in case he’d been injured on the way back home.’ She glanced up at Nick. ‘The mortuaries, too. We got nowhere. Then we contacted the airports, spoke to Home Affairs to find out if he’d left the country.’
‘And he hadn’t.’
‘Not as far as we knew. I was ready to start the whole process over again and make all the calls a second time, but Khani changed his mind. He came to me one day and told me he didn’t want to carry on looking for his brother, that it would be better to accept he was dead.’
They ate in silence for a while.
‘Mmm. This chicken is good,’ Rachel said. ‘How’s your ostrich burger?’ She glanced at his plate. ‘My God. You’ve already finished. It must have been all right, then.’
Nick wiped his mouth with his napkin and nodded apologetically.
‘Sorry. I eat too fast. It’s a terrible habit. Comes from years of having meals interrupted by dispatch calls.’
While he waited for Rachel to finish her meal he watched the street. Nighttime Newtown was waking up. Throngs of young people strolled past on the newly relaid pavement. A mixture of races, although more black than white. Girls sporting trendy outfits – strappy, low-cut tops in bright colours, sequinned shoulder bags, cropped denim jackets, their faces shimmering with make-up. Their partners slouched along, super-cool in handlebar vests and baggy chinos, flicking their cigarettes onto the ground. Talking, laughing, glowing and animated. Many of them were heading in the direction of Rhythm Town.
They paid the bill – despite Nick’s protests, Rachel insisted on splitting it – then left the restaurant.
‘Being a paramedic must be a difficult job,’ Rachel said, as they walked back to the nightclub.
‘It’s more of a calling than a job,’ he replied. ‘At school, if I saw a kid being bullied, I’d pile in and defend them. I was a tough little bastard and I got a reputation for being a savage fighter. After a while, the bullies ran away when they saw me coming. Then there was nothing for me to do except help the person who’d been hurt.’
Other factors had influenced his decision, too, things that had happened at home, but he wasn’t going to tell her about those. Not here and not now.
Rachel laughed. ‘Well, that’s one way of being introduced to a career. I wish we had a few more like you at the school where I teach. Bullying’s a big problem. It’s a rough neighbourhood. Poor people.’
Nick nodded. ‘Sounds like the place where I grew up.’
Rhythm Town had opened. The wooden door gaped wide like a cavernous mouth. A long queue snaked from the entrance all the way round the corner.
They walked round and joined the line of waiting people.
‘How about you?’ Nick asked. ‘What made you become a teacher?’ He glanced down again at the wedding ring on her left hand, which was now curled protectively around her bag.
Perhaps she noticed the direction of his gaze, because she answered both his questions, the spoken and unspoken.
‘I always wanted to teach. A calling, too, I suppose. I taught Maths and English in Polokwane for a few years, which was where I met my husband, Adam, who’s a lawyer. He was offered a partnership at a firm in Louis Trichardt, so we moved there and I found a job at Khani’s senior school. It was the first year for both of us, Khani and me.’ She smiled, but her eyes looked sad.
Until that moment, Nick hadn’t realised just how much he disliked lawyers.
‘I see,’ he said.
They shuffled a few steps forward. The girl in front of them lit a cigarette.
‘Adam’s in Australia now,’ she said.
At the bottom of the ocean would have been better, Nick thought.
‘On business?’
She shook her head. ‘He emigrated last year.’
He stared at her. ‘And you?’
‘I went through the whole emigration process. Then, when the time came, I …’ She gave a small, rueful smile. ‘I’m still here, for various reasons. For now, anyway. I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since he left. Should I stay or should I go?’
‘I see,’ Nick said again. He didn’t see at all, but he didn’t want to pry any further.
It took them another half hour to reach the door, and by then the place was pumping. Looking at the chattering knots of club-goers waiting behind them to be admitted, Nick thought it wouldn’t be long before it was packed solid.
The foyer was dark and it smelled stale and smoky. Bass notes began to thud through his body as he followed Rachel inside.
Rhythm Town looked like it had started life as a giant warehouse. The walls were lined with tables and chairs. A high catwalk with a balcony rail ran around the perimeter. It was crowded with people, many leaning over the rail and looking down at the floor. The centre was an enormous dance floor already half-full. In the flicker of the mirrorballs, dancers moved their bodies like puppets in time to the music. Green and red laser beams pierced the smoky air in random, whirling patterns.
He could imagine Natasha dancing here. Alive and happy, with two slim, healthy legs.
He wondered if Rachel was having similar thoughts about Khani.
They pushed through the crowd to the bar. Nick ordered a glass of wine for her and a Coke for himself. He spied two girls vacating the stools at one of the tiny bar tables and he quickly steered Rachel towards it, getting there just before a denim-clad couple could stake their claim. The man glared at them through mirrored shades. Nick pulled a chair out for Rachel and stared him down until he turned away.
A harassed barman in a black T-shirt shunted the girls’ used glasses onto a tray and wiped the surface with a grubby cloth.
Elbows on the table, they watched the crush of people drinking and dancing.
Rachel leaned closer to him and yelled above the din, her hair tickling his ear. ‘What is this music?’
‘Kwaito? House?’ Nick shouted back. ‘I’m not the best person to ask. I was into hard rock and heavy metal when I was at school.’
‘I had a sheltered childhood,’ Rachel responded. ‘I listened to Madonna and thought I was being rebellious.’
Nick laughed. The table was so small their shoulders were pressed together and their knees kept brushing. He was enjoying the contact. Her arm was warm and felt slim but firm against his.
But at the same time, he was scanning the area. For threats, potential dangers. For hazards. Every paramedic’s rule number one. Not airwaysbreathing-circulation, but hazards. First make sure there is no danger to yourself or your patient.
In conflict zones, he’d carried a gun and used it when necessary. On New Year’s Eve in Hillbrow paramedics wore bulletproof vests when they did ambulance runs. When he attended road accident scenes, he kept watch for drunk drivers and runaway vehicles. He’d once hauled an unconscious pedestrian out of the path of a speeding truck, its driver miraculously blind to the red flashing lights of the emergency cars and the orange cones that were supposed to guide all traffic into the neighbouring lane.
He didn’t know what hazards they might encounter in Rhythm Town. They’d been patted down at the entrance before a sulky girl had stamped their wrists with a Chinese-looking symbol, but even so, Nick was sure if somebody wanted to get a weapon into the nightclub they’d find a way.
He looked around, trying to pick out the drug dealers, but there were too many people and it was too dark. Probably they’d set up shop in the toilets. In a place this size and this busy he wondered how Khani and Natasha had met.
Rachel shouted in his ear again. ‘Tomorrow’s his funeral.’
He turned to look at her and saw that she was blinking back tears.
Nick took her right hand in his left and laced his fingers through hers. He put his other arm around her and held her tight. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew she hadn’t come to Rhythm Town for that. She had come here to mourn.
After a while, Rachel turned to him.
‘Let’s leave,’ she said.
Nick couldn’t hear the words because a DJ was announcing something in booming, distorted tones, but he could read her lips. He nodded, let go of her hand and got to his feet.
As he rose, he sensed an odd movement on the balcony above him. There was a flash of light and then a shiny missile plummeted down towards them, somersaulting in the swirling laser beams.