Chapter Fifty-Four

It was decided that Dave spend another night on Anton’s couch. Things still were too vague for comfort and Anton didn’t mind the company.

The evening rain was short lived, but even after it was gone a fresh damp quality stayed with the city air. Dave left the window in the living room ajar as was his habit, before slowly and quietly falling asleep.

The detective woke up suddenly, but very alertly, even before his brain kicked in.

Something made him lie completely still in an attempt to hide from the world that he had woken up.

He opened his eyes a fraction.

He saw part of a human figure.

It was too dark to make out details but the lights in the corridor were on and it was obvious in a split second that the figure was not Anton. This was no albino.

This was an Afro.

There was a sweet smell in the room. Dave knew this smell. Chloroform.

The second for reconnaissance had passed. The Afro was quietly shuffling closer.

Dave fell out of the sofa and onto the carpet with a muffled thud. Using his hand and elbow for leverage, he kicked at where he calculated the intruder’s legs to be.

His feet connected with a satisfying crunch. At least one of the man’s knees gave away and he buckled with a surprised cry.

Dave was already on his feet and after delivering a swift silencing punch to the larynx, he leapt towards his clothes. He whipped out his Walther, spun around and saw another black man outlined at the doorway, shotgun in hand.

Dave sank to one knee in a disciplined fluid motion of astonishing speed and shot the properly astonished man in the chest. Twice.

The echo of the two accurate shots was still reverberating when Dave collided with the shot man, and dragging him in front of himself like a shield, he strode over to Anton’s bedroom.

He entered, gun in right hand, limp corpse held by the scruff in left hand.

A third black man was inside. He was standing with a saw in his hand, right above Anton, “I be killing him, mon. Donchu move. Donchu shoot. I kill him good.”

Dave appraised the situation, let go of the corpse, and quickly shot the third man in the forehead.

As the intruder’s brains flew out from the back of his skull. As he lurched backwards, the saw fell on Anton. Without the additional force of a thrust, it would give him a bruise on his rib cage at the most.

Dave rushed to the sleeping albino, pushing the dead Afro away to the floor.

“Wake up, Tony. Wake up,” he shouted and slapped Anton’s face twice. It was no use; he was drugged with chloroform. However, they couldn’t remain in his house, it was obviously compromised.

Dave fumbled through Anton’s clothes for one whole minute, before seeing the car keys fall out of the jeans. He grabbed them and pulled Anton out of bed, and onto the floor. The albino stirred but didn’t even mumble.

Dave pulled the nearest pants on Anton’s legs, then a pullover on his torso and stuffed some socks into the pockets of the pants. Then he dressed himself.

Four and a half minutes had passed since he killed the last intruder. Dave pocketed his precious memory stick, the city maps, Anton’s phone, and whatever money he found scattered in Anton’s bedroom.

He walked out of Anton’s apartment, balancing his friend in a fireman’s lift, and kicked the door shut behind him. It was almost five in the morning. The staircase corridor was quiet.

Everyone was minding their own business. Perhaps someone had called the police but there was still no sign of them.

In another two minutes, Dave had gone down the four floors between Anton’s apartment and his car. He breathed in short disciplined bursts and kept scanning his environment with the gun in his left hand.

No one came at them.

Could the car have been tampered with?

He weighed the odds. If Anton was assigned to tribal medicine, it would be likely that his car was left alone. Perhaps even promised as part of the reward to the dead scavengers.

The detective walked briskly over to Anton’s Opel and propped the albino on the trunk. He unlocked the car and it didn’t blow up. He bundled Anton into the back seat, sat behind the wheel and turned the ignition.

The car again didn’t blow up. Instead, it hummed to life.

One bit of luck, Anton’s car was an Oldsmobile without a voice recognition program. Dave looked around one last time. All was quiet.

The car roared off into the creeping morning.