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Glenwood, and we can do
it. Two jobs tomorrow. But we must get some whoonga .
Before we do these jobs I want more whoonga .
We must find some supplies, comrades. We got good money from mBenzi and amaNdiya , so we need more whoonga .’
    They laughed and
jeered, with more jokes about their success the previous day with the Indian storekeeper
and his family, followed by their unexpected theft from the German, and got to
their feet, excitedly, to go and scout out the terrain. They cut across the park
into Diakonia Road and made their way down toward Margaret Mncadi Avenue, like
feral cats on the hunt.

 
    11.10.
    South African
Police Service’s Durban Central Station Command nestled between the M12 and the
M4 highways, and on this particular day it was probably the single spot in the
city that was suffering more than any other from the heat wave that straddled
Durban. The flat terrain alongside Stalwart Simelane Street could boast very little
vegetation to mitigate the effects of the blistering heat. The vast expanse of
tarmac and concrete, providing multi-lane highways and vast parking areas to
serve the office complexes all around, served as conductors of the heat. The
few grass verges around had been burnt dry by the sun. The few pedestrians not
seeking shelter under the very few trees available, or in the buildings, all
carried umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun. There was not a wisp of
cloud in the bright blue sky.
    In the buildings it
was marginally more bearable. With air conditioners across the city working at
full power, the grid had just failed yet again. In common parlance there had
occurred another electricity outage as a result of load-shedding .
Lights had failed, along with air-conditioners. People had cursed. Some had
shrugged their shoulders in mild resignation. All of them perspired as
emergency generators started kicking in.
    Mavis Tshabalala
had managed to get her two coffees less than a minute before the power failure
occurred. She waited apprehensively for Navi Pillay, with the two polystyrene
cups placed before her on the table, wondering why she had got hot drinks
instead of icy cold drinks from the vendor outside.
    She had not yet
told any of her colleagues about the dissertation she was doing as a component
of her part-time degree. There had been enough teasing from detectives
Koekemoer and Dippenaar already, without her opening up a new avenue for that
teasing.
    But Pillay was
different. She felt she could confide in the detective in a way she was unable
to do with the others. Navi could be trusted to provide valuable insights and
further helpful leads. Most importantly, thought Mavis, Navi would take her seriously.
    ‘Sorry I’m late,
Mavis,’ Pillay said as she arrived somewhat breathless, and with a towel around
her neck for the perspiration. ‘I’ve just finished my class with the new
recruits. There are always more of them on Sundays, so I usually go over time.
We were doing some judo and some kick-boxing , and one
of them seems very keen. She wanted me to show her some high kicks. I thought
of you in your own very first class. You also accosted me afterward for the
same reason, remember.’
    ‘Did you send any
of them to hospital?’
    ‘ I
never hurt my students, Mavis , you know that .
They just happen to end up, most of the time, on the ground. Like you, in that
first class.’
    ‘I remember. I
remember so well.’
    ‘I like to surprise them, that’s
all. So that when the really bad guys surprise them they’ll know how to react. I
see you’ve enrolled for my Tuesday evening class?’
    ‘Definitely. I would have started
today if it wasn’t for the fact that I had so much to do to settle back in.’
    ‘But wait a minute. Before anything
else: congratulations! You’re now a full constable. Wonderful.’
    ‘Thanks, Navi. But I’m still an intern for a couple of weeks. Promotions
only take place next month.’
    ‘Who cares,’ said Pillay, high-fiving
her. ‘Constable