forearm to stand to attention. “Well, that's good news for the rest of the population.”
Wade took the wallet, flicking through the credit cards and cash. “Who killed him? Another gang member? Is this the beginning of a turf war?” He swallowed. “Hell, it could get real messy if they're fighting over the Cross.”
For some reason I didn't think that was the case. If Ocean had done this, then she did the police a favor. If we had, by some miracle, arrested the son of a bitch, we wouldn't have had him for long. The Mongrel Mob was notorious for paying obscene amounts to lawyers and cops to avoid jail.
Another shiver ran over me, this time in stark realization of the truth. Ocean killed. Everything in my police code told me that wasn’t okay, but we worked toward the same goal, however differently. I swore under my breath to admit I approved of her choice of victim in this case. I’m pro-vigilantism now? Holy hell.
The next few hours were spent casing the area, taking notes, and interviewing sleepy-eyed and grumpy shopkeepers. No one had seen a thing.
By the time we returned to the precinct, my uniform was gritty with street grime, and all I could think about was the sea.
There was one more thing to do before I could leave.
Opening up a new email window, I typed a ridiculous message and pressed ‘send’. Nerves sent electric shocks down my back. I was one step closer to solving the mystery that was Ocean Breeze.
But right now I was clocking off, I needed food and a surf. The ocean was calling my name. And soon another Ocean would be, too.
Chapter Eight: Ocean
T he time difference meant I left New Zealand in late afternoon, and arrived in South Africa late morning. The sun lurked behind smog-heavy clouds; the light tinged with dimness. Century City presented itself as a shiny new penny, despite the gloom. Windowed buildings, sparkly water features, and saplings lined quaint walkways.
I wasn't fooled. A city could be as perfect as a postcard—it didn't mean the same evilness, the same black sludge of human vileness, didn't lurk in the new-fangled architecture.
My back was ramrod straight as I stalked through the pretty streets. I changed my money into local rand, and I was ready.
Time to hunt.
By the end of the day, I’d have blood on my hands. If I didn't, I'd be pissed.
Palm trees bowed toward traffic, adding a touch of exoticness to local amenities such as McDonald's, and other well-known chains. It didn't look like a place where child slavery happened. But I'd learned from experience: appearances deceived. Just like that blasted freakin’ cop. Why was I thinking about him again?It didn't help I kept imagining him half-naked with a surfboard.
Growling, I prowled to my first point of contact. An internet cafe.
I chose Y2K Internet—a black dungeon full of bug-eyed gaming geeks and a sprinkling of tourists—and paid for one hour of access.
The young boy behind the counter took my cash and handed me a code. Smiling my thanks, I headed to the back, and claimed a seat in the darkest part of the hovel, as far away from the other customers as possible.
Clicking on the browser, I typed ‘Atsu Bazeer’.
Lucky for me, his name popped up instantly. My eyes widened and my breath grew shallow the more I researched. Atsu Bazeer was a ruthless businessman. He was part owner in a number of developments around town. His online profile emitted a lethal charm. A closely cropped afro gleamed like wiry obsidian, while black eyes glinted with cut-throat power.
He favored suits, especially in pastels, and he wasn't short on bling. In fact, the more I researched, the more I hated him. Something about his iron-fisted charisma erupted sparks of unease down my spine. This was a man who had a lot to hide. A man who dealt in children in the back-alleys, and sequestered who knew what else.
The familiar buzz of the hunt gave me an adrenaline shot. He was a worthy opponent, and by that I meant he wasn't stupid.
Wade took the wallet, flicking through the credit cards and cash. “Who killed him? Another gang member? Is this the beginning of a turf war?” He swallowed. “Hell, it could get real messy if they're fighting over the Cross.”
For some reason I didn't think that was the case. If Ocean had done this, then she did the police a favor. If we had, by some miracle, arrested the son of a bitch, we wouldn't have had him for long. The Mongrel Mob was notorious for paying obscene amounts to lawyers and cops to avoid jail.
Another shiver ran over me, this time in stark realization of the truth. Ocean killed. Everything in my police code told me that wasn’t okay, but we worked toward the same goal, however differently. I swore under my breath to admit I approved of her choice of victim in this case. I’m pro-vigilantism now? Holy hell.
The next few hours were spent casing the area, taking notes, and interviewing sleepy-eyed and grumpy shopkeepers. No one had seen a thing.
By the time we returned to the precinct, my uniform was gritty with street grime, and all I could think about was the sea.
There was one more thing to do before I could leave.
Opening up a new email window, I typed a ridiculous message and pressed ‘send’. Nerves sent electric shocks down my back. I was one step closer to solving the mystery that was Ocean Breeze.
But right now I was clocking off, I needed food and a surf. The ocean was calling my name. And soon another Ocean would be, too.
Chapter Eight: Ocean
T he time difference meant I left New Zealand in late afternoon, and arrived in South Africa late morning. The sun lurked behind smog-heavy clouds; the light tinged with dimness. Century City presented itself as a shiny new penny, despite the gloom. Windowed buildings, sparkly water features, and saplings lined quaint walkways.
I wasn't fooled. A city could be as perfect as a postcard—it didn't mean the same evilness, the same black sludge of human vileness, didn't lurk in the new-fangled architecture.
My back was ramrod straight as I stalked through the pretty streets. I changed my money into local rand, and I was ready.
Time to hunt.
By the end of the day, I’d have blood on my hands. If I didn't, I'd be pissed.
Palm trees bowed toward traffic, adding a touch of exoticness to local amenities such as McDonald's, and other well-known chains. It didn't look like a place where child slavery happened. But I'd learned from experience: appearances deceived. Just like that blasted freakin’ cop. Why was I thinking about him again?It didn't help I kept imagining him half-naked with a surfboard.
Growling, I prowled to my first point of contact. An internet cafe.
I chose Y2K Internet—a black dungeon full of bug-eyed gaming geeks and a sprinkling of tourists—and paid for one hour of access.
The young boy behind the counter took my cash and handed me a code. Smiling my thanks, I headed to the back, and claimed a seat in the darkest part of the hovel, as far away from the other customers as possible.
Clicking on the browser, I typed ‘Atsu Bazeer’.
Lucky for me, his name popped up instantly. My eyes widened and my breath grew shallow the more I researched. Atsu Bazeer was a ruthless businessman. He was part owner in a number of developments around town. His online profile emitted a lethal charm. A closely cropped afro gleamed like wiry obsidian, while black eyes glinted with cut-throat power.
He favored suits, especially in pastels, and he wasn't short on bling. In fact, the more I researched, the more I hated him. Something about his iron-fisted charisma erupted sparks of unease down my spine. This was a man who had a lot to hide. A man who dealt in children in the back-alleys, and sequestered who knew what else.
The familiar buzz of the hunt gave me an adrenaline shot. He was a worthy opponent, and by that I meant he wasn't stupid.
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