Night

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Just under 15 minutes later and Sergeant Night and Colonel Elvis were standing behind a Johannesburg EMS paramedic who was performing cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR) on a dying man who lay in the middle of the road outside of the Norwood Police Station. The police vehicles, including the November Whisky complaints vehicle, parked on one side of working medics and the victim, the ambulance on the other side. A young Constable from the station’s Charge Office was directing traffic around the scene on the narrow street. Passers-by were rubbernecking and creating a drip feed effect of traffic moving past the scene of the accident. In most countries the entire street would have been cordoned off and traffic shut down. Not in Africa though. Not for one victim in a country that suffers 50 murders a day. Life must go on – as uninterrupted as possible and it was part of the South African Police Force’s job to make crime and accidents have as slight an impact on the general population as possible. So what good would shutting down the entire road do?

  Night looked across to the main entrance to the police station and saw the shift Charge Office Commander standing there, hands in her pockets. Night moved across to speak to her. While walking from the road towards the Warrant Officer Night observed Captain Orlovski sitting in the passenger seat of Hotel Papa One talking on her cellular phone. Night noted that she tracked his walk with a thoughtful expression on her face. Night sensed she was talking about him.

  “Hello Amanda” said Night.

  “Hi Mike” said the Warrant Officer, her voice weary.

  “What happened here?”

  “Ay Mike you know these stupid people they come to the police station for everything man!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That guy, that bloody guy there, dying in the street, he came to us to die here and now it’s my problem. Eish!” she said clicking her tongue in disapproval at the dying man. “That guy Mike he came to the station about an hour ago and said that he had been robbed and stabbed in the head. So he came here. He first spoke to my Constables and was angry and swearing at them so they refused to help him. So then I came to help the guy you know I could understand that he had been hurt and was angry. But then he started to swear and shout at me calling me a black bitch and all that shit so I told him to shut up and sit and wait for an ambulance.”

  Night thought it was fascinating that the man should call the policewoman a black bitch when he himself was black. But it didn’t surprise him. He was used to the colour of one’s skin being the protagonist in most situations involving the police. South Africans it seems were obsessed by colour.

  “So what happened, how did that… happen?” said Night while discreetly pointing to the accident scene.

  “The bloody guy didn’t wait. I left him and told him nicely to sit and wait in the Charge Office while I called an ambulance for him… but when I was on the phone I heard an accident and looked out of the office window and saw that he had been hit by a car.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  “Why are Hotel Papa here Mike, who called them?”

  “It was channel 23. They just asked them to have a look. Just go inside and make an OB entry about what happened. But first go into the Station Commissioner’s office and tell her everything that happened. And write the OB entry with her.”

  “Am I in trouble Mike?”

  “No I don’t think so. The man was irrational and short of physically restraining him there’s not much you could have done.”

  “And you know Mike, that man walked here from where he was robbed in Sydenham. It would have been better for him to walk to Linksfield Hospital and much closer. But no, they always come here first!” said the tubby Warrant Officer while walking into the police station.

  Night turned to go back to the accident scene. A low whistle came from the Highway Patrol vehicle and Night looked to see the Highway Patrol Captain beckoning him over with a curl of one of her slender index fingers. While accepting the invitation to talk to the mysterious Captain and while walking over to join her, Night thought about the current circumstance.

  The victim of crime had opted to walk almost double the distance to a police station after being mortally wounded rather than go to a hospital. This, Night had come to learn, was not uncommon and it taught him a very valuable lesson about human beings. In many cases victims of violent crime were more immediately concerned about obtaining justice than seeking out medical treatment even if the injuries sustained were very seriously life threatening.

  The Sergeant leaned over the open passenger car door and spoke to the Captain who sat on the passenger seat.

  “What’s up Captain. How can I help you?”

  “Help me? No Night I wish to help you. I am aware of your friendship with the powerful General and your current… objective, shall we say. You should know that other powerful people are also aware of what you and the General are after. I say good luck to you. And only because the most important thing is that you kill the devil. I will not repeat myself or say how I know what I know or why I am helping you but I will say this Michael Night. Be careful. Watch your back and move quickly on this. You will have noticed that the General has upped security, for a reason. Be aware of your surroundings and the people around you. Trust no one except your men. And listen carefully now--you will only succeed if you move with speed.”

  Captain Sasha Orlovski closed the car door. Night nodded and walked away. He heard the BMW passenger car door window lower and looked behind him.

  “One more thing Night. Protect your friend Lisa. It may be wise that she not return to work tomorrow…” And the glass slid up and closed once more, the female Captain hidden from view behind the dark tinted windows of Hotel Papa One.

  At that moment Colonel Elvis walked back to his vehicle. He opened his driver’s door and paused for a moment. “There’s no reason for us to be here Mike. There’s no negligence here. I have spoken to the Charge Office vehicle and they explained to me what happened – it was an accident. What more can we do as the police, set up a hospital at all of our stations as well?”

  The great Colonel got in his vehicle and turned it around on the road, coming alongside Night who was now standing with the paramedics once more. His driver’s window electronically lowered. “Cheers Mike. I’ll be seeing you around. And good luck my friend. I wish you and Amos mission success” said the General who winked and drove off. The female Captain smiled as the car drove away.

  Night’s thought were drawn once again more clearly to the present. He looked down at the veteran paramedic whose face was ash white. He had large bags under his eyes and looked weak and emaciated. He relentlessly continued to perform chest compressions. His partner was applying oxygen to the victim through an oxygen mask. Night moved over to Stanislov who had been watching the scene since their arrival.

  “How long has he been going for?”

  “At least 30 minutes. The man is dead but he doesn’t want to let go” replied the Russian. Shaka and Dlamini were talking in the police vehicle.

  Night looked at the paramedics once more and immediately felt sad. He felt their pain. The man performing the chest compressions looked like a ghost himself and reminded Night of the movie, Waking the Dead with Nicholas Cage. Night admired the paramedics. They were real heroes. Men of true quality who chose a profession where they could directly save lives and not take them. Sure police officers saved lives but they took them too. And most police officers were in it for the action not for any altruistic reasons. Being a paramedic could only be defined as philanthropic.

  Night’s phone beeped, making the same sound as the phone in the Control room from the American television series 24. Incidentally Michael Night and the 24 series lead character, Jack Bauer, carried the same weapon – a Heckler & Koch USP Pistol.

  The text message read:

  “The objective is on the move. Has left Joburg. Warning Orders for you and your men. Be prepared to leave within 24 hours. RV Point TBD – Norwood area. Stay vigilant.”
br />   The message originated from an unknown number.

  Night put the phone back in his pocket. It was all moving very fast now Night thought to himself. His police radio, strapped to his battle jacket, came noisily alive.

  “Control, Lima X-Ray 100, urgent!” It was Warrant Officer Vilakazi.

  “Send Warrant” said Lisa.

  “Thank you Control. I am in pursuit of a stolen vehicle. I am on Louis Botha Avenue heading towards town. I am losing the car. It is driving like crazy Control. Mounting the curb and crashing into other cars. I will lose it shortly. I need back up to catch it.”

  Without a word the crew of November Whisky 50 ran back to their vehicle to give chase and provide backup to their colleagues. The route the stolen vehicle was taking would bring it right across the street where the Norwood Police Station was situated, intersecting with Louis Botha Avenue.

  “Roger that Lima X-Ray 100. All November Whisky vehicles listen up and move to intercept if possible. Lima X-Ray 100 go ahead with permission with all November Whisky vehicles.”

  “Thank you Control. All November Whisky vehicles be on the lookout for a red golf four, old shape. It’s driving like crazy. I don’t have a reg but we have just seen it being taken by some kids. Two guys and two girls. I don’t think they are armed” said Warrant Officer Vilakazi.

  “Roger that Villa, we are en route and will stand by to intercept on Patterson Road and Louis Botha Avenue.”

  “Control this is Hotel Papa One and that vehicle has just passed on Louis Botha Avenue direction town. We are turning around and joining the chase. November Whisky 50 be quick, at the rate the vehicle is travelling it will be on your position in under 90 seconds” said Captain Orlovski.

  One minute later and November Whisky 50 was at the intersection of Patterson Road and Louis Botha, standing by to intercept the fugitive vehicle. In moments the red vehicle appeared, travelling at well over 120 kilometres an hour in a designated 60kph zone.

  “Control, November Whisky 50. We have eyes on the vehicle. Passing Patterson Road direction town. And at the speed it’s travelling it’s not going to make the turn on 7th Street. To all chasing police units, slow down before hitting 7th Street, I repeat - decrease speed before 7th Street.”

  On the opposite side of Louis Botha Avenue the streets had numeric names and two roads down 7th Street began and created a sharp turn on Louis Botha Avenue - often the scene of lethal motor vehicle accidents. The red Golf flew past. Shaka was about to follow but Stanislov advised against it. “Wait for the Lima X-Ray vehicles and Hotel Papa, they will be travelling as fast or even faster and may hit us.” The Russian was right. Within seconds three police vehicles emerged in close pursuit. After they had passed November Whisky 50 moved onto the main road and caught up to the fleeing vehicle and the chasers just in time to see the stolen vehicle lose control, miss the treacherous turn and hit a telephone pole. The vehicle collided with the structure with such force and at such an angle that it shot four metres into the air. It came down to earth with a great thud and rolled, fortunately missing any other vehicles or pedestrians. A few seconds later and all the police vehicles had come to a halt. The stolen vehicle was on its roof and the engine compartment was on fire – the vehicle was in immediate danger of exploding or being completely engulfed in flames.

  Without thought for their own safety both three-man crews of the Alexandra police units left the safety of their police vehicles and rushed to the aid of the criminal suspects. Constables Shaka and Stanislov also exited the vehicle to assist, their student followed. Night sat in the passenger seat of November Whisky 50 and watched his colleagues risk their own lives to save criminals they had just witnessed steal a car and put dozens of innocent civilians’ lives in mortal danger by driving recklessly and negligently, turning the stolen vehicle into a potentially lethal weapon. Night felt immediately ashamed. Ashamed that it hadn’t instantaneously occurred to him to save the lives of the suspects – the human beings in the potential fire trap. The feeling of guilt soon passed though and was replaced by pride and adulation for his brothers in blue. He looked down at his arms and he had goose bumps. This was the reason he still had hope for South Africa. For on almost every shift he worked on the brutal streets of Johannesburg he witnessed something among all the violence and death that reinstated his belief in mankind and more essentially in South Africans, irrespective of their colour. There was hope in South Africa, Night thought to himself, because above all else, exceeding all other human emotions and weakness, Africans had the almighty aptitude to forgive. To forgive those who had trespassed against them.

  Night had witnessed that quintessentially African ability to forgive on a number of occasions and had come to understand that clemency was actually an integral part of African culture. Night had at first struggled to understand this. After all he had seen his fair share of Kangaroo Courts and Jungle Justice but eventually Night came to learn that if the subject of such instant decrees of primal justice survived the beating and judgment they were almost always quickly forgiven. It was one of Africa’s greatest strengths and weaknesses. A weakness that Night believed was partly responsible for the colossal problem of crime facing South Africans today as by the time a suspect reached a police holding cell or court house the African predisposition was to forgive and let live. And not to seek the damnation of the suspect to a life behind bars in prison. Ultimately, though, forgiveness will win through, Night thought to himself. Endless cycles of violence and retribution, through death by a police officer’s weapon or judgment by a court of law actually achieved very little or in fact it actually perpetuated the cycle of violence. Forgiveness is the key and the ultimate quality of strength Night thought.

  For now though the South African Police Sergeant knew that it was time to book off duty. There was too much going on in his head and he was losing focus. And focus was indeed needed while policing the most dangerous city on earth.

  The Alexandra police officers managed to extricate all of the people from the burning vehicle and Hotel Papa assisted in making safe the scene. Upon Sergeant Night’s instruction and much to the dismay of the young Student Constable, November Whisky 50 made their way to the Norwood Police Station to end their shift.

  “Dlamini it has been a pleasure training you these past couple of days and I have no doubt that you will make a fine police officer. And I am sure I will see you in the future but tomorrow you will work in the Charge Office and polish up on your admin skills.” said Sergeant Night.

  “But why Sarge? Am I being punished? What did I do wrong?”

  “You have done nothing wrong young man and you are not being punished but tomorrow my friends and I have some important business that we need to take care of.”

  “But boss, tomorrow I really wanted to ride…”

  “Ride the lightning… I know Steven. I know how exciting it must all be for you and I wanted to give you a full week’s worth of on-the-street tuition but things have changed. Now go. You are dismissed.”

  And with those words the affable Police trainee stood to attention once more and saluted his Sergeant and marched into the station to sign off for the day.

  With the Black Bastards alone once more, Night addressed his men.

  “All right gents I will make this quick. We have received our Warning Orders. We will move in the next 24. So tomorrow tool up with your private weapons and gear. We will meet here in civvies at 0800hrs tomorrow morning outside of the barracks canteen.”

  “Cool” said Stanislov.

  “Roger that Mike” said Shaka.

  “Now I suggest you guys spend tonight with the people you care about because this is one gig we may not come back from.”

  “Is that where you are going Mike? Lisa?” asked Shaka.

  “Yeah man, and my boy Wamba! I have been missing the big brute.”

  With that the three friends parted ways for the day and headed off to their loved ones or loved pastimes. The giant Zulu had a large bucket of KFC chicken
on his mind. Stanislov was thinking about Sasha but knew that could never be and settled on the thought of paying a visit to his most favoured working girl, a stunning Polish blonde escort who worked from her home in Sandton. Night was thinking about Lisa. He was looking forward to holding her and embracing her gently and to the sweet smell of her hair. He also planned on stopping by the butchers on the way back to Lisa’s place after collecting her from Radio Control and picking up a treat for Wamba. It only recently struck Night just how much he missed his canine friend and he made the decision while on shift that in future he would spend a lot more time with his loyal buddy, when he could and when he was in the country.