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attention on the dropped object, you hold it high and handsome. And then you get the wallet out of sight, and your hand out of your pocket. Show it to the people, here is my innocent hand.
    ‘My apology, ma’am,’ he would say.
    She would reply in a Dutch or German accent: ‘No, please, don’t apologise.’ Except the Austrian woman, two years ago, who said ‘thank you’ and took the clip out of his hand. He had the last laugh though. The profit from her purse was nearly two thousand rand.
    He would smile, turn, and walk away, look back and wave at her. Don’t rush it. Saunter,Ty. But be aware, want jy wiet nooit . . . You never know, the words echoed in his head.
    He was in between the tourists, next to the woman, ready, every nerve ending tingling, the adrenaline flowing, just enough.
    And then his brain said, Don’t.
    If it feels wrong, walk away.
    He saw the pair of security guards just beyond the shop, their eyes on him.
    He walked past, to Market Street, and his sister’s flat.

5
    From the front door, Griessel and Cupido could see the two men from Forensics at work under the bright spotlights in the sitting room. And hear their heated rugby conversation.
    ‘I’m telling you, Bismarck is not a man, he’s a machine,’ said Arnold, the short fat one, vehemently.
    ‘You shoot your own argument in the foot,’ said Jimmy, the tall thin one. They knelt side by side, in the spacious lounge.
    ‘What makes you say that?’
    As a team they were known as Thick and Thin, a relic of the tired old quip from the days when they first began to work together: ‘Forensics will stand by you through thick and thin’, which in turn had been inspired by fat Arnold’s previous Forensics partner, a freckled, cheeky and pretty redhead woman, who had self-deprecatingly referred to their partnership as ‘Speckled & Egg’. There was a fair bit of murmuring when she left in search of greener pastures, and Jimmy – male, and far less attractive – was appointed.
    ‘Bismarck is a machine? How does a machine get injured? Anyway, this year we will win the Cup, because your Sharks machine is going to seize up when the chips are down. Just like last year . . .’
    ‘May we come in?’ Griessel called.
    ‘Thank the Lord, the Hawks are here,’ said Arnold.
    ‘I feel so safe now,’ said Jimmy.
    ‘Are you wearing shoe covers?’ Arnold asked.
    ‘Haven’t you finished up front here yet?’ Cupido retorted. ‘Maybe you should stop talking rugby kak and get your arses into second gear.’
    ‘Rugby kak ? What sort of Cape coloured are you?’
    ‘The sort who will kick your whitey arses if you don’t pull finger.’
    ‘If you’re a kicker, the Stormers need you,’ said Arnold. ‘All fifteen fly-halves are injured again.’
    ‘ Fokkof ,’ said Jimmy. ‘Come in if you have shoe covers on. There’s something very weird here you should see.’
    The ‘something very weird’ was a cartridge case.
    ‘It’s a Cor-Bon .45 ACP +P,’ said thin Jimmy as he held it up for display with a pair of silver pliers.
    ‘Not all forty-fives can shoot the Plus P,’ said Arnold.
    ‘Only the more recent models.’
    ‘Your Plus P has a higher maximum internal pressure.’
    ‘And higher velocity.’
    ‘We can explain that in layman’s terms if you don’t understand.’
    ‘We know easy words too.’
    ‘So now you are ballistics and language experts?’ asked Cupido.
    ‘Your modern Forensic’s scientific knowledge is vast,’ said Jimmy. ‘Bordering on genius . . .’
    ‘In contrast with your average Hawk,’ said Arnold.
    ‘AKA the bird brains,’ said Jimmy.
    ‘ Fokkof ,’ said Griessel. He knew it wouldn’t help to try to be witty, because they always had the last word.
    ‘Benny, you look particularly appealing this morning.’
    ‘Or is that “appalling”?’The Forensics duo grinned at each other.
    ‘Not so very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eh? And not too sharp-eyed for a Hawk either,’ said Arnold.
    ‘Don’t you