Of Cops & Robbers Read Online Free PDF

what’s the story, my friend?’
    ‘You have to see it. You have to come and see this.’
    ‘You do, Jacob,’ says Cake Mullins. ‘Believe me, you’ve got to see this.’
    ‘You’re not going to tell me what it is?’
    ‘No.’
    Tol Visagie’s shaking his head like a noddy dog. ‘We can’t.’
    ‘It’s just a weekend, Jacob.’
    ‘All the luxuries,’ says Tol Visagie. ‘Five-star lodge on the river. The best meals.’ He keeps the eye contact. ‘It’ll be worth your while, Mr Mkezi.’
    ‘But you won’t tell me what it is?’
    ‘No, sir.’ Tol, sucking on his lower lip. ‘It’s not the thing we should talk  about here.’
    You’ve done that lip-suck twice, Jacob Mkezi thinks, still giving Tol Visagie the full eyeball. The first time when you mentioned the birdwatching. Not exactly a poker player are you, my friend?
    ‘Look, Jacob,’ says Cake Mullins. ‘It’ll take you out of this situation.’
    ‘You think I need that?’
    ‘I would.’
    ‘But I’m not you, Cake. I don’t run.’
    Cake Mullins sets down his glass. ‘This’s not running.’
    ‘It’s a break. Just a weekend break,’ says Tol Visagie.
    ‘You heard the man,’ says Cake Mullins. ‘A weekend break. With a business proposal on the side. It’d be worth your while, as he said.’
    ‘Oh you know that? You know what’ll be worth my while?’
    ‘It’s a manner of speaking, Jacob. Hell, man, what’s your case?’
    ‘Perhaps you haven’t noticed my case. All over the newspapers.’
    Cake Mullins throws up his hands. ‘Oh for God’s sake.’
    The men sit silent. Jacob Mkezi thinking, mightn’t be a bad idea. A change of scenery. Time to relax completely out of it. Maybe take Mellanie along.
    ‘This weekend?’ he says to Tol Visagie.
    Tol Visagie coming back, ‘No strings. On the house.’
    Jacob Mkezi turns to Cake Mullins. ‘This car man you know?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Where’s his place?’
    ‘Tokai. You want me to set something up?’
    ‘Tomorrow afternoon. Two thirty at your place. Court doesn’t sit Friday  afternoons.’
    ‘And the weekend, Jacob?’
    Jacob Mkezi stands. ‘Bit bloody late notice.’
    ‘Ja,’ says Tol Visagie. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘What time you want to fly?’
    ‘Five, would be good.’
    ‘Alright.’
    ‘Alone?’
    ‘Maybe. Depends on Mellanie. Depends on her attitude.’
    ‘No hassles either way,’ says Tol Visagie.
    Jacob Mkezi raises his left hand, goodbye. Walks off across the marble flooring, no crunch of grit under the soles of his shoes.

6
    ‘Bartolomeu,’ says the voice on his cellphone, ‘have you got a moment.’
    ‘Hey, Ma,’ says Fish, uncapping another milk stout, ‘Yeah, I reckon.’ Fish still not able to call her Estelle.
    His mother coming in fast before he can get into the how-are-you?-I’m-fine exchange. Saying, ‘I was talking about you to some clients just now.’
    ‘Uh huh?’ says Fish, imagining his mother and the clients in the small boardroom in the London office of Invest South Africa, High Holborn, somewhere like that. His mother out there on one of her overseas jaunts selling investment opportunities. ‘Someone’s got to get this country on its feet. Someone’s got to help black businesses.’ His mother spinning stories of wonder and wealth to her clients.
    ‘I was telling them, Barto, that you run a paralegal research firm.’
    Fish laughed. ‘That’s fancy. I wouldn’t have thought of it that way, Mom.’
    ‘That’s how I’d like to think of it, if you’d only finish your degree.’
    ‘Don’t start.’ Fish taking a swallow of stout. This pet subject of his mother’s: when’re you going to complete your degree? You’re thirty-three, you should settle down: career, family, children. You only need to write your majors. Really, Bartolomeu, is that too much to ask of you? Get the LLB. You can raise your fees. Get some real money for the work you do. And stop doing the work you do. All those boys’-own investigations. For heaven’s