Chapter 9

Suburb of Bergsig (Mountain View), Kock Street, Rustenburg.

Sloan Thornton’s breath hitched as the dog lunged forward, a snarling beast of muscle and fury. Its bared teeth glistened with saliva, each drop flying through the air like tiny missiles, and for a split second Sloan felt the hot breath of death on his skin. The leash that was attached to the gleaming silver chain around the dog’s neck, was the only thing keeping it from tearing Sloan apart. He realized the dog was restrained, but the fear had already sunk its claws into him, gripping his chest like a vise.

His hand still on the doorknob, Sloan felt his heart hammering in his throat, each beat echoing like a drumroll announcing his doom. Panic surged through his veins, propelling him backward. He stepped back, almost tripping over himself, and slammed the door shut with a force that rattled the hinges. The noise of the dog’s barking pounded against his eardrums, a brutal reminder of how close he had come to disaster.

Spinning on his heels, Sloan bolted, his mind a blur of terror and desperation. The gate loomed ahead, and without thinking he vaulted over it, his body moving on pure instinct. The distance to his car seemed to stretch out endlessly, but he forced himself forward, every muscle screaming as he raced across the road. The dog’s vicious snarls still filled the air, pursuing him like a pack of ghosts.

With uncontrollably shaking hands, he ripped open the car door and threw himself into the driver’s seat. Slamming the door shut behind him, he fumbled with the keys, his fingers clumsy and uncooperative. Finally, the engine roared to life and he sped off, tires screeching as if fleeing the very hounds of hell.

His mind raced faster than the car. Where did that dog come from? Was someone inside with it? He hadn’t seen anyone. There had been no sign, no hint that she had a dog. The thought that she might still be inside, just beyond the door he had so hastily shut, sent a fresh wave of fear crashing over him. He cursed himself for his carelessness, for the arrogance that had nearly cost him everything.

As the adrenaline began to fade, Sloan’s body betrayed him. His hands trembled uncontrollably, his fingers twitching as he reached for his cigarettes. But they slipped from his grasp, falling onto the passenger side floor, just out of reach. “Damn it!” he shouted, the frustration and fear boiling over. He slammed his left hand against the steering wheel, the sharp pain a brief distraction from the storm inside his head. He needed those cigarettes; needed something to calm the storm. But he couldn’t stop now, not here. He would have to wait and find some place far enough away to pull over and retrieve them.

Meanwhile, back inside the Wendy house, the German shepherd’s ears perked up at a single, sharp command. It looked up at its master, its tail wagging slightly in anticipation. The dog had done its job, had protected its territory, and it knew a reward was coming. In the dim light, the young man who had issued the command pulled out his smartphone, his face illuminated by the screen’s glow. With a calm, practised motion, he pressed the call button. The boss needed to know. Sloan Thornton was on the move and the game was far from over.

Pilgrim’s Nest, north of Pretoria, Gauteng Province.

Although it wasn’t necessary for Ally to stay over now that Mai-Loan, Nadia, and Laura were here, she asked Leon if she could stay with Zara. There was a subtle exchange of glances, a nod from Mai-Loan, indicating that she agreed it was a good idea. Having someone Zara’s age around might help calm the girl’s nerves, especially with everything going on. Leon agreed, but just as he was about to leave, his phone rang.

I noticed the change in his demeanour as he answered, the conversation brief and to the point. When he hung up, he turned to us with a look that spoke volumes. Whatever he had just learned wasn’t meant for everyone’s ears.

“Mai-Loan, Alex, walk me to the car ... please,” Leon said, his voice calm but carrying an edge. There was something in his eyes: a tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago. I stood up, exchanging a quick glance with Mai-Loan, who in turn shot a look at Nadia. We followed Leon outside, the night air cool against the growing unease I felt.

Once outside, Leon turned to us, his expression grave. “That was Ash on the phone. Thirty minutes ago, Thornton tried to get into Zara’s place in the backyard of that house in Rustenburg.”

“And? How did Ash know about it?” I asked, trying to piece together what Leon was telling us.

“That guy has more resources than we know of. He had one of his ‘security guards’ waiting inside Zara’s room. Thornton tried to gain entry and was deterred by the guard. Thornton ran.”

“Crap,” I muttered, the realization hitting me like a cold slap.

“Hmm...” Mai-Loan mused, her eyes narrowing. “That means Thornton has no idea where Zara is.”

“For the time being, yes,” Leon confirmed, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of concern.

“Good! That gives us time to totally secure Zara,” I said, my mind already racing with what needed to be done.

“First off, that pink hair must go, and I’ll see to it that she dresses better,” Mai-Loan added, her tone decisive.

“What’s wrong with the stuff we already bought her?” Leon asked, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice.

“Nothing. I made sure she got better quality stuff than what she normally wears,” Mai-Loan replied, her tone smooth, but there was something in her eyes — something unreadable.

“So that part is settled?” I asked, wanting to move things along.

“Yes! New, better clothes, new hairstyle and colour ... and we’re set,” Mai-Loan affirmed.

“Good,” Leon and I said in unison, though the word carried different weights for each of us.

As Leon left, Mai-Loan and I walked back to the house. There was a strange silence between us, broken only by the sound of our footsteps on the gravel path. Just as we reached the door, Mai-Loan turned to me, her expression thoughtful.

“Laura needs to get that statement out of Zara tomorrow. It’s crucial to get it to Joe.”

“Who is Joe?” I asked, suddenly feeling like I was in over my head.

“Brigadier Joe Franks of the SAPS, Unit Head to the Interpol South African Desk.”

“And he wants a statement from her?” I asked, incredulous. “How does Interpol tie into this mess?”

“Where Luciano Andreotti is involved, it’s international,” Mai-Loan replied, her voice laced with a hint of something darker, something that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “There’s an international Warrant of Arrest out on him. We just need to find him, and nail him...”

Leon had already lost a six-and-a-half-million Rand aircraft and a good pilot, and now we were faced with the task of keeping a sixteen-year-old witness safe from a man capable of anything. When did I sign up for this? I thought, the enormity of it all sinking in as the night closed around us. Now I am getting involved with catching an international criminal. Boy! My head hurts.

The next day was “date night” for Ally and me, a little tradition that had sparked some curious glances and amused expressions from everyone at the impromptu household at Pilgrim’s Nest. Ally had made it clear to everyone that it was simply an outing between friends, nothing more. We had scored some free tickets, and that was that.

Nadia and Laura were outside on the patio with Zara and Ally, chatting under the afternoon sun. I was nearby, seated on the couch in the lounge with my laptop, working on some emails. The open window next to me let their voices drift in, and I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation unfolding outside. I was half hidden in the shadows of the lounge and could see the four girls outside on the patio.

As I listened, I was taken aback by Ally’s maturity and the way she handled herself. When had she grown up so much?

“So, what would your boyfriend say, Ally?” Zara asked with a playful roll of her eyes, her tone half-teasing, half-serious.

“Nothing, because I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ally replied matter-of-factly. “All the boys at school my age are either too busy trying to fit in with some group or swapping girlfriends every week. That’s not my style. Besides, all most boys seem to care about is getting you to shed your clothes, and I’m not interested in that.”

Zara looked a bit taken aback by Ally’s bluntness. “But isn’t that the point of dating?” she asked, her voice uncertain. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

Ally’s expression softened as she looked at Zara, who suddenly seemed more vulnerable than ever. “Zara, if that’s all a boy can offer, then I’d rather join a convent and become a nun,” she said, a hint of humour in her voice but with a seriousness that wasn’t lost on Zara. “There’s so much more to life than just, ‘ootchie-ootchie’ all the time.”

Zara dropped her gaze to her hands, folding them tightly in her lap. “Sorry ... Maybe I’ve got it all wrong.”

“Maybe you’ve just been dealt the wrong side of the stick,” Ally replied gently, placing a comforting hand on Zara’s shoulder. “But you know what? There’s still time to turn things around. I might be younger than you, but if you let me I’ll help you see things differently.”

Zara looked up at Ally, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Would you really? Help me, I mean?”

“Of course,” Ally said with a warm smile. “And not just me. My dad, Alex, everyone here — we’re all here for you. We care about you, Zara.”

Zara sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she spoke. “You guys all seem so happy. I want that too ... I want to feel like I belong somewhere, to be happy without having to pretend all the time.”

Ally leaned in a bit closer, her voice soft but firm. “Zara, you’re good-looking, sure, but that’s not all there is to you. You’ve been growing up fast; maybe too fast, and had your share of experiences. You like to have fun, to live in the moment, but sometimes ... sometimes you need to slow down and find out who you really are underneath all that.”

Zara nodded slowly, absorbing Ally’s words. “Then, show me how, Ally. I want to be like you.”

Ally shook her head slightly, a gentle smile on her face. “No, you don’t want to be like me. You want to be yourself, just ... a happier version of you. And you can be, Zara. You just have to give yourself the chance.”

Zara wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and gave Ally a small, hopeful smile. “I’ll try. I want to try.”

Ally squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “That’s all you need to do. Just take it one step at a time. We’re all here to help you, Zara. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Zara nodded, the weight on her shoulders seeming to lift just a little. “Thanks, Ally. I really appreciate it.”

Ally smiled back at her, the connection between them stronger than ever. “Any time, Zara. We’ve got your back.”

The afternoon seemed to slip through our fingers, the hours melting away until it was time to go. As I waited in the dining room with quiet anticipation building in my chest, I wondered what kind of transformation the ladies had orchestrated. Mai-Loan, Nadia, and Laura had taken Ally under their wings, whisking her away for what they called “a little magic.” When she finally stepped through the dining room door, I nearly did a double-take.

If it weren’t for her petite frame and that signature white-blond hair, I might have questioned if it was really Ally standing before me. Her hair was usually pulled back in a ponytail or left in a casual tousle, but now it hung loose in soft waves that spilled over her shoulders and cascaded down her back like a flaxen waterfall. The silky strands shimmered in the light, catching every glint as she moved. Her eyes, always striking, now seemed even more vivid like the clear morning sky after a rain. Whatever subtle touch of makeup they had used made them stand out even more, a stunning blue that contrasted perfectly with her fair complexion.

But it wasn’t just her hair or her eyes that caught my attention. Ally was dressed in a crisp white top that hugged her figure just enough to hint at the young woman she was becoming, paired with a short playful skirt in a warm yellow hue that complemented her summery look. Her brown summer sandals gave her a relaxed, breezy air, but what really struck me were the small details — the reddish polish on her fingernails and toenails that added a sophisticated touch, and the light blush that had been expertly applied to her cheeks; just enough to give her a healthy glow without covering her endearing freckles. She looked stunning — elegant yet youthful, and, to my surprise, a little older than her fourteen years. My little friend was growing up.

Ally twirled in a circle, her skirt flaring out and her hair swirling around her like a halo. She giggled, a sound so full of joy it was contagious. “Do I look presentable?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement and just a hint of shyness.

I couldn’t help but smile, feeling a swell of pride and affection for her. “You look stunning, Ally!” I exclaimed, reaching out to take her hand.

She beamed at the compliment, her cheeks flushing with a natural warmth. “Come, let’s get going. We don’t want to be late!” she urged, her energy infectious.

“Your chariot awaits, mi’lady!” I replied with a playful bow as I rose from my seat. Together we walked out of the house with her hand still in mine, the cool evening air brushing against us as we made our way toward the car.

As we stepped onto the patio, Ally’s eyes widened in delight when she spotted the blue ‘68 Shelby GT500KR Cobra parked under the patio stairs, its sleek lines glowing under the late afternoon sun. “OOo! Are we using the Mustang?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement as she practically skipped towards it. In reality, it was just a Mustang shell. The Shelby was a heavily modified Mustang.

“Why not? This is a special occasion,” I chuckled, enjoying her enthusiasm as much as the sight of the car itself. There was something about the way her eyes sparkled that made the moment even more special.

She giggled again, the sound light and carefree as I opened the right-hand passenger door for her. The Shelby is configured as a left-hand drive as I imported the car from a collector in the USA. Driving a left-hand drive car in South Africa is not uncommon, one just has to be a little more Vigilant.

With a graceful hop, Ally slid into the seat, looking every bit the part of a young lady ready for a night out. I closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side, catching sight of something that made me pause.

Up at the house, four pairs of eyes were gawking through the lounge window, their expressions a mix of surprise and pride. Mai-Loan, Nadia, Laura, and even little Zara were watching us with grins that ranged from pleased to mischievous. I waved and smiled back at them, feeling a shared moment of understanding pass between us. They had done a remarkable job, and the look on Ally’s face was all the proof we needed.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I turned the key. The Shelby’s 427 cubic-inch, Cobra Jet V8, rated at 335 horsepower, roared to life. The engine’s deep growl vibrating through the car. As we pulled away from the house, I couldn’t help but glance at Ally, who was looking out the window with a dreamy expression, the wind from the open window catching her hair. Tonight, I realized, was going to be a night neither of us would forget.

Sun City Hotel & Casino complex, Superbowl Arena, North West Province.

The car was safely stashed in a secure parking bay, and Ally and I strolled the short distance to the arena. The air was electric with anticipation and I could feel Ally’s excitement bubbling over. Her head was on a swivel, soaking in the splendour and bright lights that lit up the lobby like a galaxy of stars. She held onto my hand with a firm grip like she was afraid she might get swept away in the sea of people streaming through the doors. The place was alive, humming with the buzz of fans eager for the night ahead.