Chapter 5

While closing and locking all the doors and windows, I noticed that the lights were out in Tracy’s room. Good. She’s asleep.

I did my round through the house. Clicking lights off, closing windows, locking doors, and checking on non-essential electric appliances that needed to be off. I noticed the lightning flashes over the hill behind the farmhouse. There’s a storm brewing. You could feel the static electricity in the air. Duma was gone to where cats go. Either hiding in a closet or waiting on my bed. By the way – The name ‘Duma’ is a Swahili name for a Cheetah.

Duma, my cat, is an actual African wild cat. He looks like a normal grey and black house cat, but instead of black strips, he has black spots. That’s why I called him ‘Duma.’ My miniature Cheetah.

One of the reasons that the African wild cats are so scarce, is that they breed with normal house cats. They are easily domesticated. In fact, the Ancient Egyptians domesticated them to guard the Pyramids. They look like a normal house cat but are not. Little character differences for one is, they love water and will play in it. They also do not retract their hind paw’s nails. So, watch out if he jumps on or off your lap! They also run up to forty-five kilometres per hour on short distances. Don’t challenge him!

Taking my shower was my time to reflect on the day. The past two days in fact. Having Tracy skipping along with me, since yesterday afternoon. What a predicament. I never dream that I would ever be in a situation like this. I could not even remember a book or article that I have read, that had a situation, remotely, like this. Why me? Why did the goon choose me? What if... ?

Yes. What if! What if I never showed up at the waterfront. Where would Tracy be if I were not around at the right place at the right time? What if, these sleazes just killed her. I would have never met this charming little lady. Charming little lady? Why she’s still a Kid.

What did Joe mean when he said to me to expect some extra farmhands? What does Joe have in mind to do? How are we to keep Tracy safe. Not WE. ME. How will I keep Tracy safe? What if. I wished I could just plug this into Excel, into a WHAT IF analysis formula!

Is it Karma? Have I done something, somewhere along the line? Something good. Something bad. Something to have Tracy dropped into my lap. Wrong choice of words. GET your mind out the gutter Don!

With the ‘keep Tracy safe’ thought in mind, I went to my study. I opened the safe under the big oak desk and retrieved my 9 mm pistol. I checked the magazine. Fifteen rounds. I chambered a round, took the magazine out, and slotted in another round into the magazine. I replaced the magazine in the pistol. Fifteen up, one in the chamber. Sixteen in total. Might make a difference in that I might be seeing another sunrise again.

We pilots have a saying: Any landing you can walk away from, is a good landing. No matter how bent the plane is.

I have never been hit in the face when in a fight. I don’t look back if I run away. Joke. I’ve won all my fights with at least a hundred meters. Joke again.

THIS is real. Tracy is in danger and it boils down to me to protect her. Besides, I have this feeling that Tracy EXPECTS me to protect her! That’s why she keeps clinging to me. No other reason. She sees me as her protector. A Father figure? The one she never had. I’m old enough to be a father to her. Do I want to be? Can I take on a teenage girl and handle the responsibility? Surely, I can be a friend to her.

My phone rang. Joe.

“Up late, are you Buddy?” I asked.

“Yes. Developments you should know of,” he said.

“Good or bad?” I asked.

“Again, your choice of words. Good ... or bad. Take it as it comes.” Joe said. I had a chill run down my spine. “The ‘Iron Jackets’ found two bodies. Or what was left of them. Down Fisherman’s Point way. Along the rocks. They were identified as Louis Louw and Chad Wilmington. Both were under surveillance for various things.” Joe said.

(Auth. Note: “Iron Jackets” is slang for Uniformed Police Officers. Usually used by Detectives to describe Uniform Police Officers. The Uniform Guys usually call the Detectives, “M’fokkies” (I WILL NOT TRANSLATE FOR YOU), and both Detectives and Uniform Guys call the General Public, “Hase” or Afrikaans for “Bunnies.” Those long-eared things that jump and eat carrots. A tradition that went out long ago. When you hear a Cop using this slang you must know he’s an OLD Cop, with at least thirty to forty years of service.)

“And you think they could be connected to our Op. How?” I asked.

“Two things,” Joe said. “One. The name Chad comes up in your girl’s statement. Two. Chad has been seen hanging around a guy called Alex. Alex works for another guy called Ludwig Hertz. Both Alex and Ludwig have been under observation for suspicious activities, but no evidence can be found. Or grounds for confirming any illegal activity. Currently, our only link is the fact that Alex is connected to both Ludwig and our dear departed choir boy, Chad”

“And?” I asked.

“For the time being. Your ‘Farmhands’ will arrive tomorrow. Clean your piece and keep our girl safe. Keep your eyes open and don’t hesitate to use your piece. I’ll send you some notes on the case. I think we have a situation.”

“Been cleaning and loading my nine milimetre.,” I said.

“Good! I’ll send a backup too. Good Night Don.” And he clicked off. I sat for a while after the phone call. Thinking. What did he mean by ‘a backup’, he’s already sending ‘Farmhands?’ I felt as if Joe knew more things than he was willing to speak about.

I did eventually get to sleep. Fitful. Restless. Rolling around with the sheets clinging to me. UNTIL!

CRASH! BOOM! CRASH! BOOM! BOOM!

And: “SQUEAL! SHRIEK! DONNNN!” from up the passage. The thunderstorm was wrecking its havoc on the land. Little Irish West Coast Nymphs are not compatible with Highveld thunderstorms. I was out and up the passage in a flash.

When I got to Tracy’s room, the light was off. I had to switch it on. Tracy sat up in the bed. Her knees were drawn up to her chest. The bedsheets pulled up to about her neck. Big green eyes looking at me with fright reflecting out of them. She was trembling.

I went over to her and took her in my arms. Tracy clung to me.

“It’s only thunder my dear. It will not hurt you. You are safe here in this house.” I soothingly said to her, gently stroking her hair over her head and shoulders.

“It’s ... it’s ... loud. I felt the bed move ... The bed MOVED, Don. The window was rattling.” Tracy stammered, shivering in my arms.

“Calm down little one, it’s only thunder and this is what it’s like around here. We are very used to it. Come, let me go make you something to drink. You’ll be fine, Sweetie.” I told Tracy while still holding the trembling teen in my arms.

The thunder continued outside. Crashing and booming. Lightning flashes illuminated the night through the drawn curtains. I knew that the storm would be over in an hour. That’s Highveld storms for you. BANG, they’re here ... then gone ... Like the night stars, lost in the early light of dawn.

“Come, Sweetie, let’s go downstairs,” I said, getting up. Tracy kept clinging to me. The shaking and shivering slowly receding in the tiny body, with the storm outside also receding away further.

We made it to the kitchen. I placed a little pot of milk on the stove to heat. Got coco out of the kitchen cabinet. Tracy sat at the breakfast nook table, still, a little rattled and shook up. Her elbows on the flat surface of the table. Hands flat on the table. I started the makings of hot chocolate that I knew will sooth little nerves somewhere around here.

While the sound of the thunder slowly receded away, we drank our hot chocolate. Tracy silent. Obviously under the influence of The Sandman.

“Let’s go sleep Sweetie,” I said. Looking down at her and the pleading expression in her eyes, I said. “Okay. You’re going to end up in my bed anyway.” I sighed. The sigh more for her benefit. Green eyes light up and a shy smile forms on her lips.

“Okay.” was all she said. We got up from the table and went up the stairs. I placed my arm around her shoulders. Tracy returned the gesture with her arm around my waist and so we together, ascended the stairs.

I pulled the covers on my bed to some sort of usability and both Tracy and I got in. Tracy, sliding in from my side. I laid down on my back with Tracy immediately forming her young body to my side. Head on my chest. Arm over my midriff. I switched off the light.

Through the little sliver of curtain opening, I saw that the storm was over, and the moon was casting a light outside.

“Goodnight Angel,” I said to Tracy, giving her hand a squeeze, kissing her on the head.

“Goodnight Don,” Tracy whispered. I eventually got to sleep again.

Waking up the next morning, I found that a cat and a kitten were sharing my bed. Duma was stretched out across my feet and complained when I moved. He immediately moved to a place next to Tracy. Tracy, on the other hand, was half on her tummy, one leg drawn up. Hugging her pillow. This causing her nightie to reveal more leg than was appropriate.

I looked at Tracy on the bed. Still sleeping. I suppose she needed resting. She was trafficked from her home, over the Atlantic, to Cape Town. Dropped into a house with only males, beaten and sold as a sex slave. Yes. She is beautiful. Only slightly developing into a woman, but still, by definition and age – a kid.

In the way she was laying on the bed, I noticed that the bruises on her thighs were starting to heal. I suppose the rest too. Peeking out under the hem of her nightie, was lime coloured panties. She had small feet. Delicate ankles. Her fire-red hair was splayed out over the second pillow. Those tiny twin, barely visible, protrusions indicating she had no bra on.

I looked away. Some part of me was reacting in a way it should not react to Tracy. No. I willed it away and silently, without disturbing Tracy, got up. I anyway had to attend to bladder pressure.