Chapter 5

November 10, 12:40 SAST, Cape Town, Signal Hill.

It suddenly became chilled and quiet. Only the moaning of the southeasterly wind was audible around us. Rashaad, or Lofty as he preferred to be called, sighed and visibly slumped his shoulders. He had the presence of mind to know when he was cornered, a situation he was not accustomed to. He also realised that his only way out was to go along with “Joe Smith’s.” proposal. What was that this up-country guy’s real name, he wondered. Surely “Joe Smith,” was an alias.

“Okay, Let’s talk,” Rashaad simply stated.

“My associates and I will be on the sidelines. We will not interfere with your enterprise. We will deposit five hundred thousand Rand into a bank account of your choice. For that we will receive a dividend of twenty percent of your profits. No other associates, especially the Yakuza, will be tolerated. No violence or trading in any substances will be allowed.”

“I have agreements with other Cape Flats businesses. How would that impact that agreement, if I accept your proposal?”

“The same rules will apply. As long as they deal with your enterprise they will refrain from any violence or trading in questionable substances.”

“But that would cripple us! Our existence depends on the trade!”

“With the cash injection from our side you will make a good profit on your legit businesses, and will not have to depend on the trade.”

“No Mister Smith, I don’t think this agreement will have any positive outcomes for either me or my enterprise,” Lofty said.

“Great! If you are not willing to take the risk, then you leave us no other choice, but to close your enterprise, before the Japanese take over.”

“The Japanese will not take over. We will unite against them and kick their sorry asses back to the grimy hole they crept out of!” Lofty spat.

“Then so be it. You don’t know what you are dealing with. Don’t come crying to me when my words become reality.”

Lofty laughed his croaking laugh. “The Hard Livings have been around for a long time, Mister Smith, and we will be around for a long time to come.”

“I admire your confidence, Mister Williams. Just remember, the Roman Empire also came to a fall, and so did Alexander the Great.”

“It was also stated that Chandragupta Maurya, who founded the Mauryan empire in the 4th century BC, had defeated Alexander of Macedon in battle, and yet, it is the latter whom historians have chosen to call ‘great!’” Rashaad said, sporting a lopsided smile. He was after all, somewhat educated.

“Be that as it may, you will now take your bodyguards, get in your car, and leave. This discussion is over.” I said.

“You’re not going to convince me otherwise?” A surprised Rashaad said, feeling that this whitey was dead serious and not to be played with. It was a rare time in his life that he came across a man that knows what he wants.

“You made your choice, now have a good day. Goodbye, Mister Williams.”

“And if I change my mind.” Rashaad tried to backtrack.

“I only make this offer once,” I said, with an expression of disinterest on my face.

“Let me think about it and discuss it with my management,” Rashad said, and I detected doubt in Rashad William’s mind. My objective was reached.

“My team will contact you in two days’ time,” I flatly stated.

“You don’t have a contact number, an office somewhere I could reach you?”

“No. I operate out of my hotel room, wherever that may be. I won’t remain in Cape Town much longer.”

“I will be waiting on your call with the decision of my management. Goodbye, Mister Smith, Joe,” Rashaad said and turned to leave.

“Just get in your car and go. My women will return your weapons in a day or two, or you could just get some more from the cave at Smitswinkels Bay,” I chuckled, and Rashaad stopped dead in his tracks.

“One condition from my side. I want that redhead bitch!”

“What redhead? I don’t know of any redhead I could pass on to you.” I fibbed. “Maybe you should check out that nice club on Long Street, I believe they open at 13:00 and maybe there’s a redhead working there. But anyway, thank you for acknowledging that the Smitswinkels Bay weapons belong to you. Denial would have been pointless, but I appreciate your honesty.”

He shook his head, turned, and left back to his car. When he got to the white BMW, the two blond women, Leah and Olivia, kept Rashaad, and his cronies under cover of their firearms until the three sleaze balls drove off.

At the top of the hill, overlooking the open space where the meeting took place, Darya packed up her gear and walked back over the hill towards the south.

There’s only one road into Signal Hill. Now to observe and make sure that the sleaze balls depart, and not spring a surprise on Ash, Leah and Olivia at the bottom of the hill. Better safe than sorry. Then she will wait for Ash and the girls to pick her up. So far, the day proceeded well, Darya determined from what she heard through her headset. Thank God for advanced technology.

November 10, 13:10 SAST, Cape Town, Long Street Nightclub “Arthur’s.”

Daiki Nakamura sat silently on a lounge chair, looking around his new office, contemplating a few things he would change.

“Arthur’s,” the name of the club he bought, would have to change. He doesn’t need any reference to the old club-rats and “lollipop girls” infested nightclub that the place came to be known as. They can go do their couch dancing somewhere else.

It must be a respectable establishment. Good food and wine will be on the menu for the well-to-do in Cape Town to hang out. The official business will take place on the upper levels of this three-story brick building at the upper end of Long Street. He needs staff: waiters, chefs, and a manager. Dependable ‘muscle’ from Japan; and a lieutenant to run the operation and security to keep the place safe and keep an eye out on the street gangs.

It has to be a pub and grill. Or just a pub, where the parties would be epic and hide the true establishment of his operations in the city. “Merlin’s Cave” sprang to mind. There are also names like; “The Purple Onion,” or “Purple Oyster,” maybe “The Purple Octopus.”

From here, his operation will rule the night-life, and the petty gangs that are now peddling their illegal wares on the streets and in places like this.

Daiki has never touched drugs; it is something he despises. Drugs just land you in hot water with the authorities. To be successful in business, there are things you don’t do, and drugs are one of those items you don’t get involved with. Although Daiki has ties with the Yakuza, (gangster) also known as the gokudo, (the extreme path) he has not found it necessary to join their ranks. The Japanese Police call the Yakuza “boryokudan” (violent groups). The Yakuza see themselves as ninkyo dantai. (chivalrous organizations). Some of the Yakuza “family bosses,” or “oyabans,” have shareholder seats on his company management. They see to his security and business interests, and he sees that they are well treated, and they receive a kickback.

Yes, his father traded in ivory, and although nobody could prove anything, someone assassinated his father, leaving Daiki to take over the family business.

Before his father died, he had sent Daiki on a mission to Africa; Botswana to be precise. But before he could get to his contact, that contact was eliminated by the Botswana Government using mercenaries with jet fighter aircraft. The mercenaries attacked his contact’s camp and wiped it out with rocket fire from the two jets. One an old bomber jet, the other an old fighter jet. (See: Stray Cats Hunt in Darkness.)

Daiki pursued his quest to avenge his father’s death, and that of his contact in Botswana. He knew that the two incidents were somehow related to one another, it had to be. And now that woman is in the Northwest Province of South Africa. Only by accident did he find out that one of the jet aircraft was piloted by a woman: A Vietnamese woman he found to be called Nguyen Thi Mai-Loan! The bitch will die slowly. He will enjoy her screams as she burns alive in her old silver fighter jet!

It may take time, but he will find her and kill her, together with her associates. He cannot take on the Botswana Government, but he can surely take care of the woman, her aircraft and her associates.

But first, he needs to establish his business interest in South Africa, and where is there a better place to start but in the cosmopolitan area of Cape Town. Here he will take over the gangs and use them for his plans. With the Yakuza on his side, things will be good.

The Yakuza operate mainly in Japan, but also extend their influence in South Korea, and the Western United States, particularly in Tokyo, Kyoto, Chubu, Hawaii, California, and the Southwestern United States. Membership is almost exclusively Japanese, Koreans and Japanese Americans; around 25900 members in total. Now with Daiki’s help, they will move into in South Africa as well.

Daiki smiled and got up from the lounge chair. He needs a drink. Shit, he just bought a neat nightclub. All the liquor in this place is his property. Well, let’s go find a good quality whisky. There’s Glenlivet 21-year-old and Glenfiddich 18-year-old on the shelf behind the bar counter. Now, what one should he choose? The 21-year-old or the 18-year-old? Maybe both and get to find, which one suits his taste.

November 10, 13:10 SAST, Cape Town, Long Street Nightclub “The Lonely Traveler.”

Rashaad lay spent on the bed in one of the upper story bedrooms, the girl called “Roxy” dozing naked in the afterglow next to him, her light brown skin shining slightly with perspiration in the light from window, and her long black hair in disarray after their wild lovemaking.

This room was safe. Isolated and soundproof, not like the other rooms where there were large mirrors on the walls. Each mirror on the wall is one-way window into a room. While the girls entertained their male companions, others often paid to see the show. Thus, Rashaad made a killing on the single booty call.

Some of the girls knew about this arrangement and put on a good show, earning extra on the transaction. Roxy knew about this but did not partake. She was exclusive and Rashaad reserved her for just the good customers; the long-term customers that he knew well and who also treated him well. There was some resentment from other girls, but Roxy’s personality and being the official squeeze of the boss kept it to a minimum. Besides, the other girls made good money.

Rashaad knew that “Roxy” was not her real name, but who cares? She works for him, and so she received other compensation from him instead of call-girl booty. She is terrific with the special clients and brought in some good money for the week she was here. “Roxy” also helps in deliveries to nearby customers, and also tends the bar in the afternoons before she starts her hostess duties around 5 PM. A good one, and she came with good recommendations from trusted sources. He will treat her well. Tomorrow she’ll have a day off.

Rashaad lit a cigarette and thought about his meeting with Joe Smith. Yes, the guy’s name was definitely fake, but who cares. He should meet with this Japanese guy and see what they propose.

Chuckling softly, Rashaad thought of how sly he is in looking at both the proposals and then choosing the one that fits his liking. Maybe he should take both. Yes, why not? He can easily disguise one from the other, especially with the whitey not being in Cape Town. The whitey would not know or suspect anything. Yes, he will wait on the whitey’s phone call and tell him he will go along. Then, meet the Japanese and screw him too.

There will be good times for the Hard Livings. If he could get the same “investment” from the Japanese, as he can get from the whitey, it will be a million bucks, and that would be good.

The girl next to Rashaad stirred and tried to sit up. Gently Rashaad pushed her down again.

“Stay here a while. Rest up, take a shower and come down when the evening guests arrive.”

“Are you sure Mister Williams? They need me downstairs, to go tend to the bar.”

“No. I will sort them out. You rest up. And, Roxy, thank you. You were the right treatment for my nerves,” he said and got up. While dressing, he thought about a phone call he had to make. The redhead bitch will not be returning to the cave, although he still had doubts about that. He must withdraw his men and keep them close to him, strengthening his guard. There’s much risk here, but played right, the Hard Livings will prevail.

“I take it that the meeting went well?” Roxy asked, her voice a little muffled by the pillow under her head. Rashaad smiled. Roxy is also an intelligent girl. Why she chose the life of a hostess he did not know, but he is glad she did.

“Yes, yes the meeting went well. I think I’ll take the offer on the table from the whitey.” Rashaad chuckled. “And also the offer from the Japanese. Playing both sides.”

“You don’t think it is dangerous to play the two sides?” Roxy asked, with a slight concern in her voice, lifting her head from the pillow, and looking at Rashaad.

“I just have to see to it that the two sides don’t meet,” he chuckled again.

“And if they both come to the bar at the same time?” Roxy asked, concerned, and rose up on her elbows, her small cone-shaped breasts not touching the bed under her.

“You are clever.” Rashaad said, placing his hand on Roxy’s back and stroking her lightly. Roxy purred. “I’ll just make sure they don’t.”

“You will show me who they are. At least, so I know if one or the other shows up here. Special privileges, you know.”

“Yeah, but they pay your fee. Nothing for free, even if they are business associates.”

“Thank you, Boss. I know you will take care of me.”

“As long as you take care of me, I’ll take care of you. Rashaad said, smiling down at the slim, petite girl with the slightly dark skin. She can any day pass for a whitey, something that comes in handy in this business. “Now let me go. I have things to attend to. Stay here. I will sort it out downstairs for you.”

He opened the door to leave, and Roxy stretched her young slim body, pointed her toes and raised her arms above her head, then turned over on the bed onto her back, and purred like a kitten, giving Rashaad a last look at her wonderful body. Then he was out the door, closing it behind him.

The boss was being good to her. She’ll be good to him, but later she has to make a phone call outside of the building, using her burner phone. How good that phone call will be for the boss’s health, one can only guess. She sat up on the bed, lay back on the pillows and drew her legs up. She lit a cigarette, letting her long black hair drop over her chest covering her perky A-cup breasts.

“Siestog, shame. Fooitog fok...” Roxy sighed in Cape Flats Afrikaans as she blew out a thin stream of smoke. If only Rashaad knew that the “whitey” from up-country, was already on to him.

Not so much the up-country whitey, but that phantom grumpy old voice on the phone paying her so well. So well that she might afford that sleek 3-series BMW one of these days. A beamer, the envy and dream of all her life.

Authors note: AS my editor would say: Language lesson: (Siestog = Pronounced “cis toch,” “Shame” = the English equivalent. Two words meaning the same thing and considered an expression of sympathy, pity, or dismay; occasionally, an expression of disgust. In Cape Flats Anglo-kaans, it is sometimes used together. Thus, “Siestog’’ is the Afrikaans word for “Shame.” Although, it is different from, “It is a shame that...” There the word “Skande” would be used and translated as; “It is a scandal that...” but that does not translate well into English and changes the meaning in English.)

November 10, 16:00 SAST, Overberg ex-military airbase.

The sultry summer afternoon was starting to cool down. The Southeaster had been blowing for most of the day, picking up in intensity as the day went on. But here, inland of the cooling influence of the Indian Ocean’s water, it was baking hot. Heatwaves could be seen rising off the aprons, taxiways and runways. All the aircraft were safely inside the hangar, except for one lonely Mirage 2000 N, and she would soon be taking up her spot inside.

For the last two days the aircraft had been used by Mai-Loan. She had personally taken it upon herself to get Nadia and Darya up to speed on the systems of the radar, target acquisition, and fire control. The going was tough, but as they say: when the going gets tough, the tough get going. This was demonstrated with ease by both Darya and Nadia.

Darya was just released for our excursion to Signal Hill, but when we got back, she got into the backseat while Mai-Loan took them out and along the south Cape shores in the search for ground targets. There were many small craft out on the sea, and they used them as targets without the little blighters even knowing that they were the object of interest for a dark speck in the sky.

It was with a mild surprise to me, when we arrived back, to find a Bell Boeing OV-22 tilt-rotor craft on apron “C,” in front of the large hangar. I wanted to mouse over to our US Navy friends next door and get a look at the craft, but was cut short when my cell phone buzzed.

“Smith!” I said into the phone.

“Santa Claus here.” Chuckle.

“Yip. I see your sleigh is in for maintenance and Rudolf is enjoying a beer.”

“The little rascal! I told him not to go for beer. It upsets his tummy.”

“What gives?”

“Your friend is up to no good.”

“Which one?”

“Your chocolate brownie friend with the white BMW.”

“Oh...”

“Sources say he told them he will take on both proposals. Yours and the Japanese guy’s.”

“Oh, shit. H C B S!” (Here Comes Big Shit.)