against the wall guiding him down. I try to talk to her, softly so that the Marabou and the Maltese won't hear.
"Why'd you run away?"
"Fuck you."
"Was it something Odi did?"
"What didn't Odi fucking do?"
"I'm trying to help you, you little brat."
"By taking me back? Some help you are."
"What did you think you were doing here? Playing house with your bouncer boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend, and it's not his place. Ro lives three floors down. It's mine. I paid for it." She adds for emphasis, "With my money. That I earned."
I try a different tack. "You had Mrs Luthuli really worried."
That shuts her up, but only for a moment. "I'm sorry," she stage-whispers. "They're going to kill me, you know."
"I completely understand that. I'd quite like to kill you myself right now."
"Ask them what happened to Jabu."
"Who's Jabu?"
"Ask them. Ask them where he is now." She yells the name so it echoes down the stairwell. "Jaaaaabulaaaaani Nkutha!" She rolls her eyes at me. "Ask them!"
When we get downstairs, a police car is parked on the street outside, with a small cluster of High Point's security gathered around, watching disapprovingly. Their commander, an older man with features ravaged by sun damage and acne scarring, pours milk onto Security Boy's face to neutralise the mace.
The Marabou bundles Songweza into the Mercedes, which is parked across the road, and locks the doors. The Maltese walks over to talk to the cop and smooth things over with the official letter from the Haven that Explains Everything. As he hands it over, I get a glimpse of a wad of blue R100 notes folded inside.
"So who's Jabu?" I ask Marabou, playing innocent.
"Jabu? A horrible boy she met in rehab. He stole her money, broke her heart and took off."
"Just disappeared?"
"Maybe he went back to his parents. How do I know? I didn't install a tracker."
"Is she normally–"
"Hormone imbalances. Manic depression. Whatever it is called. She is supposed to be on medication."
"And how exactly did you find her?"
"She made a call to a friend. The friend called us. Do not worry, you'll still be paid, as long as you are discreet." She gives me an appraising look. "I'd hate to see this feature in a blog." The Bird does that horrible swallowinglaughing thing with its head again. I have no idea what she is talking about.
"When can I get my money?"
"My, we are in a rush. We'll get it to you in the next few days. I assume cash is acceptable?"
"I'll come by tomorrow to collect it. And I'd like to see how Songweza is doing."
"Your concern is touching," she says indifferently. I glance up at her lost things. They're strangely sharp. Maybe it's just her, or proximity to her. The gloves and the book are still tethered to her among her lost things, but the firearm is noticeably absent.
"I see you found your gun," I say.
"What?" Her head swings my way. Her Bird clatters its beak at me.
"A Vektor?"
"Ah yes. One of my "lost things"? I did find it, thank you."
"Is it licensed?" I glance over at the cops.
"If you understood what I had been through, you would know I would need something for self-defence."
"I've been thinking about that. Your tuna-fish story."
"Yes?"
"You don't strike me as the tuna-fish type. You're more of a shark. Were you really inside the container, Amira? Or were you on the outside, arranging passage? Another kind of procurement?"
"And I think you are a stupid girl with crazy ideas in her head." She jabs a long finger into my direction and stalks towards the car. I watch the Merc pull away, back towards the suburbs.
I'm out past the shark nets now.
25.
I'm met by wolf whistles and monkey whoops from D'Nice and his idiot friends, who are sprawled on the steps outside Elysium, already mostly drunk.
"Hey, Zee Zee On Top!" D'Nice catcalls. "You can ride me reverse cowgirl, baby!" He bucks his hips and pretends to swing a lasso above his head.
"You need to get a job, D'Nice. The beer is rotting your brain."
"Oh, I got one. You're looking at the new Elias. I start on Tuesday."
Upstairs, I find a print-out tacked to my door that explains D'Nice's behaviour, the Marabou's sarky remark. It's from Mach blog, a sneak peek of an upcoming feature (full story in the May issue!) called "Was It Good for Zoo?"
There are photos.
Some of them are five years old. Candid. He swore he'd deleted them.
Some are from a couple of nights ago. A kiss pinned against the wall