Murderous David Hickson (best thriller novels of all time TXT) 📖

“Did you call me fat?” said Billy, and I saw the realisation of her mistake suddenly hit Robyn. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then opened them and turned to Piet.

“I like my men with a bit of flesh on their bones, Mr Van Rensburg,” she said coyly.

Piet van Rensburg cleared his throat, held by Robyn’s entrancing gaze. “Piet,” he said. “Please call me Piet.”

“Piet,” said Robyn, and she smiled at him. She avoided looking at Chandler or me.

Billy produced a blinding smile. Then he laughed and lifted his beer in a toast.

“Easy game, Piet,” he said and laughed again. We all drank in unison and Piet chuckled.

“Well played,” he said and produced his own rumbling laugh. He turned to Roelof. “I love this man, you know that? He speaks with honesty.”

Roelof nodded but looked unconvinced.

“You not going to sell us the guns?” said Hendrik.

Billy turned to him.

“I’m throwing in a few extra just for you, Hendrik,” he said.

“’Cos the war has started,” said Hendrik. “We need them now.”

“That’s bullshit, son,” said Piet. “The war hasn’t started. The only war we’re fighting now is with the elements. Breaking our bodies out there day after day to make this little patch of Africa into something worthwhile.”

“Out there in the sun,” said Melissa, who had been gazing blankly into a candle for some time.

“Rain or shine,” agreed Piet.

“If I spent that much time out there in the sun,” said Melissa, “I’d start looking like a zot.”

The silence returned. ‘Zot’ was a term for describing a dark-skinned African. Not the sort of word to use in polite conversation.

“I am sure Melissa must be tired,” said Piet to Hendrik.

“Don’t think so,” said Hendrik, who had used the break provided by Melissa’s comment to fill his mouth again. “She hasn’t done fuck-all all day.” He looked at her with detached interest, as if he might spot an energy leak.

Melissa stood uncertainly with a scraping of her ebony chair, wavered a little, and grasped the table with both hands to steady herself.

“I am a little tired actually, Oom Piet,” said Melissa, and then could think of nothing further to say. She smiled apologetically and pressed her lips together like someone feeling nauseous.

“I’m sure our guests wouldn’t mind if you retired early,” said Piet.

Colonel Colchester pushed his chair back and stood abruptly. “It shall be our sad loss to be deprived of your company,” he said. “But we understand such beauty requires a good night’s rest.”

“Freddy should escort me,” said Melissa, struggling to focus on me as I too rose to my feet.

“Like fuck Freddy escorts you,” said Hendrik, and he raised an arm and clicked his fingers in the air. A moment later the barman appeared at his side, armed with a bottle of beer. “Take my fiancée to her room,” said Hendrik and he took a large gulp of the beer then glared menacingly at Melissa.

Robyn rose to her feet. “I might excuse myself as well,” she said, with only a slight slur.

The barman offered them each an arm and gently guided them away from the table and across the terrace.

Piet van Rensburg and Billy ‘the Conqueror’ Mabele both indulged in cigars with their coffees. Piet spent several minutes lighting matches and puffing like a steam engine to get his one going. I offered Hendrik a cigarette, but he preferred his own brand, and Roelof folded his napkin, clasped his hands before him and seemed content to inhale our smoke. The barman brought a tray with brandy glasses and thirty-year-old port. Roelof poured us each a measure.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” said Piet, and he puffed again at his cigar. “We are bringing two cats down from the Kruger, Billy. Special crates, transport organised.”

“Cats?” said Billy Mabele.

“Lions.”

Billy Mabele nodded and swallowed a large portion of his port.

“Assuming we like what you have in that big box of yours, we’ll need you to load the goods into those crates.”

“You can provide dimensions?” asked the colonel.

“Roelof can do all that,” said Piet.

“And we need to do the loading in Maputo,” said the colonel. “Isn’t that right, Freddy?”

“Maputo,” I confirmed.

“Maputo?” said Piet. “Surely not. That’s out of the country. I’m not sure we can get our lions to Maputo. Can we, Rudi?”

Roelof was staring at his untouched glass of port as if trying to conduct a mind experiment with it. He looked up at Piet.

“We can,” he said. He turned to me, his glasses shining with suspicion. “But it means crossing the border. Why not ship from Richards Bay?”

“Richards Bay is six hundred kilometres by road. Maputo is less than half that.”

“We’d have to get them out of the country, then back in again.”

“Paperwork,” I said, and sipped at my port. “If you provide the white paper, we’ll provide a bit of the green paper. That way your furry friends will have papers good enough to get to Maputo. Plentiful rubber stamps and smiles and good feelings. We like that kind of situation, and Dicky will like it too. Maputo is the only route Dicky trusts these days, isn’t that so, Billy?”

Billy nodded and finished his port. “It is,” he said. “My brother Dicky is difficult in that way.”

“Sounds like a plan then,” said Piet, and he drank his port in one gulp.

“We would like to be there,” said Roelof abruptly. “When they load the crates.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed. “Very sensible. We will arrange for that, won’t we, colonel?”

“Of course we will,” agreed the colonel, and he watched Roelof warily. “You’re rushing things, Freddy. Don’t insult our hosts in your haste.”

I showed my regret and Piet gave a hearty laugh to indicate he didn’t mind being rushed. Hendrik gave a mirthless smile. Roelof’s glasses glinted.

“Sounds as if we have a deal,” said the colonel, and he raised his glass of port towards Piet. Piet and Billy raised their glasses, and Roelof obligingly poured a little more port into them so that the deal could be made.

“We’ll get the paperwork started,” I said.

“Details