When Noma alighted with a shy giggle, the flutter of her A-line skirt in the cool evening breeze brought forward the shopkeeper, who no longer had a care about closing the shop and doing what Silas Mthimkhulu had told him to do. All he wanted to do now was to speak his insupportable loneliness to the twin curves of Noma’s bosom.

As the sun began its final journey towards setting, Chief Cele Mkhize and Joli Msimanga triumphantly lifted the iron grille, freely entered the shop and telephoned Spokes Moloi. The two mujibhas went on the lookout for any unwanted visitors. And, for its part, the Ford Mustang was more than happy not to have its roadworthiness further tested.

Dikeledi knew that it was the wont of men not to thank women for saving the day, and so she thanked herself by entering the shop and helping herself to an ice-cold Castle Lager, a family-size packet of beef-and-tomato crisps and a Swiss Army knife that she had long been wanting to buy. As she stood in the shop’s doorway, downed her beer and watched the sun become a great ball of furious fire in an amber and purple sky, she knew that all would be right with the world because she had made it so.

Spokes

SPOKES

Internal mail was notoriously slow at the Western Commonage Police Station, and that was because the mail passed through two or three pairs of hands on its journey from the pigeonhole to its recipient. First someone had to check that there were no letter bombs, and then someone had to check that there were no coded messages, and then someone had to deliver the mail. Now while most officers understood taking such precautions with external mail, very few understood why internal mail had to be treated the same way. The official word – from the highest office in the land – was that since the country was at war, enemies were everywhere and vigilance was key. The country was no longer at war, but vigilance was apparently still key.

Knowing all this, Spokes had given his application for retirement enough time to go through the necessary protocols before finding its way to its final destination. So, when he entered the station for the twelve to six shift on 23 December, he knew that a visit to the Chief Superintendent’s office was imminent.

The day began as expected. The Desk Sergeant greeted him with, ‘Is it Memorandum?’

‘Not even close,’ Spokes responded, making his way to the Sergeants’ Office.

Just then Chief Superintendent Griffiths intercepted Spokes’s progress and steered him in the opposite direction. ‘Ah, there you are, Moloi … just the man. Just the man. Follow me, if you please.’ Spokes followed the Chief Superintendent to his more spacious office at the other end of the corridor. There they found the Assistant Commissioner and the Deputy Commissioner, sipping tea and evidently waiting for Spokes.