Blindside. Wilna Adriaanse

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СКАЧАТЬ likes me because I do my job. Work and pleasure have never been bedfellows.”

      She smiled. “Such a cliché.”

      “What do you want me to say?”

      “That you’ll give us a chance.”

      “Don’t complicate your life. Try to work things out with Ken.”

      “And if I leave Ken?”

      He shook his head. “Don’t do it.”

      “You know I can’t help who I am. I didn’t choose to be an Allegretti.” Her eyes were very bright.

      “I know, but that doesn’t mean it’s a sentence. Find something to do with your life. Keep yourself busy. It’s not healthy being idle.”

      “Should I go and work at a nail bar too?”

      “An honest day’s work might not be a bad thing.”

      She laughed out loud. “You know I’ll never stop hoping.”

      He walked to the lift. A man could only stand so much. Waiting for the doors to close, he saw her get up and stretch before pulling her dress over her head. She saw him watch and smiled.

      “Get a job!” he called out before the doors closed. For a moment he rested his forehead against the mirror. Danger and stress he could handle, but not torture.

      CHAPTER 10

      On Friday morning at seven, Nick locked the door of the apartment and set off on foot in the direction of Sea Point. He was slightly early for the bus and joined the short queue.

      When the bus came, he took a seat right at the back and watched the other passengers who got on. School children, youngsters who looked like students, working people. Two elderly women, handbags tucked tightly under their arms. A dapper gentleman with a cap and walking stick.

      The bus moved slowly, giving him the chance to survey his environment. He didn’t like the colossal new stadium in Green Point and wondered how the city fathers could ever have approved it. They drove past the Gallows Hill traffic centre. Legend has it that criminals were hanged for their transgressions here in the early days at the Cape. It was strange that the name had never been changed over the years. Maybe the place’s history was so dark that no one wanted to tamper with the name. In Somerset Road there were modern shops on both sides of the street.

      When they reached the city centre, Nick got off at the station and walked to the Golden Acre, where he got into a taxi. In London he had always used public transport. Since returning to South Africa, he preferred to be at the wheel himself, but the Range Rover had a tracking device and he didn’t want to take unnecessary risks. Soon after he had started to work for the Allegrettis, he had picked up a tail on one or two occasions. After a while, things had settled down.

      He hadn’t noticed anyone following him since he’d arrived in Cape Town, but Paul was terrified that they might be spotted together, so he always made doubly sure when the two of them met up.

      “I don’t care that you’re positive no one suspects us. You’re not going to try to be a hero when my head’s on the block,” Paul had said in no uncertain terms.

      The taxi took the N1 to the northern suburbs. Occasionally Nick looked in the rearview mirror, but he saw nothing that warranted his attention. At a shopping centre in Durbanville he got out, paid the driver and walked the remaining block to the restaurant.

      Paul was waiting at a table in the corner, a cup of coffee in front of him.

      “Were you careful?”

      “Yes.”

      “Did you switch off your cellphone?”

      “Yes. Relax, will you?”

      Paul sat back, noticeably relieved, but still frowning. “I hope you’re here to tell me my job is done.”

      Nick ordered coffee and shook his head. “Do you really want to leave this exciting life behind and go back to a desk in a grey office?”

      “You forget I like grey. I’m crazy about monotone. Colour is overrated.”

      Nick smiled. “Sorry, but you’re going to have to hang on for a while longer. Whenever you get sick of it, think about your grandchildren. One day, when they hear what you did, you’ll be their hero. At least they’ll know you didn’t spend your entire life crunching numbers.”

      “Grandchildren.” Paul shook his head. “Why would I want to add to the overpopulation of the planet?”

      The waitress came to take their order. Nick asked for the farmer’s breakfast. Paul ordered fruit, yoghurt and a muffin with honey.

      Nick sat back as the girl walked away. “Last time we spoke you said you’ve more or less worked out what the setup is at the club. Tell me.”

      Paul frowned. “You don’t meet people that stupid every day. You could have hired an eight-year-old to figure it out.”

      “Is it as we thought? Is dirty money going through the club?”

      “I could have told you that without selling my soul. Why else would they have bought the club?”

      “I know you said so, but without evidence my hands are tied. How do they do it?”

      “First, there’s the door money. The club has a capacity of six hundred. For the club to rake in the kind of money they put down to entrance fees, on average between eight hundred and a thousand people need to go through those doors every night of the week. Close to two thousand on Fridays and Saturdays.”

      “Could the numbers be real?”

      “I suppose so, but the club’s licence, fire and health certificates put its capacity at six hundred. It’s possible that they let more people in occasionally, but every night? The risk of losing their licence is just too great.”

      The waitress brought their food and they both had a bite of two before Nick continued.

      “How much can they launder like that?”

      “It’s a simple calculation. The entrance fee is R200. Multiply by six hundred. That gives you R120 000 per night. Multiply by five nights a week, four weeks per month on average. That gives you R2,4 million per month. To slip an extra two or three hundred thousand in is not rocket science. So we’re looking at a possible R3,6 million a year. Not bad. And we haven’t even looked at the liquor and food sales yet.”

      “Do you mean to tell me the auditors don’t pick it up?”

      “Are you stupid, or just pretending to be? Do you think I don’t know how to fix the books?”

      They ate in silence for a while.

      “You say they can also slip money in through the bars?”

      “Do you know how many shots there are in a bottle?” asked Paul.

      Nick СКАЧАТЬ