before ’94. He was there for years, and that’s where he really got into the big league.’
‘I suppose everyone who’s anyone in international organised crime moves through Amsterdam at some stage.’
‘
Ja
,’ said Jakes. ‘He developed some very cosy bilateral ties with the South Americans. I put out the word that you wanted to interview him about the import/export side of his business,’ said Jakes. ‘Has he contacted you?’
Clare remembered Landman’s fingers hard on her elbow. ‘He did. Thanks. Do you know what his focus is these days?’
‘He’s moved into town now,’ continued Jakes. ‘He bought a mansion in Clifton and he’s going legit. He’s moving into property too. That’s where he and Tohar have connected. The bastard will be submitting a tax return soon. Apparently he’s opening branches of The Isis Club from Bellville to Benoni and making a fortune. Two Isis Safari Lodges have also just opened, one outside Pretoria and one here in Cape Town. Have a look, I’ve got a brochure in the cubbyhole. Very upmarket, very secluded, specialising in catering to their overnight clients’ “wildest jungle fevers”. That is what their ad says, anyway. You’ll love their slogan: “Your wish: Her command”.’
‘You know a lot about him,’ said Clare.
‘We met last month. The Isis has started making films and I was asked to do some stills for a film shoot. For a video cover, actually. I did it, but their speciality is not really my thing. There is an almost limitless profit – if you make the right kind of movies and have good distribution,’ said Jakes as he turned into the parking area for the party guests.
‘What kind of films?’ asked Clare.
‘Oh, they do a bit of fuzzy erotica, but mainly it is the very end of the legal hard-core spectrum. I prefer women with a bit of spirit. I can’t see the fun in tying them up and gagging them before you hang them from the ceiling,’ said Jakes.
Jakes handed his keys to the valet who was dressed in Egyptian blue and gold. Clare and Jakes made their way across the thick red carpet that led to the old Sea Point Tower Hotel. The party was in the revolving pinnacle of the building. Otis Tohar had acquired the whole place eighteen months before and had kept the three floors below the original revolving restaurant as his penthouse. The rest of the hotel had been sold off as luxury apartments. Clare glanced at the guest list as the bouncer searched for her name. There were several names that she recognised – politicians whose names had been associated with shady land deals and golf estates, two ex-beauty queens, and a few entrepreneurs whose businesses would have been difficult to explain to the taxman.
‘Hart. Doctor.’ The bouncer smiled at Clare, his large finger dwarfing her name. ‘And Partner. Go up.’
They stepped into the plush private lift. Before they had a chance to draw breath, the doors opened on the top floor. Clare gasped at the view. The city lights were stitched together by the threads of the evening traffic – white headlights, red taillights. The rain had stopped and the clouds parted to reveal the moon on the horizon. The restless waves were contained behind the sea wall. Then the gap closed again.
A girl silently materialised, her hair in an elaborate Egyptian wig. She gave them champagne and took their coats without meeting their eyes. As she turned from them to greet the next offering to emerge from the elevator, her short shift parted to reveal a tattoo. Clare stared, startled by its familiarity. The girl, sensing that she was being looked at, turned around. Her hostess’s smile evaporated, leaving her face blank, her eyes expressionless. Then she turned back again to smile and wiggle for the man who had stepped out of the lift. He tested the firmness of her bottom as one would test a peach before eating it. Clare turned and followed Jakes into a room that had been converted into an opulent Pharaoh’s court for
‘I suppose everyone who’s anyone in international organised crime moves through Amsterdam at some stage.’
‘
Ja
,’ said Jakes. ‘He developed some very cosy bilateral ties with the South Americans. I put out the word that you wanted to interview him about the import/export side of his business,’ said Jakes. ‘Has he contacted you?’
Clare remembered Landman’s fingers hard on her elbow. ‘He did. Thanks. Do you know what his focus is these days?’
‘He’s moved into town now,’ continued Jakes. ‘He bought a mansion in Clifton and he’s going legit. He’s moving into property too. That’s where he and Tohar have connected. The bastard will be submitting a tax return soon. Apparently he’s opening branches of The Isis Club from Bellville to Benoni and making a fortune. Two Isis Safari Lodges have also just opened, one outside Pretoria and one here in Cape Town. Have a look, I’ve got a brochure in the cubbyhole. Very upmarket, very secluded, specialising in catering to their overnight clients’ “wildest jungle fevers”. That is what their ad says, anyway. You’ll love their slogan: “Your wish: Her command”.’
‘You know a lot about him,’ said Clare.
‘We met last month. The Isis has started making films and I was asked to do some stills for a film shoot. For a video cover, actually. I did it, but their speciality is not really my thing. There is an almost limitless profit – if you make the right kind of movies and have good distribution,’ said Jakes as he turned into the parking area for the party guests.
‘What kind of films?’ asked Clare.
‘Oh, they do a bit of fuzzy erotica, but mainly it is the very end of the legal hard-core spectrum. I prefer women with a bit of spirit. I can’t see the fun in tying them up and gagging them before you hang them from the ceiling,’ said Jakes.
Jakes handed his keys to the valet who was dressed in Egyptian blue and gold. Clare and Jakes made their way across the thick red carpet that led to the old Sea Point Tower Hotel. The party was in the revolving pinnacle of the building. Otis Tohar had acquired the whole place eighteen months before and had kept the three floors below the original revolving restaurant as his penthouse. The rest of the hotel had been sold off as luxury apartments. Clare glanced at the guest list as the bouncer searched for her name. There were several names that she recognised – politicians whose names had been associated with shady land deals and golf estates, two ex-beauty queens, and a few entrepreneurs whose businesses would have been difficult to explain to the taxman.
‘Hart. Doctor.’ The bouncer smiled at Clare, his large finger dwarfing her name. ‘And Partner. Go up.’
They stepped into the plush private lift. Before they had a chance to draw breath, the doors opened on the top floor. Clare gasped at the view. The city lights were stitched together by the threads of the evening traffic – white headlights, red taillights. The rain had stopped and the clouds parted to reveal the moon on the horizon. The restless waves were contained behind the sea wall. Then the gap closed again.
A girl silently materialised, her hair in an elaborate Egyptian wig. She gave them champagne and took their coats without meeting their eyes. As she turned from them to greet the next offering to emerge from the elevator, her short shift parted to reveal a tattoo. Clare stared, startled by its familiarity. The girl, sensing that she was being looked at, turned around. Her hostess’s smile evaporated, leaving her face blank, her eyes expressionless. Then she turned back again to smile and wiggle for the man who had stepped out of the lift. He tested the firmness of her bottom as one would test a peach before eating it. Clare turned and followed Jakes into a room that had been converted into an opulent Pharaoh’s court for
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