Of Cops & Robbers by Mike Nicol

don’t know,’ says Jacob Mkezi. ‘No idea. Probably not. It’s in the bush.’
    ‘Most of Africa’s in the bush but there’s cellphone coverage.’
    ‘Less than you think.’
    Mellanie says into her phone, ‘Take that as a no. I’ll be in touch from the lodge phone when we get there. They must have a landline.’ She disconnects. ‘I don’t even know why I’m doing this.’
    ‘For me.’
    ‘Jacob, do you know, have you even the slightest idea, of the sort of issues I’m dealing with?’
    He smiles at her. She’s back at her BlackBerry keying in numbers.
    Mart Velaze says, ‘Does he know about the car? Lord, I mean?’
    ‘Uh uh. It’s a surprise, for his birthday.’
    ‘When’s that?’
    ‘Tomorrow.’
    Jacob Mkezi stares at the traffic. Bumper to bumper but it’s moving: Cape Town tailbacks. He looks at his watch, sits forward. They should’ve been at the airport already. ‘Are we going to make this?’
    ‘I’ve spoken to them at the plane. It’s okay, they can wait.’
    Jacob Mkezi relaxes. ‘Two other things, Mart. Next week, Monday, Tuesday, early next week, go and see a guy, Daro Attilane, who runs this car dealership, Exclusive Motors. I got the Subaru from him. He’s a nice guy, very professional. I want you to take a look at him, that’s all, for a confirmation. See if you match him up to a photograph I’ve got. And then phone Cake Mullins, say I’m out of cellphone range, ask him to set up a card game with Vicki Kahn.’
    ‘Sure,’ says Mart Velaze. ‘I can do that.’
     
    Three hours later in the dark the Beechjet’s approaching the landing strip that once upon a time saw Mirages, Hawker Hunters, Hercules cargo planes, Daks touching down on it. Once upon a time in a secret war. Mellanie leans across, shakes Jacob Mkezi awake.
    He opens hooded eyes, yawns.
    ‘We’re here. Buckle up.’ She snaps closed her laptop, slips it into a bag at her feet.
    Tol Visagie crouches in the aisle between them. ‘There’s an hour’s drive still when we’re down. In a Land Rover, it’ll be comfortable.’
    Mellanie sighs. ‘It’ll be pitch black.’
    ‘Ja, sorry,’ says Tol Visagie. ‘Can’t be helped, hey?’
    ‘As long as there’s whisky,’ says Jacob Mkezi.
    ‘There’ll be that when we get there.’ Tol Visagie grins, touches Jacob Mkezi lightly on the knee. ‘The best.’
    Half an hour later they’re driving through the night in silence. Some crackle on the radio receiver, some mumble between Tol Visagie and the driver that’s fed back to Jacob Mkezi and Mellanieas wildlife hype. Two hyenas spotted on the road when the driver came through earlier. Also a big herd of elephants, twenty, thirty with young in the river reeds. Lions killed a giraffe two nights ago outside the lodge.
    ‘Exciting,’ says Mellanie.
    Jacob Mkezi smiles at her sarcasm, says nothing.
    Tol Visagie glances at her but she’s invisible in the dark, her head back against the rest, her gaze into the night.
    Occasionally there are spots of firelight in the distance, villages, now and again the red glare of eyes caught in the headlights.
    ‘Impala,’ says Tol Visagie. ‘There’re hundreds of them.’
    ‘Wouldn’t have guessed,’ says Mellanie. Only Jacob Mkezi hears her, stretches out a hand to squeeze her knee.
    ‘Don’t,’ she says, prizing loose his fingers.
    ‘Sisi,’ says Jacob Mkezi, ‘relax.’
    The lodge is luxurious. Stone, wood, thatch, leather, polished slate floors. Skulls of tuskers flanking the entrance doors. The lighting from paraffin and gas lamps. Attendant reception staff in khaki, welcoming them with schooners of sherry.
    ‘Your room’s a stand-alone unit, river-facing,’ says Tol Visagie. ‘You want to freshen up first?’
    ‘I do,’ says Mellanie, as a man picks up her luggage, says to please follow him. Mellanie casting a glance at Jacob Mkezi. ‘You coming?’
    Jacob Mkezi drains off the sherry. ‘No. I want a whisky.’
    ‘You could at least wash your hands,