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What is it about him that makes them desire a criminal? It’s not only his handsome face and strong body. It’s more than the rebellious haircut—which they’ve sadly shaven in prison—and his tattoos. It’s the way in which he carries himself. It’s his sense of humor and his self-confidence. It’s the way he never loses his cool in court and how respectfully he addresses the prosecutor, no matter how bitchy she is toward him. It’s an inborn knowledge, a female sixth sense. Every woman has it instinctively. It’s that vibe Ian gives off. We all feel it, that Ian is a man who makes his woman his queen. There’s nothing he won’t do for her. He’d go to any lengths to protect her. He told me so on the night he made me drive Mint’s Porsche, and the fact that he’s behind bars and in chains is proof he meant every word.
Biting my nail, I stare at the group of men and women until they disappear into a clothing store. The mannequin outside the entrance is dressed in an orange jumpsuit sporting one of those imitation Phantom masks. Some people find the disguises selling like hotcakes infuriating while those who have joined the bandwagon declare them uplifting. There hasn’t been such a spirit among the masses since the year South Africa won the Rugby World Cup.
Why do the masses support a thief? Because he’s handsome, funny, and polite. Because they’re angry and disillusioned with corruption. Because next to Ian, Wolfe looked evil. Because Ian is clever and cunning, unfairly likeable, and easy to admire.
I abandon the view to go through the bar fridge. It’s almost empty. After bundling my hair under a cap, I go downstairs and walk to the corner store where I buy fruit and bread. On the way back, I stop at the clothing store. The orange of the jumpsuit is so bright it hurts to look at. Is that why they make the prisoners wear this color? It stands out like a sore thumb. You can definitely not disappear into the background wearing that color.
I rub the fabric between my fingers. It’s thin and feels like parachute material. According to the price tags, both the mask and the jumpsuit are dirt cheap. No wonder everyone can afford to buy the disguise.
That’s when it hits me. My plan.
It’s not sophisticated, but like my dad used to say, the best solutions aren’t the most complicated ones. They’re the ones that stare you in the face, the ones you often overlook because they’re so obvious.
“Do you mind if I take a photo?” I ask the vendor who’s leaning in the door, smoking a cigarette.
He flicks the cigarette in the mannequin’s direction. “Knock yourself out.”
I take a photo with my phone and rush back to my room. Inside, I drop my shopping bag on the floor without bothering to unpack it and curl up on the armchair by the window with my phone. It only takes a few swipes to create a fake account. Accessing the Phantom fan site, I upload the photo under my false name. When I’m done, I call Damian.
His tone is cautious. “Tell me you’re calling from Namibia.”
“Is the line secure?”
“Of course.”
“I need to see you.”
He sighs. “So much for hoping for a postcard from Windhoek.”
“Where is a safe place to meet?”
“What is this about, Cas?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you. I need Leon to be there too.”
“Hold on,” he says in a deep voice that sounds too much like Ian’s. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not talking on the phone. Give me a time and a place.”
He curses under his breath. “I promised Ian I’d look out for you, but—”
“Then do it. When?”
His voice hardens. “I don’t take kindly to orders.”
“It’s not an order. It’s a request. Look, if you’re not up for it, I’ll do it alone.”
“Ah, fuck. Don’t make me lock you up, because I promise you, if I have to, I will.”
“I don’t take kindly to threats either. Give me a time or don’t. If you decide not to, you never have to see me again.”
He blows out another sigh. “Fucking promises. I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass.”
“Well?” I say, holding my breath.
“Where are you?”
“I’m still in Braamfontein.”
“My office would be the safest. I’ll send Russell to fetch you around eight. He’ll make sure you’re not followed. Give me your address.”
Since I have no reason to mistrust him, I tell him my hotel and room number. Before hanging up, I stress again, “I need Leon to be there.”
With two hours to kill, I eat a banana and a sandwich and make myself a cup of coffee. I sip the hot drink on the bed, watching the news. When it’s close to eight, I shower and change. I’m ready when Russel knocks.
