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“Have a nice day,” she calls after me.
Just like that, my daughter, my precious gift from Sylvia, is ripped from my house.
What I need is a fight. I take Rhett with me to drive around Valentina’s old neighborhood. The chances of finding the bar she mentioned are slight. Many of the old places don’t exist any longer. The neighborhood has, like so many others around, turned into a cesspool of crime. The buildings are dilapidated. Some are broken down to the ground. I requested the city plan for twelve years ago from the municipality, but like the rest of the government, they’re a corrupt bunch of uneducated officials. The records have long since been displaced with the collapse of the system. It’s a joke this country is still functioning. It’s people like me and the rest of the thugs on the street who pull the strings. Politicians are merely the puppets. There are a million ways to go to hell, and I’ve earned them all.
None of the old crowd who knew the neighborhood is left. My father’s cronies from way back who collected money on this beat are gone. Steven died of a heart attack with his pants around his ankles on the can. Dawie kicked the bucket when he fell down his front steps and broke his neck. Barney went out the old-fashioned way, gunned down in his front yard. Mickey passed away from cancer, and Conrad caught AIDS from the whores he pimped. My father’s death, going peacefully in his sleep, is the most gentle and uneventful of them all, contrary to the violent lifestyle he led. How will my end come? Will I die for the business, with a bullet in my brain, or like my father in my bed?
Rhett pulls up to the curb and nods at the flaky house with the missing roof tiles. “This one?”
“Yeah.” I cock my gun and slip it into my waistband. “Let’s go.”
Lambert has the door open before I’m strolling through the weeds in his front yard.
“Gabriel.” He gives a nervous laugh. “You’ll give me the wrong idea, calling on me all the time.”
I motion for him to enter. Rhett and I follow. The firm click of the door when I shut it makes Lambert go tense. His yellow skin takes on a pasty color.
“What can I do you for?”
I hate his slang, but I swallow my insults. “Tell me about the bar that used to be around here.”
“The bar?” His shoulders relax visibly.
“Neon sign, bald bartender, pool table at the back.”
He scratches his head and thinks for a while. “Ah,” he says after a moment, “that’ll be Porto, but the place doesn’t exist, anymore.” He sneers. “Won’t find much other than squatters living there.”
“Who’s the owner?”
“Bigfoot Jack.”
The name rings a bell. My father mentioned him once or twice.
“Where can I find him?”
“Six feet under.”
Shit. Another dead-end. “Who protected him?” Everyone in the hood had protection from someone. You couldn’t survive otherwise.
“He was with the Jewish guys from Kensington.”
“Jewish? In Portuguese territory?”
“His wife is Jewish. The big boss made a deal with the Porras to cut Bigfoot out of the loop. Why do you want to know all this stuff?”
“I’m writing a history book,” I say drily.
His nose wrinkles, burying his tiny pig eyes in layers of skin. “You’re shitting me.”
The guy is really thick.
“Where can I find the wife?”
“Won’t do you no good. Sophia’s got Alzheimer’s. She doesn’t recognize an ant from a fly.”
This doesn’t help. I wipe a hand over my face.
Lambert doesn’t seem to know where to put his feet. He shifts from the left to the right. “Want a beer?”
“Come on.” I nod at Rhett and make my way back to the car.
Inside, my bodyguard turns to me. “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“I need Lambert’s phone records.”
“I’ll call Anton.”
“I already did. They’ve been wiped.”
“From how long back?”
I give him the date on which I first visited Valentina’s almost-husband.
“I know a hacker at Vodacom who’s discreet. I’ll call him and see what he can do.”
While I’m driving, he calls his contact. Before I pull into our driveway, he has a number for me. I park and punch the numbers he reads out loud into my phone. Already by the fourth digit, I know who the number belongs to. As I type in the last digit, Magda’s name pops onto the screen.
I fling the door open and make my way to the house with long strides.
“Gabriel!” Rhett jumps from the car and runs after me.
“Stay out of this,” I call back.
I find Magda in her study. “Why did Lambert Roos call you?”
She leans back, regarding me from over the rim of her glasses. “He wanted to know why we’re sniffing around in his territory.” She folds her arms. “Why are we, Gabriel?”
“Did you know Bigfoot Jack?”
