The Sunday News
Short Story Shepherd Zvorufura
I COULD smell his presence . . . my sense of smell conveyed a message to my brain that there was a cop within the vicinity. I was sitting by a lavish garden of one of the city’s affluent hotels. My partner was busy chatting up one chain- smoking old white lady, who was incautious of her handbag.
However, my criminal antennae told me there was danger lurking.
Slowly, I began to survey the patronage, sun basking in the beautiful botanical garden of this luxurious hotel.
That is when I noticed him; he had COP written all over his face.
Clad in a black t-shirt, which highlighted his muscular arms, he sat alone next to the swimming pool.
His dark glasses obviously gave his “disguise” away.
I know a rat when I see one and this was a super hero plain clothes policeman.
As I tried to avert my attention to something else, I felt that he had that I had spotted him; I felt his eyes boring into me. It was as if his eyes projected laser beams.
I was also wearing dark sunglasses. But these “laser” beams seemed to want to penetrate through the lances of my shades.
I slowly took off my shades and laid them on the garden table. Glancing across the garden, I looked directly into the dark orbs of the cops glasses.
In my 10 years of criminology I have learnt you should not allow the man of the law to outstare you. We locked eyes for a full minute and I thought he was x-raying me, for I was carrying a pistol in my jacket pocket.
I started feeling the pistol burning right to my skin, had this cop seen through my jacket that I was carrying a weapon?
I continued staring back at him. He then gave a slow smile and downed his drink. He stood up, as if to go but instead walked towards the table where my partner was seated.
This sleuth must have eyes behind his back; I immediately developed a tremendous respect for this man’s workmanship. Putting my shades back on, I watched this cop walk to the table, where my partner was excitedly trying to distract this poor white lady from her handbag.
For a moment I was tempted to make a run for it but I couldn’t leave my trusted lieutenant at the mercy of this cop. For the cop seemingly had girth.
On standing up his tight jeans had exposed his thigh muscles which were literally begging to be released; he also had length, not height!
The next thing he was tapping on my sidekick’s shoulder, simultaneously nodding his head towards the exit.
Stupefied, my partner looked in my direction. I slowly nodded my head in emphasis. When you can’t beat them join them. Numbly Joe (my partner) stood up. He was about to grab the lady’s handbag and make a run for it when a hefty kick in his backside from this hulk propelled him towards the exit.
So much for courtesy in a highly-rated hotel . . .
It all happened at the speed of light, for the next thing this cop was sitting next to me.
I should have reacted fast enough and disposed of the pistol, while this man was busy with Joe, possibly thrown it into the swimming pool.
“I am Hokoyo” he started. I put on my most disconcerting smile that would melt the heart of any jury.
“Hokoyo, what kind of a name is that. You must have been scary for parents to give you a name like that.” I comment trying to hide the bulge underneath my shoulder. “Detective Hokoyo, that’s what they call me at the precinct,” he said in a cool voice, cool as a cucumber as they say.
“Of what help can I be to you detective?” trying to be as civil as possible.
“With the advent of cellphones with flashlights, I would be very interested to know why a man would be carrying an antiquated hand torch like that one. Especially at this time of the day,” he said glancing at the silver torch line next to my unfinished drink.
Then my heart sank, deeper than where the titanic is believed to have sunk. The fear I had for the pistol being found was totally unfounded.
I carried the torch as a decoy. I used it to stash whatever I was paddling or would have pinched.
Hokoyo then picked up the torch and asked in a silent voice, “Does it work?” while clicking the on/off switch.
“Of cause it doesn’t work.” I said “Possibly the batteries are flat.” He continued to unscrew the butt of the torch. I slumped into my chair, as I realised that I would be to jail for a long time.
As Hokoyo unscrewed the battery holder, 20 twists of mbanje tumbled out. Only this time the outer khaki wrapping of each twist was only the cover for the small plastic packs of cocaine.
My lucrative trade with the two arrests blows up in smoke.
