Zain turned to look at him in astonishment. “How the fuck do you know? This place has no numbers anywhere. The scum here probably stole the copper numbers off the doors to sell for scrap.”
Sibu chuckled, that was not at all unusual here. He revealed his secret, “Don’t think I’m psychic or anything, man.”
“I didn’t. You’re an idiot on the best days, Sibu.”
"Well, I saw in her police report that I… borrowed… that she is in 3C, Dunlop Heights, Central, right?" he started, but Zain interrupted him promptly.
“Her police report?” he asked.
“Aggravated assault and sexual assault charges she filed a while ago Zain. I thought you knew this,” Sibu bragged, for once having information Zain did not already know. “The file included pictures of the damage to her door where the guys broke in. Her flat door had that green chalky skull mark up there in the corner. So, that’s how I know this is 3C.”
“No wonder she is so jumpy,” Zain sighed as he pulled his lock pick set from his jacket pocket. He sank to his haunches while Sibu kept watch. Somewhere down the hallway, there was a loud argument, which masked the noise of Zain’s tampering with the lock. Finally, the lock clicked, and the door creaked open under the light force of the intruder’s hand.
They smelled recently extinguished candles as they entered, but there was no sound or movement in the seemingly vacant apartment. Slowly, Zain closed the door behind them and left his associate to guard it, should Cheryl the hooker decide to make an escape.
“Cheryl,” he said into the dark, steering his sight just outside the borders left by the penetrating street light, “Cheryl, we are not going to hurt you unless you try something stupid. Okay? You just come out so we can make an arrangement and this doesn’t have to turn ugly.”
“I don’t think she is here, Zain," Sibu murmured, leaning with his back against the front door, scanning the visible parts of the flat.
“We’ll see about that. I don’t enjoy having to come to the shittiest part of P.E. this time of night and be fucked with by a stupid bitch. How smart can a junkie whore be?" Zain fumed. He made for the small bedroom opposite the tiny kitchen that made up pretty much the entirety of the flat, save for the toilet and shower just by the front door where Sibu stood. He could see clear into the tiny bathroom. There was no wall or door to Cheryl's kitchen if one could call it that. It was nothing but a sink and a fridge with a ripe trash can in between.
Zain came back. He was furious. He was breathing heavily with frustration, wiping his perspiring brow, about to unleash his tirade.
“Sibu,” he whispered suddenly, holding his breath and staring at the large sash window in the living room, the one allowing the outside street light to shine in. He motioned for Sibu to keep quiet, sneaking past the furniture in his path to the window. It was unlocked but slid down completely. Outside the window, he noticed the flapping of a dress in the mellow breeze that escalated into quite a forceful gust at this elevation.
Zain smiled. “Gotcha.”
Chapter 1 — The Daring Solution
Dr. Billy Malgas packed up after his lecture, shaking his head at the dwindling numbers of his students. The Dean had already called him in a month ago to convey his concern for the doctor’s lack of students, suggesting that Malgas should perhaps reconsider his curriculum or reduce his lectures to accommodate his faculty status. If his students kept dropping out, the university would have no choice but to let him go.
Billy Malgas was perplexed by the situation, mostly by the lack of interest in his classes. He had an MA in Archeology, having obtained his Honors from the University of Cambridge, and extensive experience in the field, throwing in Anthropology in his spare time from a lesser institution. The black academic never admitted that the privilege of education had befallen him thanks to his British mother who hailed from a rather affluent Birmingham family. To him, the bit of help from his maternal side had not assured his success; it had been his own discipline and aptitude.
“I see the seat section was bald again today, Doctor,” Mieke, his aide, lamented as she came to join him. She held two disposable paper cups with coffee from the campus cafeteria in her hands. He looked up and just shook his head with a hard exhale, not even cheered up by her kind eyes and her blonde permed locks that fell in cascades over her ample breasts. Had it not been for her well-known intellectual prowess, she may well have been construed as a dimwitted bimbo by the campus dwellers.
From the remarks of his remaining students, he had surmised that their dwindling interest was due to the political climate of the country. With the importance of medical advancement and the soaring crime statistics, the money and opportunity lay in other vocations.
“Yep, nobody wants to learn about the past anymore. They just want power, authority and, of course, big money,” he grumbled as he shut down his laptop. It took him several hours to prepare the PowerPoint presentation for this week’s subject, but hardly anyone benefitted from it, it seemed. “Lawyers and Advocates,” he ranted, “…like we need more deviousness and greed to cheat justice with the amoral art of law.”
Mieke held her tongue, familiar with her professor’s moods and opinions. She placed the coffee on his desk. Dr. Malgas looked exceedingly distraught at his looming dismissal.
“Sir,” she finally dared, “if I may make a suggestion?”
He did not even merit her attempt with a glance as he tossed the remaining papers into his briefcase, but she was used to this kind of treatment when he was in one of his moods. Even though Mieke understood his predicament, she was one of those people who believed in solutions and proactive approaches to even the darkest of storms.
“What do you suggest, Mieke?” He sighed.
It was crystal clear that Dr. Malgas did not give a damn what she had in mind, but she knew her idea was so opprobrious that it would get his attention — probably a sermon born from shock as well — but his attention was all she wanted.
“I would like to suggest,” she lowered her voice to an almost inaudible level, “a hoax.”
If it was shock she was after, she got it in spades.
“Oh my God!” his voice rasped in a hard whisper. His eyes froze in disbelief at her notion for a moment. “Are you out of your mind, Miss Badenhorst?”
“Are you ready for the long queue at the unemployment office, Dr. Malgas?” she retorted, smiling. She knew that hammering on his insecurities would force him to listen. "You know more than God about the hidden treasures of history. It would be very hard for any old dick in the history field to refute what you claim. Don't you see? Nobody cares about your passion or the incredible secrets of the old world! They won't want to go through all that trouble to test the validity of your claims, believe me."
“I don’t know…” he frowned, contemplating it. But Mieke felt his vulnerability, and it was time to strike while the iron was still hot.
“Nobody knows as much as you do! No-one could possibly prove your theory wrong. They are too bloody busy with their own little pursuits to impress the government, Dr. Malgas. You are one of the world’s foremost authorities on relics and maritime war history,” she pushed gently.
He looked terrified. A rigid believer in morality and truth, he found her suggestion reprehensible, yet his desperation swallowed up every bit of his ethics every time Mieke reminded him of what happened to has-been academics with no tangible claims to fame.
She did not take this course to condemn her favorite lecturer, no matter how it appeared. Mieke had no aspirations for fame and fortune and she typically didn't believe in lies. What she was prepared to do, to put her reputation as an academic and her brilliant future at stake for a hoax was purely due to the admiration for her mentor who meant the world to her. Had it not been for Dr. Malgas, Mieke would have lost faith in the wonders of the hidden world long ago. There was no way in hell she was about to let his genius go unnoticed, and she was willing to put her own future on the line to help him become the master historian she found him to be.