Roadkill, page 11
Opting for the Samurai General Purpose, Tarryn proceeded to make a Y-shape cut: from the skinny shoulders to the lower end of the chest bone. It was like cutting through bread, and the Samurai performed just like they advertised on TV. She could well believe it, the blade could probably cut through a block of wood.
Using one of the serrated steak knives, she sliced downwards towards the pubic bone, taking a wide detour around the belly button just like her dad had taught her. To her surprise, there wasn’t much blood at all. She wiped the sweat from her forehead – even with the roof vent open the caravan was like an oven – and lifted the blind. Steve was tapping anxiously at the spare wheel with a spanner. Good. She checked her watch; twenty minutes had flown by. She needed to get a move on.
Taking the pliers, she proceeded to pull away the skin and muscle. A strong whiff of raw lamb filled the caravan. Her wrist and forearm ached. Stopping for a quick breather, she sized up the cheapo pruners Steve had bought from the Agri. They definitely didn’t look up for the job, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Her wrist still burning, Tarryn pushed on. It was getting to be hard work – like carving a Sunday roast with a bread knife – and she was heaving and grunting under the effort as she cut away at the flesh. But eventually she had the rib cage open. She lifted it off.
Several neat slashes later with the Samurai paring knife, the organs were free. Taking great care not to mess, she lifted these out and dropped them into the waiting black bag that was lined with ice. She should have told Steve to buy at least eight bags, because if the weather stayed hot like this, they would have to keep topping up. But she would cross that bridge when she got to it, because right now she had to concentrate on the arms and legs.
Fifteen minutes later Tarryn was just about done and the pruners were still holding out. She had kept the worst job for last – her dad had fired a worker on the spot for messing it up – but there was no stopping her now. Leaning over the remains – not that there had been much to start with in the first place – she cut away the intestines. Taking extra special care, she slid them slowly across the tablecloth, off the edge of the table, and into the plastic bucket. The stench hit her head-on; she’d totally forgotten how bad it could be.
Tarryn had lost track of time. In fact, it felt like she had done the entire operation in one of those Indian religion trances. Her body was suddenly feeling it though – her back, her shoulders, her wrists, even her calves ached. She did a final sweep of the caravan. The table was wiped clean. The tools were washed and packed away. The recycling bags were knotted and stacked neatly in the locked wardrobe. The two Colemans were hidden under the table. There was enough ice to keep things fresh for another day. Two black bags – one with rubbish, the other with offal – stood ready to go at the door. She had used a full roll of Carlton and all the dishcloths. It was a real pity she had to get rid of the Braai-Meester apron she’d given Steve for his birthday. It was a nice one, from Outdoor Warehouse in Bedfordview.
29
Like a bloated tick on a sheep’s arse, the thing with Freddie and Dippenaar had lodged itself in Truter’s brain and was refusing to let go. He needed relief, and he needed it fast.
“Delport!”
A moment later his deputy’s shadow hovered outside the office door. “You called, sir?”
“Ja, there’s something important I want to discuss with you. Don’t be shy, man, come in and take a seat.” Truter pushed the Chicken-Licken takeaway to the side, then scraped off a blob of Wing Commander sauce from his trouser crotch, and licked his fingers. “Go for it, there’s still some slap chips left in the box.”
Delport shifted uneasily in the chair. “I’m fine, sir.”
Delport was lucky to have caught him in a generous mood, but if that’s how he wanted to play it … “How are my stats for Pretoria coming on?”
“Actually, quite well, sir.”
“What earthmoving discoveries have you made?”
“Nothing like that, but I am finding the process quite interesting.”
Truter contemplated the earnest freckly face sitting across the desk. The guy would be so lost without him. “I’m glad to hear you find it interesting. That is why I assigned you with the job. You do know that?”
“Yes, sir. And I appreciate it.”
“But since we’re talking valuable taxpayer’s money, what exactly have you found so far?” Truter rummaged in his takeaway bag for the wet wipe. “Carry on, I’m listening.”
“Umm … it’s a bit early to say but I am starting to see some patterns—”
“Like what? I need specifics.”
“Well, one thing I’ve picked up so far is the high number of pedestrian deaths we’ve had in the North West over the past quarter.”
“Quarter what?”
“Sorry, three months. For some reason, the stats have spiked compared to last year. If it carries on like this to the end of—”
“Fascinating.” Truter wiped his mouth, rolled the wet wipe into a ball, and pitched it at the bin in the corner. “Cowabunga! How’s that for a hole in one, Delport! Am I good, or what?”
“Very nice one, sir … The figures are almost five times higher for the period in question. But that’s only for white males.”
“‘The period in question.’ Where the hell do you come with these fancy words, I ask.”
Delport pushed on bravely. “That was the first interesting thing I noticed. The other is Domestic Deaths by Natural Causes. The figures are also much higher for the past three months, but again it’s only for white males. Which is strange if you stop and think about—”
“Thank you, I get the picture, Constable Sherlock Holmes, and I’m sure our colleagues in Pretoria are going to be very impressed with your work.” The tick in Truter’s head had started burrowing again. It was time to cut through the foreplay. “Delport, what can you tell me about the insurance business?”
“You mean like life insurance?”
“Ja, life insurance, funeral insurance, that type of jazz. What do you know about it?”
“Apart from my own policy and what my sister Glenda told me, I can’t really say I know too much.”
“You never told me you had a sister? Jirre, I hope she didn’t inherit your genes, because that would now be an environmental disaster.”
“Glenda’s actually my half-sister.”
“See, I told you there’s a God, Delport. Anyways, what’s your sister got to do with insurance?”
“She’s an actuary with Santam.”
Truter rolled his eyes. “Here we go again. What the hell’s an actually?”
“An actuary. They’re involved with the mathematics behind the insurance business, which is used to work out the odds of certain insurance events happening.”
“So, what you’re saying is she’s a fortune teller who can predict earthquakes? Or when someone will peg off?”
“Not exactly, sir, but they can work out general patterns by analysing the stats of thousands of people. From this they calculate the insurance premiums they must charge. If I remember right, Glenda called it mathematical risk modelling.”
“More like mathematical hocus pocus.”
“It makes sense if you think about it, sir. For example, even we know that guys in their twenties have more car accidents than guys in their fifties. That’s why car insurance premiums are higher for younger guys.”
Truter was impressed. “Maybe so, but predicting tsunamis and all, that’s a load of horse kak.” He stretched across the desk and scratched in the takeaway box for the remains of bread roll. “I have another question for you. What can you tell me about funeral insurance companies?”
“Again, only what I know from having my own policy. Most of the time it’s the same company who sells life insurance and funeral—”
“Because you won’t believe the stories Ferdie Meyer’s been telling me about people leaving their families in the dwang because they’ve gone with some fly-by-night.” Truter chewed contemplatively. “I bet you don’t know how much a decent white man’s funeral costs nowadays? We’re talking thousands, Delport. I mean, like tens of thousands.”
“That is true. Funerals are very expensive.”
“How are you going to afford that on your SAPS salary?”
“That’s why I have taken out a funeral policy, sir. What’s great about the company I’m with is they offer free funeral cover when you take out life cover with them.”
“Is that a fact?”
“And they’ve got this loyalty club, where you can earn bonus points and prizes.”
“Prizes? What prizes?”
“All sorts. Spur vouchers, cellphones, mags for your car, expensive pots and pans, you name it, sir. You can even win holidays to Sun City.”
“Sounds too good to be true, Delport.” Truter pushed back on his chair. This was going nowhere fast. “Okay, Delport, I think we’re done. Thank you for your time.”
Delport stood up hurriedly. “Pleasure, sir. I’m glad I could be of assistance.”
“And close the door behind you.”
Truter waited until Delport was out of earshot, picked up the phone and dialled the number. Meyer answered on the second ring.
“New Horizons at your service.”
“Ferdie, it’s Truter.”
“Hey, Trutes, what’s up, pal?”
“Not so much, but can I ask you something quick?”
“Okay, but it better be snappy. I’ve got Mitchell’s old lady about to walk in for a viewing.”
“You remember yesterday?”
“Ja, it was the day before today.”
“I mean, you remember showing me that yellow form from one of the companies you deal with?”
“The policy form. What about it?”
“Can you remember what the name was?”
“The company’s name?”
“Ja.”
“TFS. AKA Titanium Financial Services.”
“That’s the one. Will you check something else for me on the form?”
“Jissus, Trutes, what’s this about?
“Please, man.”
“Okay, fokkit, hang on a sec, I’ll have to pull it out.”
Truter waited. His tongue felt thick in his mouth.
“Got it. What’s it you want to know?”
“If you look at the bottom of the page, I think there was some people’s names typed there?”
“Okay, it says here: ‘Directors: JD Venter. F Ferreira. CE Botes.’ Is that what you mean? … You still there?”
“Ja, I’m here. Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Good. Can I go now? The woman’s coming up the driveway.”
Truter set the phone down slowly. He leant forwards, elbows on the desk, hands behind his head, finger massaging his old shrapnel scar. He stared into the chipped wood veneer, trying to untangle his scrambled thoughts. The bloated tick had just burrowed itself deeper into his brain.
30
Tarryn rubbed the tennis ball between her husband’s shoulders; smaller bulges marked a knotty trail up his neck. For better or worse, through sickness and in health, until death do us part. That’s what they had promised each other.
Edendal lay behind them. The future stretched out ahead, along a corrugated dirt road cutting between two mielie fields.
“Going for this walk was a good idea.”
“I know. I was starting to go loopy in the room, staring at that stupid black-and-white TV.”
“This whole thing’s crazy, Tarryn.”
“It is. But I’m feeling a bit calmer now. Aren’t you?”
“Guess so. I’m telling you, the second the car’s fixed, we are out of here big time. They won’t even sniff our dust.”
“I can’t wait. Just the idea of hitching the caravan and driving off into the sunset gives me a serious case of the goosebumps.”
“Tell me about it. What you say we make up for lost time and push on straight for Kruger and try have a nice holiday?”
“I would definitely drink to that.”
“And don’t forget I managed to score one of those riverfront stands at Satara. It would be a pity to waste it because of a … temporary detour.”
Tarryn squeezed her husband’s hand. “Temporary detour. That’s a funny way to describe it.”
“Glad you think so,” said Aldridge, returning the squeeze.
They walked on for a while, neither saying anything, content in each other’s company.
“It’s actually quite pretty out here,” said Tarryn.
“Maybe the town isn’t as bad as we’ve been making it out to be. It just seems that way because of this thing.” Aldridge tapped the side of his head with his free hand. “It’s all in here, babes.”
“What is?”
“Reality. It’s what you make of it. Scientific studies have proved that humans can programme their brain to be anything they want it to be. If you can think it, you can be it!”
“Amazing.”
“We did this exercise on the Dale Carnegie course where you focus on a negative thought and turn it into a positive one. And I promise you, it works. Our instructor said that was the main difference between people who survived the concentration camps and those who didn’t.”
“It’s great to hear you speak so positive like this.” A paramedic giving CPR to a road accident victim, Tarryn pumped her husband’s hand with renewed urgency. “All along I knew you had it in you.”
“So, let’s try it …” Aldridge drew an arc with his free hand across the skyline. “In your mind, picture the sun dropping behind the camel thorn trees as we arrive at Satara, and that sweet smell of the African bush after the rain …”
“Carry on, I’m starting to like this.”
“Okay … Now imagine us setting up camp on the green grass overlooking the river … The elephants at the waterhole with their babies …”
“Sounds amazing. I can actually see it.”
“Keep your eyes shut … We’ve just started the fire and are settling down in our camping chairs, you with your glass of white wine and those Salticrax with chive cream cheese, me with my Windhoek Draught that’s all frosty on the outside from being in the Engel so long.”
“Now you’re really torturing me. I wish we could hit Fast Forward and be there this very second.”
Aldridge gently extricated himself from his wife’s grip. “If you can hold that picture in your mind until this is over, you can go there whenever you want to.”
“You’re so wise.”
“It’s all about Attitude. Spelt with a capital A, by the way.”
“I was about to say the same thing.”
They had reached the tar road. A T-junction. A crossroads with a choice attached: continue on or return. The mood downshifted a gear.
“That must be the road we’ll be driving out on.”
Fending off a knife stab of longing, Tarryn stared into the hazy horizon. No matter what new curve balls came their way, she was determined to hold on to this feeling of freedom. “I suppose we better get back.”
Steve and Tarryn Aldridge turned and started walking slowly back in the direction of Edendal. To the west, a pall of grey hung heavy over the township.
“I wonder what Mike and the guys are getting up to.”
“No good, I bet.”
“Apparently they were planning a boys’ fishing trip to Allemansdrift. Gary’s bought himself a new six-sleeper that he wants to test out.”
“Can you just imagine?”
“Ja, I bet they’re hitting the ales this very second.”
“And talking a load of nonsense.”
“That’s no lie. Mike should have been a stand-up, the way he carries on. You must hear him at work; he has Mr Edwards down to a tee.”
“That can’t be so hard. What do they call that shaking disease, anyway?”
“You’re thinking of Parkinson’s. But it’s not that. The lopsided thing with his mouth is because of a stroke he had a few years ago, but his brain is still razor-sharp. You won’t believe it, Edwards is the only guy at work who doesn’t have to check the catalogue for the bearing codes.”
“Is that a hawk on the telephone pole?”
“Looks more like a kestrel … I bet they’re having a fat party … I’ll never forget that time at Shelley Point when Mike hid a pilchard in Sean’s fishing boot? That was so classic.”
“You said something about Sean only discovering it much later?”
“Ja, like only the next morning later.”
“Okay, tell me. I know you’re dying to.”
“So … here we are fishing at the pier for more than an hour already when Sean sniffs the air and says all innocent-like, ‘What’s that smell?’ I swear, Gary almost fell into the water, he was in such stitches.”
“That’s funny. Especially the way you describe it.”
“But that’s not the end of the story … An hour later we’re heading back to Seabreeze all hot and sweaty, and Sean plonks himself down in front of the caravan and tells Michelle to bring him a beer. I swear, it was like watching a Hollywood movie in slow motion, what with Michelle walking towards Sean with a cold one and about to hand it to him when Sean decides now’s a good time to kick off his boots. Whack! The stench hits them both head-on. I’m not exaggerating, vrot pilchard is smeared everywhere. Between his toes, around his ankle, all the way down his foot.” Aldridge wiped the tears away. “Oh hell, it feels so good to laugh again.”
“That is so disgusting.”
“You telling me; I almost puked. I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live.”
“It was probably the cause of them getting divorced.”
“I never thought of it like that.”
“I was only kidding.”
“I know, but I still feel bad for both of them, even though it was Sean’s fault for messing up.”
Eden Palm had come into view.
“What’s wrong, babes?”
