Zondi [upd] - Eddie

His captain, a man named van der Merwe who smiled too often and laughed too loud, had asked Eddie to lunch two days ago. “You’re burning out, Zondi. Take leave. Visit your sister in Durban.” A friendly suggestion. A threat in a nice suit.

Eddie sat in his unmarked Golf, watching rain streak across the windshield. The informant, a jittery man called Skroef, had promised to deliver the original ledger by midnight. It was now 3:47. Eddie’s phone buzzed. A photo. Skroef’s ID pinned to a corkboard with a steak knife. eddie zondi

Then the passenger window rolled down. The man inside smiled. “Captain Zondi. Your brake light is out.” He laughed, a wet, rattling sound. “You should get that fixed.” His captain, a man named van der Merwe

Eddie Zondi smiled. It had been a long time since he’d felt this awake. Visit your sister in Durban

She didn’t ask questions. That’s why he came. “And you?”

“Worse,” he said. “I’m being followed by the men who own the shadows.”

He turned left instead of right, doubled back through a taxi rank, abandoned the Golf behind a bottle store, and walked three kilometers in the dark. By the time he reached Khanyi’s flat in Yeoville, his shoes were soaked and his hand shook when he knocked.