Breeders by Arno Joubert Read Free Book Online Page A

into the sky. The chopper rotated slowly to face them, and the gun barked as Bruce fired two more shots. Two tiny holes appeared in the helicopter’s windshield. It rose higher and swooped over them, making a hasty retreat.
    Eben turned to Bruce, gaping as the chopper became a speck on the horizon. “What the hell was that all about?”
    Bruce looked around, watching the skies wearily. “I have no idea. But why lob bombs at us if a grenade launcher could have made the job so much easier?”
    “Maybe they didn’t come prepared for a gunfight?” Moolman asked.
    Bruce chuckled, weighing the tiny Ruger LCP in his hand. “Neither did we. Since when are police officers issued pop guns?”
    Moolman shrugged. “I don’t like guns, but they forced me to take one, so I chose the smallest I could find,” he said uncomfortably.
    Bruce looked at him in amazement and then at Eben and Barnes. He couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw the astonished looks on the other men’s faces.  

Jake Petzer removed the pale blue envelope that he had hidden beneath all the crap in his drawer. He felt guilty that he hadn’t told anyone about it yet.  
    “To Jake” had been written on the front of the envelope in Alida’s distinctive, flowing cursive. He lifted it to his nose and took a deep whiff. It smelled of her: lavender and rosemary and the herby scent of the mountain grasses.
    He removed the letter, unfolded it, and ceremoniously palmed it flat on his bed. He had read it a thousand times, and he wished he could make himself stop. He had never felt so unhappy in his life; his heart felt broken to pieces, and the tears were never far away. The damn letter wasn’t making it any better.
    On the page, in her neat handwriting, she had copied a poem originally written by Ingrid Jonker, a South African poet who killed herself by taking some pills and walking into the ocean.  
    Alida had probably planned to give it to him, but she had left it in her satchel. She had seemed somehow preoccupied the last time they had seen each other. The last time he would ever see her. Ever. He missed her breath on his neck, the way her long eyelashes fluttered whenever she teased him. She had been a goddess. His goddess.
    He swallowed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand as he turned the envelope around. Strange characters had been scribbled on the back. The letter had the same strange writing on the back as well.
    เราเป็น 1000
    He had searched on the Internet for the exact characters and narrowed it down to some crude Asian script. He had to be able to recreate the characters precisely for the translation services to understand, but how could he if he didn’t understand how they were supposed to be written? It was useless. He should have given it to Moolman immediately.
    He folded the letter and carefully slid it back into the envelope. He picked up his cell phone and punched in a number. It rang once and went directly to voice mail.
    He swallowed and said, “Hello, Inspector, this is Jake Petzer. I don’t know if this has anything to do with Alida’s death, but I have a letter here with some funny inscriptions on it.” His voice sounded unsteady. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should take a look?”
    He disconnected the call and rolled over onto his side. He began to sob. He missed her so much.  
    She was gentle and kind and soft and beautiful. Some of his friends were afraid of her, said she was some sort of a witch, but he had known her better than that. She called it the Gaia philosophy. She believed in being one with nature and protecting Mother Earth, and yes, she would have some weird ceremonies up in the mountain, but she wasn’t evil.  
    She was a good person.
    Sometimes too good, he thought. She trusted people too easily. Believed everyone’s bullshit stories. She said that the boys at school used to take advantage of her—told her they loved her, got laid, and moved on. Jake used to have many friends. But