Devil's Peak by Deon Meyer Read Free Book Online

damage to your children. And what do you do? She throws you out and you run to a bottle. Just booze, Benny, that’s all you think about. And yourself. What the fuck is going on inside your head? What has happened to your brains?”

For an instant he wanted to respond, to scream: “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to be like this, I don’t know how I got here, leave me alone!” Because he was familiar with these questions, and he knew the answers—it was all pointless, it made no difference. He said nothing.

In Voortrekker Road the traffic was heavy, the traffic lights red. Joubert gave the steering wheel a slap of frustration. Griessel wondered where they were going. To the Sanitarium? It wouldn’t be the first time Joubert had dropped him off there.

The senior superintendent blew out a long breath. “Do you know what I think about, Benny? The whole time.” His voice had mellowed now. “Of the man who was my friend. The little sergeant who came here from Parow, green and full of go. The one who showed the whole bunch of arrogant detectives at Murder and Robbery how to do police work. The little guy from Parow—where is he, where did he go? The one who laughed and had a clever answer for everything. Who was a legend. Fuck, Benny, you were good; you had everything. You had instinct and respect. You had a future. But you killed it. Drank it up and pissed it away.”

Silence.

“Forty-three,” said Joubert, and he seemed to grow angry all over again. He wove through the cars ahead. Another red light. “And still you are a bloody child.”

Then only silence reigned in the car. Griessel no longer looked where they were going; he was thinking of the bottle that had been so close to his mouth. Nobody would understand; you had to have been there where he was. You had to know the need. In the old days Joubert had also been a drinker, partied hard, but he had never been to this place. He didn’t know and that’s why he didn’t understand. When he looked up again they were in Bellville, Carl Cronjé Street.

Joubert turned off. He was driving more calmly now. There was a park, trees and grass and a few benches. He pulled up. “Come, Benny,” he said and got out.

What were they doing here? Slowly he opened the door.

Joubert was striding ahead. Where were they going—was he going to beat him up behind the trees? How would that help? The traffic on the N 1 above droned and hissed, but no one would see a thing. Reluctantly he followed.

Joubert stopped between the trees and pointed a finger. When Griessel reached him he saw the figure on the ground.

“Do you know who that is, Benny?”

Under a heap of newspapers and cartons and an unbelievably grimy blanket a figure moved when it heard the voice. The dirty face turned upward, a lot of beard and hair and two little blue eyes, sunken in their sockets.

“Do you know him?”

“It’s Swart Piet,” said Griessel.

“Hey,” said Swart Piet.

“No,” said Joubert. “Meet Benny Griessel.”

“You gonna hit me?” the man asked. A Shoprite supermarket trolley stood parked behind his nest. There was a broken vacuum cleaner in it.

“No,” said Joubert.

Swart Piet looked askance at the big man in front of him. “Do I know you?”

“This is you, Benny. In six months. In a year.”

The man extended a cupped hand to them. “Have you got ten rand?”

“For what?”

“Bread.”

“The liquid version,” said Joubert.

“You must be psychic,” said the man, and laughed with a toothless cackle.

“Where are your wife and children, Swart Piet?”

“Long time ago. Just a rand? Or five?”

“Tell him, Piet. Tell him what work you used to do.”

“Brain surgeon. What does it matter?”

“Is this what you want?” Joubert looked at Griessel. “Is this what you want to be?”

Griessel had nothing to say. He only saw Swart Piet’s hand, a dirty claw.

Joubert turned around and headed for the car.

“Hey,” said the man. “What’s his case?”

Griessel looked at Joubert’s back as he walked away. He