Red River Rats

By Michael Erasmus

Published by CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
Classic imprint
RED RIVER RATS

Shirley Hanna is at home when Warrant Officer Sam Radebe from the South African Police arrives to request her assistance.
This time young teenagers have been kidnapped from a private school in Johannesburg.
The investigating team finds themselves immersed in a human trafficking syndicate that stretches from South Africa and Namibia to Europe and the Middle East.
Shirley is forced to face her worst nightmares as an Albino woman, bringing her into contact with the dark side of evil men and woman who exploit vulnerable human beings for their own benefit.
The climax stuns an entire community!

An incredible story of Kidnap and Human Trafficking!

• Language: English
• Publisher: CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS
• Release date: Jul 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370720972

Michael Erasmus

Michael Erasmus was born in Johannesburg, South Africa and raised in the small gold mining town of Orkney situated in the north-west of the country. As a child, he suffered from a rare heart condition which resulted in him being bedridden for some years during which time he developed a love of reading, particularly the classics. With a Master’s Degree in Business Administration from the University of the Witwatersrand, he has held senior global management positions in companies specialising in finance and human resources. Michael has developed a passion for understanding different cultures which has culminated in his change of direction as an aspirant writer. Married with three children, he and Sandra are involved in a number of charitable organisations which focus on social upliftment of impoverished children.

Book preview

RED RIVER RATS

Shirley Hanna is at home when Warrant Officer Sam Radebe from the South African Police arrives to request her assistance.

This time young teenagers have been kidnapped from a private school in Johannesburg.

The investigating team finds themselves immersed in a human trafficking syndicate that stretches from South Africa and Namibia to Europe and the Middle East.

Shirley is forced to face her worst nightmares as an Albino woman, bringing her into contact with the dark side of evil men and woman who exploit vulnerable human beings for their own benefit.

The climax stuns an entire community!

An incredible story of Kidnap and Human Trafficking!

ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR

The BEARDED DRAGON …

Shirley Hanna is approached by the South African Police to assist Warrant Officer Sam Radebe find young boys who have been abducted in Johannesburg. An Albino with a dark past, she is a private detective specialising in investigating cases involving missing children.

Sam and Shirley become a formidable team ably supported by one of the members of the counselling group who plays an important role in Shirley’s life.

Their investigation takes them through many twists and turns in South Africa to London and Lesotho.

Each time Sam starts to lose hope in finding the boys, Shirley finds a key piece of the puzzle leading to many surprises and a dramatic climax.

Kidnap, Drugs, Bribery and Corruption.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Erasmus was born in Johannesburg, South Africa and raised in the small gold mining town of Orkney situated in the north-west of the country. As a child, he suffered from a rare heart condition which resulted in him being bedridden for some years during which time he developed a love of reading, particularly the classics.

With a Master’s Degree in Business Administration from the University of the Witwatersrand, he has held senior global management positions in companies specialising in finance and human resources. Michael has developed a passion for understanding different cultures which has culminated in his change of direction as an aspirant writer.

Married with three children, he and Sandra are involved in a number of charitable organisations which focus on social upliftment of impoverished children.

Copyright © 2017 Michael Erasmus

Published by

CUSTOM BOOK PUBLICATIONS

ASIA’S GLOBAL PRINT & DIGITAL PUBLISHER

RED

RIVER

RATS

By

Michael Erasmus

Dedicated to all those members of Lions International who give up so much of their time for the underprivileged in the societies which they represent.

Chapter One

I heard the pitter-patter coming towards me from the sitting room. I had a new addition to the family, an African Grey which I inherited from a client who was unable to pay my fee. I had taken him into my home very reluctantly but he had crept deep into my heart and was busy providing the entire neighbourhood with entertainment. I taught him to say ‘Dead bird walking’ after I came home one afternoon and found that he had delicately removed all the keys on my laptop keyboard. He had neatly taken the cover off each key and then the springs. When I took it for repairs to ‘dial a nerd’ they wanted to employ him on the spot. They said that they were very impressed with the professional way he had taken the keyboard apart. I of course, was not as impressed and to the amusement of all my friends, I taught him his new phrase. Whenever he ventures off his cage, which resides in the sitting room, and starts to walk wherever he wants to go, he mutters his new lines. It is hilarious. My two Yorkshire Terriers Dexter and Amy, who cannot understand why this ‘chicken’ is not grilled in a pot, have reluctantly accepted him especially after each of them were pecked on the head after venturing too close. Clementine had taken a photo of me which she had posted on Facebook sitting on the couch with Peppy perched on my shoulder and the two Yorkies on my lap. A regular Doctor Doolittle. Unfortunately, when Clementine gets too close to him he politely removes the nearest piece of flesh within his reach.

I glanced at the overhead clock on my wall. It was almost 6. 30. Normally I was up and about long before that but we were currently in the throes of a cold Highveld spell and the dogs and I were cuddled up under the blankets. I felt Peppy climbing up onto the bed and as he waddled past Dexter, he gave him his evil stare and called him an ‘asshole.’ Dexter looked at me in exasperation but I just winked at him and he settled back inside the blankets and ignored the obnoxious parrot.

I heard Clem banging things in the kitchen and wondered what she was doing. She hardly ever goes into the kitchen. Her culinary skills are non- existent. It wasn’t long though and the smell of bacon wafted through the bedroom prompting Dexter and Amy to shrug off the cold and head for the kitchen. I groaned and reluctantly extracted myself from my warm bed, put on my sheepskin slippers let Peppy climb onto my shoulder and went to find out if it really was Clem producing these delicious smells.

It was indeed.

‘What you’re doing’? Peppy said before I could say anything much to Clem’s amusement.

‘It is Woman’s day she said and I thought I should do something womanly.’ She gave that cheeky grin that made you appreciate the good things in life. ‘Eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato the real African deal with a mug of strong coffee.’

‘Why are you awake so early?’ I asked. We were going through a quiet patch and had decided to take a break for a few weeks.

‘We have a new neighbour moving in across the road and they have been on the go for the past hour. The noise woke me up and after listening to Talk Radio 702, which had these Master Chef woman wannabies telling the world what they were going to do on woman’s day, I thought that I must do something. Please don’t tell Juba- he’s trying hard to domesticate me.’

I started singing here comes the bride and would have ended up being brained with a frying pan, but as Clem came towards me Peppy blew up his feathers and narrowed his eyes which Clem knew meant one step further and you lose a finger one at a time. She backed off.

‘He’s going to propose – mark my words’ I said. ‘When a man tries to domesticate you, it is for one thing only, Marriage.’

I knew that Clem had been praying for a proposal for some time now – I could see it in her eyes so I zipped my mouth just in case Juba let me down.

Just as I was tucking into my food – Juba appeared. We had given him a burglar alarm remote and a spare key some time back once I had realized that the love birds were going to be a permanent item. Juba refused to let Clem move in with him - He had this weird theory that if you want to spoil a good friendship then don’t live like a married couple if you are not married. I found it very interesting that it was perfectly acceptable to conjugate their friendship but Clem had to come home after that. I had decided not to challenge his views. I had learnt a long time ago that if someone is hell bent on a theory then leave them to it if you want to remain friends. I loved him like a brother and who was I to criticize someone for strange theories. Clem thought it was ‘cute’ anyway, so what the hell.

The big man grabbed Clem, lifted her like a rag doll. ‘You stay away from our new neighbour,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye – leave him to Shirl.’

‘Oooh is he a doll,’ Clem said. ‘Shirl, let’s go offer him some coffee; maybe he needs a backrub after all that moving.’

Juba turned her over and lovingly gave her a little spank on her butt. ‘Never mess with a Nigerian,’ he looked over and winked at me, ‘ …or an Albino.’

‘Take our new man some coffee,’ he said, ‘it is the neighbourly thing to do.’

I smelled a rat. I could see that a plot to trap us was in the air. Clem and I headed for the door and made our way across the road to where a removal van was parked in the driveway and three men were busy struggling to get a very large couch into the house. A dark-skinned man came towards us and I immediately realized what Juba was up to. He was very good looking, strong features, slim build, and medium height with a head carrying serious dreadlocks down his back. Clem and I introduced ourselves and asked him how he was doing.

As soon as he spoke I knew that I was right. ‘Gud mawnin, everything irie,’ he grinned. A Rastafari – I had been fortunate to have spent some time with Lucky Dube before he was tragically shot and he had taught me some of the language.

‘Cool mon, Thenk yuh,’ I replied. He was impressed.

‘Rastafari?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Learned some of the lingo from a friend. Cool with Rastafari’s though. You’re in the right street, everyone here is cool.’

‘I already met Ball Head.’ He laughed, nodding towards Harold’s house. ‘I am Michael Ness. I won’t confuse you with our lingo but coffee is a no-no.’

‘I will explain the rules to my less learned friends later,’ I said looking first at Clem and then Harold who had just appeared with some orange juice. He also had a cake of soap, hair cutters and an English dictionary in his hand. We all laughed including Michael.

He gratefully accepted the orange juice.

Harold started laughing. ‘This man just told me that only Ball Heads drink coffee. If my Voortrekker forefathers knew that one day I would be living with an Albino, a Rastafari and a Nigerian as neighbours, they would have drowned me at birth.’

‘Wait until they see you smoking ganja with me, Mon; they going to tan your hide dark black. I believe you’re a Babylon Spook. I sell cannabis oil under a legal license issued by the Department of Trade and Industries, used for animals and humans but not Ball Heads though – they’re too unpredictable,’ he said winking at Harold.

‘What’s a Babylon?’’ Clem asked.

‘The establishment,’ I replied. ‘I believe that in this case our new friend means the police; Juba has been telling him stories.’

We bid our farewells and I promised to educate Clem and Harold later with the little bit I knew about Rastafari’s to avoid any cultural mishaps in the future. I could see that Michael was laid back and had a good sense of humour, so no worries there. He would fit in perfectly with the Rosettenville Zoo which Harold had labelled us with.

Juba was finishing breakfast as we entered the kitchen. ‘Wow that was good Sis – thanks.’ I started to tell him that Clem had made the breakfast but she kicked me so hard on my shins that even Peppy, who was sitting on my shoulder, belched.

As I was closing the door, Sam Radebe from Honeydew Police station pulled up in his modified SAPS BMW. ‘Our holiday is over Clem, brace yourself -- the real Babylon has arrived.’ I waited for Sam to enter before I closed the door.

Sam greeted us with a grunt and then glared at Juba which meant trouble. Juba took the hint, finished his coffee and left whistling I shot the Sherriff. I made a mental note to check out if Michael was legit before I introduced Sam to him. Sam was very sensitive about the drug issue and was totally opposed to unbanning the use of cannabis. Over the years in his line of duty, he had seen so many tragic incidents which were drug related, particularly with children that he would not entertain any discussion on legalising what he termed devil’s weed. He maintained that addiction to hard drugs always started with experimenting with cannabis first. I was neutral on the issue. I had friends that had smoked weed for many years who never ventured beyond that but I also had friends who had moved on to the hard drugs. It is a pity that psychology cannot predict with accuracy who will eventually have their shoes in which camp.

When Sam was so down, it was an indication that he was busy with a bad case which turned out to be an understatement.

‘We are having a series of kidnappings of teenage boys and girls in Johannesburg. The kidnappings have been kept from the press so far to avoid mass panic, but we are having a press conference this afternoon at the Sandton Sun to warn people of the risk. We want to announce that you will be on the team, Sis. You’re regarded as a demi-god as far as solving missing children’s cases are concerned. I need you on my team. The Boss also wants you on board.’

He knew I wouldn’t accept without Clem’s involvement that’s why she had been included in the conversation.

‘What has happened so far is that three couples approached us confidentially to inform us that their children, one a girl aged sixteen the other two both boys aged 17 had been kidnapped from school. Both children are at Jermaine’s College, which as you know, is the most prestigious school in Gauteng. The children are selected only on academic ability and their parent’s bank account. You need to be very wealthy to afford the fees. In both instances the school provides extra mural activities for the children some held off site.’

‘Apparently, the young girl was on her way to attend a course provided by a computer school on how to create animation videos. The school only uses their own transport, which consists of minibuses with the name and logo of Jermaine’s painted on both sides of the buses. We’re not sure of the exact details but it appears as if once the bus exited the school she was quickly overpowered, injected with a substance of some kind which rendered her unconscious and taken to a house somewhere – she has no idea where it was. She was the only passenger. She was kept in a room which was locked and the windows were burglar barred. The parents received a call that night informing them that the girl had been kidnapped. A ransom of R10 million was demanded for her safe return. They were instructed not to go to the police or a private investigator otherwise the girl would be harmed. It was obvious that they were watching the house. They told them that their Great Dane was lying by the gate as they were talking – which he was. The parents panicked and agreed to pay the fee. The money had to be dropped off somewhere in Hillbrow. They made the payment and received a call from the kidnappers the following morning to collect the girl at Northgate Shopping Centre. She was unharmed but traumatized. They also received a call shortly after they had returned home and were told that should they go to the authorities they would seriously regret it. The daughter insists that she had not told them anything about the family’s personal affairs but they somehow knew that her brother had two hamsters called Minion One and Minion Two. She had been drugged so it is possible that they got the information from her without her realizing it.

One of the young boy’s that was kidnapped had a similar experience – he was on his way to a polo lesson. The same modus operandi was used with the same result. R10 million was demanded from the parents and similar threats were made. They also paid the ransom by dropping off the money in Hillbrow. The youngster was dropped off at Northgate.

A week after the last ransom was paid, the other seventeen-year old boy, who was on his way to attend classes at Coca Cola Park to learn how to become a professional rugby union referee, was also kidnapped. Again, the same modus operandi was used, but this time there was a different result. The parents could not pay the ransom. Their business was struggling and they were barely keeping afloat. They told the kidnappers that they could not pay and a day later a parcel was delivered containing the young man’s pinkie from his right hand.’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ I said. ‘I don’t believe that the parents of the children could keep this quiet – surely they had other children at the school that may have talked.’

‘Exactly right,’ Sam said with venom in his voice and now I could understand the mood.

‘They did talk and it ended up with the Principal and the Chairperson of the school’s governing body who in their wisdom decided that the school had to deal with the issue. They persuaded the parents of the two children where the ransoms were paid to confirm at a Governing Body meeting, that it was a hoax and the siblings had made up the story. The school increased security but when the third student was kidnapped, they panicked and advised the parents to talk to the police.’

‘The rich always believe that they are an island on their own and that money solves all problems. One of the top ten myths of all time,’ I said solemnly. ‘Where are we at now?’

The ‘we’ was my confirmation that Clem and I were in. Sam acknowledged my acceptance with a raised eyebrow, missing nothing.

‘Besides holding the press conference, we have arranged around the clock security for the three families until this is all over. We have also worked out a strategy with the security company employed by the school to ensure that a rabbit can’t be taken without being noticed. Our job is to find the other boy and of course the kidnappers. This could spread to other schools if it is not nipped in the bud.’

‘Do you need us at the press conference?’ I asked.

‘No …I will deal with that. We just need you to report to the station at 8 am sharp tomorrow.’

Sam left deep in thought, he was so intense and didn’t suffer fools. I hoped that I was in on the interview with the governing body. They had no idea what they were in for.

Clem and I went across the street to make sure that Michael had settled in. Harold had already beaten us to it, sending over biscuits and jerky. Michael gave them to me and his eyes confirmed that he knew I would explain the philosophy of Rastafari to the others, however he appreciated the gesture.

‘You know that we were brought up initially to believe that all whites were the devil but we have come a long way from there and this just confirms that there are good people in all cultures and races,’ he said.

‘Amen to that,’ I said. ‘Harold wears his heart on his sleeve and to be honest everyone in this neighbourhood does.’

Michael casually took out some ganja, rolled and started smoking it. ‘Want some?’ he asked Clem.

‘No thanks, that stuff got me into a lot of trouble when I was a teenager. Every time I smoked it my legs opened.’

‘Why didn’t you ask me?’ I said in my most hurtful voice.

‘Juba told me about the Klippies and Coke,’ he said mischievously. Klipdrift brandy is my drink of choice.

‘That’s it …’ I said to Clem. ‘You need to find another bridesmaid. You tell that big ape to keep his mouth shut.’

‘From what I heard about your mixed martial arts skills he will definitely keep it shut,’ Michael said teasingly. We all laughed.

‘I want to know what he said about me,’ Clem demanded.

‘Hey mon I’m scared of that man. You can ask him yourself. We are peaceful folks – we just smoke ganja and looove everyone but not you and Spook. You gals are out of bounds.’ I could see from his dreamy look that everything was eyrie and Clem and I went across the road to Harold to return the cookies and jerky.

Harold and his adorable wife Jeanette were busy working in the garden pruning their roses. Harold got that sulky look on his face when he saw that we were returning the gifts

‘He is a Rastafari, Harold; they don’t eat meat or processed foods. They are vegetarians although some eat fish but no meat. They believe that red meat rots in your body and they strive to keep their mind, body and soul clean.’

‘What about the dagga? That stuff makes you moggy. It doesn’t make sense. It is the first time that I have heard of Rastafari’s.’

I laughed. Harold’s musical taste did not extend to Bob Marley. In fact, it didn’t extend far at all.

‘Do they all smoke ganja?’ Clem asked

‘Nope it is optional, some believe that it is good for the mind and others believe that it does defile the body. I’ll ask Michael to explain the philosophy to you. I am no expert. The good news is that they generally live very good lives – better than any of us. They are good people.’

Harold nodded. ‘I like him but just wish he would cut his hair.’

‘Not going to happen. Part of being a Rastafari is that you never cut your hair. It’s like your culture you never cut your toenails.’ Harold looked down at his bare feet and we all laughed. He blushed. ‘The bloody nail clippers are gone again.’

‘You won’t believe how many nail clippers this man loses monthly,’ Jeanette said shaking her head in exasperation.

‘Don’t blame the nail clippers Harold – it’s your culture,’ Clem teased. ‘You’re a long nail farian.’ He chased us down the garden path with the kitchen knife he had in his hand.

‘Good to have one neighbour who espouses peace!’ Clem shouted after him.

Just before Juba arrived home there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find a frail old lady, dishevelled hair, wearing a torn blouse partly covered by a shawl that looked as if it had never been washed, torn jeans and shoes with toes peeking out of holes. Age had forced the leather to give way to the wear and tear that comes with regular walking.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked. ‘I don’t have any money on me.’

‘Not here for money,’ she said with tears in her eyes which made me feel like an absolute heel. ‘Can I please come in? I need to discuss something with you.’

Normally I would never let a stranger into my house but something about her rang true, so I took a chance, much to Clem’s dismay which was evident from the looks that were aimed at me.

She headed for the couch and although she did not notice Clem’s grimace, I did and shot her my warning look. I could also dish out looks when I wanted to. I hated it when people looked down on others. I have had enough of that in my short lifetime. ‘Message received loud and clear,’ Clem said with her best I’m sorry smile.

The old lady introduced herself as Sarah and started her story. She was not that conversant with English and stumbled over the words but her determination to get through to us won my heart.

‘I live in Coronation Park in Krugersdorp.’

I nodded; I had read about Coronation Park which was one of the many white squatter camps that had spread like mushrooms across the country as democracy in South Africa started to deal with the poverty which had been the sole domain of black people in the apartheid days. The damage that it had imposed on the country was so immense, it would take years to transform the economic wealth of majority of the citizens. The unskilled whites were experiencing the same levels of poverty as many of their black fellow men. Instead of moving to existing low income areas in black townships, these people formed new communities which just helped perpetuate the horrific legacy of apartheid.

‘My Son and daughter-in-law also live in Coronation Park with my two grandchildren. I have a small caravan close to where they live. A month ago, my granddaughter who is thirteen years of age, disappeared. My daughter and son-in-law are alcoholics and have no clue what happened to her. One minute she was there, the next she was gone.’ She started to cry. ‘My granddaughter would never leave without saying good-bye to me. I know that something terrible has happened to her.’

‘Was your daughter or son-in-law abusing her?’ I asked.

‘No … They have never done that. They have fallen on hard times. My son-in-law was retrenched from the gold mine and couldn’t find another job, so he used the pension money to buy a small business but like most of them, it failed. All he had was a caravan and a small car. They heard about Coronation Park and moved there some three years ago. They hardly speak to me. My husband died and I used the money he left me to prop up the business. I lost everything so I can’t help them anymore. I try to survive on the government pension but it is hard.’

As the tears flowed I glanced at Clem. Her eyes were also starting to moist up. Both of us had come from similar backgrounds and understood how difficult life could be.

‘My granddaughter Tess,’ her face lit up as she said her name, ‘loves me unconditionally. She has accepted her fate and works so hard at school. She is intelligent and at the top of her class academically. She would never go anywhere without saying goodbye to me.’

‘Have you reported this to the police?’ I asked.

She looked at me and nodded. ‘Krugersdorp police station. They don’t help people like us.’ I made a mental note to find out who she had tried to report the case to and would leave it to Sam to deal with.

‘What do you think happened?’ Clem asked.

‘I don’t know, I don’t know …’ she wailed but I could see from her eyes that there were demons lurking in the background.’

‘Sarah,’ I said gently, ‘just before you arrived, the police asked me to help them with a very difficult assignment. I don’t think that I will have the time to help you find your granddaughter.’

She looked at me with alarm in her eyes and I could see that if I declined to help, she would give up on life. I knew that feeling – I had been there. Clem looked at me imploringly and I caved in. What a ninny… but I thought of our new neighbour and immediately knew what he would do; he would help.

‘Okay …. Okay,’ I said, ‘I’ll do what I can but you need to understand that I cannot spend all my time on this case. It is going to be very difficult juggling both balls at the same time.’

She nodded and said that she understood. ‘I know you will find her and bring her back to me.’

My heart sank. I had a bad feeling about this one.

‘How did you find us?’ Clem asked.

‘Pastor Wolmarans – he provides counselling to our community. He told me about Ms. Hanna and encouraged me to speak to her.’

‘What a lovely man,’ I said to Clem. ‘I helped him find a missing child who had wandered off in a squatter camp that he was involved with a few years back. He is an unsung hero – he spends all his time helping people from impoverished areas and refuses to accept any recognition. He has turned down numerous humanitarian awards. The only saint I know.’

‘What about me?’ Clem said with her best saintly smile.

‘Unfortunately, my dear, sainthood is not on your horizon but neither is it for me – we’re stuck with each other.’

‘Sarah, how did you get here and how are you getting back home?’ I asked.

‘I walked here,’ she said softly, ‘I can’t afford a taxi.’ I was astonished – Coronation Park was forty kilometres. She could never have done that