Private Gold

Chapter 2

No time to lose... Isobel Collins would be in danger from the minute she left the highway. Hurriedly, Joey lifted the filing cabinet into the truck. It was empty; it had been broken into and ransacked during the burglary.

There was only one more piece to move — Khosi’s desk — but it was the heaviest item of all. Joey remembered joking with Khosi when they moved in, as the two of them had struggled with the solid mahogany table, that it weighed more than any piece of furniture had a right to do. Khosi had laughed, and said it was a lucky desk; the man at the second-hand shop had told him so.

Khosi had always been that way. Joking, lighthearted, optimistic. Grasping one side of the table while the removal-truck driver took the other, Joey was struck again by the tragedy of his business partner’s suicide.

Private Johannesburg had signed contracts for a major, and potentially very lucrative, investigation into the problem of illegal mining in eastern Johannesburg. He and Khosi had put together a full-service solution for the mines. In addition to the investigation side, they had provided round-the-clock private security services to guard various entrances. They’d made a huge investment in the project, hiring the highest caliber of guards they could source. With the deals signed, they’d believed the funds were well spent and that nothing could go wrong. But a change in government policy had killed the project, and wiped out the investment they’d made.

In the weeks after the deals were canceled, Khosi had been out of the office for long stretches. He hadn’t told Joey the details of what he was busy with, only that he hadn’t given up on the project, and that Joey must not lose hope. Joey himself had been occupied full time with cost-cutting, laying off staff, and trying to source other work to keep them afloat. He’d planned to sit down with Khosi and discuss the matter properly, try to convince him that he was wasting his time chasing after the mining deals, and that he should accept defeat and move on.

Perhaps it just got too much for Khosi to handle. If Joey had known — if he’d been able to have that talk with him — he could have intervened. Now, of course, it was too late. He hoisted his rucksack over one shoulder, turned off the light, and closed the front door behind him for the last time.

He stepped into a maelstrom. Rain was sluicing down, drowning out the sound of the traffic. Hailstones pummeled him, ricocheting off the desk’s surface. Lightning bathed the street in brilliance, and a heartbeat later, thunder crashed overhead.

A torrent of water was rushing down the side of the road. Well, no way around it, they’d have to get their feet wet to reach the truck — since Joey was already soaked from head to ankles, the thought didn’t bother him too much. Just a few more steps and they’d be home and dry.

Suddenly, from behind, somebody shoved him viciously hard. He stumbled forward, losing his grasp on the desk, which thudded down onto the sidewalk. He splashed into the road, arms pinwheeling. Water fountained over him as a passing car swerved violently. Behind him, he heard the truck driver shouting angrily. But before Joey could recover his balance, his rucksack was ripped from his shoulder. A skinny youngster in a black jacket had grabbed it, and was racing away.