The Seventh Secret

Chapter 9 — Cheryl’s Deal

“So we are waiting for Sam Cleave and his associates to meet us at the harbor,” Dr. Malgas told Cheryl. “Would you be interested in helping out, perhaps? You know, since you said you are between jobs right now?”

“What kind of work? Cataloguing?” she asked.

“I think so. We will need to mark whatever we pull out of the wreck and the other members of the assignment will probably be too busy working on the wreck itself assessing its historical significance; Sam and I will study the vessel’s history and have Mieke Badenhorst help us deal with the PR-side of things. She is my current assistant,” he explained. “Would you be interested in joining us?”

Cheryl shifted in her seat. What she had to clarify now was the difficult part of the conversation. Telling Dr. Malgas that she had to drag two shady looking men with her had to be handled with great sensitivity. However she was going to convey her condition, it would have to happen soon. She was beginning to feel anxiety, and she knew the next symptoms of withdrawal would be visible perspiration and tremors

“Billy, I… don’t work anymore alone these days,” she smiled shyly. “I too, have an assistant and an associate who helps out on our various projects, you see? And I have to include them. Would that be alright?”

Billy Malgas cleared his throat at the revelation, which made him a bit reluctant. He had not intended to include this many people in the hoax, especially since only he and Mieke knew that the whole thing was a complete and utter lie. He was afraid that adding more people would increase their risk of getting caught lying, but to keep up appearances that he had faith in his claim he could not refuse. What would his reasons be?

“That, uh, changes things a little. I’m not sure if we have the funds to accommodate everyone’s fees. Tell me, what your colleagues could bring to the project?” he asked.

Cheryl’s body ached. She had no idea if Zain or Sibu had the kind of drug she needed, let alone if they would take her to one of her dealers and the notion hammered a sharp stake of panic into her mind. As if in tune with her inner turmoil, the weather started to turn while she discussed the plan with Dr. Malgas. The wind picked up, and the skies clouded up. Not that Port Elizabeth had much precipitation, save for a rainstorm once in a blue moon that would last about fifteen minutes. But it seemed to cool down considerably at this hour, prompting Cheryl to make her case and be done with it.

"They are two very high-end security consultants, Billy. Believe me, they won't allow any unwanted prying in your business," she assured him as if she had all the faith in the world in her two captors. If she could just convince him and get going already, before he saw her suffering a panic attack and cramps, she would not run the risk of losing her old mentor’s trust. She also did not want to disappoint him, strange as it may sound under the given circumstances.

“Oh, I haven’t even thought about that side of things,” he exclaimed. “You are quite right, Cheryl! We will — almost most important of all — need security to keep the media and the coast guard off our backs until we have secured the find. Good thinking, girl!”

‘Yes! He bought it!’ she thought. ‘Now just close the deal and get the hell out of here. I have to get to Central soon. I have to get in touch with Pat Pyramid, or I'm going to die!'

Patrick the Nigerian, or Pat Pyramid, as he was called on the street, was Cheryl's drug dealer. He had earned the name because his place of operation was the surroundings of the Donkin Reserve, a pyramid-shaped monument built by Sir Rufane Shaw Donkin, who named the then-rising seaport of Algoa Bay Port Elizabeth in honor of his wife. Pat was one of the dealers who had turned the once posh historical part of the city into a gangster slum for people like Cheryl.

She used to frequent many dealers, but he was the quickest and second most affordable for the heroin she needed. The once brilliant assistant turned prostitute was hooked on several substances, but mainly heroin and the occasional cocaine kept her body busy in between sporadic rushed of speed. The latter usually served for those all-nighters with more than one client at a time when she really had to perform at the top of her game.

“So, do we have a deal?” she asked Malgas in a shaky voice he would soon recognize from the old days.

“I think your offer is feasible. It did not even cross my mind before, silly coot that I am,” he chuckled.

The front door shuddered under a heavy hammered fist. Billy and Cheryl jumped in their seats, and for a moment neither knew what was going on. Soon after Cheryl realized that she had been inside for over an hour and that her wardens were probably very impatient by now. Billy grabbed his gun and went to the door, a decidedly deadly move considering who he was dealing with. Cheryl launched herself from her chair and caught up with him, "No, no, Billy! Put the gun away!”

He looked at her in befuddled panic as she grabbed his arm. Cheryl realized that her behavior probably looked a bit overzealous to him, so she sighed and smiled, “You don’t need that thing. It’s just my guys. I asked them to come and introduce themselves to you. Think of it as a… umm… an interview!”

Slowly he put his firearm away, trusting Cheryl's judgment. She made sure she stood close by him as he opened the door, to prevent them from just shooting him in the face upon sight.

“Hello, boys!” she said quickly as their intimidating shapes stood on the porch. The light fell on their crude, malevolent expressions and Billy felt a jolt of terror shoot through him. “Dr. Malgas just accepted our services as his security wing on the expedition! Isn’t that awesome?” Her eyes widened to signal them that they were to play it cool, and they promptly complied with her gesture.

“Good evening, Dr. Malgas,” Zain exuded charm at the man who almost got a face full of lead from him.

“Evening,” Dr. Malgas said, and shook Zain’s hand, still hesitant to believe he just hired those shady-looking people. Cheryl broke the tension and stepped out to speak to her new colleagues. “Just let me get my purse, gentlemen, then we can go.”

“Goodbye, my dear,” Dr. Malgas said as Cheryl embraced him at the door.

“I will call you tomorrow to find out where the rendezvous point is,” she smiled. “We will be ready to sign any contracts your benefactors draw up for security on their trip.”

“Good, thank you,” he agreed and waved them off, as they returned to the large car now parked in front of his home.

“So what is the deal?” Zain asked her as they approached the vehicle.

“Can you just wait until we are driving?” she sneered. “He is still watching us. Act professionally or we will lose our only chance.”

Annoyed at taking orders from their prey, the two thugs just scoffed and got into the car. They drove back to Cheryl’s apartment, where at least one of them had to stay over to make certain she did not flee.

“You have to bring me to the Donkin, please. Quickly?” she asked Zain, who was driving.

“Why?” he asked.

“Please,” she implored with no sign of her previous authority. She had regressed back into the sobbing, desperate street walker they met on the ledge. “I have to get my fix! I’ve already waited too long, Zain, please! Let me please get half of what I usually take, you know, just to tide me over until I get a trick to pay for a proper push.”

Sibu clapped his thick hands and laughed heartily in the back seat.

“Fucking hell, Zain! This girl should get a Grammy for acting, holding it together at that man’s house this long, hey?” he roared boisterously.

“It’s an Oscar, not a Grammy, you fucking imbecile!” she screamed at him, clearly losing control from the pain and cramps of withdrawal.

Without warning Sibu slapped the hooker hard against her head, slamming the side of her face into the closed car window. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back so hard she thought her neck would snap.

“Sibu, stop it!” Zain shouted. “If she has marks tomorrow they won’t believe our story! And you!” he raged at Cheryl, “Don’t forget who you are, filthy little skank. And don’t forget that your life is in our hands. Are we clear?”

Cheryl nodded, her scalp and face stinging from the treatment she had just received for losing her cool. But on the inside, she cared for nothing other than getting that spoon heated, the sweet release from the grace of a needle to make all the pain and worry go away. It did not even matter to Cheryl if she got beaten up, doubled teamed or held at gun point. All she wanted was to get her fix.