to lecture me in a patronising tone of voice.
‘I wonder if you’re aware that a student was arrested last week on a charge like this one. Fortunately he was not doing law.’ He paused and gave me a sympathetic look. ‘I understand you guys studying law are not allowed to take legal job if you have been convicted of a criminal offence. It would be bad for you if we take you in now.’
I was realising the seriousness of my situation. I started to reflect on my future; all my efforts to get a place at varsity would prove futile if I was arrested now. Oh shit! Me and my drinking!
The white officer was nodding along to everything his friend was saying. I remained silent, but they could see that they had managed to scare me. The white officer leaned closer to me.
‘Listen! Here is a deal, pal.’ He lowered his tone to a confidential whisper. ‘Either you come with us now to spend three months in a prison cell, or face a one thousand rand fine . . .’ He paused and looked at my reaction. I kept my cool. ‘Or we can sort this thing out right now, out of court, by reaching a gentlemen’s agreement.’ A pause again. ‘Which means you can stop our mouths with only seventy rand, my friend.’
The Indian officer was nodding to support what his colleague was saying as I debated with my other self about the best step to take. I had never been in jail before. I had only heard scanty rumours about the Big Fives, the Twenty-Sixes, Apollos and other prison gangs that sodomise and kill other inmates. But at that moment I was more worried about my family at home. What will they say if they learn that I was arrested for public drinking?
There was a moment of silence between the two corrupt officers and myself. Then the red-faced officer bent over and grabbed my beer bottle and two of my grocery bags. He was mumbling something in Afrikaans. The other officer grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and picked up my other plastic bag with the sealed beers inside.
‘It seems my friend it is that time again, when you have the right to remain stupid and silent because everything that you say can be used against you in court.’
‘Whaa! I can’t believe how some people can be stupid. We gave you a chance my friend and you blew it. Boom!’ said the Indian officer.
They opened the rear door of the police car and pushed me inside with my grocery bags. The walkie-talkie inside the car started belching and cutting. The red-faced officer retrieved it and muttered something in Afrikaans as they got inside and started the engine.
By then I realised that I had messed up my chances of buying myself out. I still had about one hundred and fifty rand that I had taken out at the ATM that afternoon. I knew that the officers would try everything to incriminate me. They are used to the system. They are also the ones who corrupt it. They know how it works and how to exploit it in their favour. Even if it means that I sleep in a cell just for one night for my disrespect, it would please them.
The earphones that were lying on my shoulders were still blasting music. I groped inside my pocket in an attempt to find the stop button on my Walkman. I was familiar with the buttons because I had owned my Walkman for the past four years, but suddenly I changed my mind about switching the music off. I opted just to rewind the tape. I found the button I was looking for and rewound the tape.
The car hadn’t moved even five metres when I began to plead with them to stop. ‘I’m terribly sorry, officers. I don’t want to go to jail. I think I have eighty rand for you.’
The red-faced officer smiled and stopped the car.
‘Now you talking sense.’
Pleasant smiles broke quietly on their lips as I searched my pockets for my wallet. I unzipped it and handed them four twenty-rand banknotes, money that my mother sacrificed from her pension every month to help me through my cashless varsity life.
The two officers looked at each other and took the cash. I groped inside my pocket again to reach the play and record buttons on my Walkman. Simultaneously, I pressed the two buttons down. Then very politely, in a friendly tone as if I was admitting my guilt, I asked them, ‘Are you sure that you’ll be fine with only eighty rand? I have a feeling that this is a very serious offence?’
‘You’re right. You can add more if you have it. But do not make the same mistake again next time. OK, my friend?’ said the white officer.
‘I won’t.’
I looked at the nametags on the pockets of their blue police shirts.
‘Sergeant Naicker and Sergeant Viljoen, I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience that I’ve caused you. Because of my behaviour I will add twenty rand just to apologise.’
I offered them another twenty-rand note. Sergeant Naicker took it. He smiled at me and said. ‘Ja. If it wasn’t for Sergeant Viljoen we would have taken you in today.’
‘You’re a really lucky bastard, my friend. Do you know that? This is what we call being clever. Ask Sergeant Naicker here. We normally fine people two hundred rand for a case like this. We just thought that you are a poor student and decided to fine you less, my friend.’
‘Hmm! Are you sure a hundred is fine because I can add another twenty.’
‘Just give us another ten and disappear. One hundred and ten from a student who cares about his future is fine. The next time you’re in trouble you must call us or come straight to our police station along this road. You know the station, mos? Ask to speak to either Sergeant Viljoen or Sergeant Naicker here and you’ll be safe.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
The engine was running and the right indicator light was flickering. I opened my rear door to leave.
‘Sorry we can’t drive you to your place. We are in a hurry for an emergency in Hillbrow. I’m sure you can manage.’
I took my grocery bags out of the car and closed the door behind me. The car moved slowly to join the flow of traffic heading for the CBD. I stood on the pavement and began to wave goodbye. Then suddenly I signaled at them to stop the car, as if I had forgotten something inside. I put my grocery bags down and approached the driver’s door, while they both looked at the back seat to see if there was something I had left there. I took my Walkman out of my pocket; the record and play buttons on it were still pressed down, and the red record light was flickering. I showed it to Sergeant Viljoen.
‘What now?’ he asked, perplexed.
‘Are you stupid? Can’t you see that our conversation is recorded on this cassette?’
‘Shit! You fucking bastard! You will pay for this.’
‘Hey! Mind your language, Sergeant Viljoen! This thing is still recording.’
‘F-fuck!’ swore Sergeant Naicker from the other side.
‘He’s only trying to scare us. There’s nothing there,’ said Viljoen to console his colleague.
‘Suit yourselves, I’ll see you in court then.’
I turned my back and pretended I was leaving, but before I could go very far they called me back. ‘Hey you! Come here, you.’
Within the blink of an eye the two officers were out of the car. I thought they were going to negotiate a deal with me, but that was not the case. Suddenly Naicker’s big hand was around my balls and I was standing on my toes with pain. Viljoen grabbed the Walkman from my pocket. I tried to resist, but Viljoen’s fist struck me across my mouth. I tasted blood. Naicker let go of my balls and I staggered and fell down. I lay still on the pavement pretending I had lost consciousness, but Viljoen’s boot struck me in the ribs. A few minutes later I was handcuffed and bundled inside the car.
‘Never fuck with the police again, my boy,’ warned Viljoen as the car turned past Hillbrow Hospital.
I didn’t have the nerve to utter even a single word. I looked at my grocery bags on the floor of the car next to my legs. The brick of butter that I had bought had melted and was almost flat. One of us must have stepped on it. The bottle