The more things change...
Reports of police filching confiscated liquor during lockdown reminds me of similar incidents during the apartheid era. I’d heard there was a pub owned by retired policemen. The drinks were cheaper as the stock came from police raids of illegal shebeens and bottle stores. Strange thing, as soon as the pub’s shelves emptied, raids were launched.
This pseudo pub attracted not only law enforcement folk, but civilian pals in strategic jobs whose ears were tuned in to the underworld.
One such oke, Koos, headed the fraud card division of a major bank. His job was to trace the whereabouts of crooks stealing credit cards.
In his time, he nabbed a number of big fraudsters, among them was a lady using stolen cards at casinos. It took him a good two years to catch her red-handed.
Incidentally, during her spree, she had her husband murdered. It was the talk of the pub for ages, with Koos the storyteller.
One Friday night, Koos popped into the clandestine watering hole for “one for the road” as he had promised his wife, who was awaiting him to buy the weekly fish and chip dinner.
In those days, every suburb had its corner Portuguese chippy. A favourite occasion, with the surrounding air redolent with the smell of salt, vinegar and soggy newsprint.
But that night, Koos was persuaded to indulge in more than one. Fearing roadblocks, he took to the back streets of the Wild West Rand but as luck would have it, landed slap bang in one, ending up in the local lock-up for notorious low life.
He was shoved into a cell with 15 others.
He found a seat next to a youngster shabbily dressed with unkept hair and rotting teeth.
After an uneasy silence, Koos asked him, “What you in for?” His answer came as a shock to the immaculately dressed Koos with the bank’s logo on the tie, nogal.
“Ag, I’m in for card fraud. And you?” Koos didn’t answer. Luckily for him he didn’t have to – I mean, pale faces ruled.
But he had to answer to his wife – in both black and white.
Have things changed much since the hue change?