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Chapter 5
Navigating the narrow streets of Simontown was a chore in Dixie’s one year old Monaco Olympus IV motor home. Weighing in at a massive 30 tons and being just over 12 meters in length the vehicle was not easy to drive, but Dixie handled her like a champion. When he imported “Delilah” – as he likes to calls her – from the overseas retailers, he opted to go for the Ralph Lauren Windermere colour scheme. This made her glisten like a big black pearl in the Cape sun and even a blind person could not miss her.
Starting at a cool 4 million Delilah did not come cheap to start with, but Dixie even went the extra mile with some Louis Vuitton covered seats and mahogany finishing in the pantry and dinette areas. It still had that new car smell which Dixie adored for obvious reasons. Delilah also had a beautiful lounge area, LCD television sets fitted throughout (currently on the cooking channel) and two bedrooms – one a huge affair consisting of a queen size bed, a wardrobe and shoe rack and the other a smaller one which was converted into a sensory deprivation tank so that Dixie could catch some sleep on the road if needed.
Myra was riding shotgun and kept an eye on the built in navigation system. She knew Dixie sometimes got lost in a round house and as a result she was always at his side to point the way. She loved feeling needed and he loved to need her. She was also on Coffee duty as Dixie had a tendency to gulp the black liquid down almost non-stop.
Greg, Henry and Dusty were all driving behind Delilah in their police issue 1992 white Toyota Camry. The two policemen were sitting in front and Dusty was lounging in the back seat – still whistling the Pixie’s tune from earlier in the Grease Coffin – when Henry decided to interrupt.
“So, it’s Dusty, right?”
“That’s right – Dusty. Dusty Khamish”
Greg was driving so he just gave a cursory nod in the rear-view mirror. Henry leaned back and offered him a firm handshake.
“Good to meet you Dusty, I am Detective Henry Khumalo and this is Captain Greg Smalls. Sorry that we are only doing formal introductions now, but things got a bit hairy back at the diner – as you know.”
Dusty offered back his customary toothy smile and Henry could see that this was the sort of guy anybody could get along with. Henry settled back in his chair.
“Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions Dusty?”
“Nope, I knew they were going to come sooner or later. You guys being cops and all.”
“Great. Great. So, how can a guy who owns a diner in a small place like Simonstown afford such a behemoth over there?” Henry made a slight pointing nod with his head towards Delilah, as if it was difficult to discern which behemoth he was talking about.
Dusty laughed and Henry suspected he heard this question many times before: “Well, that’s easy. Dixie is a millionaire. Many times over actually. When people or more specifically companies learned about Dixie’s…let’s call it a “genetic oddity” or in other words his heightened sense of smell, they practically fell over their feet trying to commission him to test their new product ranges. New perfumes, toilet spray, ice cream flavours and so on and so on. That sort of thing can make you a very rich man, especially if your olfactory system is as intense, accurate and overdeveloped as Dixie’s. Nowadays when he runs low on cash – which isn’t often mind you – he just takes out his little black book of company contacts and within two or so days he is wealthy all over again.”
Henry’s mouth hanged open in surprise. In contrast Greg acted like he knew all of this already – the mark of a true senior policeman – always expect the unexpected and never act surprised.
After digesting the information for a minute or two Henry proceeded: “So, what is he doing, “slumming” on the coast of South Africa, when he could be living the high life anywhere in the world?”
A frown clouded Dusty’s face: “Well, I admit I do not know the whole situation. Myra and I have only worked with Dixie for about 3 years, and he never really talks about what brought him here. Only some nights when we all had a bit too much to drink after a hard day’s work does he spill a bit of his story.”
Henry felt he needed to do a bit more prompting as it was obvious there was something Dusty did not want to share: “And? What did he tell you?”
Dusty’s smile returned: “You would have to ask Dixie himself. It is not my story to tell.”
Henry was disappointed, but understood that loyalty was precious to a guy like Dusty, and this made Henry like him even more. He decided to change the subject: “So, why the RV? We would have paid transport and hotel fees. Also – and no disrespect intended here – why did he close the diner so that you and Myra could tag along? It is not as if you could help with the official police business.”
Dusty was relaxing back into his seat, very glad that he had such a rapt audience and some questions he could answer. He loved telling a good story and loved the attention even more: “You see; Dixie’s gift sometimes makes life difficult for him. For instance, he never sleeps in a hotel because he says that he can smell the previous guests and everything they did there – and I mean everything. That totally freaks him out.”
“He also can’t fly in a commercial plane with other passengers. Says the smell of fear from the other passengers nauseates him.”
“To answer your second question; I am always strung along because he likes the way I cook. He says it smells right. Myra is along because they are best friends. They depend on each other a lot.”
The hour long drive to Cape Town flew by like a breeze and before they knew it they were pulling into the parking lot of the Cape Town CBD Police Department. A couple of Police vehicles had to vacate their normal parking spots in order for Delilah to fit, and while everybody seemed a bit embarrassed about the situation, Dixie didn’t notice at all.
Brimming with his customary confidence he strode through the entrance of the Police Station.
