�This one,� Charles said, pointing to the decoy laptop. �Owner�s outside. I�m looking for a hard drive.�
Kgole recognized the laptop instantly�the same one he�d supplied to the Mambas yesterday�but kept his face neutral.
�And these two?� he asked, gesturing at the other items on the counter.
Charles hesitated. He knew they were too new to pass as repairs. But the silence made things worse, so he doubled down. �Same story�repairs.�
Kgole�s eyes narrowed. �What�s wrong with it?� he asked, nodding at the boys� laptop.
Charles� grin widened into something sly. �Let�s just talk about it, officer,� he said, slipping into the street code for name your price. The implication was obvious�officers came here, saw stolen goods, walked away richer.
But Kgole wasn�t that kind of cop.
�Step out from behind the counter,� he said, his voice suddenly all steel.
Charles knew the tone. No deal. He stepped forward, and Kgole cuffed him without ceremony. Mkhize snapped a shared cuff onto the wrists of the two boys, linking them together.
�Bring in the two from outside,� Kgole told Mkhize.
A minute later, all four boys were on the floor with Charles.
�Kagiso, call for a van,� Kgole ordered.
Kagiso stepped out to the Hardbody, radioing in. The van arrived fast. The suspects were herded inside along with the suspected stolen goods�and the Mambas� decoy laptop.
By then, a small crowd had gathered on the pavement. Hawkers, commuters, and idlers leaned in to watch. They whispered to each other, but no one spoke up. No one ever did.
As the van pulled away, the street exhaled. The hum of taxis and chatter of traders returned.
The blue Polo slipped into traffic without a glance back. In Johannesburg, you didn�t need to look over your shoulder. The past was always right there, riding with you.