The Man in the Trench Coat

"Got an open and shut one for you. Mugging and assault. Two witnesses. Homeless guy. One previous conviction four years ago. His wife laid the charge. Drunk and disorderly. Last known address Lavender Hill. Your home turf."

Geo Samuels grins at me. One day he will stop mocking me about my origins. I grew up in Lavender Hill, a gang infested township created to house people displaced during Apartheid. I fought my way out of there but I haven't forgotten. I was lucky. Strict parents, a good brain and what a lecturer at university called "doggedness".

I look at the file. J K Abrahams. 35 years old. My age more or less. Assault and attempted mugging outside an upmarket night club. The club is situated on a road that has a strip of expensive restaurants and pubs. A common enough crime what with the rampant poverty but quite unusual where it happened. There is lots of security along that strip so that tourists are protected from the reality of the rest of the city. The prosecution is looking for five years rather than the usual twelve months. probably wants to "send a message". Problem is that the only people who will hear the message are the wealthy people who inhabit the area. The street people and muggers won't get the message though.

More from curiosity than hope that I can do anything I go to see him.

A policeman sits him down in the chair opposite me more gently than I would have expected. We stare at each other for a few moments. I stick out a hand, "Roelof Smidt".

He looks slightly surprised, takes my hand. "Jan Abrahams."

He stinks. Rank sweat, scruffy shirt, pants that shine with aged dirt and a pair of shoes that are held together more by road dirt and sweat than by stitching. Unshaven, with hair that looks like it once had had dreadlocks but which had subsequently lost a battle with a lawn mower.

"OK Mr Abrahams. I am your court appointed lawyer." I hesitate for a moment. "You took a bit of a beating? Who was it."

"The guys in the alley and then the Boere when they arrested me."

The policeman remains completely unmoved by the accusation of police brutality. Old regime vibes or just indifference to a homeless man. Who knows?

I look at the policeman. "Can you leave us please?"

He looks doubtful.

"He is not in any condition to take me on. I will be fine."

He nods and leaves us alone.

"I have read your statement, but I want to hear you tell the story."

"All of it? Again? What for? Waste of time."

My first surprise is the he has a clear, educated English accent. Not the easy, musical Cape Town accent that is so difficult for non Cape Town residents to follow with its eclectic mix of languages and slang words whose meanings seem to change from area to area.

I nod. "All of it."

He scratches idly at his side, lifting his shirt and scratching absent mindedly.

"I found a nice little niche up an alley near that larny Bed n Breakfast place. Dark corner but with a security guard at the end at the road. He didn't see me sneak through, distracted by chatting up Rosy, one of the street women I guess."

I nod. "And?"

"I had a nice trench coat from a lady up in Tamboerskloof. Nice and warm. Padded too. Used to get a good nights sleep in it. Gone now I guess. They took it off me when I was arrested. Threw it away. Said it stank."

He scratches at his hair, catches something and crushes it.

"This guy and a woman come into the alley. He's drunk and is kinda dragging her. She keeps saying "No, No" but he ignores her. Gets her up against the wall. Starts grabbing her under her skirt. She tries to fight him off but he pushes her back up against the wall."

He pauses. Thinking.

"She reminded me of my kid Danny last time I saw her. Beautiful, skinny, broad hips." he sighs. "I haven't seen Danny for three years now. Not since her Ma threw me out. I don't blame her of course. Drunk I was. Booze is my failing."

"What happened then?" I prompt, finding myself warming to this strange man.

"I hit him with my stick."

"You got up and hit him with your stick. Did you tell him to stop first?"

"Yeah. Shouted at him to leave her alone. He told me to fuck off. So I hit him with my stick. You mustn't swear in front of a woman. It just isn't right"

I nod, wait patiently.

"He lets go of her and tries to hit me, but I dodge. I shout at the woman "Run Missy!" and I shoulder charge him. He goes down hard. Unbalanced I guess."

Shoulder charge? He doesn't look like a rugby player, not now anyway.

Living on the street is hard. It destroys you.

Seeing me looking at him quizzically he says: "Played first team for my school. Tight head. That was before the war and then the booze. I had dreams then."

I nod. "And then?"

"She runs away out of the alley and he gets up and starts hitting me. Shouts about muggers. His two buddies arrive and that's all she wrote. The Boere arrive and arrest me. He and his buddies laid charges. Lying bastards."

"You know that the man, Ian Jessop, says there was no woman and you tried to mug him. That you hit him with a stick and that he was rescued by his friends. They back him up of course."

"Well, he would wouldn't he?"

This is no longer funny. A street beggar, quoting Christine Keeler in a rather posh English accent.

"No one saw this?"

"Dunno. I was too busy trying to stay alive."

"Rosy and the security man? Gone?"

"I guess so."

"So no one to back you up?"

He shakes his head.

"Lets just plead guilty and get the farce over. Government hotel for me for a year."

"Prosecutor is calling for five years. Not a short stretch."

That stops him in his tracks.

"Five years? Fuck that is not OK."

"OK, do you have anyone who can do a nice character witness thing for you?"

His head hangs forward, devastated, then shakes his head.

"No. They all hate me."

He stands up and shouts "Guard!" and is gone before I can say another word.

I walk through the rest of my day in a kind of stupor. I like Jan Abrahams, I understand him better than he realises. We walked the same paths up to a point. I was just lucky, he wasn't. I try to forget, but I can't.

9 pm finds me on Valley St outside the alley in which the fight took place. The night club security man is a big man, probably a foreigner and working illegally in the country. He is friendly and completely unable to remember a fight in the alley. He does remembers it being very busy that evening. I show him the picture.

"Ag, that's old Jan. Hasn't been around for some time. Story goes he is in jail. Was it him in the fight?"

I nod and he shakes his head.

"Strange. I never made him for a fighter. Always polite. He used to sneak up the alley to sleep. I didn't bust him for it. Trusted him I did."

We are about to part when I ask him if any strange things have happened since then.

He cocks his head, thinks for a while then shakes his head but as I am walking away, he calls me back.

"A woman, red hair, 1.8 m arrived a few nights ago. Recognised her as having been with one of our regular customers. She said she was looking for a man "in a trench coat". It sounded like she was looking for Jan. I told her I knew nothing."

I hesitate.

"Where would a frightened woman go if she ran out of that alley?" I ask.

He looks at me carefully, then looks up and down Valley St. obviously thinking.

"Not in here." gesturing at the night club. "Too slow. She would have had to get into the queue." He pauses. "Ivan's next door? Big place, easy access. Toilets to hide in."

We shake hands and I get the feeling I have passed a test and been given information that he did not really want to share.

Ivan's is bright, noisy and buzzing. A cheerful woman with long dreads and a huge smile greets me as I enter.

"Table for one?" she says looking around.

"No, I have a question to ask someone who was on duty here last Friday night."

She pauses, looks cornered, looks over my shoulder. Suddenly there is large man standing at my elbow. Not threatening, but I get the feeling things could get ugly if I didn't behave. I take a deep breath.

"I am a lawyer." The looks on their faces do not bode well for the rest of the conversation.

Quickly I add: "I am representing one of the street people, Jan Abrahams."

The guy at my shoulder nods towards the back of the restaurant.

"Come this way."

We end up in a store room.

"Is he in jail?"

"Yes."

"For?"

I hesitate.

"Cummon. Jan is a good man. Don't mess me around."

"Common assault."

"Jan? Common assault? BS! Jan is not capable of that. What is the story."

I tell him both sides of the story and I wait. The silence stretches.

"Bastards. Wait here." he hesitates "No, come with me."

We end up back at the reception desk and a rapid conversation takes place in isiXhosa. The woman retrieves a piece of paper from a drawer and hands it to me.

[Author's note: isiXhosa is one of the South African official languages and is the most commonly spoken indigenous language. For the linguistically curious, the X indicates a side palatal click.]

"A woman with red hair came running in here. Asked us to hide her until she could summon a taxi. We put her in the store room. Lucky here took a break and leant against the door until the taxi came and then he escorted her out to the taxi. Monday, she came back in the early evening. Asked if we knew where we could find Jan. "The man in the trench coat" which is how she described him."

"She gave us that number. Told us she wanted to say thank you to him. She said that he had saved her and told us to call when we found him. Any time."

Lucky and I go outside and I take out my cell phone and call the number on the piece of paper. I put it on speaker so Lucky can hear.

"Suzie. Hello."

Soft lilting almost Irish sounding voice.

"I am standing with Lucky outside Ivan's"

There is a soft whisper "Jan?"

"No, Roelof Smidt. I am a lawyer. I represent Jan Abrahams."

Silence. I tell my story again. She listens without interruption until I finish talking. There is silence for nearly a minute.

"Please stay there. I am on my way."

Lucky finds me a table right at the back of the restaurant and I wait. A glass of beer appears. It would seem I am passing all sorts tests rhis evening. Then Suzie arrives. Tall, willowy red head. I stand up trying not to knock over the table. She smiles at my ungainly movement, shakes my hand and sits down.

"Tell me the whole story again please. I have some questions."

She interrogates me closely. Listening to every word. Questioning any inconsistencies.

"I am the woman he saved and Ian Jessop is the man who caused all this trouble."

I ask her to tell her story from the beginning.

"Ian and I had only just met and he invited me to that fancy night club next door. When I got there he was already quite drunk and started trying to touch me up in the lounge. I rejected him and tried to phone for a taxi. He kept breaking the call so I got up to leave and he followed me outside, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me down that terrible alley.

Held me against the wall and started to touch me all over. I told him no, I tried to push him away but he was too strong for me. Then Jan intervened. Told him to stop. He hit Ian with a stick then pushed him over and told me to run. I ran and hid in the restaurant store room till my taxi came. Ian has not called me since that night. He is afraid I might start asking awkward questions or make trouble for him. Rock his neat little boat that would. Bastard!"

We go to the police station. She makes a sworn statement which exonerates Jan and she then insists we lay charges of assault against Ian and perjury against his accomplices. I doubt that the charges will stick but they may give him pause to think twice before forcing a woman again.

Jan will never give up the street so I found him another warm trench coat and I check up on him regularly. I still want to sit down with him one day and hear his story, but he says it is none of my business. Fair enough I guess.

My defence of Jan has drawn the attention of a couple of charitable organisations who now consult me on cases against street people and Geo treats me very carefully now.

Suzie and I went out on a couple of dates but we have little in common so I won't be seeing her again which is a bit of a pity as she is such a beautiful woman.