Isiginali

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

“Buonasera, signor Hulley. It’s been a long time.”

The maître d’, Dario, greeted the Johannesburg-based real estate magnate and his aide-de-camp, Abram, with a big smile. It was ridiculous that the clearly black South African was required to use an Italian first name on his lapel. The owners of the Piccolo Mondo must have believed that their customers would feel more at home if they believed that the front of the house staff was Italian. Just another in a long list of reasons as to why Hulley never could get into the restaurant business. The reward was simply not worth the effort.

“That it has, Dario. It’s good to see you.” Hulley said.

“So will it just be the two of you this evening?”

“Actually, no. There will be two other gentlemen joining me for dinner. So I’m going to need something private. Abram here—will also need a table of his own.”

Dario took an extra glance at Abram Sekongo. He seemed to be a bit intimidated by his presence, which was understandable. Abram stood nearly 196 centimetres in height and was quite the strapping chap. He bore a striking resemblance to the retired French footballer, Djibril Cisse. Like the aforementioned Cisse, Abram wore a mohawk and possessed ancestral roots from the Republic of Côte d'Ivoire. His association to Hulley began shortly after the completion of his primary education in Pretoria. By the age of eighteen, the young man was already fluent in English, French, Xhosa and even Arabic. And yet, nearly twenty-years later, the two men were still working together. Building towards a common goal. In Hulley’s eyes, Abram was more analogous to an adopted son than a lowly minion.

“I see. And how close would you like the tables to be?” Dario asked.

“Abram will tell you.”

“Of course. Well, then let me get you seated.”

“Thank you.”

Dario led them towards the rear. The restaurant had under-gone a renovation since the last time Hulley had dined here. The lighting reminded him of the golden hour. There was a sparse crowd of melanoid people already eating. The way they were dressed, it was pretty obvious that they were tourists. Oceania if he had to take a guess. Dario stopped and turned around.

“Will this be to your liking?” He asked.

“Yes, this should be fine. Oh and before you leave, I’d like a white Russian and whatever Abram orders to be added on top of my bill. So when we’re done, just send the entire check to me.”

“Certainly.”

Dario and Abram walked away. Hulley unbuttoned his sport coat and took a seat on the inside portion of the table, giving him full view of the restaurant. He noticed Abram had taken a seat at a table that still allowed them to have eye contact. A female server returned to the table with his white Russian and three menus.

“Good evening sir. I see that your party hasn’t arrived yet. Is there anything else you would like me to get for you in the meantime while you wait?”

“No. This will be fine. For now. But thank you.”

The server walked away. Hulley swirled the glass in his left hand. He took a sip and savored the taste. That wasn’t half bad. He took another sip and set it down, before moving on to the pairing menu. For only four hundred and twenty-five rand, he could have a high-quality three-course meal. Almost six hundred if he added a nice grigio to it. Considering he made a large portion of his vast fortune in Euros or Pound Sterling—it went without saying that his wealth traveled a great distance across Southern Africa. This same meal would have probably cost him quadruple the price in Mayfair or Belgravia.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his mobile phone. Out of the thousands of contacts he kept within it, only two were favorited. His second wife, Libby and Abram. There were several unread messages that wanted his attention, but he needed to focus. He deactivated the ringer on the phone and set it down in his lap.

Hulley was nearly done with his white Russian when he raised the glass to get the attention of his server. He pointed to the glass indicating that he would like another one. A few moments later, his guests had finally arrived. They were twenty-minutes late. He removed the napkin and the phone from his lap and placed them on the table. He then rose to his feet.

Two Afrikaners were approaching him. Both were blonde, although one was larger than the other. He noticed that each man had tattoos on their hands, going up their wrists. Their sport jackets were probably hiding plenty more of those.

“Mr. Hulley.” The smaller of the two men said. “At last, we finally meet.”

“Mr. Marais?”

“Yes sir. But please, call me Oscar. This is my associate, Franz Sheytler.”

“Nice to meet you. Franz, is that short for Francois?”

“It is. Although, the only person who ever calls me that is my mother.”

“What would we be without our mums?” Hulley said.

“Agreed.”

“Well, gentlemen. Far be it from me to rush you, but I am quite famished. So—please grab a menu and let’s see if we can have a lovely meal.”

Marais and Sheytler pulled out their chairs and sat. Hulley looked across the restaurant to see that Abram was still watching them from afar. Having him in the vicinity made life a lot easier.

The table was a veritable mess. The two Afrikaners had cleaned their respective plates as if they were recently released from serving a decade-long sentence. Hulley on the other hand had mostly nibbled across his courses. Filling his stomach until its maximum limit only made him feel ill.

“For a man who was famished, you sure don’t seem to have much of an appetite, Mr. Hulley.” Marais said.

“That sort of thing tends to happen when you get older, I’m afraid. The anticipation of eating is more enjoyable than the act itself.”

Hulley leaned forward.

“But at least you and your associate don’t have those issues.”

The two men looked at one another and laughed.

“No, we do not.”

“So let’s get down to business, shall we?” Hulley said.

Oscar’s smile subsided.

“I was told that you had a proposition for us.”

“I do. The Englebrecht.”

“The hotel?”

“The one and the same. I would like to buy it from you.”

Marais leaned back. He was rubbing his left thumb against his fingers while not breaking eye contact.

“As I am sure you’re both aware, there’s been a lot of re-development going on in the area over the last few years. And my company is very interested in acquiring the building from you.” Hulley went on.

“I bet you are. Correct me if I’m wrong, but HHI is you, is it not?”

Hulley Holdings International. The name of his business. A real estate company with properties on five different continents and the Caribbean.

“It is.”

Marais scoffed.

“Christ. I should’ve known. You practically own the entire downtown area of Johannesburg and now you want more?”

“I am prepared to make a generous offer to you.”

Marais turned to his associate for a moment before turning back to Hulley.

“How generous are we talking here?”

“17.5 million rand. Upfront. With another 17.5 upon transfer of ownership.”

Marais sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“Franz, how much is that? In Euros please.”

Sheytler revealed his mobile phone and began typing on it. Hulley took a sip of his third white Russian. There was a chance he had underestimated these two.

“One million Euros. Two million in total.” Sheytler said.

Marais turned back to Hulley and exhaled through his nose.

“That’s it? That’s your offer?”

“You’re more than welcome to counter.”

“Mr. Hulley, I can make more than that from the Englebrecht in less than six weeks. Why on Earth would I ever sell it for such a paltry sum?” Marais waved his hand. “You know what? Don’t answer that. We’re done here.”

Marais motioned to Sheytler. They rose out of their seats.

“But you haven’t tried any of the desserts yet?”

“Maybe some other time. Thank you for dinner.”

The two men headed for the exit. Hulley leaned back in his chair and shook his head. He placed his napkin on the table, along with his mobile phone. The speaker was turned on. Abram was the contact listed on the call.

“Did you hear that Abram?”

“I did.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t offer a counter. I was prepared to go higher to get the deal done. And they didn’t even apologize for wasting twenty-minutes of my time.” Hulley sighed. “Anyway, would you be a dear and call your compatriots for me?”

“Consider it done.”

“Thank you. I’m going to try and finish my dinner now. Wish me luck.”

Hulley ended the call and picked up his fork. The Mauritian Sea Bass was actually quite good, albeit a bit undercooked. The next time Dario came by the table he would be sure to share that information with him. In the meantime, Mr. Marais was about to learn firsthand who exactly was running things in Johannesburg.