Chapter 4
Anable ascended into her parked 4 x4 Land Rover and started the engine right away. He negotiated her way out of the flowery Charmers Court with ease and boldness. Of the fleet of vehicles that were confiscated and attached against her parents' hefty debt, the Land Rover survived heading for the hammer because it had been registered in her name, in fact, her parents bought it specifically for her, and was not linked to any credit transactions having been acquired on cash terms. This road cruiser had touched on almost every Pretoria CBD tarmac. She was always on the road owing to her escalating itinerary of serial errands. The metallic green vehicle had run for barely 3 years and had only encountered servicing and tire replacement issues. It was still in mint condition with basically everything looking as good as new. Its auto electrical mechanism was still next to perfect, turbo power highly outstanding, suspension immaculately on point, and its fuel consumption impressively bearable. The only notable blemish was its shocking mileage. For a vehicle that had only been on the road for 3 years, it had clocked over 300 000km. That was due to the fact that she roamed a lot on a daily basis, and if there was any time the Land rover would lie idle was when she went out as a passenger in others' cars, which she would not do at loose will. Credit to the makers of this durable vehicle for surviving mechanical defects amid such robust and persistent road overuse. She ardently believed in time being money, hence her resolution to own it. Based on her standard operation procedures, she contemplated buying another car to avoid logistical inconveniences with regard to her seriously followed-through missions.
As she drove to reach her 8km destined office, she got increasingly frustrated with the ensuing traffic congestion and recurrent red robots that made her appear as though she was immobile. Anable was very impatient on the road and would blow the horn at other motorists, and pedestrians should she feel shortchanged. Her parents often reminded her that speed kills, but she never bothered about such inhibiting statements, or subscribe to paradoxes like more haste less speed.
For all her egotistic indulgence, Anable never took business appointments for granted. She always made sure that those she dealt with got their fair share of the bargain, be it forex trading, sexual intercourse, or any other line of operations she was involved in. She had closed the curtains on education after her dismal performance in the matric examinations. Since life is based on no particular formula; her academic shortcomings were unquestionably eclipsed by her instinctive ambition with regard to attaining socioeconomic autonomy. Even though Trey had vowed to foot all her bills, she still believed that she was not born to play second fiddle. She would always take it upon herself when it came to certain monetary needs. This is what motivated her under swept prostitution that commenced before her parents' fatal six feet demise.
Upon her delayed arrival at her mysterious third floor located Centurion office, Anable hurriedly got to her devices to notify her appointees of the daily programme outlook. She was due to meet Sam who had pleaded with her on account of failing to get over her hoodwinking sexual grinds before lunch. Prior to that resuscitated contraband, was a scheduled private deal with a Zambian trader who wanted to change 6000 US dollars to rands. She would drive to meet up with her clients in private places. The office was strictly an errand launching base, only Trey had access to it, but he was not a frequent caller due to his own demanding Illicit escapades unless coming to drop or pick up some cash needed for a certain shenanigan. "Never trust anyone! Including me" Trey always preached. It is him who made her look for a rubber stamp private office instead of being known as an open briefcase operator, just like how he ran his errands himself. That mask removed, briefcase operators they both were.
The security details at her Centurion-based office addressed her as secretary Ann, which is what she told them the very first day she became a tenant. They had never been admitted to that eerie office. She had made it abundantly clear that no visitor was allowed without her granting of that authority, but she always fetched them from the basement on her own. Usually, they would just see those she entered with herself. Privacy was a safely guarded and sensitive issue in her doings, a cornerstone of her unorthodox operations. With or without anyone, Anable's strange office was always locked. Invasion of privacy or any chance of it was uncompromisingly put to annihilation. She agreed to meet with the Zambian fellow at a private location in the CBD and would make it to Pretoria Guest House soon after that errand to service the pestering and insisting Sam who had made an online transfer of 10 000 rands into her account as contraband collateral the day before. Since Trey was usually engulfed in his own corrupt dealings, let alone being so lenient and tolerant, such sex scandals could occur and recur under his nose.
As she normally did, Anable locked herself out of the ever-shut office and used the elevator to reach the basement. She never bothered about fellow tenants, in fact, she had neither knocked on any of their office doors nor inquired about their lines of business or lives in general. It was on her list of principles to never respond to any unannounced door calls, which rendered her building presence artificial and unphysical. What she could only do upon bumping into someone inside that building was to adopt flattery and trickery as scapegoats. She was also very cautious and selective about unknown phone calls. All of her clients were from outside, and based on Trey's advice, she had made everyone around including the premises owner believe that she was Trey's personal assistant. Such smart masquerading antics as a PA guaranteed zero to minimal chances of suspicion with regards to probing of her genuine professional credentials. The guards knew secretary Ann as a subtle and introverted individual who rarely used verbal communication, but nonverbal cues. What was worrisome was the coldness of it all. As was her norm, she coldly waved at the guards as she passed heading to her vehicle which was always parked in a VIP enclosure, and in no time the smooth clandestine operator was making for Pretoria.