Stripped

It’s been nearly two weeks since Antonio Torres was found guilty on 4 counts of 1st degree murder, and today was his sentencing… He got the death penalty… And I, I am the prosecutor that put him away.

Life has been anything but normal since I was told, or rather, forced to take on the case.

Antonio Torres was the owner of several branches of strip clubs aptly called Stripped and was not a man you voluntarily chose to go up against, at least not if you had any sense of the value of your life. Rumours of drug dealing, bribery, blackmail and human trafficking were all attached to the master, as he was commonly called.

On Monday 7 April, after a tip-off from an unknown source about a big drug sale on the premises, the police raided the Johannesburg branch, only to discover the skeletal remains of what was suspected to be former strippers of the club buried under the floorboards. A month later, forensics would show that all four women were of Asian descent and dental records identifying these women, would show that they were illegally here in South Africa.

The last person to see them: Antonio Torres. The man who they lived with: Antonio Torres. The man who wanted to get rid of them before the police found them: Antonio Torres.

Ok so we needed more than just motive, we needed physical proof, evidence linking him to the girls at the time of their death. That came, much to our surprise, from one of his creations, his club. To ensure that none of the customers at the club gets out of hand, Torres installed cameras in the place so that he can constantly monitor activities. Now what he did not know was that the cameras functioned on a delay system, in other words, in the event of it being switched off manually, the camera would continue to record for 10 minutes, then it would switch off. Needless to say, we got the tape, saw him approach the camera, turn it off, called the girls in and shot all of them.

Pretty stupid if you ask me, he should have checked the tapes… obviously, he never did. The case was pretty much an open and shut case since the evidence basically spoke for itself… There was no way he could get off, unless someone would help him make the tape go away…

So why does all this matter? Simple: I’m in the back of a black Mercedes SLK.

Well to be more specific, I’m in the boot of the black Mercedes SLK.
The driver…. Antonio Torres.


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So here I am, bound by a silk rope, no doubt a prop at Stripped, blindfolded and mouth covered with tape that I know is going to take the skin off my freaking lips… But that’s the least of my worries. His driving like a maniac and I can here police sirens in the distance.

As long as he keeps driving, it keeps him away from me… Shit. His stopped.

He got out of his car.

I can’t hear anything else.

Silence.

Guess I’ll have to wait, no where else I can go anyway. What is that? Water? I hear water… His throwing water on the car? But why, he… Wait a minute. Shit that ain’t water… Its petrol, I smell petrol!

Great! I always imagined I would die in court after being shot by the Russian Mafia. If Torres has his way… I’ll die alright… fried like a Russian vienna.

Ok stay cool. What to do? Ropes are too tight. Head still hurts from where he knocked me out at my office. The call informing me of his escape, came too late. As I held my cell phone in my hand, listening with disbelief to the detective, I realised I was not alone. He was breathing heavily… behind me… breathing heavily like he did every time I would attack him in court.

So here I am, in a boot of car that is about to become a fireworks showcase. Wait. What is that? Shit! His opening the boot.

“I want to see your face as you burn bitch. BURN!! What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Oh yeah sure. Don’t just give me a murderer to prosecute, give me a psycho. He poured petrol into the boot and all over my clothes. Guess this was it. Well yeah its been a good life I guess… 27… got my dream BMW, my houses in Bantry Bay and Rondebosch. Oh and who can forget my boyfriend. Poor soul. He has to live without me. What am I thinking? I can’t leave my baby behind! Yeah! My car needs me dammit!

I wiggle around in the boot and turn away from him, trying to find something, anything. “Stop you whining and accept death. So much easier”.

I feel something. A bottle. Feels full. No idea what it is, but worth the try. Need to get him to come closer. “What you think you doing bitch? Trying to hide from me huh?”




As he touches my shoulder to turn me around, I turn and squirt the contents of the bottle into his face. “AAAH! You bitch!” In the dim light of the place, I look at the bottle. Good job girl! Its engine lubricant.

I must get out of the boot. Lifting my body up, my head hits the boot. OW! I manage to get my legs out and use my hands to lift me out of the boot. Standing on the gravel, I turn to look at him. Shit. He be mad. Have to run.

The ropes around my legs make it hard to move. I look back. His recovering, stumbling around. I have to move faster. Must….

Who the? I bumped into a dark figure. His got an accomplice? Two psychos?

“Its ok ma’am. Its alright. Calm down. It’s me Inspector Davids.”

I had never been so happy to see the SAPS before in my life. All I remember is his brown face hidden by cheeks of beard and the shadow of a cap on his forehead.

Hmmm…. Mmmmm…. What? Where? Hospital. Oh my head! I see the newspaper on the table next to me, September 2, just over a week later. I turn to the other side… It’s my boyfriend. He smiles, I smile and pass out.

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Yep its been almost five weeks since I got out of the hospital. I’m glad to inform you that I have since quit my job at the National Director of Prosecutions office and have now joined a private firm in the USA on a 6 month contract. I figure it would be good, a change in scenery and all. Besides, the cases here are all mostly about people suing people. Alone here? No. With my boyfriend, we’re engaged now. And yes, I had my car flown to here. Ain’t leaving my baby behind!

I’ve made the conscious decision to just rather avoid all high profile cases and to keep my little head out of trouble and rather concentrate on the civil cases and the like. Today I meet my first client who wants me to represent her… Nothing big, just a simple sexual harassment case. Like I always say, if she can prove it, we can get him.

“Hi there Catherine. Can you please tell, er… Ms Monica Lewinsky that I’m ready to see her. Thanks.”