Napoleon Bones, by Jenny Hobbs

Napoleon Bones, by Jenny Hobbs. Random House Struik Umuzi. Cape Town, South Africa 2013. ISBN 9781415203866 / ISBN 978-1-4152-0386-6

Napoleon Bones, by Jenny Hobbs. Random House Struik Umuzi. Cape Town, South Africa 2013. ISBN 9781415203866 / ISBN 978-1-4152-0386-6

Jenny Hobbs’s hilarious crime-thriller, Napoleon Bones, is a smorgasbord of delectable characters. This is a Cape Town you won’t find in any tourist book.

Jenny Hobbs  

Dog Star

THE PERPS JACK-HAMMERED AHEAD OF US down the alley, two skinny guys in metal-capped bikers' boots that struck sparks off the cobbles. Big G and Spike panting behind me. Rubbish bins stinking of prawn shells, duck guts, grey blobs of pâté, rotting salads, tangles of slimy squid too long out of the sea. This was the smart part of town, with the restaurants and fat wallets and champagne vomit. Parties erupting onto pavements with cheery goodbyes. Easy prey for pickpockets. The three of us had been stationed at a strategic corner, tipped off by the part-owner of Chez Pamplemousse. Bertrand gets madder than a puff adder when his expensive eaterie is compromised. Hence our regular patrols are rewarded by foil-wrapped lucky packets of leftover spécialités de la maison. Bertrand's real name is Bertie Schoombie and he used to teach mathematics, but he says restaurants have a more interesting clientele and pay better. I get my fair share of the loot, which says a lot for Big G and Spike, who are always hungry, though not as discriminating as yours truly. Big G had spotted the perps sidling out the back entrance and jabbed Spike with his elbow. Both of them yelled, 'Stop! Police!' and ran down the street towards them, with me baying behind. The perps took off doing a four-minute mile. Those guys were jet-propelled and aiming for getaway hot rods at the far end of the alley. Beyond was the highway off-ramp, lit like a desert sunset. Human conformation isn't designed for speed. I caught up with them in a few bounds, then had to make a decision. A lunge to the ankles can send a runner flying and is less bloody than going for a thigh or hand. But bikers' boots have a hefty kick. I've collected a few in my time. Cracked ribs and a bruised backside have taught me to be cautious. 'Tumbler! Trackstop!' Big G bellowed. It's command shorthand for 'Trip the nearer one and send him flying against the other. Stop them in their tracks or they'll be gone.' Big G and Spike aren't shooters unless their lives are threatened, so quite a few perps get away. Not this time, though. I aimed for an isosceles triangle about half a metre in front of and five centimetres below the knees. (Bertrand has taught me the rudiments of geometry.) The nearest runner cannoned into the other one and they skidded into a rubbish bin which leant over like a gagging drunk, disgorging pale green goo. Vichyssoise is nasty when it goes off. Big G and Spike scored seven cellphones, four wallets, a wad of cash, two stolen Yamahas and an habitual offender. We all got a recommendation for those arrests. Though I say it myself, I'm the thinking woman's answer to the ideal companion. Intelligent. Great bod. Noble head. Well-mannered. Keen sense of humour. Quick learner. Protective. Faithful. And affectionate to the point where I'd put my head in her lap at every opportunity and gaze up at her with undying adoration. Which is not to say I'm perfect. Acute hearing makes me ultra-sensitive to noise. I'm claustrophobic. Have my gnarly moments. Garlic and onions and dry biscuits make me fart. And aggro makes me bristle. The name's Bones, Napoleon Bones. [...]

This is an excerpt from the crime novel: Napoleon Bones, by Jenny Hobbs.

Title: Napoleon Bones
Author: Jenny Hobbs
Genre: Novel
Publisher: Random House Struik
Imprint: Umuzi
Cape Town, South Africa 2013
ISBN 9781415203866 / ISBN 978-1-4152-0386-6
Softcover, 15 x 22 cm, 304 pages

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