Payback (Revenge Trilogy)

What he should do was get backup. But bugger that, have the youngster reckon he was chicken shit scared. He heard the locks bang home. He glanced at the boy. How old was he, eighteen, nineteen? From some village most likely. Not a township special, this one. Welcome to the pisshole, my china. He watched the youngster fumbling to unholster his weapon. If I shoot, you shoot.

Last thing you wanted was to put your eye to the hole, some bokdrol sheep turd rams a spoke through your eye.

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He was singing with the heavenlies before he hit the floor. The chief warder peered in at the first cell, the men not even standing up, lying on their beds like it was summer holidays. He banged his gun butt on the metal door. Ugly, tattooed, scrawny gangbangers could slide a nail between your ribs while they asked you for a smoke.

The peephole fisheyed the room. Far as he could tell from the heaps of bedrolls on the floor no one was baiting him, wanting to lure him in so they could stick twenty-eight bits of sharpened metal into his skin. Went through the same procedure with the peephole: You check anything funny, tell me.

His armpits were damp. The taste of bacon at the back of his mouth. The chief warder scoped cell three, then the remaining two. In them the men all standing up, facing the door. Some bored, some smirking, some giving him the snake-tongue when they saw his eye darken the hole. He walked slowly back to cell three, wondering how to handle this. Or go in there? The convicts standing in two lines.

Thirteen one side, twelve the other. On the floor between them a blanket.

Under the blanket a body. A dark stain on the blanket at chest level.

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You stay here at the door. They do anything funny, any one of them, you shoot, okay? The chief warder unlocked the door, pulled it open. The convicts leered at him. He told them to turn around, face the wall, stand with their hands above their heads. Taking their time, waggling their arses, giving him lots of attitude, but they obeyed.

Like he reckoned they would. This was about a job. He sucked up some saliva to cover the bacon dryness in his mouth. He walked to the blanket covering the body. Then he got it. The bloody stump of the neck. The chest opened like a box, the heart ripped out. He wondered if the guy had still been alive at that point. Wondered how many of them had eaten it.

The head he found in the toilet bowl.

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Carefully placed in there so the face gazed up at him, blue eyes wide open. Grainy black-and-white CCTV footage: The photographs in wall-mounted aluminium frames. On the left, two doors. On each the apartment number stencilled in black filling most of the door: At number eight, the man stops, keeping his back to the camera.

His head bent forward like he was listening for movement inside the flat, except from the tremor in his shoulders he has to be working something with his hands. Forty seconds spool by, the door pops open. The man rolls down his beanie that becomes a balaclava covering his face. Looks up at the CCTV camera. She tapped the keyboard with her gloved hand to pause the image. Caught her own face reflecting on the screen: Her latte face ghosting over that of the balaclavaed man. She puckered her lips in a kiss. He was good, the balaclavaed man.

Raised her gloved hand to touch the face. The man was in. The CCTV footage running on, showing the now empty corridor, the two closed doors. After a minute the automatic timer kicked in, switched off the lights. There was the man closing the apartment door, not rushing, keeping his back to the camera. Walking down the corridor to the lift at the far end.

Going past the lift to the stairwell, reaching up to take off the balaclava as he disappeared from the screen. Sheemina February slotted another DVD into the laptop. Footage from her own surveillance system. There was the balaclavaed man in her apartment, picked up on infrared, the colours muted blues and blacks. The balaclava dark blue, the anorak black, the man wearing gloves, jeans, trainers. The uniform of anybody. Standing there, dead still, listening.

He was scoping the terrain. Lure him in for the kill shot. It was almost too easy. On screen the man moving into her open plan lounge by torchlight. The film tells the tale of an innocent young woman released from prison after doing time for a child-killer still at large. Once freed, she seeks out her long-lost daughter and unveils her plan for revenge against the ghastly man for whom she served time. This film was also well received by critics and South Korean audiences alike.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Jo Yeong-wook 2 Choi Seung-hyun 3. Chung Chung-hoon 2 — 3 Kim Byeong-il 1. Kim Sang-bum 1 — 3 Kim Jae-bum 3. Korean 1 — 3 English 3 Japanese 3. Park Chan-wook above directed and co-wrote all three films, while Choi Min-sik below stars in both Oldboy and Lady Vengeance. Archived from the original on 18 November Archived from the original on 2 March Retrieved 7 January Tin Sympathy for Mr.

Alas, the story is not up to the setting.

Payback is a story of gangsters and criminals, variously running guns, drugs and diamonds, all trying to rip one another off. The others are just cardboard cut-outs who are no more than their actions on the page. This is a problem. In a traditional crime novel, the reader may not like the detective, and may secretly admire the criminal, but the ability to differentiate the two is crucial. These characters are too underdeveloped, and the difference between Mace Bishop and the baddies is too slight, to allow the reader to start cheering either for or against them.

The plot is confusing at best. It is never quite clear who is scamming who, and in what way they are being scammed, or even why they are being scammed. And in a book that seems to last for ever, that matters. But this does not forgive a confused, confusing story that is too easy to put down and quite hard to start up again. Most helpful customer reviews on Amazon. A dense and involving story that took me to a whole world I wasn't familiar with. Fast and unpredictable plot with great characters.

The often brutal world of South Africa isn't one from the tourist brochures, but one I thoroughly enjoyed. This is the first book in the trilogy detailing the elaborate and horrifying revenge taken by Sheemina February, who was interrogated and tortured by the liberation movement as a suspected spy. The subjects of her attention, Mace Bishop and Pylon Buso, ex-spies, ex- arms dealers, ex- freedom fighters, ex- mercenaries and now "security consultants," are increasingly confused and ultimately panicked as Sheemina's web weaves ever tighter.

A gripping tale of narcotics, arms-dealing and international intrigue, with a pair of likeable, tough but fallible characters taking centre stage in a Cape Town that is so well described that it really becomes another character in the story, as contradictory as all the others.

What a pity it's inly a trilogy! I had high hopes of this book, "Payback" - the first in the Revenge Trilogy, by Mike Nicols, as it was recommended by a very old friend of my wife and I.

Usually, we agree with her recommendations. In this instance, however, I have to say I wasn't that impressed. It's hard to put my finger on the problem is - maybe it's the fact that I found it hard to become 'engaged' with the characters - not one of whom has any socially redeeming features. Sorry, but I don't think I'll bother reading the other two books in the series. More than a decade after the end of Apartheid, ex-gun-runners Mace Bishop and Pylon Buso are trying to settle down to a comfortable Cape existence. But when an old contact calls in a favour, they become embroiled once again in the country's violent underworld of crime and corruption - and with the lethal Islamist organisation PAGAD.

A gripping tale of narcotics, arms-dealing and international intrigue, PAYBACK heralds the arrival of a major new crime-writing talent. Read Mike Nicol now, before everyone else starts telling you how wonderful he is.