“Mother,” I whispered.
I could see she wanted to move but was unable to.
Remembering I had a wig on, I took it off and leaned over her mask, and whispered, “Mother, it’s me, Ngano.”
Her eyes wavered but wouldn’t open completely.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” I asked a pair of nurses who were fiddling with a machine of some sort.
“From what the doctors said, it’s hard to tell at this moment. It’s a waiting game.”
“She has never had such a severe asthma attack before.”
“This is more than just an asthma attack.”
“How do you know?”
“Blood results showed severe kidney and liver impairment. Has she been taking any other medications than that for asthma?”
Poison did that. “Definitely not.”
If I could find the guy who claimed to be my brother, I wouldn’t mind jail afterwards.
“Was she well in the last day or so?”
“Yes. She was perfect,” I lied. I hadn’t seen her in two days. But she looked well when I last saw her. Not even a single complaint. Her breathing was good — she didn’t even need to use a regular puffer, just only when she needed it — and the aches she used to have in her legs were gone.
“Then she must have taken something really strong. The kidney failure is fairly serious. Has she ever expressed suicidal thoughts?”
Never! “No.”
Why would she want to kill herself, really? Her relationship with my father was obviously strained, but I doubted if that would have enough impact on her to make her lose the will to live. Which brought forth the only possibility that kept dangling within the innermost recesses of my mind: I was the cause of all this regardless of why she was ill. A wave of guilt swept over me and I suddenly felt more helpless than ever.
“The doctors suspect she attempted suicide. Any reason she’d do so?”
Maybe.
“Not really.”
But the guilt was biting hard. She might have tried to commit suicide because of me, of the false accusations. She could have got overwhelmed, took an overdose, and then had an asthma attack while waiting to die, all because of me. But was it really my fault? I blamed the fools that were after my life. If it wasn’t for them, my mother would be well and happy. And now this. I looked at the nurse blankly, then my mother, and felt tears welling up in my eyes.
For some reason I felt I could trust the nurse. I was almost tempted to tell her what was going on in my life. But looks can be deceiving. Just because she looked like she was a caring type didn’t necessarily mean that she was nice. I tell her and the next thing she goes to the Police.
I was about to open my mouth and say something when my phone vibrated.
I took it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. Unknown number. I answered. It was a call that I would never forget.
Eric drove all the way and went to park where he had been ordered to. By the time they arrived Thabang was enjoying a snooze and the smell of urine on him had intensified. Eric nudged him and said, “Remember I don’t know the guy, so you’ll have to stay awake.”
“Can you get me some Red Bull?” said Thabang, searching for something inside his left trouser pocket. He retrieved a crumpled and wet ten pula note. Eric took it. It smelt of stale urine. Eric switched off the engine of the van, took the key out of the ignition and went over to a nearby stall, holding the note by its corner. He bought a can of Red Bull and came back to find Thabang struggling to stay awake.
“You really need to stay awake Thabang, or else this deal won’t be a success,” Eric said as he handed Thabang the can of Red Bull and the change.
“Okay,” Thabang said as he popped open the can. He took an extraordinarily long sip and sat back. Eric wanted to ask him why he had so many missing teeth, but decided against it. This could be a sensitive issue. Judging from Thabang’s looks, he was probably a regular brawler. As the two waited, Eric constantly threw a glance at Thabang to make sure he was still awake. At least the Red Bull was doing its job. The guy had his eyes wide open like he was watching a scary movie. About fifteen minutes after they’d been waiting, Thabang suddenly said, “There he is!”
Eric looked and saw a guy who didn’t look at all like the one he had been made to follow earlier on. If this was the guy they were looking for, Eric couldn’t understand how one would mistake him for the guy from earlier on.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. Don’t lose him.”
The guy, who had an afro, as opposed to the bald
one they had followed earlier on, was walking fast. Eric did suspect Thabang was right. People don’t just walk this fast unless they were running away from something. And from the look of things that wasn’t his natural hair. Eric had a wig like that, too. He started the engine, eased into gear one and drove across the road towards the guy with the wig.
Fate showed Mothusi the guy with the wig first. He and Dumani had just got off the kombi. Mothusi couldn’t keep up with Dumani because Dumani was too fast. Under normal circumstances Dumani would definitely not have been able to keep up with Mothusi. Only, at the moment Mothusi had an injured foot. You can’t walk fast when your foot is injured.
Mothusi recognized the guy with the wig instantly, despite the wig. And from the way he was walking, it was obvious he was running away from something or somebody — from Mothusi, Dumani and Thabang, and the new guy, probably.
Mothusi hadn’t bothered to ask Dumani how the new guy fitted into the picture. He couldn’t ask any questions because Dumani had been threatening towards him.
He had found a long knife in the house and a knobkerrie and threatened to “smash” Mothusi’s head if he didn’t share all the information he had.
And Mothusi had lots of information, which he shared with Dumani, but not all of it, of course. But Dumani was sure Mothusi had shared all the information. For instance, Dumani didn’t know Mothusi had a sharp knife in his pocket. What Dumani knew was that they were going to apprehend the guy in the wig, threaten to report him to the Police for the murder of a woman unless he complied with their instructions. Dumani told Mothusi he knew where the woman was buried. The instructions were easy to follow for someone who would be afraid of being hanged by the neck until he died. If he complied — which both Mothusi and Dumani believed he would — they would hold hands with him then casually walk with him towards the nearby river — Mothusi came up with the idea of the river for reasons he didn’t disclose to Dumani. When they got to the river, they would call a cab. They’d tell the cab driver that they were going to Hebron — a location on the outermost periphery of Lentsweng. When they got there, they would have two options: (1) tell the driver to drive them to Damon’s place and they would pay him or, (2) hijack the car. Which option they chose would depend on the driver’s reaction to the idea of driving them all the way up there. When they got to Damon’s place, Mothusi would excuse himself and wait nearby while Dumani made the delivery. Dumani would be paid and split the proceeds with Mothusi. If it was possible, they would see if they could sneak in and kill the guy in the wig. Then Mothusi would go in to show Damon the remains of the guy who had witnessed the murder. And Mothusi would get paid. That was the plan anyway. And only a fool like Dumani would believe that a plan like that would actually work, which was why Mothusi had his own plan. That was why he was carrying the knife.
Dumani was thinking that Mothusi was a fool. A guy gets kidnapped by a fat ugly bastard like him — two, in fact — and delivered to an old wizard living in the middle of nowhere. He finds out that the wizard is the very one that had sent him to murder a woman for ritual purposes. He tells the wizard that somebody witnessed the murder. The wizard tells him that whoever witnessed the murder would need to be killed for things to work. Mothusi gets information from somewhere — he refused to tell Dumani where he got his information from, but then so did Dumani refuse to tell him where he got his information from — regarding t
he whereabouts of the particular witness. He follows him to town where he bumps into the very people that wrongfully kidnapped him. They try to kidnap him again. One of them gets left behind and he goes back and convinces Mothusi that they could work together, that they find the guy they were looking for — who, according to Mothusi, was wearing a wig — walk him to the river, grab a taxi and deliver him. And Mothusi, like all fools, believes that’s exactly what Dumani was going to go ahead with.
Dumani hated Mothusi. Not just Mothusi, but people in general. They make him angry. They make him feel ugly. Come to think of it, if there were no good-looking people, Dumani — and Thabang of course — wouldn’t look ugly in the eyes of anyone. There probably wouldn’t be any mirrors in the first place because no one would worry about looks. If there were no mirrors, then Dumani wouldn’t know what he looked like. That’s why baboons never bother. They know they’re ugly. They’ve seen themselves in others. They know they look like the rest. Every other baboon serves as a mirror for other baboons. But, oh no, God decided to make people of varying ugliness — and beauty. And then someone decides to make mirrors.
“There he is,” Mothusi said, interrupting Dumani’s thoughts. Dumani looked and saw the guy in the wig. He had hair, but that was definitely their guy. He was walking fast. He seemed to be scared and confused like he didn’t know where he was going, as if he was in a hurry to get away, yet didn’t know where to go.
Dumani was pissed off with Thabang and Eric, but more with Thabang. Because when you come to think of it, Eric wouldn’t have come into the picture had it not been for Thabang, therefore he wouldn’t be pissed off with Eric if it wasn’t for Thabang because he can’t get pissed off with someone he has never met. He’d recruited Thabang, trusted him enough to recruit him. And now Thabang had betrayed him. It was just like this girl he used to see back in the days. A nice chick, had a nice little bump for an ass and had no problem with the fact that Dumani was ugly. Then one day Dumani introduced her to this good-looking friend of his who lived nearby. Dumani had thought that by introducing her to a good-looking guy she’d like the fact that he had good-looking friends and that would impress her and make her stay longer. But no, she got interested in the guy, right on day one. She smiled at him like she had never smiled at Dumani.
Then the following day Dumani was walking from work, tired as hell, and he decided to swing by this nice little bar near where he lived. And guess who he found there? His girl, sitting on his good-looking friend’s lap and enjoying a Savannah Dry cider. Dumani contemplated breaking some necks, but decided it wasn’t worth it. She was too beautiful for him anyway.
Not that this bastard Thabang was good-looking in any way, but the circumstances were similar, except that this time he was one step ahead.
The guy in the wig was now waiting at the bus stop.
Traffic was heavy and now Mothusi and Dumani were waiting to cross the road. The lights down the road had just turned red when Dumani saw the white van.
“Bastards!” he yelled and ran across the road, towards the van.
I still couldn’t believe what I had just heard: my wife’s voice, sweet as ever. It was what she had said that bothered me. Her panicky voice still rang in my ears and echoed around my mind. Like I was having a nightmare. The desperation in her voice. The danger she was in.
“Ngano, the children and I are in trouble,” she had said desperately.
I’d stood right there by my ailing mother, thinking this was nothing but a nightmare from which I’d wake up and tell my wife about it, like I’d done before.
“Honey is that really you?” I had said, my voice equally panicky.
“Yes. We’ve been kidnapped. We haven’t had any food since we got here. We don’t even know where we are. The people who kidnapped us forgot their phone in the little room they’re keeping us in and that’s the one I’m using. I don’t know what they’re going to do to us. I overheard them say…”
There was a struggle in the background and a protest from my wife. “Please, don’t do it!” Then the phone went dead. I slumped on the chair by my mother’s bedside and cried while massaging her arm.
The caring nurse came over to me and said, “Are you okay?”
The temptation to tell her everything was harrowing. But I managed to control myself.
“I’ve to go,” I said and stood up. I looked at my mother and a lump sprang up to my throat. The tears became uncontrollable. The nurse looked on, evidently confused. I walked out, leaving her standing there by the complicated machines.
I sped down the maze of corridors with no sense of direction. My surroundings seemed not to exist. I had to find my wife and children. But where to begin? They could be anywhere. I wished I had asked quickly where she was. If I knew where she was, at least I could approach the cops and ask for their help. I could go up to the Police station now, but what would I tell the cops? Why would they believe my story?
Plus, I might already have been reported. I could have suddenly become a hunted criminal. The thought of the murderer with the axe zoomed into my head and I wished I could be given a chance to make him confess, and then strangle him.
I was starting to feel hungry but my appetite was zero. But I had to eat something. I saw a stall just by the hospital entrance and bought a little yoghurt. As I was about to leave, something caught my eye. Right there on the front page of Mmegi Newspaper were the headlines KILLER ON THE RUN. I told myself to keep calm, that there was no need to come to conclusions that the article could be about a real killer on the run. I picked up a copy of the newspaper. I stared at the headlines as I walked away from the stall.
“Excuse me!” somebody said from behind me. I turned. It was the woman from whom I had just bought the yoghurt. “You didn’t pay for that.”
I paid for the newspaper, went to stand against the wall and read the article.
Killer on the run
Tsebeyatonki man wanted in connection with a woman, suspected to be his wife.
Ngano Katse, a man from Tsebeyatonki, is wanted in connection with the murder of a local woman.
A witness to the murder says he was out in the bush hunting when he overheard an argument. He looked over and saw a young man dragging a woman by the arm, yelling and hitting her. Fearing for his life, he cowered in the bushes and tried to call the Police. Unfortunately there was no network coverage. The woman reportedly tried to run away but Ngano ran after her with an axe and bashed her to death just as the witness was about to intervene. The murderer then ran after the witness and tried to attack him with the axe, but luckily he managed to escape with minor injuries to his foot.
The suspect was observed by unsuspecting villagers on the day of the murder behaving strangely. He had blood on his body. His wife and children are now missing, making it likely that the murdered woman may be his wife and the children’s lives may be in danger. According to his in-laws, Ngano had recently threatened to kill his wife who then ran away and went to her parents’ house. Her body hasn’t been found, making it likely that the killing was for ritual purposes.
“We’ve always feared for our daughter’s life since that day. I’ve always had bad feelings about Ngano, right from the first day I met him. There was just something about him. I hope the Police find him and he is brought to justice. I just need him to tell us where he hid our daughter’s body so at least we could give her a decent burial,” said Ngano’s father-in-law. He was tearful and distraught.
A number was given at the bottom of the article, for anyone with information regarding my whereabouts to call with any information about my whereabouts. There was a reward of twenty-five thousand pula. I felt like the world was collapsing in on me, squeezing me in, making escape from this ordeal I was suddenly finding myself trapped in impossible. My life was falling apart. I folded the newspaper, threw it into a nearby bin and walked out of the hospital.
There was a squeal of tyres and a loud bang. I whirled around to find the source. An eighteenwheeler had rammed into a
white van and dragged it down the road, right in front of the hospital. Finally the truck screeched to a halt and the van dislodged, rolled and spun back onto its wheels before stopping. A crowd immediately gathered to watch the unfolding drama. The passenger door of the van opened. A man came tumbling out. I knew him. My heart started pounding as fear gripped me harder than ever.
I looked across the road, trying to work out an exit because I knew the man was after me. My heart stopped. Running across the road towards where I was were two men. And I knew them. They, too, were after my life. I felt so alone. I felt like the world was coming to an end. How did they know I’d be here?
Thabang saw the eighteen wheeler coming down the road and was about to open his mouth and warn Eric when he heard a loud bang. He immediately told himself this was the “worst turn” Damon had warned him and Dumani about. The spell.
He immediately thought that the deal had actually been sealed. That’s why Damon had insisted on leaving Mothusi behind, the sacrifice probably hadn’t involved killing the victim like Thabang had thought.
That’s why Mothusi was still alive. Thabang was probably meant to die so he wouldn’t witness Dumani’s wealth, which would give away the fact that Dumani had been paid. So Damon had cast a spell, and the spell made Thabang leave Dumani behind so he wouldn’t die. Only Thabang was meant to die. And Eric.
He smelt death as the truck approached. He screamed and pissed himself. Eric looked and saw the eighteen-wheeler too. And he screamed, too. But it was too late: the eighteen-wheeler ploughed into their van and dragged them down the road. Eric released a prolonged bloodcurdling scream that left Thabang fearing he had become deaf. The van stopped. Thabang feared it was going to explode. He had heard of cars explode as soon as they got involved in an accident. Suddenly there was quiet. No screaming came from Eric. Thabang looked over at him. He lay limply against the steering wheel, his eyes glazy.
The Other Four Page 16