The Other Four

by Nsununguli Mbo

  “Eric!” Thabang said, shaking Eric at the same time. But Eric was limp. And dead.

  Thabang started to cry. He weighed his options. Eric wasn’t really a friend. He was a business partner. This reminded Thabang that he had some business to do. He tried the door. It opened. He stumbled out of the van. There was the smell of burning rubber in the air. A crowd had gathered, gawking at the accident.

  They pointed at him as he walked away from the van. They probably thought he was a ghost. Ghost or not, he was determined to finish off the deal.

  He was determined to get rich. There was no way he was going to let wealth slip out of his hands just like that. He was looking at the target the man in the wig, standing right there, transfixed like he had just seen a ghost.

  Thabang thought it would be better to deal with the target before he could deal with Eric. Besides, Eric was dead, so he could wait.

  Thabang locked eyes with the man in the wig. The man in the wig took off while desperately waving at passing taxis at the same time. Thabang ignored the bodily pain he was in and ran after the man in the wig. Too late. A taxi stopped and the man in the wig hopped in. Thabang cursed and stopped running.

  Dumani told himself that his prayers had been answered when the accident occurred. He had silently prayed that Thabang be punished for betraying him. He had wished the guy the worst. He had never believed in God, but now he was inclined to. Just as suddenly he realised he was wrong: his prayers hadn’t really been answered, because Thabang was still alive. The bastard seemed not even to have minor injuries. Dumani was a little disappointed. He could finish off what the car accident had failed to accomplish, but not right here in public in front of this whole crowd. Thabang was trotting across the road. He had a minor limp. It would have been nice if a fast-moving car had ploughed into him. That way, Dumani’s prayers would be fully answered.

  Dumani cursed when he saw the man in the wig hop into a taxi. Everything happened all at once. His wealth was fading away before his eyes before he had had a chance to own it. He memorised the plate number but forgot it just as soon. His memory had never been good. Even back when he was in school sometimes he would even forget how to spell his own name. He silently cursed his primary school teachers, they should have been patient with him. That way his memory might eventually have improved. He couldn’t even memorise a goddamn plate number!

  “Are those not your friends?” said Mothusi, pointing towards the white van.

  “Not anymore. Did you see the plate number?” “What plate number?”

  “Of the taxi.”

  “What taxi?”

  “You fool! The guy in the wig has just boarded a taxi. Where the hell were you looking?”

  “I was distracted by the accident. Which direction did the taxi go?”

  Dumani clucked his tongue in annoyance and resisted with difficulty the temptation to give Mothusi a good whack that would remind him why they were here exactly. He hated dumb people. That’s why he always avoided them at all costs, except right now he had no choice. He was stuck with one, or two, if you counted Thabang — or three, if you counted Eric. Stupid bastards.

  Dumani walked fast across the road.

  “Thabang!” he shouted.

  The ugly bastard seemed not to hear him. He stood by the roadside, staring in the direction the taxi had disappeared, scratching his crotch. A crowd was gathering around him, watching him curiously. They must have thought he was a ghost. He could be one, who knew. The way the accident had happened, there was no way he could have come out alive. But there he was, scratching his fuckin crotch. Dead people can’t scratch their crotches.

  “Thabang!”

  The fool still couldn’t hear him. Two or three people looked at Dumani when they heard him yell the fellow’s name. He ignored them and walked faster across the road, towards Thabang. He wasn’t really sure why he was calling him. Maybe he wanted to have a little talk with him, or finish him off, he just wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that…

  “Thabang!”

  Thabang turned and visibly swung into panic mode when he recognized Dumani. He looked around and took to his feet, heading right into the hospital at a speed Dumani had never thought the ugly fool was capable of.

  Mothusi caught up with Dumani and said, “What’s going on?”

  Dumani ignored him. Anger was having the best of him. It toured through his body, curled around his hands, forcing them into tight fists. He wanted to punch someone, or something like Mothusi. He couldn’t decide whether to go after Thabang or the taxi that had collected the guy in the wig.

  “Where would you like to go?” asked the taxi driver. He was a young sort, probably from up north — Maun probably — judging from his Setswana accent.

  “Um…Nokeng,” I said. But was it safe to go there? The fact that the ritual killers that were after me found out I was in town could mean that they also knew where I lived, which meant trouble. It still escaped me how they’d managed to locate me, and this scared me. It proved that somebody seriously wanted me dead, and that somebody wasn’t going to let things go. Whoever the person was, they were going to hunt me down until they found me.

  I congratulated myself for not having given in to the temptation of telling the nurse up in ICU about what was going on in my life because she could very well be involved. I could just be paranoid, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

  I now strongly believed this was a huge setup. But why me and my family?

  I was a nonentity who lived in a small village that only recently managed to edge itself onto the map. Why would someone be after me and my family? What had we done to deserve this?

  I tried to remember if I had ever wronged anyone. I once had a fight with a guy named Zakes over a girl. But that was maybe ten years ago. Plus, my relationship with the girl didn’t last long. Plus, from what I was told, Zakes ended up with the girl after we broke up anyway, so nothing there to get me killed over.

  Then there was one time when I reported a bully teacher to the headmaster for physically abusing me. The headmaster called him to his office and reprimanded him. He stopped bullying me and my grades improved. That, too, was many years ago. I don’t think the teacher would have kept a grudge against me over that. Unless…

  Something hit my memory. How could I have forgotten? Back in 2006. I was working for Molapo Motors at the time with a guy named Vusa. Vusa hated me. And I hated him too. We were always competing with each other. We were both eyeing a promotion. We kissed ass, reported each other to our white boss over little things. But neither of us ever got promoted.

  Then one day I found Vusa stealing some car parts from the company. He was loading them into a little rucksack he always carried his lunch in. I reported him straight away.

  He hadn’t seen me when I saw him, and by the time he looked up, holding a brand new car bulb that he was about to throw into the rucksack, I was standing right there with the boss, smiling triumphantly.

  He got fired on the spot and the boss made it clear that he may take him to court. As he left work that day, Vusa gave me a contemptuous look.

  I returned the look, except mine was packed with triumph. I had won, although I still never got promoted. When I finished work that day, I was walking towards the bus stop when I found Vusa waiting behind a little shop. He looked murderous. My heart started pounding hard when I saw him, because I knew he could assault me. He walked up to me casually and said, “You won, eh?”

  I said, “I didn’t. I was never in competition with you.”

  He chortled sarcastically and said, “Look man, I don’t think there was any need to report me. Most of the employees do exactly what I was doing. You know as much as we all do that our employer doesn’t pay us very well, so that’s why we had to find a way of paying ourselves.” He had reeled off the names of the other employees who were stealing, encouraging me to report them too. I told him I wasn’t interested. I walked away. He ran up to me and blocked my path, and said, “You’ll pay dearly
for this. I was headed for wealth. I had intended to start my own company down the line with the stuff I was taking. But you ruined it for me. You took away from me something you can never give back. You fucked up my life.” He started crying. “But I’ll recover the wealth you took away from me,” he continued. “I’ll do everything in my power to. And I’ve a lot of power. More than you can imagine. My uncle is a powerful traditional doctor.” He had then walked away, leaving me confused by his threats.

  That was five years ago. And what I had done to Vusa was reason enough for him to hold a longlasting grudge against me. I had to find him before he found me, or before he got me killed.

  “What happened to your teeth?” asked the young doctor as she examined Thabang. He had walked into the Accident & Emergency Department and told the nurses that he had just been involved in a car accident and was in a lot of pain and that his memory had become impaired. His memory was impaired of course, but this had nothing to do with the accident. He was just trying to avoid Dumani, that’s all.

  He knew the guy wouldn’t be dumb enough to come in here and do him harm. The nurse had checked him out and called the doctor to come and have a look at him, make sure he was fine. And now she was asking about his teeth. He wanted to respond, “It’s none of your business,” but she was too beautiful to talk to that way. Just the kind of woman he would be able to afford once he got hold of the promised wealth. It pained him though to think that he may never have that chance. He shouldn’t have betrayed Dumani.

  It was going to be hard to complete the deal without him. Then he thought of Eric. A wave of melancholy swept over him at the thought of what Eric had looked like the last time he saw him. Eric had been his last hope. And he had lost the guy in the wig. He shouldn’t have betrayed Dumani, really. Dumani would have information as to where the guy in the wig could be headed. Five more days before the deadline and already an attempt had been made on Thabang’s life: a precursor to the curse that was the promised “worst turn” if the deadline arrived before they could get the guy in the wig. Tears stung his eyes.

  “Are you alright sir?” said the caring doctor as she checked Thabang’s blood pressure. This was the third time she was checking it. He had a feeling she had a thing for him. He had heard of beautiful successful women who have a thing for ugly unsuccessful guys. What do they call it? Fetish?

  “I lost my friend in that car accident,” he said and sniffled.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that. Your blood pressure is a little bit low. Could be due to shock.”

  Thabang knew why his blood pressure was low. It was because he was angry, frustrated and horny. This thing about shock was just to get Thabang talking. If he could get to marry this doctor, he would turn into a very caring gigolo, do everything she wanted and forget about crime.

  “Okay.”

  “We are going to keep you here for a little while for observation.”

  He was tempted to ask her if it would be possible for her to be the one doing the observation in a nice little room where there was just the two of them. That way he would get to know her, and possibly let her kiss him. He wondered if she would kiss him with all those missing teeth. He had to get them fixed sooner than later, down the line, once he got to know the doctor because he was sure she would know a teeth doctor.

  “Okay.”

  “Just wait here while I organize a bed for you.”

  “Okay.”

  She drew the curtains and walked out. Thabang really hoped that she was genuinely interested. Hell, he might even consider going back to school if she became his. He might even study to be a doctor too and down the line they could open their own hospital.

  The curtains were drawn apart. She was back. Thabang looked up and tried his best smile under the circumstances. But it wasn’t her standing in front of him. It was Dumani, together with his tobacco smell and an annoying grin.

  “How are you Thabang?” Dumani said.

  Thabang was about to say “fuck off” when he saw the ambulance guys come rushing in, wheeling in what Thabang was sure was Eric’s body on a little bed of some sort. He still couldn’t believe the guy was dead. Maybe he did the wrong thing by inviting the guy into the deal. Dumani may have been right when he said Damon meant for the deal to be completed by just the two of them. Anyone else who joins dies. That’s what must have happened, Thabang was sure.

  “That was Eric, wasn’t it?” he said.

  “Which?”

  “The dead guy that just came in.”

  “I don’t care about dead people. Nor do I care about you, because you’re dead.”

  Thabang started crying.

  It had been nothing but empty talk. Dumani had only wanted to scare Thabang, but the ugly bastard took him seriously and, amidst the bawling, raised alarm.

  “Please, help me!” he yelled.

  “Lower your voice,” Dumani whispered. “I was only joking.” But it was too late. Three bulky security guards barged in. One of them said, “Everything okay?”

  “He is threatening to kill me,” said Thabang, pointing at Dumani.

  Dumani did really want to kill the bastard now. He had only been trying to scare him so he wouldn’t think of deserting him in times of need in the future, but now this. The security guards looked at Dumani and the one who had spoken earlier said, “Is that true?”

  Dumani attempted his best faux smile and said, “No. He is my friend. Sometimes he gets a little paranoid. He just had a car accident and his brain is a little shaken right now.”

  “You’re not my friend!”

  “Come on Thabang.”

  Dumani searched the back pocket of his pants and retrieved a wallet. He showed it to the security guards and said, “I just came here to give him his wallet. He forgot it with me.” He flipped it open to reveal a poor quality passport photo of Thabang, back when he had all his teeth.

  “Dumani, where did you get my wallet?”

  “You gave it to me to carry for you when you changed clothes the other time, remember?”

  The security guys shook their heads and left.

  “I

  just remembered. I’ve to meet a friend in Blue City,” I said to the taxi driver. Vusa used to live in Blue City.

  “Sure boss,” the taxi driver said and swung the taxi into a U-turn that elicited all sorts of insults from irate drivers. He peered into the rear-view mirror, laughed and said, “Whereabouts boss?” while lowering the volume of the radio at the same time. DJ Sly of Radio Botswana 2 was on. I’m a big fan of him, but on that day I wasn’t interested.

  “Near the shops,” I said.

  “Sure boss.” He turned the volume back up and laughed away as DJ Sly talked, laughed and banged on the studio desk as he did.

  The problem was, I didn’t know whether the house in Blue City belonged to him or Vusa was just renting it. If he was renting, then there was the possibility he could long since have moved. But it was well worth checking out. I saw his house once after we shared a taxi and he was dropped off first. We were not exactly enemies at the time.

  Lentsweng had changed a lot, but I was hoping I’d be able to find my bearings. I wasn’t intending to confront him if I found him. I would make it look like I had bumped into him by mistake. Then I’d ring Modiri to help me confront him.

  The taxi wound its way around roads I wasn’t familiar with. Where there used to be a gravel road was now a tarred one.

  We reached the shops. They, too, had changed. Where there used to be a little grocery shop was now a large Chinese shop which, according to the gregarious taxi driver, sold everything.

  “Drop me off here,” I said.

  The taxi veered off the road and stopped in front of the Chinese shop.

  “Ten pula,” said the taxi driver without bothering to reduce the volume of the radio. DJ Sly was now playing a tune that was driving the taxi driver crazy. He bobbed his head back and forth in tune to it.

  I paid and wandered into the Chinese shop. As I entered the shop,
I saw a reflection of myself on the window. The wig made me look like a criminal. The people that were after me now knew what I looked like with the wig on. They most likely knew where I lived and what I was wearing today. Time for a change. I tried on and bought a pair of cheap baggy jeans, an oversized fake basketball jersey and a cap. I paid and changed into these in the fitting room. I headed off. The Chinese man manning the till promised to “donate” my clothes to charity. I knew he had other ideas but I didn’t care. I walked casually in the direction of the area where Vusa used to stay, peak of the cap pulled over my eyes. It would take a lot to recognize me, I reckoned.

  Where there used to be a row of similar houses was now a row of very dissimilar houses of varying beauty. I remembered Vusa used to live down by the corner, near the NO ENTRY sign. There was only one way I could find out if he still lived there: go knock on the door. But this was fraught with risks. I could be making things easy for him by doing so. He could simply drag me into the house and do whatever he wanted to me. I was starting to have doubts about everything: about being here; about my suspicions of Vusa being the one after my life. Vusa was a town guy who probably had never been to a village. How would he have known which village I came from? I was sure I never told him. But then he could be working for some government agency where he had access to people’s whereabouts. With the advent of computers, anything was possible.

  I had reached the NO ENTRY sign. I walked up to the house by the corner, stood there and listened. I could hear DJ Sly blaring away from inside the house. This meant there must be someone home. And that someone could very well be Vusa, who could very well be after my life.

  I stood by the sign and rung Modiri to let him know where I was, just in case. He warned me to be careful. I told him to call the cops if he didn’t hear from me in an hour.

  An old man from next door was eyeing me suspiciously. I waved at him casually, but he ignored me. I knocked on the door tentatively. No response. I knocked again, harder this time. The volume of the radio went down but no footsteps were approaching the door. I knocked again. This time I heard footsteps approaching, getting closer to the door. I tensed up and made my hands into fists. I’d ram them into Vusa’s face if he tried anything. If it was him, that is. The door handle turned. I held my breath. The door opened and I froze in shock, because I knew the person that was standing in front of me. And it wasn’t Vusa.