The Other Four

by Nsununguli Mbo

  “I don’t think we will find this guy,” Thabang said.

  “Mothusi, talk to your source. Find out where this guy is,” Dumani said.

  Mothusi took out his phone and looked at it, then said, “He hasn’t called.”

  “Who?” Thabang said.

  “My source.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why don’t you call him?”

  Mothusi fidgeted, sought some privacy and got on the phone. He came back to join Dumani and Thabang and said, “He is not answering.”

  “Keep trying,” Dumani said.

  I tried my father’s phone again. This time it rang and rang until it went into voicemail. I tried again with the same result. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t answering. Did he even know mother was right now seriously ill in hospital? I was frustrated.

  “Whereabouts in Hillside are you going?” the taxi driver said.

  “Drop me off at Choppies.”

  “Okay.”

  I tried my father’s phone for a third time. This time it went straight into voicemail. I suddenly got worried, about my father’s life. He could be in danger. The people who were after me could have successfully kidnapped him and did God knew what to him. I panicked. I had to talk to somebody. And there were only a limited number of people I could talk to right now. I rang Modiri. His phone went into voicemail. I fidgeted. I was annoyed with the loud volume of the taxi radio.

  “Do you mind reducing the voice a little? I’m trying to make some calls,” I snapped.

  The taxi driver chose to ignore me. I tried Modiri’s number again. This time it rang three times before he answered.

  “Hello!” he said.

  “Hello Modiri. Are you home?”

  “No. I’m still at work. Where are you? Do you know you’re risking yourself? You’ll get me in trouble. I thought the agreement was that you’ll stay at home and not leave the house until we’ve worked out a plan of how we are going to handle this.”

  “A lot is going on right now.” I updated him. I told him about my aunt, about Vusa, about the cops, and about the arrest of the three goons who were after me. I gave him directions to Vusa’s house, just in case.

  “So where are you right now?” he asked.

  “I’m on my way to Hillside.”

  There was a period of silence. I could tell he was digesting my words, displeased that I was taking risks. But what choice had I? I had no one else to turn to. I feared the cops might close in on me soon. In my quest save my family and I, I’d become careless and very soon somebody was going to recognise me. But when you’re in a situation of life and death, you don’t think very well. You only think about saving yourself and family. And that’s exactly what I had been doing.

  “Ngano, why are you taking all these risks? If this guy Vusa is indeed after your life, what do you think he’d do to you if you rocked up at his house, alone?”

  I had thought of that but I had no answer. I wasn’t thinking with my brain. My anger and frustration were doing the thinking for me. I was aware I was treading on dangerous terrain.

  “What choice have I?”

  “So what are you going to do when you find him?”

  “That’s why I rang you. I need you to come with me if you can. If you can’t, I will give you a buzz as soon as I get to the house. Just keep listening. I’ll not say anything. If you get the impression that I’m in trouble from the background conversation, call the cops.”

  Modiri was silent for a while before saying, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Just don’t do anything that would get me in trouble. Did you see the newspaper?”

  “Yes, I did. You of all people should know that the information on that article is false. One of the guys that’s after me is the murderer, like I told you. I saw him kill that woman. Like I said, he lied and told everyone that I was the killer, that he was the witness. But I’ll not let him get away with this.”

  “So where are you right now exactly, so at least I could know where to send the cops to if I sense you’re in danger?”

  “Near Choppies. There is a yellow house just behind Choppies. It has a tuck-shop at the front. Apparently that’s where Vusa lives.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I will be.”

  We rang off.

  The three were not talking on the taxi. Mothusi liked the fact that he had the necessary information. He had finally got through to his source. That gave him the upper hand and made him the boss. He could call off the deal if he wanted to, it was up to him.

  The taxi dropped them off at Choppies as requested. They filed out.

  “Where to from here?” said Dumani.

  “Follow me.” Mothusi liked being leader. Don’t

  give away all the information. That way you keep the leadership position. He led them in the direction of the yellow house. He had a plan in his head. He didn’t know who’d answer the door, didn’t even know how many people would be in the house. He led them right up to the door of the yellow house. He knocked while Thabang and Dumani flanked him like the idiots they were. They just stood there, panting like dogs. Mr Bell Bottoms seemed to be missing more teeth than he did the last time I beat him up. He was not a pleasant sight at all, what with the concoction of odours coming off him.

  There was no answer. Mothusi knocked harder. He heard something falling from inside the house. Then a baby started to wail. A woman reprimanded it. Mothusi was tensing. So were Thabang and Dumani, he could tell.

  The door opened. A shirtless man with an angry expression on his face stood in the doorway.

  “We are looking for someone,” said Mothusi.

  “So why are you telling me?” said the shirtless man.

  “We suspect he may have come here.”

  “There is no one here other than me, my wife and my daughter.”

  “We suspect the person may be your friend.”

  “What’s his name?”

  They all looked at each other. None of them knew.

  “We’re not sure…” Mothusi said, but Dumani had something else to say. He stepped forward and took charge.

  “We are cops. This man we’re looking for is a highly dangerous individual.”

  Mothusi noticed the man suddenly tense up.

  Good job, Dumani.

  “He is not here. Like I said, it’s just my wife, my daughter and me here. Out of interest, why do you think he may be here?”

  “Because we believe he is your friend.”

  “My friend? What’s his name?”

  Mothusi realised the dumb criminals he was with didn’t know his name. Jesus Christ, didn’t Dumani’s source reveal the victim’s name? What kind of source was that?

  Mothusi said, “Ngano is his name,” he said.

  Both Thabang and Dumani looked at him with surprise written on their faces.

  Something happened on the shirtless man’s face, Mothusi couldn’t place what it was. The angry scowl intensified maybe?

  Whatever it was, it could only mean one thing: that this shirtless man knew Ngano. And that could mean Ngano was here and the shirtless man was hiding him.

  “I don’t know him.”

  Mothusi sighed and said as authoritatively as he could pretend, “Mister, we want to warn you right now that if you know where he is, you can get yourself in real trouble for obstructing justice. This man has murdered people. He is dangerous. He is a serial killer. We will ask you one more time: do you know where he is?”

  The shirtless man shook his head and said in a suddenly soft voice unbefitting of his frame, “No, I don’t.”

  I didn’t know where I was, but the taxi man did. He found Choppies and dropped me off. I looked around to make sure those goons were not in the vicinity. I felt like yoghurt.

  I went into Choppies and got myself one. I gulped it down as I looked for the yellow house. But then something caught my attention. My picture was right on the front page of the Daily News. It was a poor qu
ality passport-size photo. I was young back then, but people would still recognize me. I suddenly felt exposed, like the world — which was against me — was staring at me, like I could be arrested any time.

  I looked around warily. Each time my eyes fell upon someone with a cell phone to their ear my heart skipped a beat. They could be on the phone to the Police reporting a sighting of the serial killer. I paid for a copy and walked away quickly. I stood behind Choppies and read the story.

  Tsebeyatonki man wanted for murder Ngano, a man from Tsebeyatonki, who is wanted in connection with the murder of a woman suspected to be his wife, is suspected to have fled to Lentsweng. According to sources, he had threatened to kill his wife a month ago.

  Superintendent Carlos of Lentsweng Police Station says they believe they will get him. A manhunt has been set up and border control has tightened up.

  “We believe the suspect may be mentally unstable,” said Superintendent Carlos. “We have already received several reports of sightings here in Lentsweng and we are working on some leads. We urge the public to avoid confronting the suspect as he is believed to be dangerous and unpredictable. Anyone who sees him should call the Police immediately.”

  The original reward of twenty-five thousand pula had been increased to fifty-thousand pula.

  How did the cops know I was here? Could the three goons have told them? Unlikely. Criminals — or, more appropriately, ritual killers — don’t give away such information to the Police. I looked around, feeling like the world was collapsing in on me.

  People are on cell phones all over. People looking at me stealthily. Calling the cops. Telling the cops that the suspect was here. I didn’t see any reason to try and be careful anymore. I was sure I had been seen and identified. So the first thought that came into my mind was that I needed to run.

  Adrenaline coursing through me, I trotted across the nearby road. I pulled my cap further down my forehead although I knew it was probably too late. I was now prepared to take risks. If the cops had been called to come and arrest me, I wasn’t going alone. I was taking Vusa with me.

  The yellow house was now in view. Actually, I saw two yellow houses separated by an unpainted house. But I didn’t have difficulty identifying the one I was looking for, because the three bastards that had been chasing me all over where there, talking to a man who, even from this distance, I identified as Vusa. This confirmed that Vusa was working with them. He was the leader of the crew, the employer of the three bastards. He was probably giving them instructions, and possibly my whereabouts? How did they keep finding me?

  But where were they getting information about my whereabouts? They’re pros, they’re tracking you. There is no way you’re getting away from this one. Just give yourself up.

  But I wasn’t going to give myself up, whether to the cops or to the goons. No way.

  I was starting to wonder if this whole thing was way deeper than I had thought, that maybe I was being spied on. Could I’ve done something that ticked off the DIS and now they were after my life? That was the only way to explain why the goons that kept on finding me with ease. A motley of unpleasant emotions whirled inside me. I had to control myself if I wanted to embark on the right course of action. Little did I know. I was just about calming down when my phone rang. This call would drive my unpleasant emotions to the roof.

  Dumani was thinking that the shirtless man was most likely involved. A good idea would be to capture him and force him to tell them where Ngano was. But you don’t do such things in town. Somebody may see and get you arrested.

  “Are you sure you don’t know where he is?” said Dumani.

  The shirtless man shook his head again. “Do you know him?”

  “No. Never heard of him.” Dumani knew that this

  was a lie. He wasn’t a cop or anything, but he could tell when someone was lying. It was in the way the shirtless man had reacted when Mothusi had mentioned Ngano’s name.

  This reminded Dumani of one thing: how the hell did Mothusi know the guy’s name? He’d said the first time he had a talk with him that he too, just like Dumani and Thabang, didn’t know what the victim’s name was. And now he knew his name.

  And it seemed like it was the right name, because the shirtless man had flinched when the name was mentioned. Dumani wondered which side Mothusi was on.

  Could he be really an undercover cop? Was he being given information by other cops? At the same time he had a feeling Mothusi and the shirtless guy knew each other. There was just something about the way they were talking to each other, like they were playing for the crowd, acting for Dumani and Thabang, to fool Dumani and Thabang into thinking that they didn’t know each other. But then he didn’t trust Thabang either. He didn’t trust anyone. He had been dumb in the first place to have trusted Thabang. He shouldn’t have. He should just have done the deal on his own, but Damon had insisted on having a partner.

  “These sorts of things can be dangerous, especially when you do them alone,” Damon had said. Which was why Dumani had felt compelled to find a partner, so he’d found Thabang.

  I’d grown to hate anonymous calls. My first thought was that I shouldn’t answer. But then I remembered the last anonymous call had been from my wife. And she’d been in danger.

  “Hello,” I answered. My mouth suddenly went dry.

  There was some silence. I could hear breathing in the background.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Still no answer. I had a look at the phone screen to make sure the caller hadn’t disconnected. I was still connected.

  I was about to hang up when I heard some sniffling.

  “Who is this?” I said.

  “Margaret.”

  “Honey, where are you?”

  “We’re in danger. The men who kidnapped us say they’ll do something really bad to me and the children if you don’t turn yourself in. They say there are two men looking for you and you have to let them take you if you want us to live.” She sniffled. I felt like hurling the phone against the wall. The anger was having a field day. I looked over at where the men she was talking about where. They’d finished with Vusa — probably taking instructions from the master himself — and were now walking away from the house.

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know. They blindfolded us when they brought us here. They left earlier and one of them forgot his cell phone. Oh, they’re here.” She was suddenly all panicky. I could hear some noise in the background, then an angry male voice, followed by hers as she explained something, and then the sound of someone getting slapped. My wife cried. I, too, cried when the phone suddenly went dead.

  Give myself up. Let the two men take me. But there were three of them, not two. Two or three, it didn’t matter. What mattered was, I let them capture him, then what? My family gets released from captivity, but what about me? What will these men do once they captured me? Then I thought of my mother. I needed to check on her. Maybe she could shed some light on what was happening?

  At least there were no Police sirens. I must have over-reacted. Nothing but a little bit of paranoia, that’s what it was.

  The three men were walking towards Choppies. At least they hadn’t seen me. I walked slowly, then faster, away from Choppies. I reached the main road and hailed a passing taxi. I boarded and told the driver I was in a hurry. Hurry to where? I hadn’t decided where I was going next.

  Going to check on my mother could present several problems, the main one being that my potential captors would find me. They had found me at the hospital before and they would find me again a second time. I couldn’t think of anyone I could ask to go and check on my mother and give me feedback on how she was doing. My father’s phone was once again going to voicemail. Modiri was the only other option. I rang him. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hello!” he said.

  “Modiri, you won’t believe this. I think I’m being set up. I went to the house of the man I told you about. And guess who…”

  Then I remembered
I shouldn’t be talking about such things on a taxi. The taxi man didn’t look like a dumb type. He was listening to my conversation with keen interest. Next thing he’d add two and two together, call the cops — or even deliver me directly there if he had the guts — and collect his fifty thousand pula.

  “Are you still there?” said Modiri.

  “I’ll call you later,” I said and hung up.

  He called back almost immediately and I hung up without answering.

  “Where to?” said the taxi man.

  Hospital? Home? Tsebeyatonki? I needed to find my wife.

  The men who kidnapped us say they’ll do something really bad to me and the children if you don’t turn yourself in.

  Turn yourself in.

  How could I? I needed to find a way of finding where they were being kept. That way I could simply give the location to the cops and they’d take it from there. The truth would come tumbling out thereafter.

  My only hope rested with Vusa. But now I was afraid of confronting him on my own. I needed backup. And right now my options were limited.

  “Sir? Where to?”

  “Riverside.”

  It was getting late anyway. The sun had reached home. Besides, I needed rest even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest. I needed to talk to Modiri.

  As soon as the taxi dropped me off at Modiri’s house, I rang him. He answered on the second ring.

  “What’s going on?” he said.

  “I don’t know. Everything is just falling apart. I found Vusa’s house, but there were already three people there. The very same ones that are after my life.” I told him about how I now strongly believed Vusa was involved.

  “Sounds like he is involved,” he concurred.

  There was a moment of silence.

  I broke the silence and said, “I really need your help, Modiri. How long will you be before you get home?”

  “I’m just finishing work now. I should be home in the next thirty minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

  We hung up.

  Thabang was still thinking about that little doctor down at the hospital. Her body was soft, unlike his wife’s. Her hands were soft. His wife’s felt like his: that is, like sandpaper.