I SHALL FIND YOU

by Ony Bond

  Godfree felt relieved he had not yet given David that villain’s address. Suppose that pregnant woman was Moto’s wife? Did he want to help put Moto permanently in a wheelchair? Cause a child grow up seeing its dad as a cripple. But why should he care? How many people had that sadist murdered?

  Godfree had kept in touch with David, the doctor who had found him on the side of the road where Moto had discarded him. The latter had trained as a surgeon in England. His deceased uncle, a prominent opposition party member had died at Moto’s hands. David had paid Godfree’s medical treatment and his plane ticket.

  Moto was alive and living close to him. Seeing him again had triggered those nightmares again. He would never be safe knowing that man was around and could hurt him again. What was Moto planning now? Perhaps he had recognized him. A cunning rat like him could be coming for him to get rid of him once and for all.

  The doorbell rang. He opened the door and stared.

  Moto stood outside.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Good evening, Mr Muti. May I speak with you alone?”

  Godfree found his voice. “What do you want?”

  “I don’t mean you any harm and won’t take much of your time. May I come in?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Please, I need to talk to you.”

  Godfree let him enter and closed the door.

  “Thank you.”

  “What do you want?”

  It was hard to keep his hands still when all he wanted was to put them around that neck and strangle this man.

  “I recognized you when we met on Friday night at the takeaway. You followed me to my place and to work. I came to ask your forgiveness for hurting you.”

  “Take a seat.”

  “Thank you.”

  Moto said he sought asylum in this country. After leaving the ruling party and his job, he joined the opposition and became a whistle-blower. It was true he was once a member of the dreaded Secret Police; a hit squad that bore allegiance to the president. They targeted and tortured opposition party activists. He was not proud of his past. And then he killed an innocent relative. In remorse he left the job realized what he was - part of a killing machine. He joined the opposition party, and gave a list of targeted members of the opposition, and those abducted and killed. The information was genuine. His colleagues knew who had betrayed them. Moto knew too much. His life was in danger. That was how he escaped, landed in England, sought asylum and changed his name. He was sorry.

  Godfree pointed at him. “You butchered people, left their wives widows and their children fatherless. Do you remember the rally where you arrived with your thugs and the people you killed? You tortured me and my friend Aaron and murdered him. He helped his family, widowed mother, brothers and sisters. You took his life.”

  Moto looked at the floor, said ever since that man’s death he sought forgiveness from those he wronged. He wanted to help Aaron’s mother, ask forgiveness and send money. He went to church now. Was the mother alive?

  “That won’t bring Aaron back. You think cash will lessen her pain and that of the rest of the family? If they know where you are they will come looking for you to avenge Aaron. Infact I shall give everyone your address.”

  “I know her pain, have a pregnant wife and understand about losing my own child. Forgive me, Mister Muti. I was a different man then.”

  “Different?” His eyes were wet with tears. “All I see and remember is a man that loved killing.” He turned, removed his shirt, glanced over his shoulder. “Look at my back, Comrade Moto. You like what you see? I was found by a surgeon in the bushes where you left me. Did you know I was in hospital for months?”

  Moto looked sick. His voice was a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

  “When the men you killed begged for their lives, did you ever listen? You crushed Aaron’s head with that hammer. You’re a butcher. Get out of my house before I pick the phone and call Aaron’s brothers to alert them where you live. I’ve since driven past your house and watched you and your wife, thought of setting fire to your place. Out!”

  Moto was at the door when an arm grabbed and dragged him back.

  “Let me go. Please.”

  Godfree shook his head, grabbed his lapels and hoisted the shivering man to his feet.

  “Please let me go.”

  “No, comrade. I’ve dreamt of you, had nightmares. You need to feel the pain too and pay for the blood you shed. You have two choices. To sit on a red-hot stove, or I cut your throat.”

  He pulled him towards the kitchen.

  The man’s teeth chattered. “No.”

  “Pick one now!” he yelled.

  He dumped him on the floor, pulled out a drawer and grabbed the bread-knife. Moto screamed, leapt to his feet and sprinted to the door, flung it open and was through in a flash. Godfree stood knife in hand as Moto jumped in the vehicle and sped off with a squeal of tyres and a strong smell of burning rubber. James’s car parked close.

  “Godfree, you ok? What’s up, mate? Who was that man who ran out? What’s that knife for?”

  James stepped into the house, alarm on his face. Godfree headed for the kitchen and put away the knife.

  “Jamie, I almost killed that man.”

  James frowned. “Where did you get those horrible scars? Who’s that man who ran out?”

  Godfree picked his shirt from the floor and put it on. James’ face took a horrified look as the story unfolded.

  “You meant to barbecue him?”

  “Yes.”

  James laughed. He sat as the mirth continued and slapped Godfree on the back.

  “That’s it, my man! Wish I had arrived sooner. That animal deserves what you planned. He’s scum. You should have seen him run. In life you got to sort out the bullies, Godfree. Few people fight for you in this life. Most times a man’s bullied while society looks the other way. That beast Moto is nothing but a bully.” He squeezed Godfree’s arm. “My only regret is that you didn’t finish the job. I would have helped. Why did you let him escape?”

  “I couldn’t kill him.”

  “You had him in your house. I don’t understand you.” James shook his head. “That murderer should be killed. Pay for his crimes.”

  “Easy, mate. You brought Nandos chicken. Thanks. I was hungry.”

  “I know you love Nandos.”

  James usually dropped by, brought food and enjoy a game of chess. He had yet to beat Godfree though.

  “Jamie, you came at the right time. You’re a great guy.”

  James beamed. “Easy, man. We’re mates. It’s not that hard kill him. I’ll help. You can call him; say he should pay cash for what he did. Name a figure. Arrange to meet him somewhere. After handing you the money you stab him in the chest. Easy. Aim for the heart. Put the scum in a bag and dump the body in a lake.”

  “Stop this talk of murder, Jamie. Let’s just enjoy our food.”

  “That piece of dirt must pay for his crimes.”

  “Jamie, if you don’t shut up I’ll drag you to the stove.”

  “You just let a murderer walk free. Have another drumstick.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to tell you a boy’s story.”

  He spoke of the woman who ran off with a boyfriend, leaving a husband and a seven-year old son. The father worked long hours and dreamt of his son. His dreams involved getting him to university. The mother liked to party and brought men home whenever the dad was away. She constantly hit that boy. He watched his mother cheating on the marital bed. He hated his father for not protecting him from the prostitute. When she left the devastated father became a drunk. Prison was his next stop for drugs. And then he got killed over a fight in prison. Social services took the boy. In one of those foster homes he was sexually abused for years, and threatened with death, if he ever talked about it. Years later that boy succeeded, was talented with his hands, could fix electrical things.

  But there was still a score to pay.

  He never forgot. T
he abuser was older, liked drinking and sleeping around. One night the boy waited for him along the path, stepped from the bushes, punched him hard and dragged him into the bushes. Before he slit his throat he told him who he was. The man begged for forgiveness. The boy killed him. One slash across the throat did it. Police never caught that boy. He had just made his first kill.

  “You mean he killed again?” Godfree asked with a frown.

  “Sure.” James shrugged his shoulders. “He had to find his mother. She should pay too.”

  Godfree felt sick. “He killed his own mother?”

  “No, he never found her alive. A client killed her. So the boy found someone else to kill. He selected girls that resembled her. When the dead girl arrived in hell she would tell the mother her son hated her.”

  “That’s sick. Those girls hadn’t abused him.”

  “Someone had to die. That prostitute with her green eyes and long white hair caused it, was unfit to be a mother. Society let her get away with it. Neighbours were unconcerned and didn’t help the boy. None lifted a hand, left social services take him and dump him in a foster home. Life to him was just one horror to the next. Do you see why you can’t let that butcher get away? It’s your turn now. He needs to feel what it is to be tied to a table and tortured. Then he’ll know what pain is.”

  Godfree’s voice was firm. “Jamie, you didn’t kill a man and aren’t murdering girls now, are you?”

  “Me?” He looked pained. “You think the boy’s me?”

  “Is this story really fiction?”

  “We work together, have coffee at work. I bring take-aways here and we play chess. I thought we were friends. How can you even think I can be a murderer, Godfree?”

  “I’m sorry. For a moment you scared me. It’s the way you described that boy, like you felt his pain. You looked serious and were so convincing it was like those events really happened. You should have been a writer, not a sparkie.”

  James smiled. “Easy, mate. It’s just a story I read. If Frank and Rose know of your torture and those scars they would change their attitude towards you and accept you as a genuine refugee.”

  Godfree shook his head. “Don’t tell them. It wouldn’t change their attitude. I’m their enemy number one. You want them to know how you saw me without a shirt, how I brandished a knife and got close to barbecuing a man?”

  “Yeah. I plan to let Frank know you plan to slice him too if he doesn’t stop making fun of you and calling you names.”

  “If you tell them about Moto you shall be the one to get sliced, mate.”

  “It riles me when they treat you different. I’m getting tired of it. You have a right to be in this country too. You’re legit.”

  “Jamie, in life you must accept some people won’t like you.”

  Godfree liked James. He was one guy at the factory he got along with quiet well. James had that affable smile, had not grouped with people that tried to ostracize him. It was James who had told him why Frank and Rose could not stand refugees.

  But James’ story had shaken him. Was it fabricated? Could he be that boy? Three girls had gone missing in Stones. James was sure it would be right to kill Moto, had even offered to help. Had he captured those girls?

  Was he a killer?

  No. His problem must be an overdrive imagination. Or maybe just loved a story plot from a novel he had read or a movie. He wasn’t a killer. Period. How could a warm and generous guy like James be a murderer?

  But two things still bothered him.

  He was sure James meant it when he told him he should kill Moto, and even offered to help. How much did he know about James’ past? He recalled him mentioning once when they were looking at his family albums that Godfree was lucky to have a family. Why did he never speak about his own? What had happened to his parents? Was he that abused boy and was confessing to his friend why he had killed? Did he harbour a dreadful secret? Could there be something in his life he was ashamed of and hid under that smile? Had James just confessed to a horrible crime in his past?

  He refused to think the worst of James.

  The boy in James’ story had turned into a monster. Someone who believed he needed to murder because he hated his own mother. So he embarked on a killing spree. That made him evil. James was not like that.

  Had Moto told the truth about joining the opposition party? Godfree called a district opposition party leader in the country who confirmed Moto was indeed now opposition and had not lied. His list and inside information had been key in revealing government atrocities. No wonder why he was in hiding and had changed his name.

  Despite the new information Godfree had images of Aaron with a crushed head. Remembered the good times with his old friend. In a way he was grateful he had let Moto escape.

  At midnight David called. “Did I wake you, mufana?”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep. You won’t believe this. Moto paid me a visit.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Machines buzzed constantly. The smell of oil and metal heralded another day at the factory. When he met Rose she was alone. They both stopped.

  His voice was low. “Hello.”

  “Hi.”

  “Enjoying the work?”

  “It’s the usual. See you around.”

  “See you.”

  He walked away. Later as he got a coffee she arrived with her dad.

  “Good coffee,” Frank jeered. “Do you have good coffee like this back in the old country? We got it all here. Free housing, medical aid, even jobs for everyone. No wonder you people can’t stay away.”

  Rose spoke, “Let’s go, Dad. I just remembered the cookies I brought.”

  They left him sipping his coffee, grateful she had pulled her dad off. As he worked on a machine she stopped beside him, looking professional in a white dust-coat, holding a pencil and notebook, and acted like she was checking something on the machine.

  “Pretending to be busy?”

  “Yes. Like you.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Would like to talk to you but not here.”

  “Where then? The machine graveyard?”

  “No. Can I pass by your place this evening.”

  He stared at her. “My place?”

  “Yes. Got something to do in Stones. Need to ask you something, thought I’d pay you a visit if you’re home by five.”

  “Ok.”

  “What’s your address? Just tell me.”

  He told her. She repeated it.

  He nodded. “That’s it.”

  “Five then. Be home.”

  “Sure.”

  She moved to another machine.

  What did she want to ask him?

  He strolled back to the workshop a puzzled look on his face, and was working on an electric motor when he saw James and Rose at the vending machines having coffee. When they parted James strolled towards him.

  “I told Rose of the scars on your back.”

  “You shouldn’t have. Does her dad know too?”

  James didn’t deny telling Frank. Said he had mentioned Godfree’s scars, but nothing about Moto living in Stones and coming to the house. He couldn’t let both father and daughter know that torturer was in the country. They were already mad enough about too many refugees around. James only said he had seen the scars that proved Godfree had been tortured.

  “They need to start seeing you different.”

  “I don’t think scars matter to Frank.”

  “Rose seemed concerned. Hope she’ll treat you better now. Not all English people are racists. You’re not a second-class citizen. I’m your pal.”

  “I know. Does she have a boyfriend yet?”

  James replied. She had dumped her ex who had an engineering doctorate too. When she caught him with her friend she ended the affair. James was giving her time to recover. Godfree sensed there was more to it. That he wanted Rose, but carried a complex. Maybe it had to do with his lack of a degree where she had several.

  “I asked her last week if she was r
eady for another boyfriend. She told me she isn’t yet, can’t trust men any longer. Just needs time to heal. Were you thinking of giving her a go yourself?”

  “You joking?” Godfree cocked his eyebrows. “Who said I’m interested? What about you?”

  “You saying she isn’t attractive enough?”

  “Do you see me and her together? We’re as compatible as oil and water. What’s stopping you?”

  “She’s no different from the rest. Reminds me of a python waiting to snare an unsuspecting animal. Her type’s unfaithful. I can give you the names of more than seven guys that’s tried her. Those fitters Alec and Ross are among the poor losers. It’s sickening how men drool over her. I know a woman who looked just like her but was cruel and evil.”

  “Rose sleeps around?”

  “No, she just likes rejecting men. Did you know she was offered a chance while at university to be photographed topless by a famous magazine?”

  “She does modelling?”

  “No. She refused. No way she would take off her clothes for money and have her family see that. And she could have made a killing too. It’s amazing the money these topless bimbos make by displaying their bodies. Crazy world just how showing dirty old men your pictures can you get rich.”

  “She sounds decent. But despite that you still don’t trust her. Why? You believe only pretty girls are cheats?”

  “Can’t ever trust blondes.”

  “Why stereotype them? What have they done? One must have hurt you in the past.”

  “I knew this boy with a prostitute of a mother. He was my classmate. It hurt him bad. See why it’s hard to trust that pretty type? They use their looks and bodies. That husband failed to stand up to her. He should have pulled her by the hair and smacked her. But what did that pathetic wimp do? Worked long hours to support a loose girl and give her space to sleep with other men in the house. It’s strange how Rose looks just like that woman. They could even be sisters.”

  “I understand now why you don’t like her. Her fault’s resembling that woman in your story. Or is there more to your dislike? Are you challenged by her education, confidence and the money she earns?”