The Toyota’s trunk now contained two heavy boxes of books. And Brinsley had actually parted with C.L.R. James’ book about cricket. Unbelievable. His only copy.
An incoming text chimed. Moses pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Are you heading this way?”
“Yes!” he wrote back.
The next text was right on its heels. “What should we do?”
“Sex!” he typed, his eyes darting from the screen to the road.
He swerved into the oncoming lane as he typed. So what. The street was always empty around noon.
Moses rolled down the passenger window.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the DJ shouted. “This is the hottest February in years. And today’s the hottest day in the hottest February in years. I’m about to crawl into an ice bath. Call and tell me how you’re fighting the heat in the Eastern Cape.”
The station cut out, and when it came back, the music had switched to R&B. To the mall to buy prosecco. Then home to change out of these dirty clothes, shower, put on something nice but easy to take right back off again. And finally to Sandi’s. Forty minutes max. He would be at her place by one o’clock on the dot.
The phone went off again. It was the battery this time. Almost empty. Oh well.
He was in the curve heading toward Abbotsford when the engine gave a cough. Come on, Moses thought. Just one more day. I’ll take you to the shop tomorrow. Cross my heart.
To the other side of Abbotsford, then across the Nahoon, almost to Dorchester Heights. The engine spluttered again. Tomorrow, Moses thought.
“Tomorrow!” he hollered. It hiccupped back to life. “Come on!” he yelled.
The car stalled again. He was heading down a slight rise, but despite the downhill incline, the motor didn’t turn over again. Moses pumped the gas pedal repeatedly.
The road leveled off, and his speed dropped. Moses let the car roll to a stop, making sure to get two of his tires off the pavement. Turned the key and heard… nothing. Pulled out the key, took a deep breath. Stuck it back into the ignition, turned. Silence.
One more time. Removed the key, tried to think about something else, but what? Sex with Sandi. Back in and turn. No response, not even a rattle. Nothing.
The clock. Twelve of the forty minutes were already gone. Moses got out. There were practically no shadows since the sun had reached its zenith. His phone reminded him about the battery. Who should he call?
Khanyo. He knew cars.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Moses. The Toyota’s died.”
“So?”
“So I really need some help.”
“Nobody’s gonna steal that thing. Where are you anyway? You sound so scared you’ve got to be in Duncan Village, surrounded by a group of knife-wielding tsotsis. Hahaha…”
Moses laughed, but only because Khanyo expected him to. “Hahaha. I’m in… on the edge of Dorchester Heights. Abbotsford side. Some intersection where a road veers a little uphill to the left. I’m stuck, and I just don’t want to be here too long. Listen, if you’ll pick me up, you can come over for dinner. I’ll cook and fill you in on what Brinsley’s said about his successor. Okay?”
No answer.
“Khanyo?” Moses looked at his phone. The screen was dark. Shit.
12:39. Nineteen of the forty minutes were gone. He should go ahead and forget about having sex with Sandi. What had Khanyo heard? Dorchester Heights? Had he at least heard those two words? And if so, was he on his way?
Moses scanned the area. Suburbia. Upper middle class. Three meters of grass between road and wall, one-story houses, two-car garages, glass shards or electricity running along the wall to keep out the ne’er-do-wells. Further down the road, a gate swung open, and a compact car drove out. Turned in his direction. The woman was thirty, maybe a little older, shoulder-length brown hair. Housewife, he thought. On her way to the kindergarten.
What lousy luck. Car broken down and phone dead. And dressed the way he was. Ripped pants, covered in dust, oil on his t-shirt from the prof’s old bakkie. Moses opened his trunk and rummaged around in the boxes and plastic bags. Where were the clothes he had wanted to give his sister? For the school in the Ciskei. Had he already dropped them off?
He slammed the trunk. Looked around again, remembering something.
He recognized the corner up there. But why?
The road heading uphill. The tall wall. The dead-end road. It all looked familiar. Moses walked slowly up the hill, trying to recall.
Last year. A couple of classmates. They had worked on something together, and the young white man had lived here. They had gotten together at his house. What had his name been? Robbie? No. Janie? No. But something like that. Moses approached the gate in the wall. A large metal sign hanging next to the entrance read “The Pines.” Stylized trees rooted beside the letters. The metal gate was just starting to open, a car grill visible on the other side. Moses waited. Brand new. Large. Black. Moses didn’t know much about car companies, but he wanted something like that. Cars like that don’t break down on you, he thought.
The gate was open. The car drove out. Tinted windows. Passed him. The gate began to slowly swing shut. Moses ran forward a few steps and just barely squeezed through the narrow gap before the gated community locked itself back down.
3
“They probably won’t be gone long,” Suit said.
“We should’ve started with this one.”
His eyes traveled up the one-story house with attached garage. Wooden front door, window to the right, tilted open. Two to the left, one of which was also open.
“But the other house had the better location, Thembinkosi. And it was worth the trouble. It would’ve taken us too long if we’d done things in a different order.” The woman glanced around. “Too many sidewalks, too many eyes, that’s what you always say. Do you want to go in or not?”
“Yes, Nozipho. We’ve only just begun to work.” He grinned at her.
“They probably don’t have an alarm, or they wouldn’t have the windows open.”
“How many cameras have you counted right around here?” Thembinkosi reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a small bundle of tools.
Nozipho extracted a hand mirror, held it up to her face, and turned slowly, looking in all directions. “I see four of them.”
“Me too. That’s about right. There won’t be many more than that anyway.”
Before Nozipho could even fish her lipstick out of her bag, she heard the door click open.
4
The metallic clang of the gate was still echoing in Moses’ head as he started to question his decision. They all looked the same, these gated communities. Houses facing each other, curving or angular streets, walls on the distant horizon. But he really thought he remembered this place. The six streets that curved away in identical arcs from the wall at the entrance. The houses carefully placed so they didn’t sit directly across from each other. The gently sloping site. To the right, beyond the outer wall, a hilly terrain, quite high at certain points. To the left, the road along which he had just come. Moses had a good visual memory. Yes, this was the subdivision he had visited last year. But where did that classmate live? Danie? Or Janie after all? And what would be the best way for him to try to find him?
Three of the streets started to his right, three to his left, all of them running in similarly soft continuous curves to the left. The houses within sight of the entrance were all one-storied. He could see the two-storied ones starting much further back in the enclave. And behind those flowed the river, if he recalled rightly. The Nahoon River, beyond the back wall. He hadn’t gone back that far last time. Or had he? But how far was that?