But he was quickly back up on his feet, faster than Moses, who was still sliding around in the garbage. The security guy planted himself in front of him, legs spread, as he held his shoulder. Moses slowly stood up as the whee-ooo, whee-oo of the police siren grew closer. The guard was obviously in extreme pain as he cried: “Just stand there! They’ll catch you!”
The police car rounded the corner. Moses turned around, slid precariously on the trash again, regained his balance, and sprinted across the street.
“Stop!” came the order from the police loudspeaker. “This is the police! Stop immediately.”
Moses was just vaulting over a waist-high wall. As he took off, he noticed that something slimy was stuck to his shoe. He was lucky he hadn’t face planted against the wall.
The police sped up, and as Moses slipped down the side of the house, he could already hear the brakes. Doors opening, doors slamming, boots running. Moses was behind the house, paused to consider his options, ran along the house toward the neighboring yard instead of making a beeline for the next street. A hedge with yellow flowers, thick but not too tall. He dove across it and landed on the other side. A soft impact this time. He hunched up small. Wanted to be invisible. Once again. Forever now.
“Where is he?” he heard a man ask.
“Has to be back there,” a woman said.
Back there meant not here in the front. They were looking somewhere else. The voices soon moved away.
“Do you see him?” The man. Further off.
“Not here.” The woman.
Moses looked around, but didn’t stand up. Hanging in the window, a poster of Itumeleng Khune. The Kaizer Chiefs’ goalie. And captain. Was he actually where he’d wanted to be? The house had two stories, as he recalled. He got to his feet and crouched over as he ran toward the front facade. There was the tricot in the window. There was the mailbox which had caused him to even notice the house in the first place. Moses walked up to the front door and hoped to remain out of sight until the door opened. He knocked and waited.
60
“We’ve never taken out anyone,” Nozipho said quietly. They were standing at the window and looking out at the street.
“I know,” Thembinkosi said.
“It isn’t our style.”
“I know.”
“We do what we do because we’re good at it. And not the other.”
Thembinkosi didn’t say anything.
“And when that girl tried to steal my purse… you weren’t even able to hit her. I had to do it.”
“I know. But we’ve always known that at some point it might be necessary. And as far as that girl…”
“Psst!”
Footsteps could be heard in the hallway. It was too late to slip into the wardrobe. The steps kept going. Piss splashed in the toilet.
“I need to go, too,” Nozipho said.
“As far as that girl was concerned, that was completely different. You didn’t have to hit her.”
“But I wanted to.” Flushing.
“Good. You had a right to do it, I think,” Thembinkosi said. “And here, we might not have any other choice.”
“But what should we do? Smash him over the head with something?” Steps in the hallway. High Voice was going back to the lounge.
“If necessary.”
“If so, you’ll be the one doing it.”
Outside, a police bakkie drove up, parking next to the one remaining security company Polo. Inter-vehicle communication. One man and one woman were sitting in the police vehicle.
“Shit,” Thembinkosi said.
The security car started and drove off. The police truck followed. The street was free.
“Great!” Thembinkosi said.
The couple didn’t say anything for a few moments.
“How are you going to do it?” Nozipho asked.
Thembinkosi didn’t answer.
A young man ran down the street. In the other direction.
“There he is!” Thembinkosi said. “The guy from earlier.” A guard hurried after him. “But how can he still be running around out there?” Nozipho asked.
The police vehicle trailed the guard. Flashers on. Sharp yelp of a siren.
“He’s the cause of all this mess?” Nozipho said.
“Apparently.”
“But they have to catch him eventually. He’s just one against so many.”
“True.”
“What do you think he’s done?”
“Rich people live around here. We’re not the only ones interested in that fact.”
“But the whole cavalry against one person who stole something?”
“Doesn’t make sense to me either.”
For a few seconds, it was peaceful both inside and out.
“Now’s our best chance to get out of here, Thembi. We have to do something.”
“You’re right.”
The security Polo rolled up again, stopping in the exact same spot it had been parked earlier.
“Shit!” Nozipho.
“We still have to figure out what to do. We can’t stay here.”
61
“Home invasion, burglary, attempted rape, theft, assault, anything else…?” Warrant Officer Zolani Mafu glanced to the side.
“Aggravated assault,” Police Sergeant Yolanda Baker corrected. “On top of that.”
“Aggravated assault,” Mafu repeated into the radio.
“How could anybody commit so many crimes in such a short time?” a voice crackled down the line. “Is the suspect armed?”
“No one knows.” Mafu.
“How did he commit assault and aggravated assault?”
Mafu glanced at Baker. “Beat an old man and injured his wife with a chair. Broke the leg of a security guard when he tried to hold on to him.”
“And the rape?”
“He broke into a house that belonged to the woman.”
“With his haul?”
“Apparently.” Baker looked at Mafu. He nodded.
“Then nab him. Reinforcements are on their way.”
62
A TV was switched on in the lounge. Loud. Some show with a jeering audience.
“One thing’s clear,” Thembinkosi said. “We don’t want to kill him, just incapacitate him. We want to get out of here, and he’s in our way. But there’s another problem.”
“What?” Nozipho asked.
“Actually there are two problems…”
“We don’t have any weapons?”
“That’s the one. I also don’t know how we can attack him.”
“With our hands. There’s two of us, only one of him.”
“But what if he’s prepared for something? If he has a gun on him? If he notices us before we reach him?”
Nozipho started to open the wardrobe doors, before crouching down and opening the dead woman’s small suitcase. Underneath the clothes, she found a cosmetics bag and unzipped it. Rummaged around in it a little. Pulled out a nail file and held it up. “Women know how to defend themselves.”
In the other room, High Voice was channel surfing. A sports show.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
Nozipho pondered this for a second, then stood up, smoothed her dress, raised her arm, and stabbed the file downward a few times.
“That?” she asked.
“You want me to slaughter him?”
“I want to get out.”
The two of them said nothing for a moment. The sports reporter was shouting enthusiastically.