“What a crappy day!”
The sports commentator had worked himself into a frenzy. His voice kept cracking in excitement.
“Let’s go,” Nozipho said. “It’s time.” She reached for the doorknob.
“Wait. It’s not that easy. What if he’s standing on the other side of the door?”
“Then he’s discovered us either way.”
“But we have to be prepared, make a plan.”
“The best plan is to surprise him.”
“Can you have something to use, too?”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know, whatever.”
Outside, a car’s brakes screeched. They heard High Voice run into the garage. The door opened. The car drove in.
“It’s too late anyway,” Thembinkosi said.
66
“Come on,” Flower said, grabbing Moses’ hand. He didn’t elude her grasp, though he knew the security guys would take him out if they saw this. Luckily, the girl dragged him over to a wall that was so high, she needed both hands to climb over it. She dropped his hand and led the way.
“You’re still thinking that nobody should be able to see us, right?”
“Yeah.” Flower paused at the street and looked around. “I’ll cross first.”
She left him where he was standing and crossed the street. After she reached the other side, she looked around once more before motioning at him.
Moses ran to catch up with her. Ducked behind the next wall. “How do you know your way around here so well?”
“Because of Busi. And my cousin Nandi, too. When she’s here, they sometimes let us go outside on our own. My cousin’s already twelve. Come on.”
Flower studied the lay of the land like a burglar and crept through front yards, over terraces, and under hedges. Moses followed her until she came to a stop at a street. She raised a finger to her lips, then pointed back the way they had just come. Moses didn’t understand immediately what she was trying to say. She pointed once more in the same direction as he heard footsteps. He finally understood and hid. He flattened himself behind a tree and heard a voice he recognized.
“Flower, you’re being a naughty little girl again!” The referee. Flower giggled. “You know very well you aren’t allowed to play here.”
“I’m about to go.”
“I should tan your heinie.” Lecherous pig.
“I’m going, promise.” Flower’s voice was already fading.
“I’ll be watching you,” the referee called after her.
Silence. They had reached a part of The Pines that Moses didn’t recognize. Closer to the road from Abbotsford to Dorchester Heights. However, this did him no good if he couldn’t climb over the wall. Maybe it was at least good that they wouldn’t be looking for him here.
“Moses!” Flower was back.
“What do you actually play with Busi and Nandi?”
“We hide so they can’t see us.” When Moses didn’t say anything, she continued: “We aren’t allowed to play here. All this is private property, but we do it anyway. We just have to make sure nobody sees us.”
Cool girl. If she develops other interests later on, I could fall in love with her, Moses thought.
“Back there,” she pointed toward the river, “are two cars. The people in them are wearing uniforms. And over there,” she pointed in the opposite direction, “I saw a police car drive by. It didn’t head this way, though. And then I saw old Mrs. Peacock, but she doesn’t say anything.”
“Why doesn’t she say anything?”
“She can’t.”
“Did she have a stroke?”
“Tongue cancer.”
“How do you know that?”
“From Nandi. She heard it from her mother. And she heard it from Mommy.”
“She doesn’t have a tongue anymore?”
Flower shook her head. “Come on. We gotta go.”
“How far is it?”
“We still have to cross two more streets.”
67
Nozipho was still gripping the bedroom doorknob. Thembinkosi was leaning against the door as he held the nail file away from his body. They were staring at each other.
“Do you have the money?” High Voice. Thembinkosi reached for Nozipho’s hand.
“Why would I?”
“It’s gone.”
“What do you mean, it’s gone?”
“It’s no longer where I stuck it.” High Voice was growing louder.
“Where did you put it?”
“In one of the drawers. Here. In the kitchen.” The scraping of boots. Drawers opening and shutting.
“You’re joking.”
“No, I swear.”
“But the old woman can’t have the money. She was dead by the time you hid it.”
“I know.”
“Then explain it to me.” Deep Voice was growing quieter with each sentence. Neither of them said a word. “Explain it to me.”
“Someone was in the house.”
“That’s ridiculous. Who would come in here?”
“But.. the ID. It’s missing, too.”
Deep Voice began to walk up and down, slowly at first, then faster. Stopped. Resumed pacing.
“What will they do?” Nozipho mouthed silently.
“Kill each other.”
“Or tear up the apartment.”
Thembinkosi thought about the slip. And the shirts. And the dress Nozipho was wearing. The empty hangers.
“What is it?” High Voice asked. He sounded frightened. “Spit it out!” The boots stopped. “I’m thinking.”
“We should get back in the wardrobe.” Nozipho.
“How could someone get in here?” Deep Voice.
“Come on.” Nozipho.
“Wait.” Thembinkosi.
“We didn’t activate the alarm.” High Voice.
“You didn’t activate the alarm.” Deep Voice. “It’s your house.”
“Yes, my house, but it wasn’t activated.” High Voice.
“Come on!” Nozipho.
“No.” Thembinkosi. “Be quiet!”
“Come on!” Deep Voice.
“Now!” Nozipho.
Thembinkosi wrapped his arms around Nozipho and held her tightly. Footsteps in the hallway. “Are you very sure?” Deep Voice.
“Definitely.” High Voice sounded relieved.
“I want to take one last look in that fucking freezer.”
Nozipho slipped out of Thembinkosi’s arms. A few seconds later both of them had vanished into the wardrobe again.
68
Warrant Officer Henrik Bezuidenhout was standing at the entrance to The Pines as the bakkie with the K9 unit finally drove up. Perhaps the problem would be resolved shortly. It couldn’t be all that difficult to catch a young fugitive inside a well-secured and supervised gated community and to hand him over to the law. In other words, to him. At the moment, he was the highest-ranking cop on site.
The vehicle was waved through and came to a stop. Jay-Jay Dlomo stepped out.
“Nkosi’s the best,” he said. “He’ll catch the guy in no time at all.”
The dog leaped out of the cage in the small Chevy. Bezuidenhout watched as Dlomo ran his hand across the German shepherd’s head. The dog panted, stretching his long tongue into the sunshine. Dlomo had been the first black dog handler in East London. A good man. Two generations of tsotsis had fled panic-stricken in front of his dogs. Sure, they had shot a couple of his dogs. But in order to flee from such a beast, you had to be fairly cold-blooded to not only pull but fire a pistol. And hit your mark.
“Where all has the guy been?” Dlomo asked.
“What he’s mainly done is run from everyone.”
“And always gotten away?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Amateurs! That won’t happen to us, will it?” Dlomo patted the dog.