INSERT 9
SABELO
I stare at her for a moment and she holds the stare, her eyes begging and her body language screaming with defeat and hope at the same time. Her eyes start to shine with tears, I release a deep sigh.
“I have a gun, but it must be dusty wherever it is. Who do I have to kill first since it doesn’t look like law will help me this time?”
“You will help me?” now she’s crying resl tears. A natural reaction has me pulling her into a hug and I let her sob. “Thank you,” she sniffs.
“I will give you guys space to talk,” the manager says and walks out. He closes the door on his way out. Nomvula is about to say something but I quickly put my finger on her lips and signal for her to keep quiet. I take my phone out and dial Astrid.
“Sabza?” she answers on the second ring.
“What day is it today?” I ask her.
“It’s Monday, why?”
“Thanks, got it,” I end the call and type a message for Nomvula.
‘This place is bugged’ I show her my screen.
She takes my phone and types.
‘How do you know?’
‘That call was me checking if the place is bugged. If a place is bugged, there’s a delay in communication, almost as if there’s a network error’
‘What now? How do we talk?’
‘I have to get you out of here. Do you trust the manager?’
‘Yes. He’s the one who told me to stop taking pills that they used to drug me’
‘Okay. I will come and get you out tomorrow, I want to find counsel on how to do it legally. Hold on for a few hours. If they ask, I am a friend’
‘Okay, ngiyabonga’
‘Don’t thank me yet, I might die before helping you’, I joke.
‘Anele will protect you’
‘Thank you’
If Anele was here, she would look me dead in the eye and ask:
“Where should I bury you and which one of your suits do you want to rest in peace wearing?” and laugh about the whole thing. She was a strange one—in a good way. She never allowed stress to rule her life. She used humour to go through everything and I’m hoping her memories will carry me through this. I don’t know if I’m ready to die for a stranger but I’m excited about this case. It’s been a while since I used violence to solve a legal case.
“I will see you next week,” I lie to Nomvula. If they are listening in, they won’t know that I will be here tomorrow and it’s always a good thing to be a few steps ahead of those that you are trying to outsmart.
“Okay. Thank you.”
I grab my belongings, open the door and make my way out. The manager sees me coming out and raises his hand. I wave back and continue walking towards the gate. I have his number, I will create a secure line and call him.
I give the tag back to the security guard and walk away. In my mind, I’m thinking of legal ways to can do this but I’m not finding any. If the uncle already has her declared mentally unfit, I will have to challenge that ruling. I have to convince the court to do another mental evaluation on her and then rule based on the results. That will take forever and forever is the time I don’t have. They might harm her before we can even get a court date. I trust my colleagues, but we are dealing with different people here. We are dealing with a thug and a thug with money that does not belong to him is dangerous. People can do despicable and scary things for money.
I unlock the car and get in. My phone rings just as I ignite the engine, it’s an unknown number calling and I know it’s Zipho calling. This woman is unhinged and it’s not funny. I silence the call and reverse out of the parking lot. When the call ends, I connect my phone to the car radio.
“Siri, call Astrid,” I command. She answers on the second ring as usual. “You knew?”
“What?”
“Who we are dealing with in this case?”
“Not so much. So, are you ready to die?” she jokes.
“I can’t win this the legal way and I don’t know how Anele will feel about me polishing my gun and being that guy for another woman—”
“Whoa, what are you talking about? Isn’t this business as usual? You are not in love with the girl, are you?”
“No, I’m not. What I mean is, I don’t know if I want to die for a stranger. Is it even worth it? We usually take 25% of the estate for such cases. How much is the 25%? I think I want to know the figures and then decide how much millions my head is worth.”
“It’s a multimillion estate but let’s get an evaluation first and see.”
“We need to get her out of that place before they find out what she’s up to. Ask Nontobeko to find a good place for her to stay. I will find a way of getting her out tomorrow, latest. It won’t be the legal way though, so he ready to bail me out.”
“I have your back, go help that woman.”
“Sure.”
“Sabza?”
“What?”
“The kid doesn’t have to suffer because his mother is a whōre. He’s your blood and is innocent in all this. I understand if you are not ready emotionally, but I know you can afford to support financially. Don’t add to the statistics of deadbeats. We have enough of those in the country already. I know you are a good man and this thing is eating you.”
“I hear you. I’m just not ready to deal with that woman.”
“Lawyers are there for such or you can just use your sister. I know she loves you and she would never do something to hurt you.”
“Okay, thanks. I will try to be rational about this whole thing. But first, I have to tell my wife about the case and also tell her about the son I never knew I had.”
“Sure. Take care of yourself.”
*****
NOMVULA
For the first time in six years, I feel alive. I have a new found hope and purpose to live for. The accident that claimed my parents’ lives didn’t just leave me an orphan, it took with it my desire to live. I couldn’t come to terms with their passing. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, a day before my 21st birthday and a month before my graduation. My father had just landed at the O R International Airport and as always, my mother went to fetch him. They were to come straight to my apartment and fetch me so we could drive to Durban together. I waited with excitement, looking forward to what they had planned for my birthday. I had also been missing Dad since he had been out of the country for two weeks. I was the only child—Dad’s only and favourite girl. That man would drop anything for me.
I waited and waited for them to walk through my door but they were taking forever, so I called Mom and her phone rang unanswered. I called Dad, his went straight to voicemail. I had left them over twenty voicemail messages when I started feeling anxious. Out of the blue, I developed a running stomach and I started sweating. I tried a cold shower but the feeling didn’t go away. I called my father’s PA and he told me that he had spoken to him a few hours ago. That gave me hope until I walked back into the living room and my heart skipped a beat when I saw my father’s face on the screen. I dismissed the fear and attributed him being on the news to his outstanding work as a minister of foreign affairs. My relief was short-lived though. I unmuted the TV just as my mother’s car came to view on the screen. My eyes could have been deceiving me but I did see two bodies next to the car. I did hear the reporter saying that Professor Mandlakhe Mzolo had been involved in an accident and unfortunately lost his life. I wished for my body to shut down but it didn’t, instead it propelled me to run to the garage.
I don’t know how I did it, but I arrived at the scene. I remember the police blocking my way. I remember screaming my lungs out, calling out to my parents as they were being loaded into the van. After that, everything became a blur. I only came back to feeling and seeing things for what they were when my parents had already been buried.
My parents had gone and they had left me with people who didn’t hide their hate for me. Everything I did rubbed them off the wrong way. My aunt would always start her sentence with: “Your rich parents are dead now…”, it almost felt like she had been waiting for them to die so I could experience life the way she wanted me to experience it. They started occupying my home, claiming things as if they deserved them. It then came to the cars and a lot more. I put my foot down when they wanted to touch my parents’ designer clothes and bags and that’s when they started telling me that I was losing it. They shoved therapy down my throat—I needed it—but not like that. I needed a genuine therapist not someone they had coached how to deal with me. I started rebelling and against my will, they brought me to this place under the pretext of getting me the help I needed. I didn’t feel depressed until I came here and I sunk deeper into the jaws of grief. For two years, I couldn’t speak to anyone. I only watched as people went on with their lives.
“Hi Nomvula,” I’m brought back to the bench I’m sitting on by one of the patients here. She’s a lovely lady, I don’t know why she’s still here. We call her the ‘Knitting Lady’ because she’s always knitting.
“Hi Ma, unjani (how are you)?”
“Don’t go, you will die,” she says.
“What are you talking about?” I didn’t tell her or anyone about leaving this place.
“He will kill you,” she persists.
“Who?” I’m confused.
“Him. He will kill you after finding out how much you are worth.”
“He already has my money—”
“No, don’t go. You will die,” she leaves me confused. I know my uncle hates me and I am done hiding, I’m going to face him head on. My parents didn’t work hard so that I can be locked up in here forever. That’s my inheritance and I deserve it.
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