CHAPTER 5
HLENGIWE
The house feels cold the moment the garage door closes behind him. She stands in the middle of the lounge, her hands trembling as she strengthens the fabric over her stomach. The silence is no longer peaceful; it feels heavy, like a storm is about to break.
She walks to the window and watches the empty driveway. Funani’s exit was too fast, the way he looked at her felt like he was saying goodbye and made her heart race. Inside her, the baby begins to kick violently, sharp kicks that make her wince and gasp.
“Calm down sthandwa yami,” she whispers, rubbing her belly. “You’re feeling it too, aren’t you?”
Her instinct tells her to pick up the phone and call him. She needs to hear his voice, have him tell her that he’s reached the meeting and that he’s safe. She dials Funani’s number and starts pacing up and down.
The phone rings until it goes straight to voicemail. She tries again and each time the robotic voice telling her the subscriber is unavailable makes her throat tighten with a dry, bitter taste.
“Maybe he’s in a bad signal area,” she mutters to herself but she knows the route to the south depot has perfect reception.
She paces the lounge, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Her mind does what it always does when Funani is out of reach, it turns to the one person who is always by his side. She dials Gatsha’s number. He picks up on the second ring.
“Hlengi?”
“Gatsha, thank God you’ve answered,” she says, her voice cracking. “Is Funani with you? He left the house in such a hurry. He looked terrified and was saying a lot of confusing things. Are you two fighting? Did something go wrong with the business?”
“Fighting? No, Hlengi, we aren’t fighting,” Gatsha says, “I’m at the warehouse finishing up some paperwork. I haven’t seen him since today because he was with you. Why? What did he say to you?”
“He didn’t say anything! He just said he was meeting someone who had answers and told me to lock the doors. He won’t pick up his phone and my heart is jumping out of my chest.”
“You need to breathe and relax. You know how Funani gets when he’s focused on a contract. He probably put his phone on silent so he could talk to the client. You’re pregnant, dadewethu. You cannot let your blood pressure rise like this.”
“I can’t help it,” she cries, a tear finally escaping and rolling down her cheek. “I feel like something is wrong. I just feel it.”
“Why don’t you check the vehicle tracker?” Gatsha suggests, “It’ll show you exactly where the SUV is parked. It’ll probably show him sitting right outside a coffee shop.”
She pauses, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “The tracker, of course. Yhu, this pregnancy brain is making me stupid. I completely forgot we even had that.”
“It happens to the best of us,” Gatsha chuckles softly, “Go check the app. I’ll keep trying his office line and his second phone from my side. I’ll call you back the second I get a hold of him. Okay?”
“Okay. Thank you, Gatsha. Please, just find him.”
“I’ve got you, Hlengi. Don’t worry.”
She hangs up and rushes toward the study. She finds the iPad on the desk and fumbles with the passcode, her fingers slippery with sweat. She opens the tracking app and the map of Johannesburg appears. She zooms in, looking for the blue icon that represents Funani’s car.
It isn’t at a coffee shop or the depot. The icon is sitting off the side of the M1 highway, near the bridge that crosses the old railway tracks.
“Why is he there?” she whispers.
She watches the screen, hoping to see the icon jump back onto the road, hoping it’s just a glitch in the satellite.
GATSHA
He doesn’t wait for Hlengiwe to call him back. He is already moving. He knows that in a game this high-stakes, you don’t leave loose ends, and the private investigator is a massive loose end.
Because he has been mirroring Funani’s phone for months, he saw the exact location pin the PI sent. He knows the spot, it’s an abandoned industrial yard near the south depot, full of rusted containers and shadows. It is the perfect place for a secret meeting, or a murder.
He pulls his car into the yard, the headlights cutting through the dust. He sees a silver sedan parked near a warehouse. A man stands beside it, checking his watch. When the man sees his car instead of Funani’s SUV, his posture shifts. He reaches for his pocket.
He kills the engine and steps out, “Relax,” he calls out, his voice echoing in the empty yard. “Funani is held up so he sent me to collect the documents.”
The man shakes his head, stepping back toward his car door. “I don’t know you. I was told to meet Nhlapho alone, I’m leaving.”
“You aren’t going anywhere,” he says, his voice losing its friendliness. “I know what you found. Just hand over the drive and the hard copies, and you can walk away with a bonus.”
“You think I’m stupid? I’ve already backed everything up to a cloud server. If anything happens to me, those files go straight to the Hawks and to Mrs. Nhlapho. There is a digital trail of me coming to this location, and my GPS is live.”
He knows that threats are just words until a trigger is pulled and time is against his side to negotiate. Without thinking or responding, he pulls out the silenced pistol from his waistband and fires two shots. One to the chest and the other one to the head. The man collapses against his car before sliding to the gravel.
He moves quickly, reaching into the dead man’s pockets, grabbing his phone and a small USB drive. He tosses the car’s interior, grabbing a laptop bag from the backseat. He checks the man’s wrist and sees a smartwatch. He rips it off and puts it in his pockets. Anything that can track a heartbeat or a location has to go.
He reaches into his own car and pulls out a small bottle of petrol. He pours it inside the car, tosses a lit lighter onto the driver’s seat and watches as the flames take hold. The fire will scramble the electronics and turn the evidence into ash.
He doesn’t stay to watch it burn but gets into his car and races toward the M1 highway.
By the time he reaches the bridge, the scene is a nightmare of blue and red flashing lights. He pulls over, jumping out and running toward the barrier.
“Hey! You can’t be here!” a policeman shouts, blocking his path.
“That’s my brother’s car!” He screams, his voice cracking with a performance of agony. “That’s Funani Nhlapho’s SUV! Let me through!”
The cop looks at his expression and softens, stepping aside. He walks to the edge of the bridge and looks down. His breath hitches, and for a second, the act becomes real. The SUV is unrecognizable. It is a crumpled ball of black metal, resting on its roof. The roof has been flattened like a tin can. Smoke rises from the engine bay, and glass pieces glitter in the grass like diamonds.
He watches as two paramedics climb out of the wreckage, shaking their heads. They pull a yellow sheet over a shape on a stretcher.
“Is he…?” He asks, his voice a whisper as he approaches a senior officer.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the officer says, checking his notepad. “The driver died on the spot. The vehicle hit the barrier at high speed. Looks like a total brake failure, he didn’t stand a chance.”
He covers his mouth with his hand, sinking to his knees on the ground and lets out a loud sob that sounds enough like grief to fool the men in uniform.
“I’m his business partner,” he gasps, looking up at the officer with watery eyes. “And his best friend. His wife is pregnant and at home waiting for him. Oh God, Hlengiwe.”
The officer sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We were just about to dispatch a unit to the house to inform the next of kin.”
“No,” he says, standing up and wiping his face. “Please, don’t let a stranger tell her. Let me do it. I’ve known them since we were young. She needs someone she trusts. I’ll go there now.”
The officer hesitates, then nods. “Alright. We’ll need you to come to the station later to sign the formal identification papers, but for now you can go.”
He nods and walks back to his car. The moment the door closes, the grief vanishes. He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting his hair and making sure his eyes look sufficiently red. He starts the engine and pulls away from the scene, the lights of the accident fading behind him.
“I’m coming, Hlengiwe,” he whispers, “Everything is going to be just fine.”
NARRATED
The drive to the Nhlapho estate feels like the longest journey of Gatsha’s life. He keeps the car at a steady speed, allowing the adrenaline to cool down into a focused resolve. He needs to be perfect and be the rock that she clings to when her world turns into water.
As he turns into the long driveway, he sees the heavy front doors of the mansion fly open. He is met with Hlengiwe who is already outside the garage, her car keys in her hand.
“Thank God you’re here!” she screams as he steps out of the car. “The tracker company just called. They said the vehicle has been involved in a high-impact collision. I have to go there. Move your car, I have to go!”
Gatsha moves quickly, grabs her before she can reach her own car.
“Hlengi, stop for a second please.”
“No! Get out of the way!” she cries, trying to shove past him.
“Hlengiwe, look at me!” Gatsha commands, his voice cracking.
She stops, her chest heaving and finally looks up into his face. His eyes are bloodshot, the sight of his expression makes the keys slip from her hand, clattering onto the driveway.
“Gatsha?” she whispers, her voice suddenly tiny. “Why are you looking at me like that? Where is Funani? Why isn’t he answering his phone?”
“Come inside, Hlengi. Please. Let’s go sit down,” he says, his hands shaking.
“No! Tell me right here! Is he at the hospital? Which hospital? I’ll drive us.”
Gatsha swallows hard, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “He’s not at the hospital, Hlengi. I just came from the scene. He didn’t make it.”
Hlengiwe shakes her head, “No. No, no, no. You’re lying. He’s a good driver. The car is new and his favorite. He was coming back to me. He promised!”
“Hlengiwe… he’s gone,” Gatsha says, the words coming out in a broken sob. “The paramedics couldn’t do anything to save him.”
The scream that leaves Hlengiwe’s throat is piercing. She jumps for her car again, and he blocks her.
“I have to see him! You’re lying to me! He’s waiting for me! Let me go, Gatsha! Let me go!”
“I can’t!” Gatsha yells, wrapping his arms around her and pinning her arms to her sides. “I can’t let you go there! The car is a wreck, Hlengi. You cannot see him like that. You have to think about the baby! Please, for the sake of his child, stay with me!”
Hlengiwe fights him with a strength she didn’t know she had, sobbing and hitting his chest but eventually her legs give out. She collapses, and Gatsha goes down with her, guiding her gently until they are both sitting on the cold floor.
Gatsha pulls her into his lap, cradling her head against his shoulder. He lets his own tears fall into her hair, his body shaking in rhythm with hers.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into her ear, his voice barely audible over her wailing. “I’m so sorry, Hlengi. I failed him. I should have been with him.”
She gasps for air, her hand clutching at her stomach as if she is trying to shield her baby from the grief that is drowning her.
“But I’m here,” Gatsha whispers, tightening his hold, “I’m not going anywhere, Hlengi. I promise you that I will take care of everything, the business, you and the baby. You aren’t alone in this.”
To be continued
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