WEB OF LIES Novel Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

HLENGIWE

She stands by the kitchen window and watches the garage door open. Lungisani in, dragging his feet like he owns the pavement. He leans against the AMG, patting it with a grin that makes her skin crawl.

“I just tested the engine, Hlengi! Iyavuma! It’s screaming for the road,” he shouts walking back to the kitchen, his voice full of disgusting excitement. “I’m going to take a quick shower, then I’m jumping in. Don’t wait for me.”

She says nothing, the sadness that has kept her quiet for the whole week begins to transform inside her. It turns into a terrifying anger as she thinks about her in-laws and their secret meetings. They sat in her lounge, ate her food, and planned to trade her like a piece of used furniture. They think they can push her into a room with a loser like Lungisani.

She endured their insults during the whole week because she wanted Funani’s funeral to have peace and be dignified. She let MaDorothy blame her for his death because she was too broken and in shock to fight. That grace ends today. Funani is gone and unfortunately he is not coming back. While her heart is in pieces, she realizes she owes these people nothing.

Lungisani disappears into the guest bedroom and shows up ten minutes later. He is dressed in one of Funani’s designer golf shirts. The nerve to take her husband’s clothes before the cleansing ceremony takes place makes her heart boil. The scent of Funani’s expensive cologne hits her before he even reaches the kitchen door. He has literally bathed in it.

“I’m off to play with other kids. How do I look? Don’t tell me, I know I look good,'” Lungisani says, winking at her. He jingles the car keys and walks out without waiting for a response.

She watches the car disappear and lets out a long breath. She clicks her tongue, drags her heavy body toward the guest room Lungisani has been occupying. She pushes the bedroom door open and what her eyes show makes her nose flares up. The bed is unmade. Funani’s clothes are scattered all over the floor. Empty snack wrappers and beer cans sit on the side table. It looks like a pigsty and smells horrible.

“MaMhlongo!”

The helper appears at the door almost immediately, “Yes, Madam?”

“Get the refuse bags,” she says, pointing at the mess. “Pack everything that belongs to Lungisani. Take it all to the pavement outside the main gate. I want this room empty and locked in twenty minutes.”

MaMhlongo hesitates for a split second, looking at the chaos. “All of it, Madam? Even the things he took from the Master’s closet?”

“Everything. If it isn’t mine or the baby’s, it goes to the street.”

MaMhlongo nods and starts grabbing things. She turns and walks back to her own bedroom. The first thing she notices is open drawers which mean Lungisani came here before he left. She clicks her tongue, picks up her phone and dials Zenzele.

“Zenzele,” she says when he picks up. “I need to know the legal way to evict a trespasser from my house. Lungisani is still here and he is making claims about a marriage. I want him out today. Also, he took the AMG. I want it seized but I don’t want it taken now. I want you to track the GPS and have the police stop him in front of his friends in Rosebank.”

“I can start the paperwork for a protection order and a formal eviction notice immediately. As for the car, I will coordinate with the tracking company. He won’t be smiling for long.”

“Good. Do it now,” she says and hangs up.

As she puts the phone down, a sharp, stinging pain shoots through her lower abdomen. She winces, her hand flying to the bottom of her belly. She stands still, waiting for the sensation to pass.

“Not now, little one,” she whispers, her voice shaking slightly. “We have a lot to fix.”

She takes a deep breath, forcing the air into her lungs as rubs her stomach gently, trying to soothe the baby. She moves to her bed and sits on the edge, keeping her back straight. She closes her eyes and begins her breathing exercises, counting slowly to four with every inhale.

GATSHA

He parks his car in his designated spot at the depot. He doesn’t head toward his usual office. He walks straight to the glass corner suite with Funani’s name still etched into a gold plaque on the door.

He opens the door and walks inside. The room still smells like Funani, from the expensive tobacco to the coffee he liked. He walks around the desk and sinks into the leather chair. He leans back, feeling the expensive material mold to his spine.

He rests his hands on the cool surface of the desk, his fingers brushing over the wood. This is the seat and view he wanted for years. He looks out the window at the fleet of trucks lined up in the yard. His eyes drop to the first drawer, which is slightly open. Inside sits a framed picture of Funani and Hlengiwe. They are laughing, standing in front of this very building on the day it opened. Hlengiwe looks beautiful, her hand resting on Funani’s chest.

He stares at the photo for a long moment. He reaches out and touches the glass, then slowly turns the frame face down. A slow, dark smirk spreads across his face.

Finally, no more asking for permission before implementing the idea and being the brains of the company while someone else takes all the credit and glory. He already has a list of ideas running through his mind.

He wants to expand the Durban route and cut off the contracts of the suppliers who were only loyal to Funani. He wants to rebrand the whole logistics wing under a name that sounds more modern, more like him.

His phone vibrates on the desk, cutting through his thoughts.

“Zenzele,” he answers, rotating in a chair. “I was just about to call you. I’m sitting in the big office.”

“It suits you, I’m sure,” Zenzele says, his voice sounding amused. “But listen, Hlengiwe just called me. She wants Lungisani evicted immediately. She also wants the AMG seized while he is out in Rosebank. She wants the police to embarrass him in front of his friends.”

He leans back further, his boots resting on the corner of the desk. The news makes his mood even better.

“She really said that?” He asks, a small grin forming. “That’s my girl. I didn’t think she had it in her so soon after the burial. That boy is a nuisance. He thinks he can just walk into this life because of his surname. He needs to be taught a very embarrassing public lesson.”

“I’m coordinating with the tracking team now,” Zenzele says. “By lunch time, Lungisani will be standing on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber.”

“Good,” he says, his eyes turning back to the window. “Tell the police not to be gentle. I want him to know that the Nhlapho name doesn’t mean anything in this city without his brother or the two of us. He needs to go back to Mayflower with nothing but the clothes on his back.”

He hangs up the phone and sighs. He picks up a pen from the desk set and starts twirling it between his fingers. The office is quiet, the yard is busy, and for the first time in his life, he feels like he is exactly where he belongs.

NARRATED

Lungisani leans back in the driver’s seat, the engine idling with a powerful vibrating sound that draws eyes from every sidewalk cafe. He has his arm hanging out the window, wearing Funani’s gold watch, feeling like the king of Johannesburg. He pulls up to a popular spot where a group of his friends are sitting outside, laughing loudly as he revs the engine.

“Is that the new toy, Lungstar?” one of them shouts, standing up to get a better look.

“You know how we do it,” Lungisani brags, flashing a wide grin. “The Nhlapho legacy is in good hands. I’m thinking of getting the rims painted black next week.”

Before he can even turn off the ignition, two police cars screech to a halt, boxing him in from the front and back. The blue and red lights flash against the car. Passersby stop to stare, and the music from the nearby cafes seems to slow down as two officers step out.

Lungisani’s heart jumps a bit. “Hey, what’s the problem, officers? I’m just visiting friends.”

“Step out of the car, sir. Keep your hands where we can see them,” the lead officer commands, his hand resting on his weapon.

Lungisani stumbles out of the car, his legs feeling weak as he thinks about the fact that he has a sip of his drink on his way here. His friends watch in stunned silence with their phones out recording as he is pressed against the side of the car.

“Officers calm down, what’s going on?”

“The owner of this vehicle reported it stolen an hour ago,” the officer says, putting handcuffs around Lungisani’s wrists.

“Stolen? No, you don’t understand! This is my brother’s car!”

“You’ll tell that to the judge,” the officer grunts, pulling him away from the car.

As the tow truck arrives to hook up the AMG, Lungisani stands on the pavement, handcuffed and shivering despite the heat. His friends turn their heads away, embarrassed to be seen with him.

*

*

*

Meanwhile, back at Hlengiwe’s house, a car pulls up to the gate. Balungile steps out, carrying two large suitcases. She stops and blinks in confusion. There are several black bags piled neatly on the sidewalk just outside the main gate.

“Hlengi? What is all that junk outside?” Balungile asks as soon as she walks inside the house, pointing back toward the street. They share a tight hug and Hlengiwe sighs.

“That is Lungisani’s life. He wanted to form a ‘bond’ with me, so I gave him one last memory of this house. He’s never stepping foot inside these walls again.”

Balungile’s jaw drops, hanging open. “You kicked him out? Aren’t you worried about the drama of your in-laws when they hear this? They’ll lose their minds.”

“Let them,” Hlengiwe says, “Remind me to give you a set of new keys to this house. I’ve changed the locks. Thank you for coming and volunteering to keep me company during this time.”

Balungile smiles, “What are sisters for? It’s only a pleasure. You look exhausted, it’s probably all this drama. Get some rest, I’ll go unpack these.”

“Your room is ready and waiting.” Hlengiwe says and turns to walk away. She feels another small cramp, but she ignores it.

To be continued.

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