Max Annas - The Wall

“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.”

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.

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.

“We heard that he’s been inside at least two homes. One of them was empty, but he grabbed some stuff there. And at the other… a woman was at home. She was asleep when the guy suddenly materialized beside her bed. He then tried to rape her. When she screamed, he ran off. Wait a second.” Bezuidenhout studied a piece of paper. “I think the woman ran over to a friend’s house to calm down. The other house is probably the easiest to start with. Someone’s there now. An old man.”

“How long was he in there?”

“Long enough to find the valuables and pocket them.”

“Ah, that’ll be enough for us. Right, my boy?” Dlomo looked down at his dog.

“I have the address here. Want to follow me?” Bezuidenhout asked.

Flower was already on the other side of the street, and she gave the signal. Thumbs up.

Moses still looked around cautiously before sprinting across the street and crouching behind the next wall.

“This house is empty,” Flower said. Moses saw closed curtains and a weathered facade.

“The person here died,” Flower said. “And now no one wants to live here.”

“Simply died?”

“I think so. Old people do that.”

“Old people do do that. Sure. Are there many empty houses around here?”

“Yes. Mommy says some of them use automatic lights just to make other people think they’re at home. Are you coming?”

They walked around the empty house.

“Now we have to be careful,” Flower said.

“Why?”

“A witch lives there.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Mommy says so.”

“Why does she say that?”

“I don’t know, but she’s right. Whenever we’re around here, she sees us.”

“Does she live alone?”

They were now standing in front of the house. No curtains. Grimy windows. Withered grass.

“Yes. Otherwise she wouldn’t always be looking out the window.”

“Do you think she’s at home right now?”

“She’s always at home.”

“Why is she a witch?” Moses couldn’t see anyone at the windows. But perhaps the woman was looking out on the other side of the house.

“Because she always calls someone.”

“Who?”

“I don’t remember.”

“The police?”

“I don’t think so. I think she calls the other people who drive around in uniforms.”

“And then? Do they come?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one believes her anymore. That’s what Mommy says. Because they all know she’s a witch.”

Moses stopped listening. Mommy and the witch? It would take a little time to think through all this and figure it out. But he wasn’t going to be able to pull that off right now. He was too tired.

And Flower still had a lot to learn.

Jay-Jay Dlomo followed his white colleague. At his age , he thought, I was still seeing them set dogs on black people. Just for being black. Times had changed , he thought. Who knew that better than he did?

The warrant officer’s Nissan rounded a corner, then another one. It slowed down and stopped in front of a house. The door of a Central Alert car opened, and a young woman stepped out. She straightened her uniform and waited for something to happen. The security people always talked a blue streak , Dlomo thought. But when the real police showed up, they knew their place .

A haggard old man appeared at the front door. Shirt and pants dangling off him like XXL-sized clothes on a starving child. He was carrying a little dog and slowly approached the newcomers. The dog nervously bobbed its head.

“Do you have him?” he asked. “Do you have my things?”

Dlomo saw Bezuidenhout shake his head and opened the tailgate of his truck.

“Nkosi, come!”

The German shepherd jumped down, snuffled the wind and ground, and then sat down beside Dlomo. Raised his head, waiting on a signal. Bezuidenhout nodded in their direction.