Wanted dead

Short Story Dedani Nkala
THE founders of the church wanted her dead. She had to be stopped. The “book” that was in her possession was going to shake the actual pillars that held the church together and consequently break the foundations that supported it. She knew too much.
Elders of higher authority had convened as a matter of urgency and passed the verdict. She had to be silenced. She just had to be killed.
In the horizon, pregnant clouds were slowly engulfing the city plunging it into darkness.

Suddenly, her mobile phone buzzed into life. She woke up to the irritating sounds filling the hotel room. Fear strangulated her; she was shaken like a salt-shaker. Then she grabbed the phone, and a voice boomed, “You’ll be picked up in exactly thirty-minutes.” With authority, it added, “Detective Hoko will be taking you to another safer place until the head-and-tail of all this is known.”

Hugging herself with a bathrobe, Chiedza strolled to the window where the evening street lights beamed lustrously. She pulled the curtains.
Unbeknown to her, just across the street a man watched her. A naked bulb illuminated his room. On the dusty table lay a loaded machine gun, a mobile phone attached to its earphones, a box of cigarettes and a bottle of gin. The only valuables of note in the stinking room were a table and a wooden chair.

Jack had herculean looks — strongly built and determined. He was watching her every move with a python’s eye, vigilantly.
Then there was a harsh deliberate click as the gun was cocked.

Meanwhile, a man guided a metallic black Audi into the hotel’s parking lot. He stared onto the rear-view mirror, pulled up his tie neatly into position and grinned. Feeling for his gun, he adjusted his jacket and leapt out.

Chiedza met the stranger at her door. Her heart jolted.
“Chiedza?” he knitted his brow in question.
She couldn’t think of anything. She hadn’t the slightest idea what could happen to her. She was finished. It was as simple as that. Dead. But she had to think fast.

But the man at her door was immaculately dressed — in a neat suit!
“Detective . . . ”
“Detective Hoko,” he extended his hand.
Chiedza looked at him speculatively. Again, her heart missed a beat. There was a cold stirring in her bowels as though live mopane worms had invaded her gastrium. She saw the gun! That was interesting — and scary too. A cold tingling sensation raced down her spine.

The man’s face was wrinkled, and a scar ran above his temples. His smoky eyes were alert and intelligent.
“I am to relocate you to somewhere safer,” he flashed discolouring teeth with missing upper canines.

“May you give me a minute?”
“Forgot something?”
“Need the ladies’. room”

With a gasp of fear, she lackadaisically closed the door, leaned against it, and locked it. She exhaled. She was shaking nervously. She had to think fast.

Then it hit her like a sledge hammer. Out of the blue, she had the perfect plan. So beautiful. She had to execute it immediately.
Chiedza took quick deep calming breaths to steady her taunt nerves. She grabbed a kitchen knife and slid it into her jeans. She might need it to protect herself. She grabbed her travellers’ bag, and from it she retrieved an ancient and delicate-looking leather book. It gave a stench of human flesh. Each page was handwritten and the ink seemed like human blood . . . at least to her, it looked like somebody had deliberately used human blood to scribble in it.

A gentle knock sounded at her door.
For a second she had to fight the adrenaline that had invaded every nook and cranny of her body. She dashed into the toilet, climbed onto the toilet seat, pushed up an opening on the ceiling and carefully laid the “book” and left it there.

She grabbed her bag and briskly strolled to the door.
“Shall we go?”
“I suppose.”
The two headed to the elevator; none of them talking.
A faint rustle howled through the palm trees. The smell of rain filled the air.

Jack stood in stone silence. He stared into the darkness. From his hide-out, skyscrapers yielded a breath-taking panoramic view of the city. The air was crisp and cold on his face. Despite the cold, new sweat popped out like little blisters on his temples. The look in his eyes was like death itself, but he was exhausted and haggard.

He had to do it.
He raised his gun, adjusted and focused into the endless darkness in anticipation. The wind crawled on the window panel, whispering like a strangled man.

Chiedza had unknowingly opened the Pandora’s Box. She was in possession of a sacred book of “churchpreneurs”. The book contained the secrets of the church. It listed the names of the founders of the church, and how people were being deceived when it comes to “miracles”, and how the miraculously-healed were paid. According to the book, the church was using voodoo to lure its followers amongst other things. In one chapter of the book, it detailed how human blood was harvested to keep the church going . . .

How did she end up with the book? That’s the million dollar question!
A lift one evening after a church service stirred all this. She had been offered a lift by one of the lady church-leaders and subsequently her handbag was similar. When she dropped off, she took with her the wrong bag; only to realise her mistake when she was her home. It paralysed her.

Because of this, Chiedza just had to pay the price.
Jack watched them walk out of the hotel and head to the parking lot. Instantly there was a sudden deafening blast. He had fired at her. The whizzing bullet caught her left arm, jerked her forward, and with an invincible force crucified her onto the Audi . . .

Like little peddles falling, raindrops tapped on the roof.