The Setup

A Short Story by Luka Mwango

Edited by Casey Gift Nyambe

I was returning from home after a hectic day at the office. I could not wait to see my lovely wife and our adorable five-year old daughter. The headlights of my car caught the outlines of a motor vehicle parked on the curb of the road.

A figure stood next to it and from what I could gather, the car had broken down. I had a strong urge to drive on but the rebuking voice of my mother lingered somewhere in my memory:

“Do unto others what you wish them to do unto you.”

I stopped my car and got out. I walked towards the car and for some reason I expected the person in need of assistance to be some overweight, middle-man with a bad attitude. When I got close enough to the make out the person in the dark, I froze. It was not a he, but a she, a very attractive she. She was tall, had a long symmetrical face with big enchanting eyes and succulent lips. She had a busty chest and the seemingly tight blouse she wore was  choking it. She had a tiny waist with curvy hips, which made her Barbie-like looks seem so surreal. My thoughts at that moment could be summarized by one word—lust.

“Hey, there, do you need any help?” My voice was unsteady—a railed at myself mentally for that.

“Yes, please,” she said and ended in a blistering smile. I smiled too but there was nothing blistering about mine—I railed at myself for that too.

Knowing very little about the mechanisms of how a car works, I pretended to be doing something. She smiled less convincingly each time I looked at her. I knew at the third smile that she wasn’t buying my act.

I announced my defeat

She smiled again. “Then can you please drop me off at my place? It’s not far from here.”

            I had nearly bellowed ‘yes’ when the warning signals went off in my brain. Not entirely because I was picking up a total stranger, but partly because of how I attracted I was to her…wasn’t this the way all infidelities started?

Nonsense,I told myself. I was just being a Good Samaritan.

“Off course I can.”

We both walked quickly to my car.

When we arrived at her home I wished her the customary evening pleasantries. I also gave her the number of one of the best auto shops in town.

However, she had other ideas. “You have been so good to me, please come in for a minute so I can offer you a drink or something.”

Another warning went off in my brain.

I was about to decline the offer when she smiled at me once again, showing her brilliant white teeth.

I was just being a Good Samaritan, right?

I should have never stepped into that house.

*

“Wow, this is a lovely place you’ve got here,” I said. “Must have cost you a fortune.”

She nodded and smiled. I stared at her for a second too long.

We went into a big lounge that was furnished with beautiful red sofas and pieces of art on the walls. She asked me what I was drinking and I told her to surprise me.

We sat on the couch and talked a great deal. She was a brilliant conservationist, an overtly debonair and extremely charming. It was the first time I saw her face in proper light and what I saw left me breathless. Her skin was caramel and it had this wonder-glow to it that made her look almost angelic.

“You haven’t told me your name,” I said to her.

She laughed. A sensual laugh. “My name is Rose.”

“A fitting name for such a beautiful woman.”

She blushed. It was then I realized I was flirting with her.

“It’s getting late. I think I need to start off now.”

“Not without telling me your name.” Her hand gently brushed against my hand.

“My name is Mark,” I said.

“Okay, Mark, do me a favor and close your eyes.”

I should have said, ‘no’ ,and made a run for my life, but surprisingly, even to me, I did exactly as I was told.

My eyes had been closed for close to a minute when suddenly it happened. I felt her warm, tender lips make contact with mine. And again no resistance, for a second I thought I was having an outer body experience, and viewing myself doing the action without really doing it, but truth is, I wanted it to happen.

It was not just her lips anymore I could feel her smooth, warm tongue on the edge of my lips. Shockwaves of euphoric sensations ran through my body. I grabbed her arms and drew her close to me. I was now fully responding to her kiss and my lips crushed on to hers.

Clothes started to peel off. Our physical desire for each other was high but yet we did not rush things, her hands digging into the flesh of my back passionately, purposefully; her legs chaining my waist to hers.

The face of my wife came to my mind without warning or apology.

“I can’t do this, Rose, am married,” I said in the puniest voice.

She looked at me with those passionate brown eyes, stroked my cheek and spoke so gently in my ear. “Just relax and take me my darling.”

At that moment all my inhibitions were removed. I did not think about my wife or our child. Neither did I think about my position in the church as chairperson of our regional cell group.  I did not want to think at all.

When we were done, I fell asleep, drained from the vigorous act.

I was woken up by Rose’s hysteria. “WAKE UP! WAKE UP MARK!” she barked. I jumped out of bed hurridely.

“You have to leave, my boyfriend is coming.”

“What.” I said in a confused state. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes he is very dangerous. Have you ever heard of Thomas Mahimba?”

My mouth went dry. The Mahimba family was the biggest underground crime family in Zambia, a seedy bunch with about every evil practice in their portfolio.

“Okay where are my car keys?”

“No, there is no time, if he sees you driving from here you’re a dead man. Just go through the back door and if he asks about the car I will tell him my brother gave it to me because mine broke down.”

I hesitated, then agreed. I gave her my address so she could return my car when she could. I went through the back door of the house.

Guilt suddenly hit me. How could I have committed adultery—A man of God, with a loving and supportive wife, and sweet child.

Then at the corner of my eye I saw a car pull up to the house. I saw a man, whom I guessed to be Thomas Mahimba get out and enter the house. After a few minutes I heard a gunshot, it came from the house I just left.

        I began to perspire, my heart-beat was savagely fast and I almost wet my pants.

*

When I finally did get home, the sun was slowly making an appearance. I was sweating profusely and hyperventilating. My wits were in total disarray. I had trouble getting the key to the front door to fit in the key hole, thanks to my hand shaking uncontrollable.

I got into the house and closed the door behind me. I locked it quickly and stood still for a while trying to remain pacified despite what I imagined had just happened. Did Thomas suspect Rose of infidelity and then act out of rage, kill her? Or maybe she killed him in self-defense? Was anyone even killed? Maybe I heard something that sounded just like a gunshot? I felt dizzy and confused.

In the midst of my thinking, the passage light went on. “Mark is that you?”

It was my wife, Angela.

“Oh, my God, it is you, I was so worried. Where have you been?” Her face was warm and compassionate. “I’ve been trying your number non-stop and you were not answering.”

I remembered I had left my phone in the car.

I was quiet.

“So where have you been?” 

I wanted so badly to tell her where I had been but I knew the truth would crush her.

“Some stupid kids stole my car and held me at gun-point.” I hated myself for saying that. She deserved the truth.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” She came rushing to me and gave me a hug. The hug was nothing short of loving. My insides churned with guilt. I was married to one of the most remarkable women in Zambia, and what do I do—bloody cheat. Angela was truly a diamond among the rubble. She was an extremely successful cardiac surgeon, a strong independent woman with a great passion for life and a heart so big she would make mother Theresa look like Hitler. How had I forgotten all that when I banged that whore?

I gently pushed my wife away from me.

I told her to make me a cup of coffee while I sat and thought in our big study room. I was a financial analyst at a prestigious company in my home town of Kitwe. One thing my job had taught me was that every problem could be solved by sober thinking. So I sat there and thought.

My thinking was disturbed a half hour later. 

“Honey there is a car coming through the gate,” Angela said.

I stood up fast. There was a sense of foreboding deep within my gut. I wandered who it might be.

The doorbell rang and I heard a voice shout, “POLICE.” 

Both Angela and I froze. She started to walk to the door but I beat her to it.  I opened the door.

BOOM!

One of the cops gave me a punch that threw me to the other side of the passageway. I felt like a car had run me over.

“What are you doing?”  I heard Angela shout. She came rushing towards me.

My nose was ripped open and blood was gashing out. My head felt like it was about to fall off.

“I am Detective Malama Mataka.” I finally got a good look at the man that had hit me. I thought I was tall at six-feet, but this man made me look like a dwarf. He was seven feet six inches. His arms were the size of tree trunks. His face looked bloated due to the exaggerated facial features—large nose, swollen-looking lips, bloodshot eyes and corrugated ears and chubby cheeks. He was with three other men, and they held Ak-47s.

“That swine you call a husband is a rapist and a murderer.”

My wife was confused she kept on asking me what was happening.

“That isn’t true at all.”

He laughed. “Chikala!” he barked malevolently. “You rape Thomas Mahimba’s woman then kill the poor fellow when he caught you in the act, now you dare deny your crimes.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” I shouted. “And the sex was consensual”

“Liar!”

The Detective signaled to one of the three men he had come with to cuff my hands.

They began to walk me towards the car when I caught a glimpse of my wife’s face. There were tears in her eyes and hurt registered all over her face. My heart broke. At that point my daughter dashed downstairs to where we were. She had probably been woken up by the excitement. She called out and tried to run towards me but Angela held her back. Angela looked at me again. She looked at me like a stranger. This time my heart shattered to pieces.

The policemen jammed me in their car. I rode in the back with two other police men while Malama Mataka drove.

How had things turned so ugly? Thomas was dead.  Did that seductive snake actually kill him? But why had she done so? Did he find out what happened last night? Why did she say I raped her and that I killed Thomas? Or did she even say that? Maybe all this was just a bad dream?

I needed answers.

I was quiet. The four men that rode with me, however, conversed incessantly in Bemba, among themselves. They occasionally hurled insults and laughed at me.

“We are here gentlemen!” Barked the huge Detective. It was then I realized that we weren’t at the police station. We were in some bush.

“Remember leave your weapons,”  he said. I was both afraid and confused.

“What the hell is going on?”

The answer was scornful laughter—lots of it. They dragged me out of the car and threw me to the ground a few yards from it.

“We are going to have some fun with you before taking you to the station.”

The punches and kicks came so fast I did not know who or what was hitting me. My whole body throbbed with pain. I was engulfed in a sea of soreness. Then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. My face was bloody and I could hardly see. In fact, if it was not for my ears I could not have noticed why the men had stopped the savage flogging.

They had been shot.

Malama stood, alone, gun in hand. He had shot his men. My brain was so tired it failed to think. I just looked at the man in my bloody stupor.

“Mark Jere, you messed with some dangerous people who would rather have your head hanging in their office than in jail. They have paid me generously to do just that.” He used Bemba and English interchangeably.

“You are probably wandering why I shot my colleagues, well it’s simple. It’s my alibi if there is ever any inquiry, all I have to say is that you managed to get a gun from one of these dead guys and started shooting. You killed everyone and I not only survived, but I killed you also.”

“Please don’t do this. I didn’t rape or kill anyone,” I pleaded. “I have a wife and daughter.”

“Oh, shut the hell up, you’re as guilty as sin and besides your wife and daughter will be dead soon enough.”

“What do you mean my wife and daughter will be dead soon.”      

“Oh yes, as I said these people don’t mess around, and they don’t just want you dead but your entire family as well. Someone is probably out there as we speak, getting the job done.”

My mind suddenly came to life. I could not afford to die. If I die my family dies with me. I could not allow that.

However, there were two big problems the man held a .45 pistol at me and I was handcuffed…

*

I lay on the hot, uncongenial ground, my mind was racing. Trying to figure out how I could survive this cruel situation. Malama was still pointing the gun at me but instead of shooting, he started to talk. I could not believe it, I knew he would shoot me eventually but this gave me time.

“I don’t understand you,” he spoke. “I saw your home, it’s big, so you must be rich and you have an attractive wife.” He stared dreamily into the air. “I wouldn’t mind screwing that nice piece of ass.”

I gnawed in disgust.

Then it came to me, my situation was not as bad, my hands were cuffed to my front and not my back. That gave me an edge.

An idea came to mind.

“You know even though you’re going to kill me I can’t help but admire your plan. Killing your workmates, that was ingenious.”

He began to blabber like a drunk fool. I never heard a single word he said, I was waiting patiently for the opportune time.

There it was. It only lasted a second, and it was all I needed. His gun was lowered. I threw sand from the ground into his eyes.

I threw my bloody, injured body at him and we fell to the ground. Those muscles I had seen on him were no decorations, neither were they dormant. I felt like I was wrestling with King Kong.

BANG! BANG!

The gun went off and I could have sworn I had a heart-attack. I prayed to God that I had not been shot. I reached down my torso to check if I had any bullet holes. I was clean. Then I looked into the eyes of the man that had been shot.

What I saw scared me. The menacing look that Malama carried had disappeared. In its place was this desperate  look to hang on to dear life. I felt a sense of remorse.

He died a few seconds later. I had never seen a man die before and sorrow pierced my heart. I cried.

I didn’t carry out the act for long; in fact it could probably enter the record books as being the shortest sobbing ever. My family needed me.

I searched the dead men for the keys to the cuffs. Within minutes, I was free, and driving like an F1 racer with a death wish. I nearly caused two accidents.

I was home in record time. I kicked the door open and dashed into the house.

“Angela! Angela!” The adrenaline in my body was at the point of an overdose. I searched each room as thoroughly as the circumstances would allow.

Nothing. they were not there. The anxiety and heightened adrenaline levels made me have shortness of breath, then after the light-headedness  I fell to the ground. Suddenly the pain from my injuries returned. The combination of physical and emotional pain was unbearable. I did more than simply cry, I wailed.

The sound of the phone ringing roused me from my bout of self-pity. I dashed to the phone, hoping in vain that it might be them.

“Hello!”

“Good morning Mr. Jere.” I could not recognize the voice. It had an unusual calm that I found unnerving.

“Who is this, are you the one with…”

“Shut up Mr. Jere. I am Charles Mahimba.”

The blood drained from my face. Charles was Thomas’ father.

“Now, you listen to me. You killed my son and I plan on getting my revenge.”

“I didn’t kill anybody…”

“Shut up!” Charles barked. “I have your wife and daughter and if you ever want to see them again, you will meet me…”

“Please just listen to me.” I could tell from his grunt that he disliked people interupting him midsentence. “Give me a week and I will find your son’s killer and evidence to support it.”

He wrestled with the idea. 

In the end he said. “Okay Mr. Jere, since you’re so adamant I’ll give you 48 hours.” It was not a lot but it was more than I expected.  I sent out a prayer of thanks to God. “You will meet me at Ndola airport. I will be leaving the country.

” I should remind you, however, failure to comply and meet our agreement,” he paused. “Will mean the death of your family and I will send my best men after you to kill you like the dog that you are.”

He hang up.

I felt a slight sense of relief. I had bought myself some time. But, it would not be long before the police would come looking for me. I had to work fast. First thing I did was throw myself in a cold shower, I was a bloody mess…literally. After that I had a change of clothes and then had a look at my injuries. I had a few broken ribs, a heavily scared face, and inflamed left arm. My body hurt like hell but I would survive.

I took one of my other cars from the garage and drove into town. I was in the town center within ten minutes. I parked my car away from the traffic and the crowds. I got out the car and tried not to look conspicuous.

It was midday now. The man I was looking for would be heading for lunch at his favorite eating spot. It was then that I remembered that it was my birthday. Ironic, the day that was supposed to bring joy brought turmoil instead.

There he was. I walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned sharply.

“What! Mark do you know how much…”

“Shush, let’s talk somewhere private”

“Ok, I own an abandoned building, we can go there,” Chama Chisebula said, a little tense. He was a diminutive with soft wobbly features. His exterior was in sharp contrast with the man he was.—best mind in legal circles the country had[CMA1]  . Everyone from the president to the mafia had dealings with him. He had been married five times and divorced the same number of times. He looked at women like a necessary commodity, like clothes or a pair of shoes. He thought love was fleeting rubbish preached by lonely fools.

We had been the best of friends during our youth. We were in so many escapades it felt like we had lived a life-time in 18 years. However, we took separate paths. I turned my life over to Christ and he turned his life over to wealth and affluences. The man was the second richest man in Zambia and fifth in Southern Africa.

“Man, what were you thinking?” he asked.

“You already heard?”

“You forget that nothing happens in this country without me knowing about it, and besides, it was on the radio news at eleven. The police are looking for you.”

I nodded. Then I told him the whole story starting from how I met Rose and the phone call from Charles Mahimba.”  He absorbed the information with ease.

“Seems the bitch set you up.”

“I honestly don’t know what to do Chama.”

He thought for a moment. “Well one thing is for certain, you can’t turn yourself over to the police, you will be dead before you know it, together with your family.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“Just one question, the person that called you, are you sure he is Charles Mahimba?”

“That’s what he said, why?”

“I think someone is playing you. I have known Charles for a long time and that is definitely not the way he operates.”

I was confused. “Man, I seriously need your help.”

“Don’t worry. I have a gift for sorting out messes.” He looked me hard in the eyeball. “I have an idea.”…..

*

I was at Thomas Mahimba’s funeral.

The place had the security of a United Nations General assembly, guards, police even the damn military was[CMA2]  there. In some way it was hilarious, what were they scared  of, someone stealing the body? I had only managed to get inside because I had knocked out one of the funeral attendants and stripped him of his uniform, which I found fitted me perfectly.

I was now looking through the people that were in attendance, trying to pin-point Rose. I was not sure what I was going to do when I saw but for now I was worried about locating her. I never did though, I saw something better.

At the corner of my eye, I saw my TOYOTA CAMRY!

The damn nerve of that whore, not only does she screw me over, but she steals my car as well. Was there any limit to her decadence? I walked to the car and tried the door.

Yes, the thing was not locked. I looked around to make sure no one was looking then I stealthily entered the back-seat. I removed the gun from my jacket and waited eagerly. The tension in the air was thick.

I waited for close to two hours before the proceedings were over and people started to return to their cars. I looked the place over. It was a new cemetery that had been built in the outskirts of Lusaka. It was classy and expensive.

There she was. My heart started to race uncontrollably, my palms were sweaty. I prayed I would not mess this up.

She opened the door to the driver’s seat and got into the car. Just when she was about to put the keys into the ignition I came out from my hiding and the barrel of my gun kissed the back of her neck. She was startled.

“Now, Now,” I said to her.” just relax, you try anything stupid and I will paint the wind-screen red with your blood and brains, if you freaking have any brains in that sorry excuse of mass you call a head[CMA3]  .” My voice was stony and cold.

“Mark,” she exhaled. “It’s so good to see you. We have been expecting you.”

“W-W-HA-T” my voice was unsteady. Before my brain digested the full weight of her words the car door flung open and I felt a gun to my head.

“Drop, the weapon slowly Mr. Jere and move over so I can come in.” It wasn’t so much the gun that scared me but the voice of the man holding the gun—I had heard it before. It had lost most of its cool, calm and authoritative flare. It was more youthful and vivacious but there was no mistaking it. It was the voice of the man that had called me earlier claiming to be Charles Mahimba. As soon as the man entered the car he knocked me out.

After a few hours, I regained consciousness. I found myself tied to a metallic chair in what looked like a cellar or dungeon. The first image I saw when I came through was Rose, she was still beautiful as ever but this time her looks had an adverse effect on me. They filled me with ineffable revulsion.

“Hallo, Mark, missed me?”

“YOU whore!” I barked angrily.

The man that had knocked me out came close to me and hit me with a right blow. Felt like a 50 tonne train mashed by jaw.      

“Disrespectful Idiot, never talk to my woman like that you here.”

I repeated my derision. He geared himself to deliver another blow when a voice stopped him.

“Enough.”  We all turned to look at the man who had spoken.

It was Chama Chisembula

“Hallo Mark, this is an awkward situation we find ourselves in, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand.” My voice marred with shock. “What are you doing here, what is happening?”

He shook his head. “Oh, my dear Mark, you’re such a fool at times. It’s as clear as day isn’t it. I set you up. I am the mastermind behind everything.”

Why, I thought we were friends we grew up together!”

“Oh, don’t hand me that sentimental bullshit. Our friendship died a long time ago, when you left me, left the life we always knew for that holy crap. You and your stupid God.”

“Go to hell!”

He laughed.

Chama then proceeded to tell me everything. Thomas Mashimba had bought a painting from one of his trips to Italy from a street merchant. He bought it for a reasonable price of 5 million kwacha. However, the painting turned out to be rare piece done by the revered Pablo Picasso. It was worth at least 5 billion dollars on the open market. Thomas knew nothing about this; Chama who was an expert in paintings was the first to note. The idea of earning five billion dollars consumed his brain until he devised a plan that could pocket him the money.

His whole plan circled around one fact—Thomas in his uncultured ignorance had left the painting to Rose in his will. Chama knew about this because he was the Mahimba family lawyer. Rose naturally agreed to help him because she detested Thomas. He was abusive and treated her like a slave. Tony, who was Laurel youngest brother and the prodigal son of the family, was enticed by greed. He had been cut out of the family fortune due to his shameful and reckless behavior.

On the night of the incident, Rose had slipped some valium into my drink, not enough to knock me out immediately but enough to put me to sleep when the time was right.

While I was asleep, Rose got me to touch the gun with my hands so that my fingerprints would be there. She used gloves so hers would not be found. Then she put a call out to Tony who was waiting outside. He called his brother and told him that his woman was cheating on him. He then hid in the closet while waiting for Thomas. Meanwhile, Rose woke me up and told me about Thomas coming. When I was out of the house Tony got out of the closet and got the gun that had my fingerprints planted onto it by Rose. He also wore gloves when handling it.

When Thomas arrived Tony shot him in cold blood. He then left the gun besides Thomas and left. Rose then called the police, putting up a convincing story that she had been raped and when her boyfriend arrived, the assailant put a gun to him and ended his life.

“So I guess you are the one that sent that beast detective after me?”

“Yes I did,” replied Chama. “I thought he would get the job done but it seems I underestimated you.”

“So I guess you the one holding my family hostage?”

“I am afraid not. That would be Charles Mahimba.

I was confused. “Wasn’t it this black sheep over here that called me yesterday?” Tony grimaced at the term ‘black sheep’.

Chama laughed. “I see you have noticed the extremely unusual similarity between Mr. Mahimba’s voice and Tony’s over here.

“People do it all the time. That was how I used to steal from him, by impersonating him.” The young man said with no shame.

“You see Charles is not too convinced that you killed his son that is why he called. He suspects Rose over here. That is why he agreed to meet you.”

I was distraught.

“Look please, I’ll give you anything, just help my family. For old times’ sake Chama.” I added further something in Bemba we would say to ourselves when we were young.

“We are not kids anymore, neither are we friends.” I looked into the man’s eyes with whom we had shared 18 remarkable years as best friends and something hit me—my friend was dead.

“Tony, kill him and bury his body. Make sure you cover your tracks.” He then turned to Rose. “Let’s go.”

Then I saw it. I had only seen it once many years ago before. It was the same look in his eyes—the fool was in love. It was almost unbelievable. This man had only loved one girl, a girl who had crushed his heart so severely the man could never love again. However, it was there again, as bright as the morning sun. The fool. It made me wonder about Tony, he had defended her honor when I had cussed at her. Who then was she in love with? Did she even love any of the two or was she just using them?            

          “Time to die.” Tony said to me with the gun pointed at my head. It was the second time someone had tried to kill me in the space of twenty-four hours. This time it looked like death was imminent...

*

My resolve was weakening. My insides burning with conflicting emotions. I could feel the angel of death looming above me waiting to collect. I did not want to die not because I loved to be alive, although that was a small part of the reason, but because my death meant the death of the ones I loved.

“Where do you want the bullet, chikala?” I heard Tony speak. “Through your brain or through your heart? ” He was smiling ridiculously. 

The sadistic swine! I would not allow him the satisfaction of unsettling me. “I thought Rose was your girl, the way Chama and her were eyeing each other said otherwise, my bad.”

Tony hit me across the face with the butt of his gun. He then began a verbal assault that almost caused my ears to bleed. The man certainly had a talent with insults. They were the most creative, derogative, slanderous and sardonic words I have ever heard.

Satisfied with himself, the moment I was dreading was about to come to fruition. He pulled the safety of the gun and coolly placed his hand on the trigger. I closed my eyes and imagined my family. If I was to die, the last image I wanted to see was them, and not this biological waste of a human being. I also did one other thing—I prayed.

BANG! BANG!

I felt my heart stop with fear. I was expecting pain, death and possibly angels to carry me off to heaven. None of that happened—no pain, no death, no angels and no heaven.

I slowly pried my eyes open, with great hardship.

There was Tony, lying dead on the floor with two bullet holes through his head. I looked up at the shooter, what I saw was unbelievable.

Tony’s angel of death was Rose.

She came to me, smiled and untied me from the chair. The first thing I did was attack her throat with my big hands.

“Hey, Mark, relax I just saved your life.” She was only barely able to breathe. I did not want to hear what she said, neither did I want to believe what she said, all I wanted was to kill her.

I let her go, it was not easy. The temptation to kill was great.

“Why?” I barked. “Why did you do just that?”

“I don’t have time for explanations; all I can say is that you’re the first good man I have met in a long time.”

“What?” I said bemused. “That is a load of crap. And why did this revelation of me being a good person only dawn on you now, why not on the day you seduced me?”

She exhaled in irritation. “Take this to Charles Mahimba, it clears you for the murder of his son.”

“Why…you…how...thank…doesn’t make any sense…mad…dream.”

“Look, you have less than six hours to get to Ndola, before the plane leaves, if you don’t get there in time your family is dead.”

Those words had a magical effect on me. I took the parcel she gave me.

“Now, your car is outside, here are the keys. I need to dispose of this body.” I grabbed the keys, said thank you and I was out there like a lightning bolt.

I got into the car, started it and I was on my way.

I was in Ndola within four hours, cruising like a maniac. I had two hours to spare, I would get the parcel to Charles and see my family again. For the first time since the whole ordeal, I began to relax.

My mind quickly turned to Rose, what was she playing at now? Delivering this parcel would incriminate her too. It was then I thought maybe I was heading into another trap, maybe the evidence in the parcel was stuff that would paint me as the bad guy. I decided the best thing to do was to stop the car and check the parcel; after all I had time to spare.

Just as I was about to apply the brakes, I heard gunshots.

BANG!!BANG!!BANG!!BANG!!BANG!!

My face flustered, and I broke into cold sweats, someone was shooting at me. Was it Rose? Chama? Charles Mahimba?

The answer to the questions did not matter, what mattered was my life. I began to swerve the car from right to left so that I could not make myself such an easy target. The bullets were eating through my car relentlessly. It was unbelievable.

“Damn!” I shouted so loud I nearly tore my voice box. A bullet had lodged itself into my back, bringing with it the most excruciating pain.

A young boy appeared out of nowhere onto the road. I tried to avoid him and my car went off the road. It overturned several times. I stopped counting at four and drifted off into a black nothingness.

When I came to the smell of disinfectant and antiseptic greeted my nose, I opened my eyes and, there I was in a hospital.

My vision was blurring, but as soon as I set my sights on the man standing next to me, it shot up to 20/20.

There seating besides my hospital bed was Head of the Zambian ‘Mafia’, Charles Mashimba.

“Welcome back, Mr. Jere.”

I nearly jumped out of the bed. “I didn’t kill your son, where is my family?

“Calm down and shut up, Mr. Jere.” There was something about his demeanor that commanded both attention and submissiveness.

“I had my doubts about your involvement in my son’s death and the parcel my men found on you confirmed my suspicions.”

“Those were your men shooting at me?”

“Yes they were, I thought it was Rose driving,” he said. “You see I had a GPS tracking device planted on the car at the funeral. My men have been following it ever since. When I heard the car was in Ndola, I thought the woman was out for my blood. I ordered my men to apprehend her.”

“What do you mean she was out for your blood?”

“Well,” he began. “Two years ago Rose had been engaged to a prominent South African actor when she met my son. Infatuation infected Thomas the moment he met Rose. That infatuation quickly turned into obsession. Rose loved her fiancé with all her heart and thus never gave into Thomas’ advances.

Thomas could not take no for an answer and the more she denied him the stronger his obsessive desire grew until he had the man Rose loved murdered. Rose was devastated. The police had no leads but she knew who had killed her husband. Thomas thought this was the opportune time to go in because he knew how fragile and emotional women got. He hoped that Rose would cave in. She however, did not. She went away to London for a few months to get her head straightened out.

Around the same time, her half-sister, Mary, was working for Chama Chisembula as his secretary. Chama and a close friend of his were embezzling money from a partner firm. Mary had found out about it and had planned on going to the authorities with the information. Chama organized a hit man to take her and her husband out. When the hit man failed on his first attempt, Mary sent the incriminating evidence to her sister Rose and a letter saying that in the case of her death she should give the information to the police.

Soon after, Mary and her husband were killed.

With a burning rage, Rose decided it was time for payback. It was time to avenge the people that were cruelly taken away from her. Therefore, she came back to Zambia and formed a fraudulent relationship with my son. Then on their trip to Italy she sort the help of a talented master at forgery to create a fake Picasso painting and had Laurel purchase it.

After that, she persuaded my son to write a will. Chama as the family lawyer was called in to have a look at the will and the various goods mentioned in it. It was then that Chama had a first look at the painting, and he was hooked. Rose then began her flirtatious seduction with Chama so that he could fall for her, and oh, he did.

“So, you’re telling me Rose orchestrated this whole thing. That the painting was not worth 5 billion dollars.”

“No, it was not,” he said “The woman played everyone, all a web of lies. She told me everything in the letter that was in the parcel. Furthermore, my men just informed me she was seen crossing the border to Zimbabwe about three hours ago and after that got on a plane from there to somewhere in Europe. Oh, yes, she managed to get a hold of all the money that was in Chama’s six bank accounts in four countries. A total of about three million dollars. My men also found Chama dead with seven bullet holes in Lusaka”

“What!”

“Yes and surprisingly enough she deposited a million in your account, I think as a form of pence.”

I took the news with mixed emotions.

“So, what happens next?” I said my mind thinking about my family.

Charles stood up, and looked at me with his regal face. “I will continue my hunt for the manipulative whore that took two of my sons from me, and you should reunite with your family.” He then left.

My heart raced, could this be. I heard my daughter’s voice call out to me. She ran to me, behind her, looking poignantly graceful and beautiful, was my wife.

“Hey, you.” I said to my daughter. I looked at my wife. There was so much I wanted to say. So many apologies, so many flowery speeches about what she meant to me and more apologies.

The only thing I managed to say was “I love you”

She walked up to me and stroked my hand.

“I love you too.”

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