Chapter 9
While driving up a long hill road, I asked her if she would like to come back
to my place for a night cap. I had no doubt that she would agree and jump at
the opportunity. In my peripheral vision I saw her stiffen. Her giggly voice toned
down somewhat. She said, “Err no, well I have to get up really early, and my
Dad will freak if I’m not home quite soon.”
I felt slighted. Insulted. Hurt. Angry. Ungrateful bitch. I saw my future go up
in flames. How could she do this to me? I bit back my disappointment, and
thought I should try a different tack.
I said, “Don’t be shy. I can feel that you like me. I like you. I like you a
lot. In fact, I think it was love at first sight. Let’s not fight it.”
She sat bolt upright. I sensed her panic, and I panicked, and I wasn’t sure
where I had stuffed this up, but for sure things weren’t working out the way I
wanted.
“Stop the car, please. I want to get out.”
“Oh. Okay then, forget it. Forget that I asked. I’ll just take you home.” She
must have heard me mumble ‘bitch’ under my breath, because she opened the door
at forty mph.
Instinctively, I hit the brakes. Before the car had come to a full stop, she
was trying to get out. I grabbed her by the back of her jacket, held her
tightly and turned off the road into the long grass.
I went silent. I had such hopes that night. My heart was breaking.
I thought about how I could have done things differently that night. Why, how,
did I continually stuff up? I started to drift off into my deep secret
thoughts. Obviously for too long.
Chapter 10
“Carry on, Kevin ... “
“Oh. Yes. I was just trying to remember all the details. Sorry.”
I transferred my grip on her and grabbed her firmly by the hair. I didn’t want
to hurt her, but it couldn’t end like this. I pushed her out the door and
climbed out after her. It was quite a clumsy manoeuvre, and unfortunately I
jerked her head back a few times, accidentally. Her fear turned to anger and
she swore at me. Karma-Jane swore at me.
My heart’s desire called me a ‘fucking crazy bastard.’
I tripped. She broke free and ran. She ran like a gazelle fleeing from a
cheetah. She had kicked her shoes off, hiked up her skirt and she was peddling.
Jesus, she was quick. My left shoe came off and I stumbled. I dug deep and made
up a few yards. Then I dive tackled Karma-Jane. It happened in slow motion.
My right arm is a bit longer than my left arm. I don’t know why. It’s just like
that. I reached out with my right hand and caught her by her sweater collar.
Her gait slowed, and my body bunched up behind her. The force of my momentum took
her down. I ended up on top. I squatted over her and put my hands around her
neck.
I tried to rectify the situation. I didn’t want trouble. That’s all. I really
just didn’t want any trouble.
Chapter 11
My thoughts drifted back and back. I went to my private headspace:
Karma-Jane was a big mistake and a learning curve. It’s kind of ironic that
some of us only see the error of our ways when it is already far too late to
change direction. My error was sloppiness. I had managed to stay out of trouble
for several years until now. For me, staying out of trouble meant avoiding the
law. Do what you have to do, but just don’t get caught.
I never went back to the bar. I had never filled a job application form and as
far as I could remember, never even gave them my surname or contact details. It
was a temporary job that evolved into a permanent position.
I was safe for a while, but I had to do a runner. Maybe move back to Cape Town,
but Cape Town was probably too soon for my return. I thought about going up
north, to a small rural town near the Zimbabwean border. The border was porous.
If things got tight, I could skip the country.
My mind went on a frolic. I saw myself in faded dungarees, pitch forking hay
onto a trailer. A nimble blonde girl by my side, laughing and pitching hay. Her
hair looks like it’s been fixed with lacquer. As she sways from side to side
her hair moves as if it’s solid. Like a Barbie doll. Her elbows are fixed.
Fuck it, she is a Barbie doll. I change the picture. Now she has a ponytail,
swishing as she dances with her hay fork. Her jeans transform to a plaid skirt.
She’s wearing a thin blouse. Her pert breasts embed her nipples into the
cotton. I lean forward, placing one hand on a breast and move in close to kiss
her. She pulls back, her smile changing to a reprimanding frown. I push my
pitchfork into her chest and she expires like a popped balloon.
I struggled to regain control of my senses. I pictured myself lying naked in
the snow, shivering. Clear thought control came back to me. Too small a town
would probably be too risky. I would stand out easily. A racing red Alfa would
also be noticed and remembered too easily. I discarded the whole small-town,
hay pitching idea.
It dawned on me that the Alfa, one of my prized possessions, was now an
albatross around my neck.
Why did I always have to part with the things I loved?
I pushed my face into my hands and wept. Life can be so cruel. I wasn’t a bad
person. Life had let me down. Fuck the world. Mommy was going to be disappointed
again, so disappointed.
I breathed in deeply, and held my breath until it felt that my lungs would
burst. It helped me to think, concentrate. Focus.
I had to go now. They say the first forty eight hours are the most critical. I
was forty eight hours in and feeling jumpy.
Chapter 12
It was nearly midnight. A Sunday night. I rode to the twenty-four hour mall on
my other prized possession, a Honda K1. The first of the superbikes. I had it
re-sprayed in candy apple red metallic, with gunmetal and chrome detailing. The
engine had been modified. I remember the night I worked through to sunrise,
fitting a Yoshimura 4-into-1 exhaust, all by myself. I loved that bike. It
sounded like a real racer. It screamed.
I kept the revs down low on my way to the mall, not wanting to attract
unnecessary attention.
I filled my backpack with bleach and clear aerosol lacquer spray. The bleach to
obliterate any of my DNA in the apartment, and the lacquer to prevent the
lifting of any remaining fingerprints on obvious places. I thought it was a
brilliant idea.
It was a small apartment. A yellow
coloured box. No pictures. No frills. I packed and cleared my belongings into
the Alfa within forty-five minutes.
Then I sprayed the entire surface area of the place as best I could with
diluted bleach. All over the mattress. Both sides.
After I had given the cupboards, doors and obvious touch surfaces a bleach and
wipe, I sprayed aerosol lacquer as a further precaution. Anything trapped under
solidified lacquer could not be detected or used. Cops would never realise how
Kevin Adams had left no trace.
As I said my name to myself, I realised that if the cops came to my apartment,
they would also get my basic details from the lease rental contract. I had
momentarily forgotten that little fact. Shit.
Well, I wouldn’t make it easy for them.
A cockroach scrambled across the floor, disturbed from its resting place by the
overpowering smell of bleach and aerosol solvent. Black with yellow markings.
I’ve always been fascinated by cockroaches. They look kind of prehistoric.
Their heads are like little armoured cockpits, with little engineers inside
barking out orders, pressing buttons and turning up the mechanicals. I wondered
if it is true that cockroaches could survive a nuclear holocaust. This one
wouldn’t. I sprayed it with lacquer. It slowed down and battled to move its
legs as the lacquer dried.
“Watch paint dry, sucker.” I laughed loudly. The roach flipped onto its back
and lay wriggling. I wondered why they do that. Spray them with pesticides and
they flip over. Not a fall over. A determined flip over. Weird, that.
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