CHAPTER FIVE

He felt a bit better after the prayer and he was sure that, just like in the scripts, the Lord would, by all means, be by his side. He changed channels; there was nothing on the sports channel. He switched to the music channel, and that he watched till late. In a more constructive contrast his ears did not hear a thing, nor did his eyes see what was on television despite them being wide open. His mind was somewhere else; not-so-pleasant thoughts had fought their way into his mind and succeeded.

There was no running away from the thought of the sudden twist of his fate—a life that had started with a more coherent beginning but was now filled with uncertainty and fear. He hated very much what he had done. The thought that he'd almost killed a man sickened him. He tried tossing his mind as far away from that last thought as possible. Lucky enough, the mysterious voice had been in his counsel. Without it, he could and would have done worse.

A spine-chilling fact bothered him still: that he had robbed an innocent soul. He hated himself to every limb he possessed; he could’ve at least taken the money or the car, either of the two. Not both. What have I turned into? Robbery and attempted murder carried a life in prison conviction. His heart skipped a beat upon that thought, his whole life flashing in front of him. He wondered if he would end up in police custody. He forced the idea to the back of his mind and tried to think of the positives. A rather weird one popped up in his mind…he slowly grinned. A sensation of arousal and excitement filled him. How could he have thoughts like that?

The picture of Jane’s naked body didn’t leave his mind. He slowly recalled what he’d seen the previous night—the round hips and full, firm breasts. Jane’s marble, hazel eyes had made him drool. He went over the events of the previous night, a full force of joy filling his whole body now. He could feel the smooth skin of her breasts and hear her gasps as he teased her with his finger. He had pushed it a bit deeper. It’d been welcomed by a warm fluid.

He’d pulled it back an inch and propelled it forward again—this time much deeper—and Jane jerked. He was sure from the look in her eyes that she’d been carried away in the sensation the fingers provided. If he’d had time he would have added the third crime to the already existing one. Rape. When he tossed to the side, his eyes came square with the wall clock: a few minutes to 9 o’clock. He wondered for how long he had been thinking. He pulled the blanket over his head; his eyes already giving in to the sleep he’d been deprived of the previous night. He fell asleep sometime after nine.

At 0800 he awoke, “Fuck! I missed the morning news.” He cursed out loud. He hoped to catch the noon news. When am I leaving this place? He called reception for clarity and was told to leave at six-thirty p.m. or any time before that. He thanked the receptionist and ended the call. He fell back on the bed and stretched. He replayed the events of the previous day. I have sinned and am… a knock interrupted his thoughts. He rushed to the door with a pounding heart…he opened it and the house service, a lady delivered the breakfast.

He thanked the Almighty it was not what he’d been dreading. At least, for now, the gods were still coming through for him. And the fact that he kept on missing the news worried him. Philosophers usually say with any sunset comes the sunrise, and each one of those does not bring similar fortunes and misfortunes. His sunset had come when he lost his family; he’d sulked, brooded, and been emotionally oppressed for a few good years. And now it was a new beginning; the sun had climbed up the skies, providing a much clear view of what he had to do, despite how he had done it. It was, after all, a second shot at life and he had to make the best out of it while time still allowed. Otherwise, just otherwise…

I better try to register this car now, pimp it, and give it a new look. He visited the tray after an hour. Scrambled eggs, a slice of bread, and coffee made the meal…he devoured it all hungrily, ignoring how cold the coffee was. He was accustomed to having cold coffee anyway. He pushed the tray aside and got dressed; his black denim jeans, a white T-shirt, and laced up his cowboy boots.

He did not bother to take a bath or brush his teeth; he was in a hurry. But for what, he had no idea. He paused by the reception desk and asked for The Advertiser…the lady handed him the booklet. He flipped through the pages carefully before asking for a piece of paper and a pen. He jotted something on the paper and handed back the booklet. From the reception main door, he turned left and passed a few rooms before arriving at the hotel parking lot. He pressed the unlock button from the keys and the BMW squalled, signaling the reception of the signal. He opened the door, got in, and rested on the driver’s seat for a moment.

For the first time, he recognized how much the interior of the car smelled feminine. He inhaled the sweet aroma of whatever perfume had been used in the car then turned on the ignition.

He followed the road that snaked its way through the city center, past the police station, turned right, and followed Peolwane Street. He managed to find a parking spot at Galo mall, locked the car, and headed to the shops. He searched for mobile shops; luckily, he found “Cell-city” and bought a Nokia 5200 as well as a Mascom SIM card. Punching out the SIM he inserted it into the phone. Within three minutes, he was connected to the world and was now able to make calls and receive them. That is, if any would come his way, which was a very unlikely occurrence for him. He produced the paper from his pocket, dialed the panel beaters’ number, and successfully arranged for the painting of the car.

“Around two,” he repeated the appointed time. “Light industrial site, opposite Jamal, plot no: 15255.” He jotted them down on paper. He glanced at his watch.

12:39

About an hour to go. He drove off, following a road that led to a place he did not know. He made sure he didn’t get off the road, lest he get lost. Driving a stolen car, a huge amount of cash stashed underneath your driver’s seat, and asking for directions didn’t seem like a smart idea. He didn’t want to risk being spotted. Driving at 20 km/h, he went past a building painted “Botswana Traffic and Car Registration Center." He hit the brakes to read the writing carefully.

He thought about his car which up to now was not yet registered. He wasn’t worried as he thought to himself that in a corrupt country like Botswana he would get his car registered without a sweat.

13:45

He followed the road back to the Light Industrial mall, and within fifteen minutes he was at the workshop. An hour later, his car was the way he liked it: light blue with white stripes running its vertical length. On the rear and front windows he had his name printed, “GIL” in italics. He paid six hundred and fifty for the transformation.