stood poised then he went in, unsheathing the knife. He was nearly on the squatting figure when the man came awake, reflexively grabbing for a stick leaning on the wall. But the Zulu was not fast enough and Ngubane bowled the weapon to the ground, stabbing with his knife, the steel sinking unhindered into the soft gut.
The guard’s eyes bulged as th e knife went in to the hilt. His expression was vacant, staring helplessly at the quarters, mutely calling his friends to his aid. Ngubane sliced the knife through the stomach wall, smothering his hand hard over the mouth to stifle sound. He drew out the knife and stabbed again, rotating the blade, then quickly extracted it as the dying man collapsed at his feet, the blood flowing from the mutilation onto the stone slabs.
Wiping the knife on the man’s shirt Ngubane studied the door. When the steel was clean he moved to it, testing the handle on the varnished wood. It held fast. There was a lock and he wondered if there was an internal latch. He went to the corpse and dug into the pockets of the baggy shorts. Stifling a triumphant cry he removed a key and went to the door, eagerly inserting it. It went in unhindered and was the right one.
As if walking on broken glass, he went through the kitchen and into the lounge. Visibility was poor, external light mostly shut out by heavy drapes on the windows. The luminous hands of his watch showed twenty to twelve and he thought of the dead man. At some point the guard would be changed.
He saw the stairs and after assimilating the dark went to them and began his ascent. On the first floor he calmed himself before going to the room that was sure to harbour the gangster. There was only quiet and he eased the door inwards, slipping through until he was just inside. Near the window he made out a wide bed and he listened, hoping to catch the breathing of Shozi deep in sleep. His heart pounded and he pulled up the knife, changing his grip, certain now that the gangster was there for he could see the shape of a body lying on the bed.
Ngubane went nearer and then the room was bathed in the light of a table lamp. Standing, encased in a sneer, was Shozi, his Webley pointed at Ngubane’s heart. ‘You took your time,’ he said, lazily. ‘I saw you killing my guard. He must have been asleep.’
The taunt penetrated Ngubane like the sting from a wasp but he kept his attention on the gangster.
‘You’re one of the guerillas,’ continued Shozi, looking at Ngubane as if he was a leper. ‘I thought you’d come sooner or later. You must have killed the youth.’ He removed the sheet from a pile of blankets and grinned wickedly. ‘I knew you’d use a knife. That must have looked tempting. I suppose your comrades are outside. They’ll die as well.’
‘No’ said Ngubane. ‘You will die. It will be the end of a heinous reign. The house is surrounded.’
Shozi blinked, a hint of doubt , and Ngubane took his chance. Lifting the knife with the craft of a juggler and taking the end of the blade he threw it with a scream. ‘Die you monster.’
The knife spun lethally in the crisp air and for a second Ngubane felt victory was his. But Shozi was already going down, all the while keeping the gun unerringly on his foe. The knife flew by and certain of the guerilla’s death he fired. The slug hit Ngubane above the heart, driving him back like a stickman caught in a wind, his body corkscrewing in a contortion of flying arms and gangling legs. He landed on his hip, expecting the second shot and acutely conscious he had to keep moving. He rolled and came to his feet.
At the second shot Ngubane leapt like a running deer as the bullet cut into his calf. He got to the door, projecting himself through onto the landing. Excited voices out the back spurred him on and he hopped and skipped to the stairs, blood inseminating his clothes, a powerful dye.
Incensed that the guerilla did not go down, Shozi shouted with rage, the thought of his enemy escaping
The guard’s eyes bulged as th e knife went in to the hilt. His expression was vacant, staring helplessly at the quarters, mutely calling his friends to his aid. Ngubane sliced the knife through the stomach wall, smothering his hand hard over the mouth to stifle sound. He drew out the knife and stabbed again, rotating the blade, then quickly extracted it as the dying man collapsed at his feet, the blood flowing from the mutilation onto the stone slabs.
Wiping the knife on the man’s shirt Ngubane studied the door. When the steel was clean he moved to it, testing the handle on the varnished wood. It held fast. There was a lock and he wondered if there was an internal latch. He went to the corpse and dug into the pockets of the baggy shorts. Stifling a triumphant cry he removed a key and went to the door, eagerly inserting it. It went in unhindered and was the right one.
As if walking on broken glass, he went through the kitchen and into the lounge. Visibility was poor, external light mostly shut out by heavy drapes on the windows. The luminous hands of his watch showed twenty to twelve and he thought of the dead man. At some point the guard would be changed.
He saw the stairs and after assimilating the dark went to them and began his ascent. On the first floor he calmed himself before going to the room that was sure to harbour the gangster. There was only quiet and he eased the door inwards, slipping through until he was just inside. Near the window he made out a wide bed and he listened, hoping to catch the breathing of Shozi deep in sleep. His heart pounded and he pulled up the knife, changing his grip, certain now that the gangster was there for he could see the shape of a body lying on the bed.
Ngubane went nearer and then the room was bathed in the light of a table lamp. Standing, encased in a sneer, was Shozi, his Webley pointed at Ngubane’s heart. ‘You took your time,’ he said, lazily. ‘I saw you killing my guard. He must have been asleep.’
The taunt penetrated Ngubane like the sting from a wasp but he kept his attention on the gangster.
‘You’re one of the guerillas,’ continued Shozi, looking at Ngubane as if he was a leper. ‘I thought you’d come sooner or later. You must have killed the youth.’ He removed the sheet from a pile of blankets and grinned wickedly. ‘I knew you’d use a knife. That must have looked tempting. I suppose your comrades are outside. They’ll die as well.’
‘No’ said Ngubane. ‘You will die. It will be the end of a heinous reign. The house is surrounded.’
Shozi blinked, a hint of doubt , and Ngubane took his chance. Lifting the knife with the craft of a juggler and taking the end of the blade he threw it with a scream. ‘Die you monster.’
The knife spun lethally in the crisp air and for a second Ngubane felt victory was his. But Shozi was already going down, all the while keeping the gun unerringly on his foe. The knife flew by and certain of the guerilla’s death he fired. The slug hit Ngubane above the heart, driving him back like a stickman caught in a wind, his body corkscrewing in a contortion of flying arms and gangling legs. He landed on his hip, expecting the second shot and acutely conscious he had to keep moving. He rolled and came to his feet.
At the second shot Ngubane leapt like a running deer as the bullet cut into his calf. He got to the door, projecting himself through onto the landing. Excited voices out the back spurred him on and he hopped and skipped to the stairs, blood inseminating his clothes, a powerful dye.
Incensed that the guerilla did not go down, Shozi shouted with rage, the thought of his enemy escaping
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