Read Online Killer Country by Mike Nicol - Free Book Online Page B

earliest I could go. And what’re we talking, a five, six hour drive? That’s not fun after a long flight.’
    ‘Charter flight could get you within an hour’s drive.’
    ‘If you’re picking up the tab.’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘What if I want to take my daughter with me? Get her out onto a farm. Something she’s not experienced, that adventure wonderland.’
    ‘I’ve heard about your daughter,’ said the judge. ‘A horrible experience for you.’
    ‘She’s over it.’
    Judge Visser unzipped his clasp bag. ‘I’m not sure this would be the best occasion to have her with you.’ He brought out a business card. ‘Maybe some other time I can arrange for you to stay at one of the hunting lodges. We hire them out. You could take your wife and daughter for a week. Be our guests.’ He offered the card to Mace. ‘Do you have a card?’
    ‘Sure.’ Mace took one from his wallet. 
    ‘I’ll get back to you on Tuesday,’ said the judge. ‘With the arrangements.’
    Mace stood.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Bishop.’ The judge raised his hand. ‘I appreciate this.’
    As Mace turned to leave, he noticed the judge swing his chair back to face the photograph.

12
     
     
    Obed Chocho, lying on his bed, the screen of the television paused on Tony Soprano’s scheming face, thought about what his wife had told him. What Popo Dlamini had told her. That the money backing the other consortium on the land deal was German. Which he did not like. He wondered what Tony would do in this sort of situation.
    Except Tony wouldn’t be in this sort of situation. Wouldn’t be in jail. Wouldn’t have his wife screwing her arse off. Opening her legs to a prick like Dlamini. Carmela wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t dream of doing that.
    Carmela wouldn’t take a man into Tony’s bedroom and fuck him stupid on Tony’s bed. She had respect. She wasn’t going to let some young flash paw at her flesh. Stick his dick in her. Suck her tits.
    Tony could trust Carmela. Obed didn’t trust Lindiwe. Turned out he was right not to.
    Obed Chocho groaned. ‘Mighty fine. Mighty fine.’ Hit his hand against the iron railing of the bed head until it hurt. Didn’t stop the image of Lindiwe, shiny with sweat, moaning and grinding beneath Popo Dlamini, thrusting her breasts up for his lips to slide around her long nipples. Didn’t stop the twitch in Obed Chocho’s groin but shot him off the bed.
    Almost made him get Lindiwe back on the phone. Tell her again: I’m not joking. It’s over. I catch you anywhere near him, you better watch out. 
    When she’d phoned he’d let her get to the point of anxiety without saying a thing. Hearing her become nervous over his silence. Blurting out the shit from Dlamini about the German backer with long long euros. The sort of bucks that would get to the greedy mlungu Smits holding out for the big lotto win. White shit dealing white shit, muscling in to take his land. Going to cut a deal with the other consortium that would sweep him off the table. Like he was dirt. To be spat on. Ignored. Oh no. Mighty fine, oh no.
    Only his wife crying, saying, ‘That’s what he told me. ‘True’s God, help me, that’s what he said.’ Only Lindiwe’s snivelling snapped him back to her.
    ‘I hear one more time you’ve seen him, hear me, one more time, then mighty fine, he is dead. No more smses how you want to hump each other.’ He heard her gasp. ‘You talk to him. You phone him. You send him any message I’m going to know. You got that mighty fine?’
    She whimpered.
    He shouted, ‘You got that mighty fine?’
    Her reply so soft through the sobbing he had to get her to say it again. ‘Yes, Obed.’
    ‘Hear me, Lindiwe,’ he said, ‘listen hard. I know what’s going on. I know mighty fine. You are over with him. You are finished. No more. I sit here, I get your smses “Oh baby, come duze tonight”, you think I like that. My wife screwing this arsehole. Over now, okay. Finish and klaar.’
    He waited. Lindiwe going