SIX MILLION WAYS TO DIE

“You don’t suppose it can be done?” Mzala asked, before letting out a deserved burp over his beer mug. The man he was talking to looked quite inebriated and did not reply at once. Mzala did not even see his reaction, because the man was wearing very dark glasses, the kind that are usually seen in cowboy movies.

“Suppose what?” the man said after a while, as if he had been irately irked. He stared very hard at the bursting bubbles in his glass, awaiting Mzala’s response.

“Well, it’s this wife of mine, you know, the one I have been telling you about?” Mzala continued, wiping his lips pensively. He looked up at the man’s face. There was no inclining reaction. Mzala continued. “She needs to be killed.”

The man let out a drunken laugh, which was full of tangible disbelief. “Now I never thought I would live to hear a man say that! Anyway why would a man wish his wife dead?” he asked in a hoarse voice, his eyes gleaming suspiciously. “I suppose what she has done is what is happening everywhere these days.”

“And yet that should redeem her?” Mzala asked back, his eyelashes moving in a sweeping manner, up and down. “People are paying money these days for solutions to such problems!” he retorted indignantly, and then turned to look at the other people in the bar. He had met him, this character of a man, at Sis Dolly’s, and being a Friday, the two had decided they could share a table and drink their worries away. Sis Dolly came up to them at that precise moment, smiling, and said,

“Another Pilsner pint, Mzala? Or a Castle one...for the new face in the bar?”

Mzala turned and faced her very hard, and after observing the blank look of his partner’s face, he drunkenly said. “Do I really resemble a mobile bank, Sis Dolly?"

Sis Dolly, quite like a very trained soldier, turned and marched to the next customers around the other tables. Such characters were always expected in any community, and Mzala was one of the few she could tolerate. As she left, the other man followed his gaze at her.

“Wow, that is a big woman!” he exclaimed in a most strange manner, and then lifted the glass and almost swallowed it with the beer inside. After burping carefully, he faced Mzala, and winked. “You were talking, please continue.”

“Big indeed!” Mzala agreed with a careful nod. He looked at his friend. “You can remind me on what I was talking about?” He asked.

“The woman. Your wife.” The man said placidly, staring at the bubbles again.

“And what did she do?” Mzala asked curtly, cutting the man with a sharp gaze. It was a little game he enjoyed to play, checking whether the man had been paying any attention at all. He called it the concentration game.

The man said, “You said she needed killing, right?”

Mzala laughed contentedly. “You are a good listener! I like that in a man. I like men who listen when I talk. There’s a few of them on this earth.” He paused, and then said. “Did I tell you why she needed killing?”

“No, but I figure you were about to, but seeing as that Dolly woman disturbed us.”

Mzala winced. “Sis Dolly, that's her right name. She always does that, doesn’t she?”

The man said he was quite new to the place and did not know how Dolly behaved. He stared back at her, watching how busy her delicate footing was on the bar’s glossy parquet tiles. “She does have tiny feet, doesn’t she?” he observed. “I wonder…?”

Mzala stared at him. “You mean my wife?” he asked, his eyes becoming wide. “No she doesn’t! Her feet almost equal a standard loaf.”

The man said he had meant Dolly’ feet, and then he said that he always wanted to have a woman with tiny feet. “It’s a sign of being rich.” He added thoughtfully.

Mzala squinted his eyes at the man, confused, and then nodded his head at him. Sis Dolly was about his wife’s age, and her built matched his wife’s credentials perfectly. He wondered how it would feel to kill a woman with tiny feet, and then said it out aloud, but enough only for the man to hear. “I wonder how it would feel to kill a woman with tiny feet?” he said

“What?” the man asked. “Were you saying something just now?” he said, taking his eyes off the beer container.

“No, nothing.” Mzala lied. “You, I’ve never seen you in these parts before. Do you live in this township?"

The man shrugged. “I’ve been known to live here and there. From hand to mouth, if i can say that.” came his answer.

“And what line of work are you in then?” Mzala drilled.

“Well, mostly Government. Public service, that kind of thing. It's what I really do. Boring stuff really. People are a great deal of nuisance once you’ve been with them for long. And our government has gone to the dumps. What do you do yourself?” he asked.

Mzala lifted his mug. “Me?” he asked

“No, the beer bottle. Yes, you.” The man said with sarcasm, behind the thick glasses “What do you do for a living?”

“I also get my money from here and there.” Mzala replied with a chuckle. Then he said, “Truthfully, I’m an entrepreneur.”

The man smiled effortlessly, “Entrepreneur, those are big words. Nice. The country needs people like you these days. I’m an entrepreneur myself, although in another business."

“And how is that business?” Mzala asked.

“Brisk.” the man replied. “We are digressing. So, this woman, your wife,” he continued, “she is in the flea market business, isn’t she?" Mzala nodded. ”So you were telling me about her.”

“Oh, my wife, yes yes...” Mzala said standing to stretch his aching back. He did not bother to ask how he knew her. She was quite a popular person. “But before we go into the details, do you want another Pilsner?” he continued as he sat down. “Because I fear that the stuff I want to indulge in might drain or shock the bones in you.”

“If you say so, but I’m positive I’ve seen more than your two eyes can handle in six million years.” The man replied casually. “I’d prefer a Castle this time, and this time it’s on me. I’ll buy the next three rounds, if you are up to it.” He paused, and gave one long wink of a look at Mzala.

“Shall I?” He asked, and paused again.

“Shall you what?” Mzala asked impetuously.

“Shall I call the woman?” the man replied irritably.

Mzala nodded abruptly, and the man called Sis Dolly by whistling at her. When she came, he took out a very fat brown wallet, and bought three pints of Pilsner for Mzala and the other three of Castle for himself. Mzala noticed that his pockets were bulging, filled with money. As Sis Dolly was pouring the alcohol, the man said.

“So this woman, your wife. She needs killing?”

Mzala, noticing that Sis Dolly was too close to them, put his finger on his mouth drunkenly, and with the corner of his eyes dancing uncomfortably, said in a hushed tone. “Rightly so. But not so loud, my friend. Let us wait till she has poured the beer. We don’t want the whole nation hearing our small talk.”

“Fine with me, if that’s what you want.” the man said dryly.

“That is what I want.” insisted Mzala.

So they both waited, and watched in silence as Sis Dolly poured the beer. When she was leaving, the man looked at her and exclaimed. “I tell you! That there, is one big woman!”

Mzala ignored him and said “You shouldn’t carry such amounts of money in your pockets. Put it in a bank.”

“I just got paid by this other woman for a deal we are doing.” replied the man, checking his pockets. “I’ll go to the bank tomorrow.”

Mzala smiled a little. “So where was I on the killing plot?” he asked. “Or shall we call it thekilling mission?” he said, playing his concentration game again.

“Look, call it what you want,” murmured the man, running his finger on the edge of his glass. “As long as you know how it can be done.”

“But how do you suppose it can be done?” pointed out Mzala.

“There are six million ways to die in the world. Just choose one.” The man said simply.

“Six million? Why, I thought there should be more than a billion!” Mzala exclaimed.

"Six million. No more. No less." The man said solidly. "It's the laws of nature, like gravity and that sort of stuff."

“Well, at least you give me one example then.” Mzala continued smugly, a look of concern spreading over the perimeter of his face. The man became quiet, seemingly lost in a deep forest of thought. When he came about, which was after a while, he said in a serious tone.

“Trust me, I know this very well. There are exactly six million ways to die. No more, no less, my friend.” He whispered again.

Mzala shrugged his shoulders. “Ok, no need to dwell on the useless points.” He said. The man looked hurt by the sentiment, but Mzala did not notice it. “I want something that will be quite painless, exact and quite fast.” He added.

“How fast?” the man asked, before taking an eye sweep at the people in the bar.

“Very.” said Mzala.

“One needs to be sure when dealing with these things.” the man went on. “Death is serious business. It is an art. A form of new life. One that must be carefully planned. When someone departs to the other life, they must do it with a really big bang. This is…”

He halted, and then looked at Sis Dolly. “Call her for me, will you?” he suddenly said to Mzala. Mzala called her for him and when she came over, he whispered to her. “You know what, these beers are too warm, Mrs. Dolly."

"Sis, not Mrs." the woman interrupted him. "Just Sis Dolly, thank you very much."

"Whatever you say, Miss Dolly." the man said irately. "Look, will you return them to the freezer? And also put Mzala’s beers back there too.”

“Two Castles and two Pilsners back to the freezer.” Sis Dolly repeated enthusiastically.

“Yes, woman. Two Castles and two Pilsners. Don't be a parrot please.” The man said calmly, but appearing irritated by her repetition of what he had just said. “ I will call you again later, because we might need more beers.” He said with a dismissal tone of a voice. Sis Dolly left them, and as she was leaving, the man stared at her and said to Mzala, who was staring at him in disbelief. “That is a big woman, I say!” Then he said. ”You look surprised, what’s up?”

“You know my name?” Mzala asked, placing his mug on the table and pouring slowly. It made a funny sloshing sound. “You called me by it.” he continued. The man looked at him sternly, and his hand went towards the glasses, with the intention of removing them, but something told him not to. He smiled at Mzala.

“Sure I do, Mzala. I forgot to tell you before. My other job is to know people’s names. I also never forget a face, you know, since I'm working in the Public Service and all that.”

“You must make a lot of money then.” Mzala said in a calculative tone. He studied the man. He was quite expensively garmented, with a shiny suit covering his robust built. A pair of shiny brown shoes matched with the suit. “That suit,” Mzala said studying him. “Where did you get it from?”

“I bought it from Italy. Quite expensive, its a Versace suit.” He replied, pronouncing the name with a profound Italian accent.

“And the shoes too?” Mzala continued his study. The man looked at him and nodded.

“These ones? No, not these. These I bought here in Zimbabwe. Let’s get to the heart of your story matter.” He said. “So you want a death that is painless, but yet efficiently fast?”

Mzala said yes. For a while, the two remained quiet, and all this time the man drank his beer slowly. Then suddenly, with bright eyes, he looked up at Mzala.

“Why, that’s impossible!” he exclaimed, loosening his tie.

“Impossible?” Mzala repeated in a careful whisper, looking irretrievably perturbed. “How is it not possible? There must be a painlessly fast death in the six million types somehow.”

The man smiled knowingly, and his fingers tapped the table lightly as he grinned. Mzala noticed he had a fine set of manicured, white glinting teeth. “Listen, if a death is fast, then it follows that it has to be so exceedingly painful that the victim faces it imminently. Itcan’t be painless if it is fast.”

Mzala contemplated, and bit his lower lip. “How positive are you?”

The man looked at him in the white of his eyes, and then said. “As positive that there are no dodos left on the earth.”

Mzala was quiet, as if the statement had stung him. “So there is no painless death out there, from the whole six million types available?”

The man nodded understandingly. “That is exactly what I am saying. Trust me. I doubt if there is such a death in this wide world. There would be life on Mars if there was.” He said firmly.

“Mars?”

“It’s a idiomatic expression, figure of speech.” The man replied at once. "Means it’s quite impossible. The odds are slim, chances are thin, well...something like that.”

“Oh? “ Mzala noted. “Then we must look at other options, shouldn't we?"

"Precisely." The man replied with grim resolve. "That we must do with haste."

"And what other options do we then have then?” asked Mzala.

“A simple death will do.” The man replied at once. "Simple, painful albeit..."

“Simple? Ok, mustn’t we draw up something like a… a plan, I mean… you know?” Mzala asked edgily, interrupting the man and leaning across the table. “Or, you have one planned already?”

The man shook his head and said. “That was not my planned excursion when I got into this bar. But I met you fair enough. And, indeed we must draw up a plan if things are to work out properly for you, my friend.” He finished his sentence by stealing awkward glances at a group of some men nested at one dark corner of the shebeen. “That plan is of utmost importance. I will help you on that.” He offered easily, leaning his face closer to Mzala.

“Can you draw it up, the plan of it?” Mzala asked hesitantly, wanting to know.

“I prefer to call it the blueprint now. But can I manage to draw the blueprint? Yes I can.” The man said. “You wouldn’t happen to have any paper, or pen on you?”

Mzala checked his pockets hurriedly. “I have a pen. I always carry a pen with me.Why I do that, I have never known. Do you have a piece of paper with you?”

“The pen, it is your weapon, my friend. We carry our weapons with us - always.” the man replied seriously, before searching himself thoroughly. He announced with a smile that fortunately he had some tissue paper, and he brought it out. “It will do.” He said, studying it. Then he asked,

“First and foremost, what kind of death do you want to befall her?”

Mzala was awed by the man’s audacity, and for a while he scratched his forehead, gulping his beer at the same time. “Since it can’t be painless and fast, anything that will result in death will suffice. As long as no one is bound to notice it is me behind it.”

“I assure you that if a death is minutely executed, no one will notice." the man said. "Any kind of death.” He said again, and Mzala thought the man was speaking to him, but he was quickly jotting down the words on the tissue paper.

“Ok, the difficult part is done.” he said looking up at Mzala. “Give me the types of death you would prefer. You need to think carefully here.”

Mzala became quiet, thinking very deeply. Presently, after breathing out aloud, he said. “You mean from the six million?”

“Yes.” The man answered. “I mean from the six million types.” He stole a careful glance at the occupants of the bar again, whilst on the table the pen on his left finger looked ready to jump on the tissue paper. Sis Dolly was still busy moving about, laughing and soliciting. Mzala was still quiet.

“Poison?” he suddenly said, opening another beer of Castle.

“Rat or cockroach poison? Cyanide or lead? Mild or extreme poison? Solid or liquid?” Asked the man seriously. “You need to be specific, my friend.”

Mzala looked up in amazement. “Look, any poison that kills fast will do.”

“Any poison.” The man said, his fingers almost springing to write on the tissue paper. He looked up at Mzala when he had finished.

“How about knife stabbing?” Mzala asked.

“Too messy. Too much blood on the scene.” The man replied, rubbing the end of the pen on his lips. He did not write the idea down.

Mzala looked at the roof, and then said, “Drowning?”

The man stared hard at the tissue paper, frowned and said, “That takes too much time. Besides, you don’t have a river nearby, do you?”

Mzala shook his head. “I was thinking of the tub.” He said.

“I know,” the man lied calmly. The idea of the tub had surpassed him totally. “But she couldscream, and alert nosey neighbours. I’m sure you have nosey neighbours. Everyone does.”

Mzala nodded, and then picked up his mug, and then put in down again. “Yes, that, I mean them, the neighbours. They could jeopardise the whole mission. But maybe I could just give it a try?”

“If you insist,” the man said, looking irritated but trying to hide it and failing. He wrote ‘drowning’ on the tissue paper and put a question mark next to the verb. “Anything else?” he asked, looking up at Mzala’s square face again.

“Maybe electrocution?”

“No, that wouldn’t do. That's a no no.” said the man firmly. “Besides, it is too risky, since I do presume that you don’t have the technical-know-how. Correct me if I'm wrong. Anything else?”

Mzala shook his head. The man smiled, and then put the tissue paper close to his face. “Well, that’s that for the time being.” He said, drawing a neat line across the tissue paper. In capitals, underneath the line, he wrote ‘DISPOSAL OF BODY DETAILS’ and underlined neatly under the words.

“And how do you propose to do that?” he asked, his eyebrows moving upwards and downwards as he slid the tissue paper across the table. With his middle finger, he pointed, and then tapped on the tissue paper right where the words were the underlined words were written.

“Depends on the type of death she would have met.” Mzala noted curiously, looking a bit confused, but with a flair of intelligence laced with the words of his sentence.

“Good!” exclaimed the man happily. “I like your comprehension of the impending situation.” Immediately, the man proceeded to cross out the word ‘drowning’ on the tissue paper. “Better we deal off that one at once.” He said without contention, winking at Mzala.

Mzala took up his mug, and ran his hand against it, feeling the smooth cold texture. The man continued, “You should make sure you drive off any leads that may incriminate or point the offence at you also.”

“That is no problem. It will look like a normal death and I will give her a normal burial.” Mzala replied coolly. "God knows i Don't hate the woman. I just hate her guts. Thats the only thing. Maybe we must just gut her insides?”

“Oh please.” the man crooned almost in pain.

Mzala winced.

“Be warned. There is the postmortem. The damned thing can reveal everything if you are not careful.” the man remined.

“Yes yes, I have to think about that.” Mzala admitted, stopping rubbing the cold mug.

“Indeed. Best if you do it now.” The man said calmly. “But whilst you’re at it, my friend, let me call Mrs. Dolly and treat you to another round of this glorious liquid we call beer. This time I want a Pilsner as well. You said you don’t fancy any other type?”

“Her name's Sis Dolly. Well, anyway, since you’re buying… let me interest you for the second time.” Mzala said. And so when Sis Dolly came, Mzala took a Castle whilst the man took the Pilsner. When she went away, the man whistled.

“That is one big woman!”

Mzala laughed. “ You've done nothing but say that all the time, why? Do you want her?”

The man let out a crude laugh. “No, not her Mzala. She is not my type of woman. I hate big women. They disgust me.”

Mzala winced again.

The man continued nevertheless, “I’ve just been wondering how such a big body could be disposed of. I mean if one had to kill her. She must weigh a ton!”

Mzala laughed. “And Sis Dolly, she is a one of a kind, you know, the extra-terrestrials. Word around says she’s a one of a kind, a woman who can cheat on her husband like no one else does. Last week, she beat the poor guy out of the house!”

“Is it so?” the man said slowly. “How very interesting.”

The time was ten minutes to six.

***

They took their pints, opened them and poured the beer into the mugs. When they had finished pouring, Mzala looked up at the man. “Have you ever killed anyone before?” He asked, as his he placed his mug down after a deserving gulp. The beer was quite sour, and he hesitated picking up the mug again.

“Not anyone who didn’t deserve it!” the man replied with a chuckle. “Why do you ask?”

Mzala shrugged, and then turned to look at the tissue paper. With bravado, he took another single and powerful strong gulp at the brimming mug. The Castle lager felt cold. It would give him the dreaded headache later. He had stopped drinking this type of beer because of this fact. The headaches that followed were horrendous.

“It’s too strong.” He admitted to his companion, pointing at the mug with his head. “Perhaps I should have stuck to my Pilsner.”

“It won’t kill you, come on!” The man urged, “But the headaches later onwards, my friend!”

Mzala braved another strong gulp. It was not as smooth as the usual Pilsner, but then again, he was not paying anything for it, so he put on a brave appearance. Across the table, the man was studying him. He edged closer and said,

“Get an Aspirin into the beer. That is my weapon, like your pen. For me Aspirin works against the headaches like a charm. I think I should do the same with my beer. It's killing me! I have a packet if you want one.” He offered, taking out two white Aspirin tables wrapped in foil paper. Mzala watched him drop one into his beer mug, and he watched also as the man dropped two for himself.

The time was twenty-five past six.

***

For a while the two chatted chatted, and Mzala bought the next round of beer, making sure his was a Pilsner this time. When he felt the headache clearing, he gave the tissue paper back to the man.

“The Aspirin sure works wonders.” he said.

“It sure works wonders indeed.” agreed the man plausibly.

Mzala continued, “About the post-mortem,” he said, “Can I not get some type of organic poison that cannot be traced, say by any doctor? I’ve heard several stories about such kinds of poisons?”

“Good!” the man whispered with renewed enthusiasm. “Now we’re getting somewhere at last!” He wrote ‘undetectable poison’ on the tissue paper.

“But is there anything like that, undetectable posion?” Mzala wanted to know if his idea was pragmatic. The man looked at him and nodded knowingly.

“My friend, there is just about everything for everyone on this earth. You only have to know where to look. I have connections with people who know about such dark and deadly topics.”

Mzala forced a smile. “Inside Government?”

The man nodded. "Well, maybe something like that. The Government kills a lot of people ever year. Gives them cheap beer, terrible healthcare and roads, you know, stuff like that. So technically, that is what I like to call disguised murder, if you ask me. So whether it's inside or outside Government, it really doesn't matter.”

“Interesting observation." Mzala noted. "Well, that is done then... I mean about the postmortem issue.” he said, rubbing his hands with some faint contention.

“But…” the man halted, giving a slightly grave tone again. “Such poisons must be carefully administered to the victim at precise times, lest the victim dies at the wrong time. We don’t her collapsing in the middle of the road, or before a horde of your children.”

“I have no children.” Mzala said. “Besides, even if I did, I doubt they would be a horde.”

The man sipped at his beer. “That,” he said wiping his lips. “was an example, Mzala.” Then he continued, “Best be warned now or never. When the mission takes off, it cannot go back. There are no known antidotes or prayers that will reverse the effects of such crafty poisons.”

Mzala nodded in grave agreement.

The time was seven o'clock.

***

“How old is your victim?” the man asked after a while of silence.

“My…,” Mzala stammered slightly, “Oh… her, my wife. Well, she's 43years old. I would say she is a goner already.”

The man did not look at him. He wrote ‘43’ on the tissue paper.

“Why do you ask?” Mzala quipped, uncomfortable at the man’s quietness.

“Because... because one must find the suitable concoction for the suitable victim at thesuitable time.” The man replied slowly, almost tangibly. “The very poison used varies with age and gender. She is a bit old, and the poison can affect her faster than we could think. We tread carefully in such matters.”

Mzala nodded. “Duly noted. So…? So she is dying in her sleep?”

The man smiled gravely. “Indeed my good friend, and that’s the grandeur of it! She will never know that she is dying until she wakes up dead!”

Mzala grinned, and watched as the man busily jotted on the tissue paper. He jotted some more, drank his beer, and jotted some more still. After a while, he slid the paper across to Mzala’s side and grinned.

"Now, that there is a master plan, my friend. Go through it. Tell me what you think."

Mzala studied the plan. It was foolproof.

“A very complicated and tedious programme if you ask me.” He observed, nodding and looking at his companion. “I doubt if I have the professional touch.”

“It’s called the technical-know-how.” The man corrected. “And I usually come in handy in these instances, that is if my services are needed.” He released a big grin, removed the glasses from his face and offered his open palms for a hand shake.

“C.B’s the name, and I’m a professional contract killer. The very person I think you need at this moment.” He said confidently.

Mzala was taken back. He looked at the open palms, and turned sideways, to see if anyone had heard the utteration. “You, a professional…?”

“Yes…yes, but no need to cause a scene though.” C.B assured, scanning the threshold. “But if you’re a serious man, and I assume, in fact I know that you are. Then you should take out your cheque book, and let me do the job for you.”

Mzala still had not recovered from the shock. “Wait. You? A proffesional…?” He stopped short of expiring air from his lungs, and studied the calm man in front of him. C.B looked collected, treating death like a kindergarten game. He fixed Mzala with an unforgiving stare.

“Unless, if you can bid a bit higher,” he said after a while. Mzala did not understand.

“Bid higher?”

“You still don’t understand the game?” C.B asked. He smiled. “It’s your wife Susan. She’s paid me to get rid of you. We just went through similar plans an hour ago. But being a good guy, I wanted to let you know how the odds are against you. I give my victims chances to redeem themselves. After all, we are not perfect beings.”

Mzala almost fainted. “You mean she…she’s hired you to kill me?” he stammered in disbelief.

C.B nodded casually. “Yes, my friend. I mean exactly that.”

“So what is your plan of action? I mean what happens now?” stuttered Mzala, his hands on the edge of the table.

C.B smiled again, very calmly. “Like I said, take out your cheque book, Mzala. And let’s do business.”

Mzala took out the blue book, almost seething with fury and rage. “How much is she paying you to kill me?” he asked, a nervousness suddenly biting at his insides.

“The question is with how much are you prepared to defend that life which she threatens to exterminate.” C.B replied professionaly. Mzala snatched the pen away from him, blood rushing through his hands. The alcohol had gone from his brain. He aimed the pen at the dotted lines on the blank cheque.

“Anything will do. Please tell me how much to write!” he begged.

“Careful. No need to cause a stir, if I may warn you again. Mzala.” C.B cautioned, slowly, glancing around the shebeen with the corner of his eyes. “You just put in what you think your life is worth. It shouldn’t be that much.”

Mzala scribbled haphazardly, and then tore the page furiously, and handed it over to C.B.

“Whoa! Four hundred thousand!” C.B exclaimed, his eyes hovering over the blue piece of paper. “Obviously, you do think that your life is important. I like that in a man.”

Mzala squeaked an incomprehensible agreement, and then he asked. “So what is your plan of action?”

“I’m a fair man. I will simply back the winning horse.” C.B replied.

“Me?” Mzala asked, his hands shivering and pointing to his chest. “Tell me that it's me.”

C.B nodded, paused for a while and then smiled.

“Well, my good man, I'm afraid it is so.” he smiled. “Congratulations! Your wife was a bit on the stingy side. She bid only two hundred and fifty thousand for her life, and she’s paid me already. Smile, Mzala.”

Mzala forced the smile. “So... this is over?”

“Yes, very over. I’m afraid the woman dies during her sleep, tonight.” C.B assured.

“Good.” Mzala said, regaining his composure. “Do a good job on her.”

C.B stood up, and pocketed the cheque. He then shook Mzala’s hand vigorously and said, “I take it that the deal is sealed?”

“Yes it is.” Mzala nodded, also standing up. “It’s been nice doing business with you. Any chance of us meeting again, for some more beers maybe?” He asked.

C.B smiled. “I doubt it, Mzala. That pint of Castle you drank was laced with poison from the Aspirin I gave you. You and your wife will never see the sunrise of tomorrow.”

Mzala suddenly became white, as every detail fell into place. He stood rooted to the spot, his jaw fallen to the ground. Ropes of sweat drained and tightened all over his face.

“There is a painless death after all, Mzala. And you will experience it tonight.” C.B whispered, before moving out of the shebeen and disappearing into the thin cold darkness outside.

***