Circus. Irma Venter
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you.”
“Your problem, not mine.”
I see the rage in his eyes.
“If your information is correct, I’ll give it to you.”
“Says who?”
“I’ve always kept my promises. You know that.” I pick up his empty glass. “The whisky is on the house.”
He leaves without saying goodbye. I watch until he and his bodyguards disappear through the gate.
I pour a second whisky. Ignore the surprised glances of the waiters and Zenani’s messages summoning me to the kitchen.
I go to the office, close the door.
Yasen Todorov. Here. In South Africa. Where I live. Where my family lives. Why am I only finding out now? How could Boris and I have been so blind? Have we grown rich and complacent?
Maybe Themba is lying. Maybe his information is wrong. Maybe Yasen is dead, or still in prison, and Themba just wants the video.
Maybe Yasen is already in Johannesburg.
Surely he can’t know where I live? I’ve changed my last name a number of times and I don’t use social media. And I never, ever mentioned my family to him.
No. He knows something. That’s why he chose the name De Klerk. It’s typical of Yasen. He gets into your head. Crawls under your skin, like a rat searching for the most vulnerable spot to start gnawing at your insides, your sanity.
What if he knows about my half-sisters, their kids? Everyone in my life? What if he knows about …
I must track him down before he finds me. Yasen has a few expensive pastimes, like finding women he can toy with and abuse. I know where to look.
I must get to Cape Town without delay.
I get up. Take my car keys from the drawer, pick up my handbag. I must get to my apartment to pack and I must make sure everyone is safe, in case Yasen turns up here.
The Yasen Todorov I knew was deadly, and I can’t imagine the years in prison have changed him. On the contrary.
2
Johannesburg, present
The Metro police bakkie behind me turns left. The silver BMW with its two occupants moves across to the right lane and speeds past. I exhale slowly.
I keep a close watch on the remaining traffic but see nothing suspicious. I drive past my apartment building and back around the block. After the third lap I turn into the basement parking garage and look for an empty spot far from my own.
I take a screwdriver from the toolkit of the silver Mercedes C-Class. Cross over to my own spot, marked A de Klerk, and remove the sign. You never know.
The parking garage is deserted. Most of the residents work long hours and are seldom home. I hurry to the lift, punch in the code, ride up to the seventeenth floor. My penthouse is the only apartment on the top floor.
Angélique Kidjo is blaring over the speakers when I unlock the door and walk in. Hosni is on the dining table, grooming his left paw. Ranna is swaying to the music in the kitchen, her hair wet, a towel wrapped around her body. Her eyes are dark blue, almost violet.
I forgot she’s here. Why did I agree to the visit?
“Hi.” She presses a button and the espresso machine begins to grind the beans noisily, spouting dark liquid into a small cup. “Coffee?” She looks at her wristwatch. “Aren’t you supposed to be at Crow’s?” She adds sugar to the coffee and glances up at me. Puts down the cup.
“What’s wrong, Adriana?”
Did I want her to notice? Maybe I’m getting soft. I shake my head. I must pack and get going. My flight leaves in five hours.
Ranna takes a step towards me. “What’s going on?”
I can’t afford soft. “Nothing.”
I go to the bedroom. I can’t ask her for help. This business could very easily get messy. I begin to take clothes from the cupboards. When I look up, Ranna is in the doorway.
“What on earth has spooked you? I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I must get to Cape Town urgently. Stay as long as you wish. Just feed Hosni twice a day, please.” I reconsider. What if Yasen knows about this place? “No, maybe you should rather leave. Would you like to stay at a hotel?”
“Why? I came to see you. How long will you be gone?”
“Long. I can’t explain now.”
I try to push past her to the bathroom, but she grabs my wrist. I forgot how strong she is. All those hours spent outdoors, searching for the perfect news photo, have made her tough.
“Adriana. Talk to me.”
“Let me go.”
Her fingers relax their grip. “Sorry.” She folds her arms. “I’m listening.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Says who?”
“Ranna, I don’t have time to waste. I’m in a hurry.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s going on. Sit down. I’ll make you a cup of coffee and you can tell me what’s bothering you. Maybe I can help.”
I want to argue, yet part of me wants to give in.
“Alex won’t like it if you help me,” I protest.
“He doesn’t have to know. Besides, he’s busy. He’s filed two stories from Syria already.”
“But what if it …”
How do I explain the situation to her? How do I explain my history with Yasen to anyone?
“What if you have to do something illegal to help me? Would you still be willing?”
“Why don’t you let me decide once I’ve heard what’s going on?” She runs her fingers through her damp curls. “I’ve never seen you like this. You’re … you seem afraid.”
Afraid?
I have gone soft. Must be what complacency does to you. And happiness.
“There’s a difference between afraid and focused.”
She looks at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Fine.” I motion towards the guest room. “Get dressed and we’ll talk.”
She vanishes, reappears five minutes later in jeans and a T-shirt, her feet bare.
We sit down at the dining table.
“What do you need?” She flashes me a lopsided grin. “But you know the rules. I won’t kill anyone.”
I straighten my shoulders. “I’ll pay you. You were a bodyguard in India a few years ago, weren’t you? When the cops were after you? What were your rates?”
“I’ve got enough money.”
I change my mind. “No, let’s leave it. I’ll manage.” I get up.
“For goodness’ sake, Adriana, I want to help you. Three years ago you dropped everything to come to my aid when the cops thought I’d murdered those men. I owe you big time.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“You’re my friend, Adriana. A close friend. Do you know what that means?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry. I’ll book you a suite at the Michelangelo.”
She stands in front of me, blocking my way. “Why must you always be so bloody obstinate? What do you need? I want to help you. Why can’t you just accept it?”