Short Story
The Crooks
By Lawrence Kadzitche
Nothing could mask the hard and evil look on their faces. Neither their plastic smiles nor the smart clothes they wore. The villainous look on their countenance was hard to remove like words etched on a tombstone.
Silent, with confident steps, they walked towards Mwafika Motel, a big dilapidated building located at an isolated spot at Mchinji Boma. The one who was tall and powerfully built, carried a nondescript suitcase in his right hand. The other, a short thin man, carried a travelling bag slung over his shoulder.
They found a long queue at the receptionist’s desk. The big man put the suitcase among other people’s suitcases in the reception room.
“You keep an eye on our luggage, Buthi,” the tall man commanded. “I’ll check us in.”
Buthi smiled. There were several suitcases like theirs in the room. Why should someone think of stealing theirs? Obwade was unnecessarily cautious, he thought watching him join the snaking queue.
And then, why were they checking into this run-down motel when they had enough money to buy a hotel? But as was always the case with Obwade, it was all about ‘let us be careful; we shouldn’t expose ourselves unnecessarily.’ He laughed loudly.
Obwade shot him a warning glance and he immediately zipped his mouth. He knew what was going on in the big man’s head. ‘Why are you attracting unnecessary attention to yourself?’
Buthi shook his head and went to the nearest window and glanced out. His eyes fell on two beautiful girls chatting in the garden. Just wait there until we have checked in, I will give you a great time, he said to himself. He stood there. This was a better way of killing time than staring at the suitcase.
Being the last on the queue, only their luggage remained after the other guests had taken theirs. Buthi picked up the suitcase and the two men made their way to their room.
“I’d say the suitcase seems heavier than at first,” Buthi said putting the suitcase on the bed.
“I don’t find that strange,” Obwade said sarcastically. “The only thing that is not heavy for you is a bottle of beer.”
Buthi’s face shone. “Talking about beer, let’s go into the bar and wet our dry throats. After all, why should we be thirsty when we have a cool thirty million kwacha?”
Obwade’s mean face turned ugly. “I hear you mention the money again I’ll kill you,” he snarled. “How many times do I have to tell you that you never know who could be listening?”
“Man, you are unnecessarily cautions…”
“Buthi, you sometimes scare me,” the big man said. “The robbery is making headlines all over town and you talk of me being unnecessarily cautious!”
“We’re not the only ones with money,” Buthi defended himself. “Why would someone suspect us?”
Obwade shook his head. “Let’s be frank, Buthi. We’re businessmen on holiday. But our cover is thin. The way you look, who would believe you’re a businessman?”
“That also goes for you,” the thin man hit back.
“Exactly my point,” Obwade pointed out. “So let us not expose ourselves. Tomorrow we’ll have a long walk so let us get good sleep. Throw the suitcase in the locker.”
The two men were on the run. Inside the suitcase, in a secret compartment, was thirty million kwacha in cash which they had stolen from an Indian trader they had held up at knife point at the Boma. Their plan was to cross over the border into Zambia and share the loot there.
“Tomorrow night, we shall cross into Zambia using bush routes,” Obwade said the following morning. “So let’s put the money in travel bags. A man with a suitcase in the bush would look suspicious.”
When Buthi retrieved the suitcase from the locker and opened it his face changed as if he had suddenly seen a ghost.
“The money is gone!” he gasped.
“What?”
“The money is gone!”
The mountainous man checked the suitcase and confirmed Buthi’s discovery. “Only you and I knew there was money inside. Since I didn’t take the money, then you took it. You’re telling me where you hid the money you double crossing rat or you are dead!”
“I didn’t take the money,” Buthi paused and then said reflectively. “Ah, that explains it; why the suitcase weighed differently. You took out the money and stuffed it with these books and clothes.”
Obwade laughed menacingly. “Nice try, but I’m not buying that. Where’s the money, Buthi?”
“You took the money, you big goon!” Buthi replied angrily. “But you’re not getting away with it.”
The large man’s hands clenched into fists. “You think this is a game? Then I’ll beat the answer out of you!”
“Who said it’s a game?” retorted Buthi.
Obwade moved at a surprising speed for a man of his size. He picked up the small man with one hand and flung him against the wall like a stone. Buthi sprang to his feet as the big man waded in to finish what he started. There was an unmistakable gleam of murder in Obwade’s eyes.
Crouching, his head low like a cornered pig trying to get away, Buthi shot between Obwades’s legs and made for the door. He opened it and ran out. Obwade followed, the open suitcase dangling in his hands.
He caught up with the little man in the reception room. Obwade was now out of control like a stampeding bull, his actions controlled by anger. He shook the little man the way a man shakes a packet of opaque beer before opening it.
Security guards tried to intervene but they were no match to the powerfully built man. The receptionist quickly rang the police.
“Your last chance Buthi before I kill you; where is the money?” roared Obwade.
“I swear before God I didn’t steal the money,” Buthi wailed, now sure the big man would kill him. “We’ve never been out of each other’s sight so how could I steal the money?”
The police arrived and separated the two. “What is happening?”
“We hid thirty million kwacha in this suitcase and he is accusing me of stealing it,” Buthi said.
The arrival of the police quickly brought Obwade to his senses. “Officer, it’s nothing. He is my brother. We’ll sort it out.”
“Thirty million kwacha was stolen just a day before yesterday,” the police officer said. “I’m afraid you will have to come with me to the police station.”
As the two thieves were being led away, a small chubby man walked into the reception room with a suitcase. He put it at the receptionist’s desk.
“I believe when I was checking in I took another guest’s suitcase yesterday,” he said calmly. “Mine is exactly like this one but it contains books and some clothes. Can you please make a check with the other guests?”
The two thieves turned and stopped as if they had turned into a stone of salt like Lot’s wife.
End
