The Girl in Red

Short Story

The girl in red

By Lawrence Kadzitche

Naganje had always been a connoisseur of beautiful women and a womanizer to the full extent of the word. Approaching fifty, the Casanova now believed that he had become too old to be stunned by beautiful women. Yet the girl he met that evening as he was strolling towards the nightclub knocked him senseless. She was looking at the ground as if she was searching for something.

“Good evening,” Naganje greeted her. “You’ve lost something?”

She said that she had lost her necklace. He decided to help her look for it and quickly found it a little distance in the direction from which the girl had come from. She had obviously passed it in her search. It was a big golden one and looked very expensive.

“Thank you very much,” the girl said, flashing him a bewitching smile. “Ï was given this necklace by my grandma. I can’t afford to lose it.”

It was then that he had the first full view of her face in the bright lights outside the nightclub. She was tall and slender. She had an oval face, big pretty eyes and a beautiful mass of black curled hair. A small red hat was cocked over one eye.

Her artificial finger nails were painted bright red. The body hugging short red shiny satin dress which she wore appeared as if it had been melted on her. The neckline of the dress which was cut in a deep “V” gave a magnificent out-line of her pointed big breasts. Tinkling bracelets banded her wrists. Her shoes were elegant red high-heels.

They started walking towards the night club abreast. Naganje found it impossible to take his eyes off her. The club was his preferred watering hole. And tonight was special because his favourite band was playing there. “Is your partner already inside?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

She shook her head and smiled at him. “No, I came alone. And you?”

Naganje also said he was alone. They moved slowly while talking. The girl said her name was Marina. Marina Painti. She worked as a secretary and lived in the same town.

Naganje introduced himself as a sales executive at Zovala Industries Limited, a chain of retail shops. He saw the girl glance back at his expensive black Mercedes Benz, and then at himself. He was immaculate in a black suit and suede shoes. He saw satisfaction on her lovely face.

They went into the night club. The dance was in full swing. The band was playing very good music. On the shiny dance floor there was a large crowd of people rocking and swaying to the rhythm. They immediately joined the crowd of dancers.

Marina was a very good dancer but so was Naganje. It was not possible not to crush against one’s partner in the crowd. Marina’s face was close to Naganje’s, her red mouth parted in a provocative smile. Naganje saw no one in the throng but only the girl in red crushed against his shirt’s front. Just looking at her was enchanting but to hold her was something very special.

The crowd was so thick, the room very hot, full of smoke and noise. After dancing to a few songs Marina said, “Let’s go out. It’s burning in here.” They squeezed their way through the close-pressed mass of men and women and came out into the night.

They sat down very close to each other on a bench. The night was so lovely. The full moon competed with the bright lights to bathe them in a golden light.

“You look smashing,” Naganje said with unmasked admiration.

She took off her red hat, placed it beside her on the bench and brought her head to rest on Naganje’s shoulder while running her fingers along his spine. He felt his whole body tingle with delight because of her touch. Since her dress was very short, it kept slipping above her knees whenever she crossed her legs. It took a tremendous effort for Naganje to stop himself from caressing her shapely thighs. He stammered something about this being his greatest night.

They talked. Marina had a very great sense of humuor. Naganje was impressed. She told him where she lived and he promised that he would drive her home after the dance. Suddenly she thrust her hat back on her head and got up.

“They’re playing the tune of my life,” she gushed. She caught Naganje’s hand and dragged him to his feet. “Let’s go and dance.”

Time flew for Naganje and when Marina told him they should be going, he was surprised to find out that it was midnight. When you are love-struck, you do not think with the brain. You think with the heart. Nanganje failed to see that the directions the girl was giving him were leading him to the worst slums of the town, places he would not dare to volunteer into at night. But with the girl beside him, he ventured into the slums without any fear.

They came to a halt outside a small decrepit house. Inside or out, no lights were on. Close by, Naganje could make out other dark shapes of similar dilapidated buildings in the moon light.

They walked hand in hand towards the house. In the golden moonlight Marina’s face looked very alluring. She was an orchard in bloom and he could only anticipate what it would be like to reap of its delicious fruit.

Suddenly the front door of the small house creaked open. A man stepped out, a panga knife glinting wickedly in his right hand. Naganje and Marina froze in their tracks.

“To begin with, your wallet, please,” the man said to Naganje.

Naganje regarded the thug. Tall and thin, he was dressed in a black coat with an upturned collar. On his head was stuck a straw hat that hid his face.

It infuriated Naganje that this cheap crook should spoil a well begun night. He suddenly lashed out. The criminal, caught unawares, measured his length on the ground. Naganje quickly moved in to finish what he had started.

“Stop it, Naganje or you’re a dead man,” a voice he recognized at once said behind him. Alarmed, Naganje whirled round. The girl in red had jerked out a small ugly knife. The thief quickly got to his feet and retrieved his weapon.

“Good work, babe. He nearly had me there.”

Marina ignored him. “Your car keys and wallet, Naganje,” she demanded coldly.

Too late, Naganje realized that he had walked into a trap. He was in the power of the girl in red. Something about Marina’s voice, cold and cruel, something about her face, hard and merciless, made him shiver involuntarily. Fear descended on him like mist. “Why do this to me, Marina?” he asked in a shaking voice.

The girl’s hand whipped in a scything blow and hit him in the throat. Naganje staggered backwards. She followed him with a vicious punch that caught the womanizer on the chin. A kick sent him sprawling on the ground.

“Get up,” Marina ordered. “We don’t have the whole night. Keys and the wallet!”

Naganje slowly got up, his face a mask of agony. He knew he had been tricked. The whole business was a put-up job from start to finish. The necklace affair had been arranged by the girl in order to seduce him and later on lead him into the trap. Knowing when to give up, he handed over the keys and wallet to Marina.

Marina’s face softened up and her bewitching smile returned. “Thank you very much, darling. It’s just too bad our romance has to end up like this but business is business,” she said sweetly and blew him a kiss. “However, I’ll leave a part of my heart with you.”

She turned, started walking towards Naganje’s car, and then stopped. “One thing, honey. Don’t bother going to the police to tell them about this house. You’ll find out that it’s rented out to a Mr. Sinja who is a vendor. All fake details of course. We rented this house only for this operation.”

He gave her a deliberate glance of appeal. She ignored him. He watched helplessly as Marina and her machete wielding partner went to the Mercedes Benz, got in and drove off into the night.

End