Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Can I go now?” I know nothing about civil rights or what I’m entitled to, but I pray as I get to my feet.
“Sure.” The way he looks at me tells me I haven’t seen the last of him. “Do you need a lift home?”
“No, thanks.” I don’t want to spend a minute longer under his piercing stare. “I’ll just get a cab. Do you have a phone I can use?”
Hackman walks to the door. “Through here.”
I follow him back to reception, where the woman hands me a cordless phone. I dial the Yellow Pages for the number and ask them to connect me. After requesting a driver to fetch me, I leave the station and wait outside.
My mind is all over the place. I need a new phone. I need to call in and tell my boss why I’m late. I can’t afford to lose this job. I’m in arrears with my rent as it is. I don’t have more than a few bucks left, certainly not enough to buy a new phone. My job pays all right, but my chronic medication is expensive and not covered by my private, basic, medical insurance plan, which is the only one I can afford.
When the cab pulls up a few minutes later, I take out my wallet, only to remember I paid for my meal last night and left the last of my cash as a tip.
Crap.
I get that sick feeling I always do when I’m embarrassed, ashamed, or in deep shit. Even if I don’t take the cab, I have to pay a call-out fee. I have no choice but to go back inside and beg a few bucks from Detective Wolfe. No. I’d rather die than do that.
I’m about to count out my coins when I notice the brown corner of a two-hundred-rand-bill sticking out from the back compartment. Grabbing the corner, I pull out the bill. Sure as hell. It’s there. It’s real. There’s only one way it could’ve gotten there. Ian must’ve slipped it into my wallet.
“Ma’am?” the driver asks, leaning over to look at me through the open passenger window. “You comin’ or what?”
I get into the back, trying to process the fact that Ian has left me with enough money to get a cab. What is he? A gentleman criminal? I can’t make sense of anything, and I’m more unsettled than ever when the driver stops at my apartment block.
I pay with Ian’s money and dash up the stairs, only to slow as I near my apartment. A white piece of paper is stuck to the door. I drag my steps, my stomach dropping, but I can’t put off the inevitable forever. Coming to a stop in front of my door, I feel sick as my worst fear is confirmed.
A termination of lease contract notice.
It’s painful. My failure to fulfil the most basic life task of providing myself with a roof over my head is shameful. I force myself to read every word. The words form sentences, but they don’t make sense. I read them again. The landlord is giving me a calender month to vacate the apartment. If I fail to vacate, he’ll start the eviction procedure at the court.
Tearing the paper off the door, I crumple it in a fist. Fighting instinct kicks in, sending me down the stairs in a flurry to bang a fist on the landlord’s door.
Mr. Davis opens the door a crack.
I wave the ball of paper at him. “You said I could have until the end of next month.”
He wears a guilty look on his face. “I don’t want trouble in the building.”
“Trouble?” The light bulb goes on. Mrs. Steyn must’ve run straight to him with her gossip.
“I don’t want the cops coming around here,” he says, confirming my suspicion.
“I can explain.”
He sighs. “Save me the explanations.”
“You said—”
“I know what I said.” He drags a hand over his vest-clad stomach. “Let’s face it. You’re always late with the rent. It’s a risk I’m not prepared to take any longer.”
“I’ll get the money.”
He grips the door. “I’ve heard that before.” Mumbling, he adds under his breath, “One time too many.”
“No, wait.” I flatten a palm on the door, but he closes it in my face.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he calls through the wood, his voice fading out as he continues with his life inside, uncaring that mine is falling apart. Not that he owes me anything.
I stand frozen as the sickening feeling intensifies. It’s a horrible feeling, knowing I won’t have a roof over my head by the end of next month.
While fear immobilizes me, my mind runs ahead, imagining the terrifying consequences and simultaneously searching for solutions. Visions of myself living from the back of my car and washing with stolen water from someone’s garden tap ties my stomach into a knot. Only, that feeble solution isn’t an option, as my car is at the workshop. The mechanic is holding back on ordering the parts needed to repair it until I can pay.