Your sheets know no warmth when you’re sleeping with the enemy.
Richard sighed as the dial tone was replaced by a voice he knew all too well.
“Hello, Rich.”
“Ronnie, listen. Please stop, I beg of you.”
“Stop? Oh, the irony. Now it’s your turn to say the word to no avail.”
“Veronica, you don’t have to do this. Name your price.”
“I want three bags of cash and a house on a hill.”
“Is that all?”
“Of course not. I want your limbs as well, you dog. And your head. You think you can just pay me off like everyone else? Not this time. Your money won’t get you out of this one. You have to pay for what you did to my mother.”
“I’m sorry, Ronnie. I really am.”
“Well, so am I. See you in hell, bastard.”
The line went cold and Richard shuddered. It was all over for him. Veronica was intent on collecting her pound of flesh and nothing could dissuade her. Time reveals all, he thought bitterly as he glanced at his computer for the third time. The email was still there, brimming with damning evidence.
He shifted his gaze to the majestic bed in the middle of the room. Four nights ago, Veronica’s supple body had been under his on the bed, illuminated by scented candles. She had given him a night to remember and breakfast in bed was the cherry on top. This sudden show of tenderness from her was surprising but he chose not to think much of it. Maybe she had finally accepted her fate. Little did he know he was an ox being fed before the slaughter.
He had used her for his pleasure while selling her dreams. To him, she was just another dreamer who could do anything for fame. She was gifted with an enticing smile which she employed to deadly effect. Her voice was merely decent. Nevertheless, he gave her a contract and made it clear she had to keep him happy. For two years she had recorded songs that never saw the light of day. “Don’t worry about that, just smile for the cameras and come home for dinner,” Richard would say whenever she asked about her career. He knew she had no future in music but enjoyed her body too much to cut her loose. Cold world, but at least I took care of her.
Now there was the email. He did not need to open the attached files to know the contents. The woman had done a thorough job of collecting information that Richard’s enemies and the police would kill to get their hands on. Videos, text messages, bank statements and call logs. She had left no stone unturned. If she kept her word and forwarded this email, this would be the end for him. It wasn’t the law that scared him- judges could be bought- but the criminal underworld who would know of his treachery. They would make an example of him and dump his mangled corpse in Mukuvisi River. His murder would be another statistic of urban violence. Dread streamed through his cells like liquid fire as he contemplated his fate.
Damn you, Veronica.
How could she bite the hand that fed her? How long has she been at it? Who had helped her? Where was she? Who had she spoken to?
A sense of grimness pervaded the atmosphere. As far as Richard Gumbo was concerned, he was a dead man walking. There was only one noble way to go. He walked towards his desk, unlocked a drawer and fished out a Beretta handgun. His hands shivered violently as he put the barrel of the gun in his mouth.
“Here I go,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he pulled the trigger.
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