MATHONGA

Chapter 17

VUKUZAKHE-

It’s been fourteen kilometres of dreaded driving… from Sandton to Northcliff. For a while, he thought he’d collapse before they get to their destination.
He’s driving with one hand, the other is pressed on his lap. It feels numb, moving it would worsen the pain, the wound on his shoulder, hidden behind a black pullover.
A sickeningly metallic scent disturbs his nose, it’s a vile pungent scent that stifles his senses and suffocates his breath. It’s been there for a while. The car stops at a red light, he takes this opportunity to inspect the wound. Hissing in pain, his fingers clasp the ripped flesh to check the damage.
They come back thick coated with blood that has spread into his shirt, the bright red has darkened, taking on a brownish hue. He can’t have Funo worry about him, this is why he hasn’t taken the jersey off.

He’s ignored it for far too long. If he continues like this, he’ll end up with an infection, if not at the hospital. There are wet wipes in the glove compartment, he uses them to clean his hands and continues to drive as if he’s a healthy man.

On his way to Johannesburg from KZN, when driving became a hard task, he had to stop and nurse the wound. There was no time to find a clinic or a pharmacy.
Multiple calls from Bongiwe clawed at him, although ignored, she wouldn’t stop blowing up his phone. He hasn’t bothered to open the missed calls and messages from her, like he’d told his father, Bongiwe is surrounded by people.

Funokuhle is his worry, he’s finally with him. He can relax now and perhaps take care of himself for once.  
There’s a pharmacy in Mountain View Centre, Northcliff, minutes away.

His car stops at a red traffic light, third one on the row. A soft moan grips his attention, reminding him he’s not alone. His eyes abandon the road, as he turns to look at the young man peacefully sleeping on the passenger seat of the black Hammer. His thin body now covered with Zakhe’s coat.
For a second, he thinks he’s losing his mind. Chasing a man all the way to Johannesburg, its’s crazy how a heart can control a person. 
It didn’t take long for Funokuhle to surrender to a deep slumber after they got into the car. Poor thing must be tired, Zakhe thinks.

The pharmacy is still open, he parks the car and makes sure not to make any sounds dashing out of the car. He has to hurry back, Funokuhle might panic when he wakes up and finds him gone.
8pm is approaching, the roads are bustling and overfilled with cars, rushing to different destinations.
The pharmacy is not packed, minutes later, he walks out with a bandage, a bottle of Dettol and some painkillers. He can see Funo from the exit, he’s awake and looking like a lost puppy.

Zakhe picks up his pace, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. Protective instincts kick in, he’s quick to turn around, furrowed brows at play. 
The frown deepens at the sight of the machinelike, dark-skinned man in front of him. He’s wearing a black, short-sleeved golf shirt, the chinos are the same colour as the shirt.
His broad shoulders are a table to thick-rich, and black dreads hanging on the sides of his chiselled face. His rich and dominant demeanour making him appear dangerous.
First impressions give off an arrogant bastard, when he’s nothing of the sort. Zakhe sneers at how the man raises his brows at him, as if he were one of his employees, eyes dark and lifeless.

“Kenneth! Do you make creeping up on people a habit?” Zakhe asks, the man did scare him a little there. But he won’t admit it. 
“You look like you’re about to have a heart attack.” Kenneth’s deliverance is slow, voice deep and syllables carefully conveyed. Hands now hidden in his pockets.  

Zakhe tips his head a little, “You’re a bastard.” Is said in a more amused tone.
“That’s a compliment coming from you, Zakhe.” Kenneth’s retort is followed by light friendly chuckles.
“Kenneth Mkhize, you old fool.” Zakhe sings amusedly, it’s his turn to place a hand on Kenneth’s shoulder, it’s brief.
“Vukuzakhe Khanyile, long time. What are you doing in Johannesburg?” 
Zakhe can’t tell him, it’s too personal. They know each other through business, have become acquaintances… it’s not a ride or die type of relationship. The dark man’s eyes shift past Zakhe’s tall build, to find a curious young man inside a black Hammer staring back.
“Mathonga has lost weight, is he sick?” Kenneth.
Zakhe frowns, falling into a tiny confusion.
“That’s not him, the boy in the car is a friend.” Zakhe explains, although he doesn’t owe him one. “On that note, I can’t stay and chat. I have something important to do.”