The October Killings Read Online Free

million?”
    â€œHalf a billion.”
    â€œHalf a billion rand?” It seemed impossible.
    â€œHalf a billion rand,” Robert said emphatically.
    â€œGood God, Robert, are you worth that to them?” She paused for only a moment, before hurrying on. “I know how good you are at your work. It’s obvious to me, and everyone who knows you says so, but half a billion…”
    He was leaning toward her again, so that he would not have to raise his voice. “Look, they have to do it with someone. They can hardly do business in this country and interact with government without an empowerment partner. I’m the most suitable.”
    â€œAnd you pay nothing?”
    Now Robert looked uncomfortable. Abigail’s reaction was nothing like he had imagined it would be. “Nothing we have to worry about. There’s some fancy footwork in the accounting. It will take five years before the investment is fully ours.”
    â€œGood God, Robert.”
    â€œWhat is it?” He was almost begging.
    â€œHalf a billion?”
    â€œYou act as if you’re not pleased.”
    â€œI’m practically paralyzed.”
    A cluster of young black executives, drinks in hand, had moved closer to them. A broad-shouldered man, carrying too much weight and at thirty-five a leading office-bearer of the country’s most influential youth organization, was the center of attention. The entire group was laughing loudly at something he had said. He was hanging on to an embarrassed-looking young woman. “Everybody with influence has got his Indian,” he was saying. “It’s the way the world works.” He was referring to the local myth that all Indian South Africans were rich. His eyes fixed on Robert and he wagged a knowing finger. “What about you, Mokoapi? What do you say?” He waved a finger at Robert. “I can see you’ve got your Indian, my man.”
    Abigail was already moving away with Robert following. “Is that what Vuna Corp is—your Indian?”
    â€œDon’t be absurd,” Robert said. “Big Vusi is a fool. Everyone knows that. I don’t understand you, Abby. I swear I don’t understand you. Don’t you want me to get ahead?”
    The chairman and his wife had been moving among the guests like royalty at a command performance, waving here, nodding there, a few words spoken somewhere else, all grace and graciousness. She was wearing a Ghanaian robe, complete with turban, no doubt part of the all-African ambience that Martin had been talking about. She spotted Abigail with Robert and moved her husband in their direction. “Abigail, my dear,” she said, as they approached. “You look lovely tonight.”
    â€œYou too, Marcia. Your outfit is a perfect example of…” She caught Robert’s warning eye. “… of genuine African chic,” she finished. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw him relax.
    â€œThank you, my dear,” Marcia said.
    â€œThis is an important night for your husband,” the chairman said. “I searched for years to find a black editor of genuine ability. I was delighted when I found Robert.”
    â€œA personal triumph,” Abigail said. She felt more than saw Robert move uncomfortably next to her.
    â€œI like to think of it that way.”
    â€œMarcia, I was wondering…” Abigail began.
    Marcia had been looking admiringly at the chairman, who was smiling modestly.
    â€œYes, dear?” Her eyebrows had risen involuntarily. Robert’s eyes had also widened, no doubt wondering what his non-conforming wife might be up to now.
    â€œDo you have some scissors I could borrow for a moment?”
    Marcia glanced at her husband in a way that seemed to indicate that this was not in the script. “I suppose I can find something, my dear. Come along.” She led the way through the sliding doors and up a staircase that reminded Abigail of