FISHING IN A WATERPOT

Prologue

I had planned and prepared for that journey long in advance. I knew that the man I was going to meet had a temper that burned fiercely. So I had armed myself with every possible defense deep within my mind. If matters came to blows, I was prepared to stand my ground, though, as the saying goes, a cripple survives by wisdom, moving carefully along the walls.

The thought of going to his house made my heart sink and dragged my mind back to that year when he had played me for a fool and left my life shattered beyond repair. I had become like a wounded animal, groaning endlessly and becoming a nuisance even to those who simply crossed my path.

I pressed the intercom at his gate and said, "It's me, Admire Pamire."

Within moments, the large gate slid open. The security guard allowed it to open all the way as if I were arriving in a luxury vehicle, when in reality I was just an ordinary man traveling on foot.

He looked at me and said in borrowed English, "He is waiting for you inside. He said you may proceed once you arrive here. How are you this morning, Mr. Pamire?"

"I'm well. How are you managing with work?"

"Ah, boss, we're surviving. We're here suffering for these few coins they pay us."

Although he had nearly sounded disrespectful, his words somehow lightened my heart, and before I knew it, I was smiling.

"Keep working hard, my brother," I replied with the phrase I always used with working people.

I knocked on the door three times. It was opened by Jayden and Joyous, his nine-year-old twins. They immediately hugged me, as was their custom, and together they asked:

"Hello, Uncle! What have you brought us today?"

I pulled chocolates from my trouser pocket, and they immediately began arguing playfully, each proudly showing off the color of the wrapper on their chocolate.

"Uncle, Dad is in his study. He said you should come there when you arrive," Jayden said before dashing away at incredible speed toward his father.

The housemaid also arrived to confirm what Jayden had said before greeting me respectfully. As she walked ahead of me, I found myself staring at the sway of her hips as she moved, reminding me of a woman dancing to Baba Harare's music. My thoughts drifted to Jayden's mother—his wife—as I remembered the times I used to visit before they had formalized their marriage.

Today, however, I had come to tell the truth. I was no longer going to hide anything from Peter Gumedhe.

If anger could physically grow, Peter would have looked like a man possessed after drinking powerful traditional liquor. I hesitated briefly before entering, and he motioned for me to sit.

He called the maid, Alina.

"Please bring in two glasses and that special drink. After that, tell the driver to take you and the children out somewhere. You can have dinner outside because you won't be cooking tonight. Don't worry about me—I will be taken care of."

Alina did as instructed and returned with red wine. I sipped mine slowly, knowing exactly why I had come.

The briefcase containing my documents lay on the table. Peter Gumedhe kept glancing at it. When the sound of the departing car faded away, he finally spoke.

"Say what you came to say. And make sure you've brought everything. Admire, understand this: the man you're dealing with is no fool. If you've left anything out, now is the time to say so."

"Peter, do you have my money?" I asked. "The amount we agreed on—one hundred thousand US dollars. Count it while I watch. Once I'm satisfied, I'll hand over all the evidence. And you yourself will destroy it and free yourself from these accusations. I tied the knot, and I alone can untie it."

I stared at his face, now glistening with sweat.

He burst out laughing and replied sarcastically:

"Pamire, remember that you were dismissed from the police force for taking bribes. So how exactly are you going to arrest me? You, an ex-detective? If you loved your job so much, why didn't you keep it? I even offered you a position as my private security officer, and you refused. Now you're struggling to survive on five hundred US dollars."

He laughed.

I laughed back.

"Honourable Gumedhe," I said, "what kind of Honourable doesn't know about a citizen's arrest? Weren't you one of the people who advocated for the 2013 referendum and helped formulate our new constitution? Besides, I now own a registered private investigation company. With the evidence I've gathered about your activities, unless you stop pretending, you'll end up rotting in prison, Mr. Peter Gumedhe."

I pulled out photographs showing him meeting with his agents. I handed him a memory stick, which he inserted into his laptop. He watched footage of himself meeting with his criminal associates, alongside records of his EcoCash transactions and messages he had sent—messages filled with enough malice and criminality to ensure conviction.

I began explaining everything to him in detail.

When I had revealed only part of the truth, he interrupted me.

"Wait."

He left the room and returned carrying a suitcase. He counted out ten bundles of ten thousand US dollars each.

"Give me all the evidence so I can destroy it."

I produced additional memory sticks containing even more evidence of his corruption and cruelty—some hidden in my underwear and others concealed in secret pockets—and handed them over.

The story I had uncovered through greed, betrayal, and insatiable ambition was enough to fill a novel or make a blockbuster film.

The moment I finished speaking, Peter Gumedhe pulled a pistol from the drawer of the desk separating us. I heard the metallic click as he cocked it. My heart seemed to stop.

Grinding his teeth and glaring at me with bloodshot eyes, he spoke:

"Admire Pamire, the little detective who couldn't stop investigating. Even after I got you fired, you still kept following me, didn't you? Since you know what happened to Nommater, then you also know what happened to my sister Grace. You know how I got my Senate seat and how I stole those farms. Everything you've said proves that you still know how to do your job."

He paused, took a breath, and continued:

"I'm glad when you said that nobody else knows any of this except you. Killing you means killing the evidence. Thank you for your cooperation. We like people who voluntarily deliver themselves to us."

He smiled.

"Pamire... my friend, you've gone fishing in a clay pot."

The gun thundered.

Then darkness swallowed me.