Death Rode A Minibus

Within ten minutes, he succeeded in completely covering the body. He leveled off the grave and scraped some grass over the freshly turned dirt. About finished, he reckoned. Just one more thing. The thing that would keep the Brickdam sleuths off his trail. Then he went by a small canal that ran through that part of the cemetery. He pulled off the gloves as he went on his knees. The water was black and laden with duckweeds and other aquatic plants. Green and yellow pond frogs croaked from their watery lairs. He washed his hands without soap as best he could. And quickly he washed the dirt off his shovel and headed up the incline. He opened the dead man’s suitcase. And again he marveled at his fortune. Designer clothes, toiletries and miscellaneous items. A sudden stab of anxiety flashed across his guts. He stepped back. Again he chastised himself for losing his composure. Could not afford to have that happen. It diminished a man’s thought process, he reasoned. And then it would be a difficult ordeal to pick up the pieces. With an old T-shirt, he wiped away the blood and dried out the vehicle. He stood back and reckoned he had done an excellent job. Of sorts. Covering his dark twisted trail. Then he whipped out a cigarette from his pack and struck his lighter. Satisfaction caused his pupils to dilate. He was careful to dot his letters that needed dotting. And crossing his Ts. Then an elaborately casual feeling of achievement enveloped his mind. About to wrap things up, he muttered. Just one other item. The bloody T-shirt. The object that would let the boys on Brickdam know what had happened. No. He wasn’t that dumb. He had to get rid of that shirt. Then he shrinked away in silence. Moving between tall trees, shrubbery and long-forgotten grave stones. Dodging around those objects. While thick elephant grass and fern lay underfoot. Branches of carrion crow bush, black sage and other low trees, slowed his momentum. Their leaves, like green, ghoulish tentacles, picked and plucked at his body. Then he found the object of his search. A sandbox tree. Quickly he balled up the shirt, pushed it under some outcrop roots and covered it with dirt and fallen leaves. He turned on his heels and headed back to the minibus. The quiet voice of the wind and the raspy sound of his breathing did not stop him from hearing the palpitating beats of his heart. One day he thought he had to quit smoking and see a good doctor. He got into the minibus and fired the engine. He got back on the dirt road and made a left turn on Mandela Avenue. The vehicle was headed northeast towards the town of Felicity.