“Sahle kahle,” he replies with a wave. ‘Stay well.’ Jamie approaches me. “Can I buy you a drink? He offers. “Later?” I ditch the khaki uniform, wash off the sweat and dust in a long cool shower. I slip into black lace panties and bra, and then pull on a colourful silk wrap dress. The fabric floats and clings softly. Hair dried, and arranged in soft curls, gold sandals, and a spritz of perfume. I’m ready to prowl. I’m aware of turning heads as I walk into the bar. Jamie’s jaw drops, then he quickly stands up, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Ah. Um. Wow. You look amazing.” “Thanks. A glass of chardonnay Jim,” Jim nods and pours. “I’ll get that,” Jamie fumbles for his wallet. Jim rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head. “Be nice,” he says. “Always,” I laugh, as I lead the way to a secluded corner. Jamie follows. We sit, drink, eat, talk. He’s holding my hand. I smile and slowly reel him in. “It’s late,” I say. “Where are you staying?” He tells me, and I thank him for the evening, adoring puppy expression turns to hang dog. I kiss him softly. “Goodnight.” I can’t be seen leaving with him. Surprise turns to delight when I knock on his door a little later. “I’m 16
really not supposed to do this,” I tell him as I slither out of silk, and slip into bed beside him. “It’s not very professional.” “I promise I won’t tell,” he says. I know he won’t. What he lacks in experience he makes up for in energy. It’s why I like them young. He’s a quick learner. “When will I see you again?” he asks as I leave. “How long are you staying?” “I don’t know— I don’t have any real plans. I can stay as long as I like.” “I’m not working this weekend. We can meet up then.” I help out with a cull on Thursday. I’m a crack shot, so I’m always in demand, but it’s not fun. I know we have to do it to manage the populations, but killing these animals is not fun. They are outmatched, and outgunned. I pick Jamie up outside the mall in Nelspruit on Friday afternoon, and we head back to Skukuza. “You’ll have to hide, when we go through the gates—I’m not supposed to bring visitors in.” He doesn’t question, and hides in the back of the jeep, and we take the back roads to my chalet. No one is around as we sneak inside. “I could lose my job if anyone sees you at my place,” I tell him. “You’ll have to keep hidden.” “I’m happy to stay inside with you,” he tells me. “And inside me?” I say. He has
the grace to blush, and then smiles at me. This should be fun, and I have all weekend to teach him how to play. On Sunday night, when the gates have closed again, and the park is shrouded in dark, I load the jeep, and drive towards Pretporiuskop. The park is mine now, no tourists. The air is warm, the velvet-sky diamond encrusted. The kopje looms in the dark. As if they knew I was coming, they’re there, waiting. I smile as I see them in the jeep lights. I roll out the bundle, removing the tarpaulin. They walk over, sniff, and paw at their snack. My pride, my partners. I smile as they devour the evidence, my prey. Murder is easy. Not getting caught, now that’s a bit harder. Tougher still is finding a way of disposing of the body that won’t leave a trail. My method has worked for twenty years. ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Denice Penrose has a Bachelor’s degree majoring in English, Psychology and Library Science, and a degree in Theology, an MSc in Information Science. She is self-employed, working as a research administrator / manager on multiple University research projects in the Digital Humanities. Denice lives in England with her husband and six spoiled cats, who sometimes deign to keep her company when she writes. Follow her on: Twitter @denicepenrose Blog: https://the-write-link.webnode. com/ Instagram: denicepenrose
Books ‘N Pieces Magazine — April 2022 — www.BooksNPieces.com
