The smoothness of the gear changes and the glide of David Ndlovu’s BMW coupe help to remove the gory scenes of the community centre building collapse from Njabulo’s mind. Expectation also helps – he anticipates the face to Joy Dlamini’s beautiful voice to be a stunner.

He slides the BMW effortlessly into the Galleria Mall parking.

I am at Galleria 2B parking. In a white BMW.

He is looking at his phone, waiting for her to reply, when the passenger door opens and she gets in. Joy Dlamini is even more beautiful than her voice. Her eyes are all-knowing, her figure svelte, she keeps her hair short and natural. Njabulo has sisters, so he knows that it is a mark of confidence when a black woman wears her hair like this.

“Thank you for meeting me,” he says.

“Community journalism must pay top dollar. This is one expensive car,” she says, smiling.

“It’s my boss’s car. I could not meet you in our company car with the logo on it. In case people from your office happen to see you.”

“Good thinking. My conscience has been burdened these past few days. I cannot put my finger on it exactly but I feel there is something wrong about this whole community centre deal. My identity is to be kept strictly confidential of course. I will lose my job if the Councillor finds out I am talking about the goings-on of the office. I am seriously conflicted about even talking to you,” she says, looking straight into Njabulo’s eyes.

“Absolutely. Your identity is protected.”

“Truth is truth though. And what are we if we forsake the truth?”

Njabulo nods at her rhetorical question.

“Well, something happened two days ago and it has been troubling me since. Mr Ndlanzi, do you know Mr Ndlanzi?”

“Yes, yes I do. He is very active in the community matters of Ward 84.”

“Yes, that Mr Ndlanzi. Well, he was in our office two days ago. He had come to congratulate Councillor Mlaba about the community centre. They have always been on good terms, those two. Ndlanzi asked to see the plans and budget for the project, said it was his duty as a community elder to know exactly what is going on in terms of how the community will benefit. Ndlanzi wanted to know all of this because previous Councillors made promises that were never kept. Mlaba became elusive at this point, stating this and that. Ndlanzi said – in a non-confrontational way – that it was his right and the right of every community member to have access to this information.”

There is a pause in their conversation because a fit, bodybuilder-type man approaches the BMW. He stops in front of the car. Njabulo and Joy look at each other, alarmed. But they soon relax as they realise the bodybuilder is in fact looking at the supercar in the next parking bay. He takes out his phone, snaps a picture of the Audi R8 and is gone.

“So Ndlanzi persisted, telling the Councillor that not showing the plans and the budget for the project shows a lack of transparency. They had a major argument and Ndlanzi stormed out.”

“Ndlanzi was absolutely correct. The community has a right to access information. Especially for a project like this that concerns them all,” Njabulo says.

“I sensed that something wrong was happening, but after you told me about the building collapse the dots started to connect. So, you have my help if you want it. The Councillor came into the office in the afternoon. He was there no longer than five minutes. I heard his laptop open, and soon after that he left. I suspect he saw your email because on his way out I overheard him tell his bodyguard that ‘the reporter from NUZ FM has to be taken care of’.”

A shot of fear darts through Njabulo but he cannot show it. If Joy Dlamini has the courage to volunteer this information for the good of the community, she deserves equal bravery from Njabulo.

“Have you noticed any changes in Councillor Mlaba?”

“Yes, now that you mention it. I have known him to be a cordial, smiling man … but recently there has been a change to his personality. He shouts when he is in the office, he has been abrasive with me and those around him recently. Also, he has changed his entire wardrobe. Oh yes sure … he still wears his old, cheap clothes for community meetings, but when he is office bound he is attired in designer labels. I have a brother who loves designer clothes and bling. He affords his lifestyle because he earns well as an engineer, but even he was taken aback when I told him the Councillor’s new watch is an Ingersoll.”

“It is starting to make sense. It is all coming together. If corners are cut that means more kickbacks. But we will need concrete proof,” says Njabulo.

“He keeps everything in the office under lock and key. I have the key to the actual office; I will snoop around. Documents are kept locked in a drawer. I don’t have the key for that drawer but who knows, maybe he will be careless and leave something we can use lying around.”

She hands Njabulo her cellphone. “Put your name next to your number. I will text you with what I find out,” she says.

Njabulo hands it back. She looks at his profile picture: Njabulo in a moody pose.

“Cool profile pic, Njabulo,” she says, smiles, and is out of the car before Njabulo can reply to this compliment.

***

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