“I’m being followed,” I realise.

“Or they could be watching Ntsumi,” Ntsumi’s cousin says. “To see if Fuyata visits her.”

“Way to find out, see if he follows me, or hangs around here when I’ve gone. What’s your name?”

“Tinyiko.”

“Rikotso,” I introduce myself. “Maybe we should exchange digits so we can keep each other in the loop.”

“OMG, a boy asking for my phone number,” she says in this funny, dry, self-mocking voice.

“Because you come across like a practical person,” I say quickly, because I don’t want her getting ideas.

“More practical than Ntsumi anyway,” she says, getting out her phone, and I give her my number, and she sends me hers.

“Message me if anyone follows me. Better than me looking back to check, and letting them know that I know.”

“You can’t say for sure if the person behind the container is one of these people you’re talking about?”

“It was dark when I met them.” I touch my throat.

One of her sharp looks, and then she nods, like she’s decided something.

“Get going then,” she says.

I look at her. She’s an angular sort of person, dressed in denim shorts, a red vest, and white kicks.

“Sharp,” I say, and take off.

After a minute a message comes through on my phone. It confirms that I’m being followed.

I carry on walking, thinking hard. I’ve been planning to go over to Munene’s place so we can write some new stuff for the next open mic. But what if I’ll be bringing trouble to his door?

The other person I want to see is this one friend of Fuyata’s. They’ve been tight since Grade 1, and I can’t believe Kovo-kovo would be one of last night’s gang, but he might know something.

But same story – I don’t want to lead Burger-breath and Knifeman to him.

Home then, because they already know where I live. I hope my shadow counts this a wasted morning.

Ma is out, most likely at church, as she still has this idea that praying might help with things. Nothing wrong with trying, I guess.

I go inside, turn on the TV with the volume high, like I’m settling in for a boring Sunday on the couch. Then I charge out the back door, and over the sagging fence. I race through next door’s backyard, and then the one behind that, squeezing past a big bin and the tin shack the people rent out. I come out on the road behind ours.

It’s Fuyata’s trick, not mine. The way he rolls, there are always people after him. Just none as scary as last night’s three, I don’t think.

I know Kovo-kovo’s house from all the times Ma sent me to call Fuyata home when we were younger. His much older sister owns the place, but she mostly lives somewhere else, so it’s like Kovo-kovo has it to himself. Fuyata and the rest of his crew love that.

Usually there is music pumping and a smell of weed and spilt beer, sometimes of puke. Today there’s nothing.

“Knock-knock!” I shout, and bang on the door.

Still nothing. The house looks dead, all closed up. Maybe Kovo-kovo took off with Fuyata.

Then I hear something. A moan or a groan, what’s the difference? And a faint voice calling: “Help me.”

***

Tell us what you think: If one member of family is a gangster, can the other members remain unaffected?