Hired Gun

By Agnes N Lethena

When Lesotho Department of Police jilts Tokelo, corrupt officers think they have won. But as usual, Tokelo rises. Now what gives us headache is, will he take job offers out there as a hired gun? Can he really sell his soul to the devil? What about the badge? Will he leave it just like that?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BlueInk Publishing Company
• Release date: Jan 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005996437

Agnes N Lethena

Agnes N Lethena is Lesotho born author, based in Mafeteng. She is a CEO of BlueInk Publishing Company and Papatso Advertising Company. Also a qualified teacher. She writes thriller, romance and paranormal books. Her first book is No Witness No Leads. The second being Prowler and lastly Li Mosenekeng. She's currently working on Hired Gun.

Book preview

Hired Gun

Published by BlueInk Publishing Company 2021

Copyright © Agnes N Lethena 2021

ISBN 9781005996437

BlueInk Edition Statement

This book remains the property of BlueInk Publishing Company. It cannot be resold, reproduced, stored, transferred or turned into a film without the written permission of the publisher.

This book is the work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents are the products of the author’s own imagination.

Chapter 1

There were no questions such as: are-they-still-in-the-house? Are-you-okay and many more questions asked by the blue toward their colleague. No rights were read to him either. There wasn’t even a love-letter in a form of warrant of arrest. They couldn’t bother to do CPR on the woman, still on the floor. The only thing they could do was a round of punches, connecting with already throbbing cheeks, head, chest — heck the whole body. Out of the blue it stopped, it even felt like a dream. He heaved a sigh. Maybe they were mistaken. He thought. Were they? While mixed feelings reeked him, hands frisked him. Okay maybe they wanted to be sure it’s me — I know they won’t hurt me — they know me — I am one of them. His mind really wanted to think otherwise — to ignore this animosity that was unfolding before him. Well, these were supposed to be the good guys who would never hurt him. Hands reached for his pockets, pulled his service gun out of its holster. They shoved it in the evidence bag. Aa no! It’s me, look good people. Let’s search for the bad guys, perhaps they are still in the house. Please check them. This was running in his head at this dreadful moment.

The boots karate-chopped his sides. That kind of geared his thinking side into the now. In this room, which they were, there was a window — so small a newly born child couldn’t slip through it! Crazy! The man availed himself of the loophole, thinking: I will not defend myself — you are my colleagues. He reached for the window. The man managed to put just one hand on the latch. A breakthrough it could have been if these bloody cops didn’t meddle. One of them yanked him off of it. While cussing and at the same time optimistic that he wasn’t swinging in the air — being pulled back — his head hit some beer bottles left on the floor. He screeched in time a punch landed on his cheek. His head snapped back, but only to bump into another hot clap, which left an angry mark on his cheek, and it was just the beginning.

The blue flailed their clenched fists up in the air, each fist’s owner longing to land it on this poor Tokelo Lekholela, the man who was with Lesotho Department of Police, who was being assaulted by his colleagues, the blue. At the moment tears were mingling with mucus, and caked blood on his face. A boot landed on his side, the impact sent him airborne. He wished he could fly out of here, into safety. But the blue gripped his legs, pulled with all the strength they had. It didn’t take long for Tokelo to slump facedown in a covered-with-gore living room. Still willing himself to rise, the blue yanked him. Some holding his legs, they mopped the place with him. Tooth, blood and saliva splattered as a punch connected with his cheek. Damnit, the man groaned. However, that came as an incentive to the blue. All held him, went to town on him, as the man twitched, writhed, squirmed and scrapped against the floor in pursuit of something to hold onto. However, there was nothing to hold onto or crawled under.

You killed her? an angry voice yelled in the midst of this assault.

Tokelo, now groggy and really wishing this was a dream, roved his gaze around. He could only see the blue, snapping their knuckles for all had had their way with him after storming in here a couple of minutes ago. He shoved his head as if to shake off the cobwebs. Then glanced one more time around this room which was a government property — his home-away-from-home. The room was furnished with just the necessary furniture. There was a two doors cupboard, where they have packed their cups and plates. On top of it was a bucket of water and dish washer basin. From there, leaning by the wall, was a table, on it was a two-burner electric stove, an electric kettle and two pots. Near it was a huge box, this was the grocery unit — everything was packed in there.

Tokelo's gaze left these and rested on a scene, which broke his heart into pieces — his girlfriend’s lifeless body! It was still lying in a pool of blood. A tear trickled down his face. That woman was everything to him. God knew he was contemplating of popping a question — the would-you-marry-me question! Now that opportunity would never present itself. What didn’t ring the bell was how this whole thing happened. The woman seemed to have suffered a terrible fate. She had survived multiple cut wounds on her arms and chest. It seemed the killer wanted it to be gory. She also had sharp wounds on her neck. No doubt the killer inserted a sharp blade on her neck and twisted it. This pool of blood came from this wound.

The man averted his gaze, he had been to crime scenes before, but he had never seen something like this. Tokelo tried to think of any perpetrator, who could have done this. But none came to mind. But why God? He wondered and hated the fact that he would never find out. Well, even if the killer had left some DNA, these officers had contaminated this crime scene. But how did these officers hear about his girlfriend? Even though his mind was dazed, he remembered well that he was about to make a call when the blue waltzed in and hit the living lights out of him — nothing said. Did the killer alert the police officers? The man wondered.

But why? Tokelo asked an answer, however, he brought some severe assault on himself. The blue went to town on him, kicked the curiosity out of him.

In the midst of the punches, somebody cried, why did you do it? You thought you’re above the law?

If I’ve done it, I must be possessed by the devil — himself, Tokelo said to the cops, hoping they could cut him some slack. He didn’t kill his girlfriend, he couldn’t kill anyone.

The blue had led him away as if it was an afterthought. The man made a silent prayer. It wasn’t over, he knew that much, but the beatings could abate for now. Well, there were charges stacked up against this cop, who had been serving the nation at Maseru rural for almost ten years. This afternoon, that was becoming history. The name, Tokelo, feared by the underworld criminals, was dragged in mud. Framed for murder, a crime he didn’t commit. Like the rest of these officers, he wanted answers — he wanted to know who killed his girlfriend at his home. Instead of answers, batons whacked Tokelo's back. Even though I’m not resisting arrest! He thought, swallowing the blood oozing from his lower lip. He might have slowed downed, the blue pushed him forward. That moment Tokelo stubbed his toe as a result of being man-handled.

Move it! an angry voice cried, as if Tokelo wasn’t moving.

Tokelo raised his eyes but came to rue it. His swollen eyelids hurt afresh. The caked blood all over them creaked, allowing air to get into the cuts. Dang! The pain had teased to shut off his entire system. Yet like a sheep before its shears, he put each foot in front of the other. Soon he would arrive to where these men were taking him. But before then, a clap, coming from one of the blue, landed on his throbbing left cheek one more. The impact caused the man to stumble. Bad for him, the more he stumbled, the more the arresting cops assaulted him. This time his whole body protested. Well, he used to bear the pain. However, this was more like knives were driven in his back. To top this on, the lump, shooting up his throat, deprived him of any oxygen; Tokelo wheezed. Something drifted in his mind: saliva. He swallowed as much saliva as he could in hope that would lube his throat, but all was in vain.

Tokelo and his assailants made it to the street. The cars must be parked somewhere since they weren’t in sight. Perhaps getting in the squad car, these beatings would relent. As a matter of fact, he had had enough. As if to attest to that, his wobbly legs went out beneath him. His face was the first to land on the gravel, which he had splayed some time ago, trying to fight the soil erosion. The dust shot up. Tokelo choked since his mouth was wide open, he had opted breathing through it since his nose was congested. Merciless men, in blue, yanked him up. That he appreciated, but not for long. A round of punches landed on his head and shoulders. His head was spinning so was the rest of his world. He couldn’t figure out what followed next. But he was certain there were some bawling. As to whom — he didn’t know.

Crucify this sell-out! We want his flesh, the mob, with clenched fists, was bawling and pushing and shoving each other.

When did these people get here? one of the arresting officers demanded, though nobody had an answer.

This was Ha Thetsane, well, the place was the most populated place in Maseru. Here was a home-away-from-home for many Basotho, working at the factories. But most of them were still at work, at this instant. Now where did this crowd come from? Well, that didn’t matter. What mattered was to get this culprit to the station where he would await his trial — which would track and God forbid, it would leave this man with nothing. Killing his girlfriend despite his status in society, was a vile act. The man was lucky the mob was restrained. The women wanted him, they wanted to make an example with him. The cops seeing that the man’s legs were immobile, yanked him. He had resisted. Staying on the ground wasn’t comfy, but was far better than standing. Bad for him, the cops held on his vest, the only thing covering his back. The cheap fabric had yielded and torn to shreds. This time there wasn’t anything to hold onto. They had scratched his bare shoulders and back. The pain seething through his body, had brought him back to the now — something he really regretted. It was okay slipping into stupor for the pain was too much to bear.

Truth be told his relationship with his girlfriend was a razor blade affair. It was always cutting their hearts into shreds. All they seemed to do, all the time, was bickering and reviling. But once the dust settled, everything got normal and their affair picked steam as if they never hurt each other. Their relationship was unique, and beautiful — yet this moment it had drained into the sand like milk. Now everybody seemed to have lost their minds. They just pinned this on him. How could they? The man was just bewildered as the blue and much worse; heartbroken. But then he set each foot in front of the other. This too shall pass. He had thought. It wouldn’t last forever. He knew there were proper methods to be carried out in order to find the underlying cause of this misunderstanding. Soon the good guys would find the people responsible.

Just then a baton whacked across his face. His lips and cheeks burned as a result. Tokelo locked eyes with the men, who were once his brothers — not colleagues but brothers. One by one, they baited their eyelashes. The connection he had with them, the friendship he had built with them, was over. It was tainted with dirt like this shreds — he once called pants — dragging, as they led him away. The squad cars were there: blaring, honking and circling his home-away-from-home. The place he had known for quite some time, which would be given to another police officer since the man had kissed his job a goodbye.

As they neared the open squad car door, Tokelo lost his footing. Down he went. The men, walking him to the car, pulled out their guns. Boy, that he regretted, that he lost his footing. The men had whacked him with their guns. The mob had lost it, seeing this. In unison, the mob joined the police officers. They scourged the poor Tokelo, tossed him around as if he were a made-shift ball. None felt compassion on him. None felt no mercy on him. At this moment all that ran in the minds of the blue and the mob was to kill him. The pain felt like another blow on his gut. For odd reasons, he glanced back. Behind him, at the house that he just left, which was swarming with men and women in blue. What a day in my life! He thought, climbing into the van, and into safety.

Chapter 2

Hours had passed. Days had come and gone. Still there wasn’t anyone coming in to visit him. Then one fateful afternoon, the metals clinked. Tokelo thought it was time for his trial. That was the only logical thing that came in his mind since food and water were pushed under the door while he was still asleep. None wanted anything to do with him. The soft musk perfume, that was wafting for a brief moment, gracing this stuffy and filthy cell with fresh outside life had given him hope, that was Ntsooa’s. The Matelile born, a sergeant in LDP, and a dear friend of Tokelo — that’s if he still wanted to be associated with Tokelo’s kind. The man was a rancid and contagious low life, loathed by everyone in the department of police. Yes, some saw him as a disgrace to the department, some saw him as an abusive boyfriend. Some saw him as a murderer. Somebody who didn’t deserve any mercy considering his status. The verdict was already out, even though he hadn’t appeared before the court. His face was featured in six pm bulletins everyday. He had heard on TV, which was in the waiting room, people shouting his name and naming him names. Life! None of these people never asked for my side of story. The man thought as Ntsooa ambled in, holding a lunch box and a travel mug — the man had brought food. That Tokelo didn’t care about. What he cared about was the man’s presence. Ntsooa sat on the bed near Tokelo. He locked eyes with him.

All bottled and unpurged feelings busted out: anger and hatred drowned every sound in this jail, and the air in the cell got sucked out. The next second was difficult for them, both were indulged in their thinking. Each wishing to return the favor to those who wronged them. Ntsooa, on the other side, wanted to know whether this had really happened. Whether the man, correction: his friend had really murdered his girlfriend. He had seen a compelling evidence but still he couldn’t wrap his mind around this. He had known Tokelo since the first day at the police academy, and Tokelo had never struck him as a murderer. But then what glitters isn’t always gold.

Tokelo rose. Ntsooa watched, one hand reaching for the gun. Friends or not, a lot had changed. To his relief, Tokelo raised his hands up. This was a tear-jerking scene. Seeing one of his kind this down and defeated. Ntsooa reluctantly climbed on his legs. Apparently he still didn’t understand why the department chose him to do this — interrogations. Now since they once were colleagues, he just couldn’t put it in words. But saving grace, the man was up. Ntsooa seized the opportunity, motioned for Tokelo to move. Tokelo puckered his brow. This is just procedure. This was running in Tokelo’s mind while he shuffled his heavy feet away. They took the corridor still silent. Ntsooa jogged a bit to catch up with Tokelo. Only for the man to pace up. Tokelo didn’t know whose side this man was. Their friendship was everything to him, however, things had changed; friends were few during these trying times. Tokelo was aware he had brought him food. But that meant nothing.

Finally, they made it into the interrogation room, where everything would go haywire, should Tokelo lose his marbles — his freedom hinged on this interrogation. Tokelo wasn’t new around here. He had interrogated many criminals. He knew what to say and when to say it.

But am I up for this? it seemed Tokelo had many questions without answers.

The stale air assaulted their nostrils. This tiny room was windowless and felt like a pig sty although it was well swept. Cemented floor had some brownish spots, which both men knew exactly what they were. As the perpetrator, he could tell his fate was lingering. If he didn’t play ball, well, the ambulance was at the ready at this instant. The men still waddled to the center of the room, where a steel table and two chairs, that had seen a ton of junkies over the years, were arranged, awaiting for them. Besides these was just the lonesome light bulb, hanging from the ceiling, providing dim light. There was a glass at the wall, dividing this room with the hallway, where some officers would be watching through it while listening to this daunting interrogation and drawing inferences. The people needed a briefing. It was high time the blue issued their statement just so life could go back to normal. If ever it would. Apparently the media vultures had vacated their offices and seemed to have set up at the police station.

Both men took seats. Tokelo put his hands on the table. Ntsooa didn’t bother to restrain them. Tokelo played with his fingers while he waited for the interrogation to commence. Ntsooa set the files, lunch box and coffee mug on the steel table. He glanced at the recorder in front of him. Tokelo poised himself. He was hoping this could begin just so he could know whether he still had a friend in Ntsooa. But it seemed it wouldn’t kick-start any moment.

Tokelo took that moment of silence to rove his gaze. The walls were still not painted. The bricks were covered with sputters. Some were gore, that had sent shivers down Tokelo’s spine. The realization of what this place entailed, hit in. What it barricaded, hit in. This was no place he ever wished to set his foot. Let alone being a suspect alleged for murder. The thugs, confined in these walls, were those that even Satan loathed. The thugs that didn’t possess any rehabilitative potential. Hence they never saw sunlight. They had everything indoors, the playgrounds were in the basement; and every corner of this prison had a camera. The guards were everywhere, keeping an eye on inmates. The country had spent all the money to