Elephant Dropping (9781301895199)

by Trzebinski, Bruce

  After leaving school, Azizza had earned her deceitful skills working in the civil service as a cashier in the Mombasa Law Courts. Her natural gift as a mathematician and puzzle solver made the job easy, pocketing the cash as she learned how to omit and juggle entries. Her friendly outgoing personality also paid other dividends; she became an agent for the illiterate. For a small fee she would fill out forms, anything from a council license to a backdated birth certificate or a passport application. Every month she earned at least three times her salary in under the counter fees.

  She avoided getting promoted, paying her way into positions that allowed her to continue to interact with the public and handle cash. Azizza had first impressed Patel when she was working in the motor licensing department; he needed a transfer of ownership on one of his vehicles in a hurry. Over the years he used her more and more to secure the many official government documents he for his business. He had tried to recruit her to come and work exclusively for him, but she’d declined, preferring to remain employed in the civil service. He was persistent and as a compromise, she had herself transferred to the land office in Malindi, where she became a useful extension to his business.

  Azizza had alerted Patel to the unclaimed title deeds that led to the subsequent hatching of the Golden Palm project. She gave up her job at the land office in order to work full time as a Patel’s partner on the land deal, with her many contacts in the civil service keeping her updated on any new developments.

  At twenty-seven, she remained unmarried. Although a good-looking woman with no lack of suitors, marriage within the confines of the Swahili culture was not to her liking. It clashed with her strong independent spirit. In a nutshell she was smarter than most of the men she had met, and soon got bored with them. Patel was the exception. She was intrigued by his lack of interest in her sexually and excited by his mercurial mind. She studied him constantly, probing for weaknesses she could exploit. Puzzles were what interested Azizza and Patel was a complex puzzle.

  After today’s events, it had become clear that once the Golden Palm swindle was inevitably exposed. All the fingers would point to her as the principle cog in the fraud. With Patel now moving quickly to cover his tracks, she needed to find a way to slow him down. This morning, as she typed up the new title deeds, her mind actively worked on this dilemma. The kernel of an idea to outwit him started to form, and soon she was smiling to herself as the plan developed in her mind’s eye. Chuckling, and then spontaneously laughing aloud, as the solution became clearer. Like most good ideas it was simple and would ensure that Patel would be leaping through hoops if he dared to try and double cross her.

  With no family of her own, Azizza was living in Malindi with her aunt. When the time came, she could simply walk out of the door without a backward glance.

  *

  That evening, Evans was glad to have his wife and children back from Nairobi and relieved to see that the maid had cleaned up the house in the afternoon. The family was disappointed not to see the Mercedes until he reassured them it was only a temporary thing.

  As they unpacked and settled in, Evans surreptitiously pocketed three pairs of his wife’s newest panties she had bought in Nairobi. On the way to work the next day he tossed them in a dustbin. In the evening he was pleased to hear his wife shouting at the maid to find them or else! Still angry with Patel, he avoided any communication, using Azizza as an intermediary for anything to do with Golden Palm.

  *

  Patel had intensive meetings all week concerning the sale of his business, settling on a figure that suited both parties. He put his wife and children on a plane to London at the end of the week, and promised to join them as soon as he could. The directorship of his company was transferred to the new owner, and for the sake of continuity, he stayed on as a consultant.

  The family home was included in the sale so the local auctioneer removed all but essential furniture from the house. Patel moved a bed and an old cupboard to the Golden Palm office, where he intended to stay for the duration of the project.

  Keeping his eyes on the bigger picture, he had no time to indulge in any sentiment over the dismantling of his life, approaching the whole thing like a simple business operation. Now, essentially freed up, he could focus his entire attention on completing the Golden Palm project.He called for a meeting on Sunday evening between the three of them at the Day and Night club to discuss how they were to proceed in the coming week with an English auditor in their midst.

  *

  Patel arrived with Azizza and chose their usual table. Drinks ordered, they settled down to wait for Evans. ‘He is late,’ Patel said.

  ‘He is still angry with you.’ She said.

  ‘Why, because I took away the car?’

  Azizza just looked at him like it was obvious and then waved at someone she recognised on the dance floor.

  Patel got down to business. ‘Does he know how much money we have banked?

  She replied caustically. ‘He is a bank manager.’

  ‘Oh, are you angry as well?’ Patel grinned, going on the attack.

  Azizza said. ‘Just be patient, he’ll be here.’

  ‘Sorry my dear. This deal is running so smoothly I’m anxious that that buffoon will mess things up.’

  Azizza spotted Evans across the room and waved him over. ‘There he is,’ she said to Patel.

  Evans approached the table and chose a seat opposite Patel without meeting his eye and ignoring his outstretched hand, he greeted Azizza. Patel studied him unfazed. ‘Good to see you my friend, what are you drinking, the usual?’

  Evans said stiffly. ‘Yes, Ok.’

  The three of them sat in silence, avoiding eye contact as the waiter fetched the drinks. Patel broke the ice. ‘I have called this meeting to discuss how to deal with this Nicholls fellow during the coming week.’

  Evans responded. ‘That’s the bank’s business not yours.’

  ‘Exactly,’ agreed Patel. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, have you spoken to this Nicholls?’

  Evans nodded.

  ‘And?’ Patel asked. ‘Tell me more?’

  ‘He seems a nice fellow,’ Evans said.

  ‘Does he suspect anything?’

  ‘No,’ replied Evans, hiding his face in his beer glass.

  Patel looked at Azizza and tried to enlist her help in this monosyllabic conversation. She smiled, enjoying his frustration. He tried a new tack. ‘Do you think it would be wise for me to meet him?’

  Evans asked warily. ‘Why would you want to meet him?’

  ‘I am one of the bank’s clients and this Nicholls fellow, is a PR man isn’t he?’

  ‘You leave me to handle Nicholls,’ Evans said.

  ‘What, no cocktail parties planed this week for clients, Evans?’ Patel taunted. ‘Azizza’s just bought a new dress in anticipation, you can’t let her down.’

  Evans ignored the needle. ‘Is this what you called this meeting for - to discuss a cocktail party?’

  ‘No, you know very well why we are here. I just want to be sure that you will hold up your end of the bargain. It could be a difficult week for all of us. We need to communicate and keep the bigger picture in focus. The issue over your car will be resolved, you know. We are a team, a good team.’

  Evans faced with this appeal, fidgeted in his seat. Despite his resentment over the car, he liked Patel and was not comfortable keeping him at arm’s length. He relented, and in a rush. ‘Don’t worry about Nicholls, he suspects nothing. In fact, he is so impressed with the success of the Malindi branch on the small loans interest repayments, that he is coming to study my methods in order to see if he can introduce them to the other branches.’

  Patel raised his eyebrows. ‘Introduce the scheme to other branches? Azizza we could go countrywide!’ he exclaimed. ‘Do you know any other land officers?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Azizza, ‘plenty,’ and began to laugh.

  Not quite seeing the joke, Evans laughed with her, easing the tension round the table. Patel
praised him. ‘You see, they love the work you do my friend. Just keep it up, but don’t volunteer any information. Are you going to meet this fellow at the airport?’

  ‘Yes, he arrives on the ten o’clock flight from Nairobi. He was going to drive down but I dissuaded him.’

  ‘Good, good for you,’ Patel smiled. With the tension gone, the three conspirators relaxed, and ordered more drinks. Spontaneous conversation and laughter flowed. Azizza even persuaded Evans to get on the dance floor with her, his lumbering frame gainfully gyrating to the music as Patel cheered them on.

  FOUR

  Brian Nicholls gazed out over the Indian Ocean as the aircraft circled before landing at the airport. He could see the wide elliptical Malindi bay and further south, breaking white lines of surf marking coral reefs on the edge of blue water. What he had always dreamed of, palm trees and white beaches.

  Stepping from the aircraft into balmy air scented with tropical plants and sea, he joined the other passengers on the short walk to the main building. A gaggle of people waited to meet the arrivals. In a sea of unfamiliar faces, he spotted a portly man holding a message board with his name on it.

  ‘Mr. Evans?’ He asked with a wide grin.

  The man with the board grinned back and held out his hand in greeting. ‘Mr. Nicholls?’

  ‘Yes,’ Brian shook the proffered hand.

  ‘Welcome to Malindi Sir. Let me help you with your bag, my car is just over there,’ Evans pointed his placard at the car park. ‘We are so excited you have come to see us. Our small branch seldom gets such important visitors.’

  Brian responded. ‘I’m also glad to be here, this is my first trip out of Nairobi, it’s such a beautiful country.’

  ‘Yes sir, I thought we could go straight to the bank and then I can take you to your apartment.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Brian agreed.

  At the bank, Evans introduced him to all the staff in turn. Brian couldn’t keep up with all the names and smiling faces, but knew he would get to know them later. He asked Evans to organise a space for him with a table and a computer, where he could work.

  Evans showed him the boardroom. ‘Will this do Sir?’

  Brian nodded his approval and sat down opening his briefcase, taking out a list he had prepared for the manager. Evans nervously glanced through it. It looked normal, no surprises, a typical audit.

  ‘Sir. Will you do any staff training while you are here?’

  ‘Not this time, but I will introduce a training program once I have toured the other branches. I will then select the most promising trainees for a seminar in Nairobi.’

  They discussed other bank business pleasantly. Evans asked questions about Brian’s experience working in England, comparing it with banking in Africa and Brian enjoyed pointing out the similarities and differences. Evans expressed a hope to work in a bank in England one day.

  He steered the meeting to a close. ‘Sir, shall I take you to your apartment now? I will need time to set up your office for you and you could start work this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Brian, ‘good idea. By the way, Evans, you can call me Brian. No need to call me, Sir.’

  They drove to the White Marlin flats, located on the main beach front. His third floor apartment comprised two bedrooms, a kitchenette living room and balcony. Brian was delighted with the flat. Evans pointed out the in-house phone, convenient for ordering meals from the main hotel, otherwise supermarkets were within walking distance. The apartment included access to the hotel swimming pool, beach, tennis courts and gym.

  ‘This is great,’ said Brian, looking around him.

  Evans handed him the key. ‘Do you want me to collect you this afternoon sir - I mean Brian?’

  ‘No don’t worry. I can find my way back to the bank, there seem to be lots of those three wheeler taxis about.’

  ‘Tuk-tuks,’ nodded Evans.

  ‘Oh, is that what they are called.’ Brian laughed, ‘right, Evans, I will catch a tuk-tuk to work,’ looking at his watch. ‘Do you think the office will be ready for me by two thirty?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ The manager replied.

  *

  Brian left on his own, hastily unpacked his suitcase. He changed into a swimming costume, grabbed a towel and headed off to explore. He took a quick look at the hotel pool and went for the beach, leaping in the surf in childish glee. This was what he had craved all his life. He spent an hour splashing about in the waves, marvelling at the tiny slivers of mica sparkling in the water, gold flecks washed out from the nearby Sabaki River onto the beach. He lay on the golden sand and soaked up the sun.

  Back at the apartment, he ordered a snack from the in-house menu and had a shower. There was no hot water but the atmosphere was warm enough. He ate on the balcony enjoying the view of the bay. Getting dressed, he went out to go shopping. Walking down to the local supermarket, he found it closed over the lunch hour, so he whiled away the time at a small Italian run café.

  On his way to the flat, Brian stopped and chatted with the driver of a tuk-tuk, arranging to be picked up at two thirty.

  In the apartment, he checked the contents of his briefcase, changed into his work clothes, and went down stairs to catch his taxi. A tuk-tuk was waiting, but it wasn’t the one he had asked for.

  ‘Hello,’ he said to the driver, ‘are you waiting for me? Where is the taxi I asked for?’

  The driver smiled. ‘The other man, he went on another job. He told me to pick you. I take you to the bank, ok, one hundred shillings amigo?’

  ‘Ok.’ Brian smiled and climbed into the back of the three wheeler, enjoying its toy like appearance.

  The tuk-tuk pulled out into the road and set off for the bank. Brian sat back and relaxed as it sped along the Malindi main street. He didn’t see the lorry pull out of a side turning into the path of the speeding taxi. His driver braked violently to avoid a collision. The lorry driver seemingly oblivious, kept coming - a head on inevitable. At the last moment, the errant truck swerved, but it’s long body slammed into the side of the tuk-tuk with a terrific crash knocking it over onto its side. Brian was thrown across the passenger bay ending up on the ground still inside the body of the tuk-tuk. The taxi driver was soon on his feet and ran after the lorry shouting for it to stop.

  A heated argument ensued between the two drivers and a curious crowd soon gathered. Brian got to his feet in a daze, his ankle hurt. He gingerly favoured it, trying to work out what in the hell had just happened.

  The driver of the tuk-tuk came back to his vehicle followed by a mob of curious Africans. He helped Brian crawl out of the cab. ‘Sorry, sorry, that fool doesn’t know how to drive, you ok?’ tut-tutting. ‘Oh look at my taxi. Shit, damn no problemo,’ trying to brush the dirt off Brian’s tie and shirt. He helped him to the side of the road, the crowd making way for them. ‘The police come soon, you ok?’ the driver repeated. ‘Sorry, sorry amigo.’

  Brian found an upturned kerbstone to perch on and rested his painful ankle. ‘Can I get some water?’ he croaked, his throat dry with shock. An onlooker handed him a half bottle of water, and he drank gratefully from it. He then massaged his ankle loosening his shoelaces and working his foot back and forth, at least it wasn’t broken.

  Suddenly Brian shouted at the driver. ‘Where’s my briefcase!’ He desperately scanned the crowd. The driver looked in the cab of the wrecked tuk-tuk, and shook his head. ‘Nowhere,’ he said.

  The murmuring crowd moved away from the crashed vehicle, as a policeman in uniform strode up, waving a swagger stick aggressively. ‘Toka toka!Get away! Go! Kwenda!’ he shouted. He loudly interrogated the driver of the tuk-tuk in kiswahili punctuated by the occasional word in English.

  Brian interrupted. ‘Excuse me, someone has taken my briefcase.’

  ‘What you say?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘My briefcase, it’s missing, someone must have stolen it.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just now, here,’ said Brian.

  ‘You
had some briefcase with you?’

  ‘Yes. Right here with me.’

  ‘You saw the accident?’ The policeman demanded.

  ‘I was in the taxi,’ Brian pointed, ‘with my briefcase.’

  ‘You wait here,’ he instructed. ‘You are an important witness.’

  ‘What about my briefcase?’

  The policeman poked Brian hard in the chest with his baton. ‘You come to the station, make full report. Wait here.’ He then strode off with the tuk-tuk owner to interview the other driver. Brian was too stunned to react.

  A police land rover pickup with a torn canvas awning drove up and stopped. Two other policemen joined the one with the swagger stick. The taxi driver came over to Brian. ‘We have to go to the police station,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Ok,’ Brian said, ‘sorry about your taxi. Listen, there is a reward if you should find my briefcase. You can get hold of me at the NNB bank. My name is Brian Nicholls.’

  The driver held his hand out to help him up. ‘You have to come with us to the police station.’

  ‘Not with that rude bugger, I’m not.’ Brian said, ignoring the proffered hand and getting up on his own.

  ‘The hands-up, he say, you must come,’ said the driver, pointing at the one with the swagger stick.

  ‘Look, I’m not going. I have to get to work.’ said Brian adamant.

  The cop walked over. ‘Ok, let’s go,’ he pointed at the pickup.

  Brian set his jaw. ‘No way, mister.’

  The policeman gave Brian a nasty look. ‘You want to leave the scene of an accident?’ he challenged.

  ‘Enough of this farce.’ Brian said, and made to move off. The policeman barked out orders to the other two cops in Kiswahili. Brian was manhandled into the back of the pickup protesting loudly losing his shoe in the process. They handcuffed him to the steel frame that held the canvas cover in place. The two drivers, urged on by the policeman jumped in with him. Brian started to shout out in earnest.