‘Come here, I know you,’ the detective grinned.
Evans reluctantly joined them.
‘This is your mzungu?’ Mugo pointed rudely at Brian.
‘Yes, he is my boss from Nairobi,’ Evans agreed.
Brian eager to get away, interrupted. ‘Look, here is my driving license and a business card,’ handing over the two items to Mugo.
He gave them a cursory look and held onto them. ‘Passport?’
‘It’s not here, I must have left it in Nairobi.’
Mugo pointed at Evans. ‘You were supposed to bring a copy?’
‘Yes Sir. The office in Nairobi is sending it.’
‘Ok, bring it here tomorrow morning at nine sharp, and bring this mzungu with you. You can go,’ Mugo instructed, waving them away. Brian hurried to get to the car, despite his painful ankle.
Evans drove them out. ‘I’m so sorry for your troubles Sir. Do you want me to take you to a Doctor? Or hospital?’
‘No thank you, Evans. Just take me back to the apartment. I think my ankle is only twisted; I just need to rest it. If it’s still swollen tomorrow, I will see a doctor. How did you find my briefcase?’
‘The taxi driver brought it to the bank. I paid him a reward; he said you had offered one?’
‘Yes, that’s true, how much did you pay him?’
‘Five thousand, five hundred,’ he said too quickly, realising too late he had just missed an opportunity to make something extra.
‘Oh, thank you, remind me to reimburse you. I have never seen such awful police. Outrageous, how can they get away with such behaviour?’ Brian said.
‘They are the law, they only want money.’
‘Those bastards aren’t going to get one red cent out of me.’
Evans smiled in sympathy. ‘Us Africans,’ shaking his head.
‘No.’ Brian disagreed, ‘those are just common bullies and there must be someone I can report them to?’
Evans just pursed his lips and looked blank.
‘Will you call me when you have the e-mail?’ Brian asked as they reached the hotel.
‘Yes Sir. Do you need any help, to your apartment?’
‘I can manage, but I might need a lift with you tomorrow?’
‘Ok Sir, I will collect you at eight thirty?’
‘Yes, that’s good for me.’ He hobbled to the lift. As he rose to the third floor, he looked at the single shoe he was still holding, wondering why he still had it. I guess it’s a sort of trophy - a wry grin. Once in the apartment, he looked everywhere for his missing passport, upending his briefcase onto the bed. Bloody odd, my passport must be in Nairobi.
His mobile rang. ‘Mr. Nicholls,’ a voice drawled.
‘Yes, this is Brian Nicholls, who is this?’
‘This is Detective W.K. Mugo, do you remember me?’
‘Ah, yes Detective, how can I help you?’
‘Ahhh, it is me who can help you.’ the voice drawled.
‘I’m sorry I don’t understand?’
‘Are you missing anything?’Mugo asked mysteriously.
‘Oh yes, I left my driving license with you.’
‘Correct.’
‘Thank you, I will collect it tomorrow.’
‘Ok, don’t be late,’ ordered Mugo, and rang off.
Brian swore. Cheeky bastard, these police were unreal. He stripped off his clothes and had a long shower, as though to wash away the uncomfortable afternoon. He carefully felt around his ankle, the swelling was not going down. In the fridge, he found a small ice tray in the freezer section; he popped out the ice cubes, wrapped them in a flannel and lay down on the bed getting as comfortable as possible resting his foot on a towel. Trying to relax he attempted to read a novel he had picked up at the airport in Nairobi, before falling into an exhausted sleep.
*
Evans drove back to the bank. Before going in he phoned Azizza. ‘I have just taken Nicholls back to the apartment,’ he informed her. ‘After his accident someone handed his briefcase in at the bank. Those cops are bad news. They insist on seeing his passport to prove to them who he is.’
‘Where is his passport?’ she asked.
‘He looked in the briefcase but he must have left it in Nairobi.’
Patel waved his hands in the air in triumph.
‘Amazing,’ said Azizza, ‘that was lucky, who handed it in?’
‘The taxi driver.’
‘Wow, there are some good guys around,’ she responded.
‘He got a fat reward,’ countered Evans. ‘Anyhow, I have to take Nicholls back to the police tomorrow, with the passport copy.’
‘So he has had no chance to check the bank files yet?’
‘No, not yet, he asked me to set up an office for him, and we were supposed to start this afternoon.’
‘That’s good,’ she encouraged.
‘All this stuff is making me nervous,’ Evans complained, ‘but he likes my work. I could get a promotion - we even talked about going to London.’
Patel looked at the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘A promotion?’ quizzed Azizza keeping her voice even.
‘Yes, he says I have done such a good job, he could help further my career.’
‘Listen Evans, just stay focused on what you have to do for this coming week.’ She turned away from Patel to avoid laughing at his expression. ‘I’m going to submit more loan applications tomorrow, do you understand?’
‘What?’ Evans said in alarm, landing abruptly.
‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine. Just act normally, do your job, and remember you can always call me if you get worried. You have done excellent work so far,’ she praised him.
‘Ok, thanks,’ said Evans and rang off.
‘A promotion, Evans wants a promotion?’ Patel giggled.
Azizza smirked and switched her phone off speaker mode. ‘What are you going to do with his passport?’
‘We may need it later,’ he replied, not elaborating.
‘Do you think it’s wise to leave all the money here in Malindi?’ she asked, sounding him out.
‘Oh, my dear, thinking about your cut are we?’ he teased.
‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured, watching him closely.
Patel nodded. ‘I have been thinking it is time we set up a non-governmental organisation to support Golden Palm.’
‘An NGO?’ Azizza was incredulous.
‘Yes. This NGO will be an international aid organisation, one that funds the small farmer,’ Patel waved his hand at the map on the wall, ‘namely the Sabaki Farmers Co-operative, helping them to service their member’s loans, and it will appoint Golden Palm its agent in Kenya. It will mean we can legitimately move hard currency in and out of the country!’
Azizza stared at him absorbing this audacious plan, wondering briefly if he had lost his mind. He studied the expression on her face, waiting for the penny to drop.
Her mind raced through this new puzzle, a peel of laughter burst forth. ‘It’s brilliant,’ she gasped. Patel laughed tears with her, a relief from the tension of the last few hours.
Azizza recovered first. ‘This NGO will come from which country. America?’
Patel shook his head. ‘Too nosy.’
‘Pakistan?’ She offered.
‘Too cheap’, he laughed. ‘I like the idea of Brazil,’
‘Oh you speak Spanish?’ snorted Azizza. ‘Amigo!’ Raising her hands above her head and clicking her fingers.
Patel suddenly looked at his watch. ‘I’m hungry,’ he announced. ‘Curry?’ He suggested with a big grin.
‘I feel like nyama choma,’ she said smacking her lips lustily.
He agreed. ‘Shall we take the Mercedes, my dear?’
‘Absolutely,’ Azizza gushed.
FIVE
Brian woke with the dawn, the swelling on his ankle almost gone. He sat with a cup of coffee on the balcony looking out over the ocean. It would have been nice to have a swim before work, but he decided to kee
p his ankle rested before going back to the police station.
Away from the heat of the moment it seemed ridiculous that Mugo needed to see his passport. It was Brian’s first brush with the Kenyan authorities - he had heard stories of police corruption - if it was a bribe Mugo was after, he wasn’t going to get one from him. He ordered a large breakfast and later dressed for work in long trousers, shirt and tie, incongruous in Nike trainers; he would find a shoe shop later. Looking at his watch he went to meet Evans.
The manager was only a little late. ‘Morning Sir, I got it,’ he waved a document. ‘I called you yesterday but there was no reply.’
They drove to the police station. Copy in hand, Brian went to the reception. ‘Good morning,’ he announced to the cop behind the counter, ‘I have come to see Detective Mugo.’
‘Who?’ He stared at Brian, ‘ok, you wait,’ the cop announced, busy with the ledger in front of him.
The policeman made no move to call the detective. A period of time passed before Brian said sarcastically. ‘Excuse me sir. I hope I’m not disturbing you, would you tell Detective Mugo I’m here.’
‘No problem colleague. He no here, you wait.’
Evans was listening to the car radio as Brian walked back and said. ‘That damn detective isn’t here yet.’ They sat, radio playing while Brian quietly got worked up.
A white Landrover entered the compound. Brian recognised the cop driving from yesterday by his swagger stick. There were two others, one was Mugo. ‘This shouldn’t take long,’ he said and followed the trio into the station.
The cop at the counter waved him through. ‘He’s here,’ he said unnecessarily. Brian crossed the courtyard to the office and saw a woman dressed in jeans and a tank top, sitting crouched on the floor, quietly sobbing. She glanced in his direction, a pretty face, sporting a swollen black eye. She looked young and vulnerable.
He knocked on the detective’s door and without waiting, walked straight in. ‘Morning, Detective,’ he announced breezily, ‘I have the copy you asked for.’
‘Ah, Mr Nicholls, you have come,’ said Mugo equably, taking the proffered e-mail from Brian. He read it carefully and then wrote on a pad in front of him. ‘Where is your aliens pass?’
‘I have not been issued with it yet, the bank has applied for me,’
‘Which bank, this one in Malindi?’
‘No, the Nairobi head office is handling it.’
‘You should have an aliens pass, Mr Nicholls it’s the law. In these days of terrorism, we have to be careful; you could be working for Al Khaida for instance,’ Mugo announced flatly. Brian almost burst out laughing at the very idea. Mugo went on. ‘Now I have a copy of your passport, it should not be hard to find out if your work permit is genuine. In the meantime it is illegal to have a job without a valid permit. Inform your manager that I have said this and call me tomorrow morning. Here is your driving license, you can go now.’
Brian could hardly believe what he was hearing, but saw it useless to argue. Determined to wrench a measure of justice in this uneven match he picked up his license and asked. ‘Detective, that girl in the courtyard, what crime has she committed?’
‘What business is that of yours?’ Mugo asked.
‘She looks very young.’
‘Not too young to be a prostitute,’ Mugo said smugly.
‘Can I pay her fine, would you then release her?’
Mugo looked surprised. ‘You want to pay her fine?’Then suspiciously, ‘that’s five thousand shillings?’
‘Yes, I want to pay her fine.’ He said adamant.
Mugo looked at him for a moment, thinking. ‘Ok follow me,’ he said walking out of the office. He knocked on a door adjacent to where the girl was sitting and went in. Brian could hear him conversing with someone inside in Kiswahili. He called out for Brian to join him. Inside the office was the cop with the swagger stick. Mugo introduced him as Inspector Fimbo.
He gave Brian a calculating look. ‘You again? Now you want to pay this whore’s fine. What do you want to do with her ehh,’ making a lewd movement with his fingers. ‘You don’t fear aids?’
‘I would just like to pay her fine,’ Brian kept his voice even.
‘She musti plead guilty. She has to go to court, to be charged.’
‘I see,’ said Brian. He hadn’t thought of this.
There was a moment of silence as the two cops waited for Brian to say something else. ‘Ok mzungu, I can help you. You can give me the money, Fimbo held out his hand.’
‘If I pay her fine, you will release her?’
‘She will be released.’ Mugo agreed. The two cops watched the Englishman take out his wallet, count out five notes, and hand over the money.
‘What’s this?’ Fimbo asked, tossing the money on the desk.
‘The detective said it was five thousand.’ Brian explained.
‘You want to bribe an officer of the law, this is a very bad crime,’ he said slapping the money aggressively with his stick.
Brian’s mouth opened. ‘But..’
‘Ok go, enjoy,’ Fimbo laughed heartily and scooped up the money. Brian stood there not sure what to do next. ‘You want a receipt for your malaya? Take your Somali whore and get out before I change my mind.’ He waved his baton menacingly at him.
Brian hastily left the office followed by Mugo. ‘Excuse me,’ he began, addressing the woman on the floor.
Mugo interrupted him. ‘No talking to the prisoners,’ he pointed towards the exit. ‘Tomorrow, nine o’clock Mr Nicholls don’t be late.’ Mugo spoke harshly to the girl in Kiswahili. She quickly got to her feet and without a backward glance walked to the reception counter. Brian hurried out after her but she was already striding across the car park. He made his way to the car relieved and furious at the same time; at least the girl was free - was she aware that he had just paid her fine? He got in beside Evans.
‘Not good news,’ he angrily explained what Mugo had said as Evans listened. ‘This whole thing is ridiculous! And I have to come back here tomorrow.’
‘Sorry Sir these cops, they only want money.’
‘Money, huh,’ Brian snorted, ‘I just gave them five thousand to release a girl they were bullying.’ He pointed at a figure walking down the road ahead of them. ‘Can you follow - I would like to talk to her.’ Evans reluctantly drove up alongside the girl, uncomfortable with this new twist. It had started with the trainers and now his boss was paying off policemen and picking up tarts in broad daylight. Whatever next!
‘Excuse me,’ Brian called out, ‘are you alright?’ The girl stopped and squinted at him with her swollen eye. ‘I paid your fine,’ he explained.
She brightened. ‘Yesy I’m ok.’
Evans looked nervously around him wishing he was someplace else. ‘Can we give you a lift somewhere?’ Brian offered, reaching behind him and opening the passenger door. My name is Brian,’ he said as she eagerly climbed in.
‘Lucy,’ she leaned forward displaying her breasts. Evans already aghast was now seriously unhappy.
‘Can we drop you in town?’ Brian asked as the car set off.
‘Yesis that be good.’ Lucy said.
‘Those police are horrible,’ he sympathised, ‘that sort of thing would never happen in England. I hope your eye is not painful?’
She leaned forward and audibly breathed in Brian’s ear. ‘I fucky you for free, you nice man.’
Brian was stunned. ‘No, my dear, that won’t be necessary.’
Evans driving, shot a backward glance at the girl and then spoke sharply to her in Kiswahili. She leaned back in the seat and snarled a retort. Evans bristled behind the wheel and pulled over abruptly. ‘Sir,’ he appealed to Brian, ‘we drop her here, she not good woman, malaya a prostitute.’
Brian sighed. ‘Evans, I was only trying to be helpful. If you could have seen what those cops did. It was atrocious.’ Lucy sat in the back not moving, glaring at the back of Evans’s head.
‘Yes sir.’ Evans turned to the girl. ‘T
oka! Out, get out of my car.’
She started to sob. ‘No moneys,’ she wailed, not moving.
Evan Brian could see this was an act, but felt responsible, guilty even, for being a witness to the police abuse. He took out a five hundred shilling note from his pocket. She quickly snatched it and gave Evans a contemptuous look, as she opened the door.
‘Anytime,’ she pouted saucily at Brian, ‘for you nice man, for free,’ and strode off down the road, hips swinging in tight jeans.
‘Sorry about that,’ Brian apologised.
‘No problem,’ Evans relieved to get rid of her.
‘And where shall I drop you Sir, the apartment?’
‘No, the bank of course, we have work to do.’
‘But the police, Sir, said you are not to work.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ Brian exclaimed.
‘Sir, if they find you working in the bank, we can be fined heavily. I could lose my job,’ Evans said in earnest.
Brian shook his head. ‘This whole thing is farcical. Ok, take me to the apartment.’ Evans drove to the hotel.
‘Thank you for your help.’ Brian said. ‘Listen I will call Mr. Njenga and explain the situation. It’s not your fault, and I will let you know what he advises.’
*
Lucy hailed a passing tuk-tuk and went home to a downtown area of Malindi where she rented a single room in a decrepit block of flats. Her room was on the fourth floor, the landlord occupied the whole of the ground floor, she hoped he was out - he wasn’t. He was sitting shirtless on a broken chair outside the front door.
‘You owe me rent,’ he demanded as Lucy walked up. Scratching his ample stomach and spotting her swollen eye, he laughed. ‘Been out boxing have you?’ Mimicking an opponent with his fists, ‘I hope you won some cash?’
Lucy handed over two hundred shillings from the money Brian had given her. ‘I will get the rest of it to you tomorrow. The police took all my money.’
‘Excuses huh, how did you get the eye?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘The hands-up.’
‘You probably deserved it. Who would pay to ride your skinny arse?’ He grabbed at her bottom with one hand. Lucy moved away out of range. The man laughed. ‘Ok, this time, but I’m warning you, the room will be locked and your stuff left on the doorstep next time,’ he jerked his thumb at the entrance dismissing her.
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