Elephant Dropping (9781301895199)

by Trzebinski, Bruce

  ‘I thought it was time we started to act like the directors of a successful company.’ She answered defiantly.

  ‘Oh yes, let everyone know. My wife away and me being driven round town by a woman in a swanky Mercedes. Don’t you know how people in this town talk?’

  ‘Yes, exactly,’ countered Azizza, ‘let them ask questions. You have just sold your factory and if you keep being seen skulking in and out of tuk-tuks on your own, they will think your business was taken by the receivers. Woman indeed, don’t get any ideas, I’m your partner remember.’ She snorted in derision.

  ‘Hmmm, you have a point.’ Patel agreed and cracked a smile. ‘Ahhh, of course, that’s what we need.’

  ‘Need what?’

  ‘Red diplomatic number plates,’ Patel answered, ‘you know -Danish ones for the car.’

  Azizza looked at him startled. ‘But that’s illegal.’

  Patel started to laugh. ‘Illegal? Of course it is,’ he replied. ‘But we have been appointed my dear, by the Danish government,’ he said tapping the briefcase on his lap smugly.

  ‘Yes, but you can’t just stick on any old numbers. All of them are recorded by the police.’ She drove up to the office gate and waited for the gatekeeper.

  ‘Yes that’s true, so we will select a number that resembles the Danish Embassy, not so easy to verify my dear.’

  ‘Oh, and how can you find out what numbers are available?’

  Patel just smiled, greeting the gatekeeper effusively. ‘Drive on my dear,’ waving his hand airily. She responded angrily by flooring the accelerator. The car leapt forward spewing gravel from the back wheels, accelerating down the driveway. Slamming on the brakes, they slid the last few yards into the car park, where she stalled it.

  ‘Temper, temper,’ Patel chuckled.

  She scowled at him. ‘You make such a fuss about me using

  the car, and five minutes later, you want to stick illegal plates on it. You’re impossible!’

  ‘Ahh, my dear it’s you, you inspire me,’ he said soothingly, ‘calm down sweetie.’ She ignored him, got out and strode to the house.

  Patel reached over and turned off the ignition. The number plates idea is a good one. Once in the house he put the kettle on. Calling out he asked if she wanted a cup of tea.

  ‘No,’ she shouted back from the office. Patel had only been away for just over twenty-four hours, but they had been working so closely together it seemed much longer. Azizza was frustrated. She wanted to know how the registration had gone, but also to restore their closeness - the main reason for going to meet him at the airport in the first place. After a few minutes, she marched into the kitchen and announced. ‘By the way, you’d better talk to Evans - he has been getting very aggressive about the car. He wants it back; his wife has been giving him hell.’ She returned to the office.

  Patel joined her ignoring the comment on Evans. ‘How much money have we banked since I left? Impatiently Azizza pulled up the accounts on the computer screen. Patel peered over her shoulder. ‘Expenses were high in Nairobi; I need you to make a money transfer to Kamau.’

  Azizza asked tartly. ‘Are you just going to give me instructions, or do I have a say in this matter?’

  ‘I got the job done,’ he retorted. ‘Put in a transfer to Kamau’s account for 400,000. He is expecting the amount today, before the bank closes.’ Patel pointedly looked at his watch. ‘Then I’ll fill you in on what happened.’

  Azizza angrily filled out the request to the bank, banging on the keyboard. Patel looked on. She was about to send the e-mail, when he stopped her. ‘Double check that number,’ he said sharply. Azizza had made a mistake and wordlessly corrected it. Patel re-read the e-mail. ‘Ok, you can send it now,’ he instructed. Glancing at the desk calendar, he made a quick calculation. ‘Near full moon, no wonder,’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing – get there by noon,’ he replied smiling at her. Patel sat down at his desk and snapped open his briefcase. Shuffling through the papers, he casually handed over the NGO certificate with the Danish coat of arms embossed handsomely in its centre. ‘Get that framed will you and take several copies.’

  Azizza grasped the certificate her eyes wide, holding the expensive paper reverently. ‘Wow,’ was all she said.

  Patel handed her the letter authorising Golden Palm as the NGO agent, along with work permits and passport copies of the Danish workers. ‘Our employers. Memorise their details, and get some business cards printed, include the coat of arms.’

  ‘Ho-kay boss,’ Azizza experimented with a Danish accent.

  Patel ignored her. ‘I need copies of all these documents. Make two extra files and keep the originals separate, and get the relevant ones to Evans as soon as possible for his files.’

  ‘This company was formed last September?’Azizza asked, holding the letter in wonder.

  ‘Yes, dear,’ he said proudly. ‘Are you happy now?’

  ‘What about the Danes. How does Evans meet them?’

  ‘He doesn’t. They are away in the field remember? There is no need for Evans to meet them. Golden Palm are his clients - not the NGO organisation.’

  ‘Surely Nicholls will need more information than that?’

  ‘Listen my dear, the loan deal is between Golden Palm and the bank, as long as there is no default, there is no reason why NNB should get involved at all with the NGO.’

  ‘I’m confused, why are we creating this NGO?’

  ‘Sweetie the reason we are doing all this is to keep Nicholls happy, feeding the illusion that we are here to stay and he can create more business for the bank group countrywide. We are also buying ourselves time, until we have banked enough money. By the way, as we are now part of an NGO, we can bank and export foreign currency.’ Patel finished with a big grin.

  Azizza raised her eyebrows. ‘Ooooh, now that is very clever,’ she cooed in mock appreciation.

  Patel smiled. ‘Yes, now do tell. What has our friend Evans been up too? Nicholls got his passport?’

  ‘Yes. Evans says Nicholls is convinced he left it behind by mistake.’ Patel took a small mock bow. Azizza ignored him and went on. ‘Evans, on the other hand, is upset about the car. He promised the small Toyota to his wife if she learnt to drive. He is not prepared to rely on public transport and wants the Mercedes back.’

  ‘That’s not possible. Have you tried to reason with him?’

  Azizza shrugged. ’You had better talk to him. He is like a kid who has lost his toy and will cause trouble.’

  ‘The problem is him not having his own wheels, right? He can’t stand the idea of his wife having a car when he doesn’t.’

  ‘Yes, but he also wants that car,’ Azizza pointed at the car park.

  Patel frowned. ‘That man is such a fool; this is what we will do. Get the Mercedes transferred to Evan’s name, so he knows that the car is his. We will give him all the papers, on the understanding that he can’t have the car until we can be sure Nicholls is not a threat to the project. In the meantime, I can give him my land cruiser to drive.’

  ‘And what does he tell his wife?’

  Patel waved his hands in the air. ‘The factory has recalled the Mercedes to fix a fault, and that can take months. Do I have to think of everything?’

  ‘Yes, because you are so clever.’ She smirked. ‘You’re not worried about the association of Evans driving a car that belongs to the director of one of the bank’s biggest clients?’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, no, it’s well known we are good friends. I have plenty of money from the sale of my factory, it’s quite reasonable for me to be generous.’

  Azizza raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘And what will this generous friend drive?’

  Patel watched her closely. ‘I took note of what you said about Golden Palm acting like a successful company and I like the idea of diplomatic plates.’

  ‘Patel, this is getting to be too crazy for me,’ Azizza looked serious. ‘You rea
lly think you can drive around Malindi in a car with diplomatic plates, and not raise a few eyebrows?’

  ‘Driver and tinted windows,’ he answered, ‘anonymous, prosperous, and could make a good getaway car too, don’t you think?’

  Azizza was struggling, she wanted to get involved in the game her partner was now playing, but her instincts told her they were overreaching themselves. The certificate must have gone to his head.

  She tried to reason with him. ‘One phone call to the Danish embassy would expose us in no time, it’s a stupid risk!’

  ‘One phone call, try it,’ he invited.

  ‘Oh come on, don’t be silly,’ she protested.

  ‘My dear, the Danes do not divulge information like that over the phone; thank you terrorism,’ he smiled.

  ‘You only thought of the red plates, just now,’ she challenged.

  ‘True, but I did call the embassy in Nairobi to ask about the NGO organisation.’

  ‘Our one? The false one?’ She asked, incredulous.

  He smiled. ‘They were very polite, I was advised to fill out a form and wait for an appointment,’ he laughed. Azizza had to smile despite her fears.

  ‘I’m hungry, so I’m going to get some pizzas. Which one would you like?’ Patel asked her.

  ‘Oh, I will eat whatever you have.’ She replied, knowing his choice would be loaded with chillies, which she also enjoyed once in a while. ‘You’re not serious about these number plates are you?’

  ‘I can’t think on an empty stomach,’ he said heading for the door.

  *

  Azizza busied herself filling out the necessary forms, and put a quick call through to Evans, asking him for his name and address.

  ‘Why do you want that?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘We are transferring the Mercedes into your name.’

  ‘Oh really?’ he responded excitedly.

  ‘Yes, you lucky man, come on, give me those details.’

  *

  They ate in the kitchen, standing by the sink, silently tucking in. Azizza picked off a few of the chilies, Patel nodded for her to pass them to his plate. They ate intently, thinking of the next move. Patel finished first, washing his hands in the sink. ‘Nairobi is a shitty place, full of crooks,’ he said conversationally.

  ‘Crooks like you?’ Azizza asked.

  ‘Ha, ha very funny, no - muggers and pickpockets,’ Patel dried his hands. ‘If you walk down the street, every man is checking out your wristwatch, shoes, briefcase and then your face, to see if you’ve noticed, and then following you, it’s not a nice feeling.’

  Azizza finished her pizza. ‘So now you know what us women have to put up with?’

  Patel chuckled. ‘Always a smart answer, eh?’

  ‘I have completed the transfer documents, and made the copies you asked for,’ Azizza said, returning to work.

  Patel stowed his plate in the sink and walked through to the office. He picked up the landline phone and spoke to the operator. Waiting a few moments, he started talking away in an Indian dialect. Azizza realised that he had just called his wife in England and was surprised by a sharp stab of jealousy. She couldn’t understand what was being said, but Patel was happy judging by his laughter and smiling face. Azizza found herself seething as she waited for him to finish, impatiently fiddling with her photocopies, this unwanted intrusion breaking an unwritten rule in their relationship.

  He finished his call, a faraway look on his face. Azizza couldn’t stand to see him this way and left the room before he noticed how angry she was feeling.

  When she returned, he was leafing through the photocopies of the documents. ‘How is your wife, everything ok?’

  ‘Yes, yes, she misses Malindi though and can’t get used to the lousy English weather.’

  ‘Oh, poor thing,’ Azizza said.

  Patel looked at her sideways. ‘Do we have any idea when Nicholls is coming back to Malindi?’

  ‘Evans is finding out, and will call me as soon as he knows.’

  ‘Good. You know, I’m wondering if we need to set up another office. It’s a big operation just for this damn Nicholls fellow, what do you think? By the way, I agree with you on the diplomatic plates, silly idea. Now this office issue?’

  Azizza sat down at the computer and waved her arms dramatically. ‘It was your idea, and this is the Head office of Golden Palm?’

  Patel looked around the dilapidated room tut-tut ting. ‘We can’t even pull this off as a field office can we?’ He asked, already knowing the answer. ‘Bloody Nicholls, now we need new offices, he is costing us a packet.’

  She countered. ‘But if we get Nicholls on “our side”, we can increase the loan submissions endorsed by his confidence in our abilities, because of the NGO association.’

  Patel switched tack. ‘Does the land officer know of any other title deeds due for distribution anywhere else in the country, that we can get our hands on?’

  ‘I can ask him,’ she replied, ‘but I doubt that we can replicate this project anywhere else, and anyhow, we don’t have the time to mess about, as you know.’

  Patel scratched his head. ‘Yes, I agree, but I’m looking for a distraction; something to keep Nicholls busy elsewhere, out of our backyard. Could we print title deeds, say, for Wasin Gishu district?’

  ‘And borrow money from Malindi? How would that work?’

  ‘No, there’s a NNB branch in Nakuru.’

  ‘Yes, but now we would have to deal with another bank manager. Evans is enough trouble as it is.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t thinking along those lines. If we got Nicholls to endorse the loans, the manager would tow the line.’

  Azizza shook her head. ‘You know how nosey bank managers are, especially when it comes to land allocations. You’re dreaming, it could jeopardise everything.’

  He knew she was right. ‘Ok, let’s deal with the more immediate problem. Where can we get some decent office space in Malindi?’

  Azizza responded. ‘There’s a new shopping complex, out by Vasco da Gama point. It’s been put up by an Italian investor.’

  ‘Oh, nothing too flash, we only need two rooms at the most, reception and main office, not really a shop front operation are we? Don’t you have any contacts in the old town?’

  ‘Yes, I could ask Hassan-Ali, but there’s nowhere to park.

  ‘That doesn’t matter we can keep the cars at the house anyway and only use the NGO office when Nicholls is in town.’

  ‘Ok, I will go out there now and find out. How long will we need the office for?’ she asked, holding the door open.

  ‘At least six months,’ he replied not looking up and fiddling with his mobile.

  *

  In Nairobi Brian entered the bank nodding at familiar faces. He walked round the teller booths to see Gladys, Njenga’s secretary. From there he went into his own office. His prediction charts on the wall were familiar and at the same time out of date, he noted ironically. He put through a call to Evans in Malindi, telling him about his passport, and work permit. ‘Silly me, I must have dropped it.’ He listened for any hint of surprise in Evans’s voice.

  ‘Ahh, good Sir, those damn police will leave you alone now.’

  ‘Yes, I should think so. Have you managed to get hold of the directors of Golden Palm?’

  There was a pause. ‘Aahh, yes. No, I left a message. They were supposed to call me back. I will try again Sir.’

  ‘Ok, good,’ Brian responded, ‘talk to you soon.’

  Brian was sure Evans was lying. But was it inefficiency or something else? He turned to his office computer and read the inter-office memos that had been sent in his absence, getting up to speed on events in the bank. There was nothing for his attention. He then pulled up the accounts of the Malindi branch, and began looking at the figures, as he did so Gladys came through, interrupting him.

  ‘Mr Njenga is here sir, and would like to see you.’

  As Brian entered Njenga’s office, he was on the phone; smiling a greeting h
e waved Brian to a chair. Njenga finished his phone call, made notes in his desk diary and tidied up a sheaf of papers in front of him. ‘Mr. Nicholls, good to see you. We thought you would never come back from Malindi,’ he joked and then leaning forward on his desk. ‘Now tell me exactly what happened?’

  Brian outlined the events. The accident, the missing briefcase, the police, watching Njenga’s face for any reaction - not an easy thing, Njenga always had a jovial demeanor. One could imagine it confusing when informing a client of foreclosure. Brian finished the story with the finding of his passport in the desk in his flat. There was no reaction to this deliberate lie - Njenga only expressed relief.

  ‘Ahh, good, and the work permit, did you find that?’

  ‘Yes, it was with the passport.’

  The banker sat back. ‘That’s very good news, the immigration people can be very difficult on such matters. You would think that a Kenyan company our size, would hold some sway, but it seems to have the opposite effect. The police in Malindi were a little heavy handed. Those provincial posts are not popular, everyone wants to work in the big city. It’s hard to get dismissed in the civil service; they just shuffle their people further away from the capital if they’re troublemakers, or won’t tow the party line.’

  ‘The police claimed to have contacted the Immigration Department, and there was no record of my permit application,’ Brian countered.

  Njenga smiled. ‘I doubt that. I spoke to the head of immigration yesterday. Your file is there; in fact I had better call him. I had ordered a copy of your permit to be endorsed by him, but now you have the original, there will be no need.’ He made a note in his diary. Njenga looked pleased. ‘Ok, Mr Nicholls, how did you find Malindi, apart from your unfortunate beginning?’And how was Evans Njugu?’ Not waiting for an answer. ‘I guess you had better get back down there, with your passport this time eh,’ a mild rebuke, ‘or do you think you could start your program in another branch, say up country, in Kitali for instance? We, the directors, are very excited about getting your program under way you know, it will give us the edge on the competition. We are hoping to open a branch in southern Sudan, a new frontier for NNB.’