The chef took the opportunity to peer into the back of the car, he pointed at the spanners in Patel’s hand, and the open suitcase on the back seat. ‘You have problem?’
‘No problem, thanks,’ Patel handed back the glass, and climbed in the car quickly starting it.‘ I must go to the hospital,’ he said by way of explanation and drove out.
He drove to a nearby supermarket and bought lengths of stout chain and two large padlocks. Back at the hotel he enlisted the help of the askari. Together they loaded the spare tyre over the boot. Patel then ran the lengths of chain, round the rear seat supports, through the hole in the tyre and the rear seat belt D rings on the floor. The chain now straddled the tyre, and with the askari heaving enthusiastically, they tightened the chains and padlocked them.
Tipping the askari and carrying the empty suitcases, he went to his hotel room to wash his hands. It had been a hectic morning and he still had to get his passport back from the mercurial and unpredictable Inspector Fimbo.
TWENTY-NINE
Brian woke with a start, Lucy tugging at his arm. ‘Birin, Birin wake up,’ she insisted.
He looked up at her. ‘What time is it?’ He reached for his wristwatch; eleven fifteen it read. He lay back, stretched and yawned. ‘You,’ he waved a finger at her playfully, ‘have only just woken up yourself.’
‘The bank, the monies, you musts get it,’ she insisted.
‘Ok,’ he agreed, ‘but first I need coffee.’
She tut-ted impatiently and walked off naked to the bathroom shutting the door with a bang. He winced and rubbed his eyes, he needed more sleep. Rousing himself he wrapped a towel round his middle and walked downstairs to make coffee. As the kettle boiled, he recalled last night’s antics with a rush of feeling.
Upstairs he switched on the computer. Lucy was still in the bathroom and he badly needed to pee. He went and knocked on the door. ‘Lucy I need the bathroom,’ his excitement made the problem more acute. The splashing noises stopped, he heard her shoot the bolt, locking the door.
‘Shit,’ he dashed downstairs, to use the kitchen sink. It was too high so he pulled over a chair and stood on it. He dropped the towel and aimed at the sink and couldn’t go, he closed his eyes and visualised a toilet bowl, this time a flow came accompanied by a searing pain that made him wince. Ow, what was that? Too much sex he decided as he gratefully emptied his bladder, ran the tap, and quickly wiped the surrounding splashed area.
Back in front of the computer, he tapped in Azizza’s password for the Golden Palm account. Scrolling through the numbers, he gasped at the total, almost a third of the money had gone that morning to Mombasa. He silently cursed himself for waking up late, but the account still had almost three hundred and fifty million in it. Lucy walked naked into the office. ‘You get monies?’
‘Soon, why don’t you get dressed?’
‘Wheres the monies? You get,’ she commanded.
‘I need to concentrate. Go and get changed sweetheart.’
‘No, I stays,’ she announced firmly.
‘I can’t do this with you here.’
‘Birin!’ She shouted at him hands on her hips, a look of desperation on her face. ‘Birin you do it now!’
‘Lucy calm down, it’s not as easy as you think.’
‘You lie,’ she spat at him, ‘you try to sheet me.’
‘Listen Lucy I’m not going to try and cheat you out of anything, let me finish this thing,’ he waved at the computer.
‘But we still go Nairobi?’
‘Yes, of course, come on love.’ He pulled her gently from the chair and embraced her. With Lucy gone Brian got down to work. He located the account in NNB that he had asked Evans to set up for his wife. Linking the two banks together electronically and taking a deep breath he hacked his way into the system. Stealing the identity of one of the tellers, he filled out the transfer details, keeping above the minimum balance. They would find out by the end of the day, but by that time the money would be long gone.
He took another deep breath and pressed the send button, noting with nervous excitement the account beginning to empty. Doing a quick calculation, he then linked Evan’s bank with the branch in Nairobi, where he created an account in a fictitious name and linked this with an offshore savings account in the Isle of White.
He converted the Kenyan shillings to US dollars using the inter-bank rate; heart pounding he hoped the foreign bank reserves would cover the amount. He held his breath and watched anxiously as the screen went blank for a moment and then exhaled with a whoosh as the figure registered over four million dollars.
The transfer finished, he closed the account and erased any sign of it. He stood up and did a silent victory dance round the office in glee.
Lucy unseen had returned. ‘Birin what you do, why the machine deadi, what you do?’
He grinned at her. ‘It’s all done!’
‘Done? The monies?’
‘I have the money.’ He smiled at her like a fool.
‘Oh you such a clever mans, Lucy lucky this time.’
He laughed contentedly. ‘Yes we are lucky. Now let’s get ready to go, Doug should be here soon.’
‘We get money in Nairobi? You buy me clothes in Nairobi,’ she reminded him of his promise.
‘Yes lots of money and clothes,’ he reassured her.
THIRTY
Azizza got back to the hotel just before noon, weighed down with shopping bags containing parts of her new wardrobe. She had bought lingerie and off the peg skirts and blouses. In the room she emptied the bags on the bed, quickly mixing and matching the clothes.
She rang Patel. ‘Where are you?’
‘Here in the hotel, is everything alright?’
‘Yes, yes, everything’s fine.’ She fingered a new blouse.
‘Good, shall we have lunch?’ He asked.
‘Yes I’m hungry.’
‘Ok see you in the dining room in a few minutes.’
Azizza’s heart was fluttering, so far so good, now for the potion. She took out the twists of silver paper and sniffed them, identifying the first potion. She sat on the bed and stared at the little twist as though it might hold an answer.
She wandered into the bathroom and looked through her wash bag for a receptacle, she couldn’t just dump it in the food, he might notice. It had to be sprinkled somehow, there was nothing suitable. An idea came to her. She had seen a trolley by the lift piled up with used items from room service; a salt cellar would be perfect. She hurried out down the hallway, the trolley was still there. Back in her room, she prized off the bottom and emptied the salt into the sink. She washed and dried it with a tissue and then emptied the fine powder into it. Azizza tucked the cellar into the waistband of her skirt tugging her blouse out a little to conceal any telltale bulge. Perfect. She checked her reflection in the mirror.
In the dining room Patel was already seated and tucking into a salad. He waved at her as she walked over. ‘It’s a buffet,’ he announced, pointing with his fork. Azizza looked over to see a trestle table with samovars of food in the corner of the room, other dinners were helping themselves. ‘What do you want to drink?’
She stood beside him, looking at a cruet set in the middle of the table. ‘Drink, he repeated looking up at her, quizzically.
‘Ahhh just water. How is the salad?’
‘Good,’ he said through a mouthful.
Azizza walked over to the buffet. Calm down, he notices everything. She made a concerted effort to relax and walked back to the table. They exchanged small talk, as Patel unusually waited for her to finish her salad before suggesting they get more food.
‘I’m not that hungry,’ she said.
He looked at her curiously. ‘You said you were hungry.’
‘Umm yes, I suppose I could eat some more,’ she agreed.
‘Yes must keep your strength up; you’re not sick are you?’
‘No I’m fine,’ she replied a little sharply.
Patel raised his eyebrows as he got
up to fill his plate.
Azizza bit her lip, fingering the cellar in her waistband for reassurance. She followed him to the buffet hardly looking at the food as she watched him select rice and what looked to be a prawn curry, she imitated his selection with smaller portions.
He glanced at her plate as they sat down. ‘The food looks good,’ he said conversationally.
‘Yes oh, I forgot my chapati,’ she looked at his plate. Patel fingered his, smiling and tore off a strip and dipped it into his curry.
‘Would you get one for me?’ she asked. He looked at her in surprise, the strip poised to go in his mouth.
‘Huh?’ He put the piece down, swallowing his saliva. ‘You sure you’re feeling ok?’ He frowned at her.
‘Yes, it’s just that man,’ and she inclined her head at a burly looking African helping himself from the buffet.
Patel followed her gaze. ‘Yes what about him?’
‘He got heavy with me in the lift just now, I don’t want to go near him.’
‘Oh rich lady now ehh, don’t want the natives too close.’
Azizza just smiled at him appealingly. Patel got up with a sigh and walked to the buffet. As soon as his back was turned, she whipped out the cellar and quickly shook the contents over his plate.
He handed her the chapati and returned to his food; she watched him trying not to hold her breath.
‘Come on eat,’ he urged pointing at her food with a fork. He stopped eating and a distasteful look crossed his face, his tongue flicked out a few times like a lizard, ‘funny flavour.’ He peered down at his plate suspiciously.
She quickly picked up a fork and tasted hers. ‘It’s fine.’
He frowned. ‘Hmmm, there’s something there I’m not sure about, you have to be careful with prawns.’
She took another forkful, head to one side. ‘No the prawns are fine, I think the cumin seeds are not that fresh,’ she ventured.
Patel tried again, frowning as he tasted it. ‘Yes you may be right but I didn’t think cumin seeds could go off?’
‘Now you’re rich, fancy yourself as a gourmet?’
He waved the fork haughtily. ‘Of course my dear.’
She felt her excitement mounting as he finished his food, distractedly pushing hers around her plate. He leaned back and concealed a small burp. ‘You really aren’t hungry,’ he commentated.
‘So do we go to Dar-es-Salaam tomorrow? What’s the plan, did you call Evans?’
‘Yes I did, he is fine,’ lied Patel.
‘He doesn’t like it?’ Azizza guessed.
‘No, but tough shit,’ Patel giggled. ‘I have already booked the tickets to Madagascar,’ he took out receipts from his pocket and waved them at her as confirmation, ‘and apart from Fimbo this afternoon, my work here is done.’
Azizza was excited. ‘Where will we stay?
‘Oh I’m sure we can find a hotel, let’s take it as an adventure.’
She glanced at her watch, six hours the doctor had said. About seven tonight Mr Patel you will be mine.
Patel ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth. ‘Cumin seeds.’
Azizza said nothing pretending not to notice.
‘I’m going to have an ice cream,’ he announced, ‘want one?’ He rose from his chair.
‘Yes strawberry, a cup not a cone.’
Patel walked across the terrace to an ice-cream outlet in the corner. In a few moments he was back, handing her the cupped ice cream, he had selected a chocolate cone; his tongue busy as it melted rapidly in the heat. He sat down enjoying his ice cream and beaming at her. ‘My dear,’ he said between licks, ‘do you realise that you’re a wealthy woman?’
She took a spoonful. ‘You don’t give up, hey?’
Patel’s eyes glistened; there was an air of excitement about him she had not seen before, his posture relaxed and happy. Could the potion be working already?
‘What does your cousin do in Madagascar?’ he asked without interest, busy with his melting cone.
‘She has five kids; her husband is in the garment industry.’
‘Hmmm, that business can turn a nice profit, especially if you get a contract with a clothing line,’ lick, ‘very nice indeed,’ lick, ‘there’s a good investment for you,’ he advised.
‘Why are you so interested in my half of the money?’
‘I’m always interested in money,’ he replied, crunching delicately around the cone, his tongue fishing for the remaining knob of ice cream. With his hooked nose he looked for a moment like a crow, she looked away not liking the image.
Their casual conversation was interrupted by Patel’s mobile ringing. Today it had a western galloping rider theme, the tune echoing tinily across the terrace.
He held it to his ear and glanced at his watch. ‘My driver,’ he told her, ‘he’s early. I had better go and make sure Fimbo’s room is ready,’ he stood up. ‘What are you going to do this afternoon? I wouldn’t let the inspector see you,’ he advised.
‘I might rest, shall we meet at dinner?’
‘Hmmm yes, but let’s go out, I don’t want to spend the evening here with Fimbo around. I will call you at around seven, ok? He put his hand on her shoulder and looked down kindly at her. ‘See you later,’ and walked off to the reception.
Azizza watched his jaunty stride, there was definitely something different about him. It must be the potion. She went up to her room and flopped onto the bed, pushing her wares into her face gleefully smelling their newness, rolling on her back and holding up a pair of raunchy lace panties and giggling delightedly. She was so excited she could hardly wait and still had almost five hours to go.
She took the cellar and prized off the cap, peering inside, all the powder had gone. She inserted her little finger it in the receptacle gathering some residue and gingerly put it on the tip of her tongue. It was bitter, no wonder he queried the taste, no matter it was done now. She rang Zainabu.
‘I did it!’ She announced triumphantly.
‘Ohhh you gave him the potion?’
‘Yes!’ Azizza nodded vigorously.
‘Did he notice anything?’
Azizza gave her the details elaborating a little in the telling.
Zainabu listened avidly, catching Azizza’s excitement.
‘I don’t know what to with myself? Time is passing so slowly,’ she complained to her cousin.
‘Now my dear,’ advised Zainabu, ‘calm down, it won’t be long before you’re in his arms, so make sure you’re tidy.’
‘Tidy?’
‘You know, down there.’
‘Ohhh,’ Azizza giggled as she got it. ‘Of course my dear very tidy, hot and puffy,’ she added lewdly.
They laughed together, setting each other off. Tears of mirth flowed down Azizza cheeks and she gasped for air. ‘Ok my dear thank you for everything,’ and she rang off.
THIRTY-ONE
In the afternoon, Lucy and Brian sat downstairs waiting for Doug to show up. Brian looked round the apartment, he had erased as much evidence as he could of his use of Antonio’s computer, enough for any layman, but the apartment was a mess. ‘If we give Alphonse money, will he clean up properly?’
‘Yesi give me three thousands,’ she agreed, ‘I tell him.’
Lucy found Alphonse dozing in his sentry box and spoke to him in Kiswahili. ‘We are leaving now, you’d better clean the house before your boss gets back.’
‘Is anything broken?’ He asked.
‘No, but you owe me my commission.’
‘Ahh, you stay for free I only charged the mzungu.’
She pouted. ‘Without me you would have no money.’
‘And without me you would have nowhere to fuck your mzungu.’
‘I want the money, you owe me.’
‘Piss of whore,’ he said matter-of-factly ignoring her and fiddling with his radio, topic closed.
‘You shitty,’ she spat at him in English and walked back to the apartment, a smile of triumph on her face.
Doug
arrived just after noon. ‘All ready to go?’ he asked as he walked in the apartment, pointing at Lucy’s giant suitcase.
‘Hello, has my car arrived? Brian asked.
‘No, not yet but I thought we would go and wait at the airport for it, then we can get going as soon as it does.’
As they walked out to Doug’s Landrover, Alphonse emerged from his sentry box. He was not smiling. ‘You go?’ He pointed his truncheon at the red suitcase.
‘Yes,’ said Brian, ‘thank you so much for letting us stay.’
Alphonse frowned. ‘What you have in there?’
Brian waved at Lucy. ‘Her clothes.’
‘Let’s see, open it.’
Doug grinned. ‘Yes Lucy let’s see what you have got?’
She folded her arms, defiantly. ‘Birin put it in the car.’
‘I think you should do as Alphonse asks.’ Brian said.
Lucy looked at the three men clearly out-gunned, and with ill grace pushed the case over on its side with her foot. The askari bent and flicked the locks open, lifting the lid wide; he stirred clothing around with his truncheon, picking out a shirt he recognised as Antonio’s.‘This is not your shirt. You steal my boss’s clothes?’ He accused her.
Lucy scowled and leaning over the open suitcase quickly flicked through it. She picked out panties, a bra, her long gold dress and walked to Doug’s car and climbed in.
Brian bemused called out to her. ‘Lucy?’
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
Brian looked at Alphonse apologetically. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t realise,’ he lied unconvincingly.
Alphonse waved his truncheon menacingly. ‘She a thief.’
Doug intervened speaking in Kiswahili, they exchanged words not unpleasantly and reached an agreement. He turned to Brian. ‘Do you have a thousand shillings?’ Lucy snorted loudly at what she could see was happening. Alphonse took the money and folding the suitcase shut, walked back to his sentry box.
Lucy shrilled from the car. ‘Birin! My sweetcase.’
Brian hesitated, looking at Doug.
Doug said. ‘Come on let’s get out of here.’
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