The sound of the shot and ensuing drama brought all traffic to a standstill. The armed cop scrambled out of the pickup, eyes wide as he saw Cyrus standing over the body. ‘What happened?’ He shouted.
‘Prisoner tried to escape,’ Cyrus said waving his handcuff keys. ‘Did no one frisk him?’
The driver and another cop from the cab ran round to look, guns drawn. The other escort had also stopped and more cops arrived standing around the body, taking in the scene, others waved the traffic away menacingly, clearing a space. ‘Jesus, now what do we do?’ He asked.
Cyrus put his gun in his waistband and lowered the tailgate on the pickup. ‘Let’s load him up, come on let’s get moving,’ he urged, lifting up one of Fimbo’s arms. The others joined in reluctantly, muttering amongst themselves - Fimbo after all was one of their own - this shooting was bad news for all of them. They manhandled the dead body into the car; one of Fimbo’s shoes fell in the road. Cyrus shut the tailgate. ‘I will ride with the other prisoners,’ he announced taking charge and climbed into the back with Evans, no one else climbed in with him. The escort slowly set off, cops shaking their heads, a following car ran over Fimbo’s shoe squashing it into the tarmac.
Evans was slumped in a corner looking miserable. Fimbo’s constables looked at Cyrus anxiously, faces lit by the lights of the following Landrover. ‘What happened? The boss, is he ok?’
Cyrus said. ‘He is dead, he tried to escape.’
‘Dead! Oh, this is terrible.’
‘You remember Titus?’ Cyrus asked them.
‘Who?’ They looked at him puzzled.
‘Never mind, shut up, stop talking.’ He sat looking out at the evening sky, at least he had avenged his friend’s death.
The two constables argued quietly amongst themselves, they reached an agreement, the elected one called out timidly. ‘Sir?, I have something for you - in my pocket, it’s important, it’s evidence,’ he said.
Cyrus snorted. ‘Evidence of what?’
‘I think you want the Indian man. I have his mobile sir.’
‘How the hell did you get that?’
Evans came out of his stupor a little as he listened.
‘He gave it to me, it’s in my pocket.’
Evans sat up. ‘You have Patel’s mobile? Call him, he can explain everything!’
Cyrus sneered. ‘Idiot.’ He reached into the constable’s pocket and smiled as he saw the expensive mobile, switching it on to read the directory. ‘Evans, aha,’ he pressed the number. A few moments later a galloping horse’s ring tone went off in Evan’s pocket. ‘Yes it is you,’ Cyrus laughed.
The constable asked. ‘Sir, it’s important evidence we have given you, you will remember us won’t you?’
‘Yes, I will, don’t worry you’re unforgettable, but if you want me to help you, this thing is between us. Understood?’
The constables nodded in unison.
‘If you speak to Patel, he can explain everything, he is the one you want not me,’ Evans offered.
‘Shad up,’ said Cyrus, pocketing the mobile.
At the police station, the prisoners were given a mouldy blanket each and pushed into a cell that was already full. Grumbles came from the other prisoners, as they made room for them on the floor. Evans called out. ‘I need a lawyer, it’s my right!’ Just before the door clanged shut.
A voice in the dark said. ‘You fat one! Move away,’ a leg kicked at him, ‘you smell of shit.’ Evans received more kicks as he moved round the crowded cell. ‘Get away, sit with your friends.’ He sat with the constables who were very quiet; the last thing they wanted was to be known as cops.
The OCS interviewed Cyrus over the shooting. ‘Yes,’ agreed Cyrus, ‘bad news, I should let my boss know.’
‘You will do that said the OCS, after you have accompanied the body to the morgue.’
He got in with Fimbo’s dead body and they set off for the morgue. He examined the features on Patel’s expensive phone, starting in surprise as it rang in his hand. Azizza - he read and then answered holding it close to his ear, he heard her voice, smiled to himself and then switched it off. A nice new phone was some consolation.
*
Patel waited for a large woman passenger to come down the aisle before slotting in behind her as she exited the aircraft. He stuck close to her at the bottom of the stairs using her as cover while he walked across the apron to the main building, alert to anyone who might be waiting for him, walking quickly to the exit as the other passengers waited for their luggage to be off loaded. Out into the foyer he was instantly pressed by taxi drivers offering to take him into Nairobi, still others pushing meeting placards at him. He was grateful for the crowd, speaking to no one he hurried through the melee and across the road, more persistent touts followed him. ‘Taxi, taxi,’ they called out.
He entered the international terminal, intuitively knowing he had very little time, the sooner he got through to the relative safety of the departure lounge the better. He casually walked the length of the check-in counters, paying particular attention to the time and destinations on offer.
The one to London was not for another five hours, one to Mumbai in just under an hour and a half, already a small queue of passengers waiting to check in. He noted with a wry smile one to Antananarivo in Madagascar in two hours time. He found an ATM machine and drew enough cash to cover his ticket. Getting to the end of the lounge, he saw an overhead sign to the Kenya Airways counter. Patel paid for a seat on the flight to Mumbai using his real passport, and with no luggage, he was soon seated in the departure lounge, waiting for the gate to open.
THIRTY-SIX
Azizza tried Patel’s number in vain, it was still switched off or he was out of range. From her room she looked forlornly out at the car park. Where is he? She went downstairs and asked the hotel guard on the gate if he had seen him.
‘He went out with the other man who brought the cars.’
‘That maneno with the police, what was that all about?’
‘They didn’t tell me,’ the guard shrugged, ‘the police, they just swoop when they like.’
Azizza disappointed, thanked him and walked away.
‘What’s your room number?’ he called out a hopeful look on his face. ‘I can tell you if he returns.’
She looked back and said. ‘I don’t think so,’ exaggerating her hip movements a little as she walked on. Back in her room, she began to worry. Has he been mugged and his phone stolen? She lay on the bed and pictured scenes of him in hospital, injured, with her by his bedside and him professing his love for her at last, she slipped into a light sleep as the daydream took over. She woke up later, the room almost dark. Hurrying to the window, the lights were on in the car park, a few more cars, none of them his.
She tried his room number, the phone rang unanswered. Glancing at her watch, the potion would be starting to work soon. She turned on the lights in the room and took out the clothes she had selected, she may as well get ready, he could return anytime.
At around seven, Azizza went and asked the reception if there were any messages for her. There were none.
She then persuaded the receptionist to get a master key so they could check his room. They went upstairs and knocked on the door - there was no response - the receptionist used her key. Apart from two unopened suitcases, the room was empty.
‘Sorry,’ said the girl, ‘I can let you know if I hear anything.’ They parted on the stairs and Azizza caught the lift back up to her room. She lay on her bed utterly miserable, as the time ticked inexorably on. He’s done a runner she said to herself at last daring to accept the obvious and burst into tears at the thought - that bastard had dumped her after all they had been through.
She pulled herself together in between sobs, and went over the lunchtime conversation when he talked about them leaving for Dar-es-Salaam. She pictured him speaking to her searching her memory, his face and voice, for any inflection or signs of deceit. Suddenly she gasped. The potion! Has it caused an ad
verse reaction? What if he is truly sick somewhere?
The mental torture was unbearable. At around nine she tried his number this time, her heart leapt, it was ringing! Relieved she waited for him to answer, getting ready to admonish him. The phone clicked on, she could hear someone breathing, with sounds of traffic in the background.
‘Hello Patel, can you hear me?’ The phone clicked off. She threw the mobile onto the bed angrily, that bastard! Now convinced he had done a runner it was so typical. He’d only brought her to Mombasa to make sure he got his money, he had lied again and she like a fool had been taken in.
Looking at herself in the mirror. To hell with him, stupid skinny bloody Indian and to think that I Azizza, a woman who could get any man, have thrown myself at him, I will show him. She needed a real man. She opened the fridge and took out a miniature bottle of gin, unscrewing the cap she held her nose and downed it in one gulp, the raw spirit searing her throat, making her gag.
‘I’ll show him,’ she said, going into the bathroom wiping off her teary makeup and reapplying it with a vengeance. She walked out of the door and headed for the hotel bar. ‘I’ve wasted enough time, I’m rich and I’m available, it’s time for some fun,’ she told her reflection in the lift mirror, standing tall and pushing her breasts out, looking approvingly at the image. ‘Very nice,’ she said out loud.
*
A hundred miles out of Mombasa, Doug pointed at a side turning. ‘That’s where we went on the bike.’
Brian looked. ‘It seems months ago we were there, this has been quite an adventure.’
Doug agreed. ‘And then some. By the way what ever happened to that piece I gave you?’
Brian started. ‘Bugger it, I think I left it in the apartment!’
‘That is not good, it was an important bit of evidence.’
‘Whats you talking?’ Lucy asked from the back seat.
‘Nothing to worry your pretty head,’ Brian told her.
‘Can you remember where you left it?’
‘I think it’s in a drawer, in the desk with the computer. Doug can you pull over I need to take a leak?’ Brian changing the subject.
He frowned as he got back in the car, put on the seatbelt and looking in the rear view mirror pulled out onto the highway. ‘I can’t piss,’ he muttered to Doug, ‘something’s wrong.’
‘Can’t piss?’
‘I want to go but nothing, it just hurts.
‘Drink lots of water,’ Doug advised.
‘Yes that might help,’ Brian took a water bottle off the dashboard and gulped down its contents. ‘What do you think will happen to Evans, once your uncle gets hold of him?’
‘I would imagine he will lose his job for sure and may even end up in jail, just another victim of greed and corruption.
‘Your uncle seems very capable.’
‘Oh yes - you know he was offered a job with Interpol.’
Brian was impressed. ‘Why didn’t he take it?’
‘He doesn’t talk about it much, he was devoted to his wife and when she died, the fight went all out of him.’
Brian smiled. ‘Behind every successful man, eh?’They chatted amiably as the journey progressed into the dusk.
Lucy had fallen asleep on the back seat, lightly snoring. They stopped half way to refuel and get something to eat.
Brian looked for a toilet while Doug attended to the car.
Lucy walked over sleepily to a courtyard café and ordered tea, Doug joined her; there was no sign of Brian. The two of them sat in silence sipping mugs of hot sweet tea and munching sugar buns watching traffic go by on the highway.
Brian appeared out of the gloom, looking very agitated. ‘Doug, can I talk to you,’ he stood away from the table.
Doug mouth full asked. ‘What’s up?’
Brian motioned him to join him as he walked away. Lucy frowned. ‘What’s problem?’ She called out.
Doug shrugged and got up to follow Brian.
‘I have a problem,’ said Brian. ‘I just went to pee and the pain was unbelievable, and what came out was full of pus.’
‘Oh, you know what that probably is.’
‘No, what?’
‘Miss Malindi there has given you a dose.’ Doug tried not to grin.
‘Dose of what, what do you mean?’
‘Gonorrhoea you know, the clap.’
Brian hissed. ‘What, the clap! I don’t believe it.’
‘Didn’t you use rubbers?’
‘Yes in the beginning. So it’s just an infection nothing else?’
‘You will have to get tested; unfortunately it goes with the territory.’ Doug didn’t have to say what was on his mind.
‘Fuck,’ spat Brian, ‘get rid of her!’
‘Get rid of her, what do you mean?’
‘I don’t want her to come to Nairobi with us,’ Brian said.
‘You just want to dump her in the middle of nowhere?’
‘I don’t care, I don’t want that bitch anywhere near me.’
‘Calm down, you can both be treated with antibiotics at a clinic in Nairobi; you can’t just leave her here. Anyhow my uncle wanted to interview her.’
‘Fuck that! She has been threatening to go to the police all along. I have been such an idiot.’
‘You are overreacting Brian - it’s water under the bridge now.’
‘Listen, just tell her to get lost, give her some money.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘She will be ok, little bloody whore.’
Doug appalled said. ‘Clear up your own fucking mess,’ and stepped away from him.
‘Ok I will,’ said Brian.
‘Whilst we are on the subject of money, I need some for the fuel.’ Brian handed some cash over.
‘Are you sure you want to do this, this way?’ Doug asked.
‘Yes, anyhow I thought you couldn’t stand her.’
Doug shrugged. ‘She’s a human being, I don’t think she gave you the clap deliberately, these things happen.’
Brian strode off towards the table where Lucy sat.
Doug tossed his half-eaten bun away and walked towards the car. Soon raised voices from the two of them arguing followed him. Brian got in the car and shut the door. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, as Lucy banged her fist on the window.
‘Birin, no! Don’t go,’ she pleaded. He reached over the seat and got her things, wound down the window and tossed them out at her, high heels clattering on the road.
‘Get lost,’ he said.
Doug looked across to see Lucy, tears streaming down her face, looking very vulnerable and frightened. ‘Pleases Birin, don’t leave me here, this place full of bad mens, pleases I beg you.’
Brian wound up the window, Lucy hung on, he banged her fingers to make her let go. ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’
‘You can catch a bus,’ Doug called out, ‘back to Mombasa.’
She wasn’t listening. ‘Please Birin, why do thisis you like me?’
Brian angrily opened the door pushing Lucy to one side. ‘Fuck off,’ he shouted, and looked like he would strike her.
Doug called. ‘Hey Brian take it easy,’ he started the car.
Brian got back in and slammed the door.
Lucy ran round to Doug’s side. ‘No,’ she said, ‘No.’
‘Sorry sister,’ he put the car in gear.
Lucy seeing the inevitable shouted out. ‘He a thief, he takes money worse than all of them and he have gun. Fucker go away die! You shit man,’ she flung one of her shoes at the departing car; it bounced off the rear window ineffectively.
Doug pulled out onto the highway; once he had the car in top gear he said with feeling. ‘You’re a real bastard.’
Brian muttered under his breath. ‘Yeah? Fucking little bitch.’
They drove in silence, Doug getting angrier as he thought over the ugly scene. Speeding up and taking fast elaborate turns around potholes, going off road as they passed oncoming vehicles, savagely keeping his lights on full beam.
‘Doug, don
’t you think you should slow down a little?’
‘You don’t like my driving?’
‘No you seem to be angry.’
‘I am.’
‘Ok let me drive then,’ said Brian.
‘You think you can do a better job do you?’
‘Actually, Doug it is my car.’ Doug swerved off the road abruptly and stopped in a cloud of dust, stalling the engine, the headlights probing the bush. ‘What the hell are you doing now?’
‘I’m not going to be party to any more of this shit.’ Doug said.
‘You’re upset now, when before, all you could do was moan and complain about her all the time, what is this? Listen, you forget she was threatening all the time to sell us out to the police,’ Brian tried to reason.
‘Oh and why am I in this shit, because of her? No it’s because of you!’ He yelled. ‘You and your fucked up mzungu ideas of what’s right and wrong. You pick up that girl, lead her on a merry dance then just dump her, like a discarded paper wrapper. In this place,’ he waved his arms around, ‘it’s almost tantamount to murder, she is all alone and has no contacts. I don’t want any part of it.’
‘Oh so you want to teach me a lesson on morality now do you,’ Brian replied acidly. ‘I’m supposed to be happy I have the clap, that little cow will be dosing someone else in no time.’
‘It’s your own fault Brian, it’s all your fault, all this shit.’
‘Yeah well I’m not the one being hunted for murder.’
‘Fuck you,’ Doug said stung, ‘you know that was self-defence and let me remind you it wasn’t me those bastards were after!’
They sat in silence, crickets sawing in the bush, engine ticking as it cooled. They had become the strangers they always were, their enforced bond weakening as they neared its end.
Doug took a deep breath, and gripped the steering wheel. ‘What was that Lucy was shouting about as we drove off?’
‘All I heard was swearing, remind me?’ Brian invited evenly.
‘You know what she said.’
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