Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (14 page)

‘No broken
wheel stud. I’m Brian,’ he introduced himself, kicking the
offending wheel, ‘and the spare is punctured.’

Doug squatted
down by the wheel. ‘Hmmm rusted solid, not sure I can do it today,
first thing tomorrow? Engine sounds a little rough want me to fix
that too?’ He asked skipping round the back and peering at the
exhaust pipe; he inserted a finger and held out the soot covered
digit for Brian to look at.

‘Battery was
flat, had to push start her,’ Brian explained.

‘Hmmm that soot
is bad timing, these V 8’s chew fuel, exhaust should be near
white.’

‘Can you get it
all done by noon tomorrow?’

Doug reached
into the car and popped the hood. He lifted it and peered inside
the engine bay. ‘Hmmm I could try. Want me to change the oil and
filters, if you get the timing fixed?’

‘Normally the
company mechanics take care of the service.’

‘Which
company?’

‘NNB bank.’
Brian answered.

‘Probably have
a contract with Amass Motors?’

‘To be honest I
don’t know of any contract. I’m new at the bank.’

Doug reached
for a crumpled pack of cigarettes in his jeans, selected a stick,
offering the pack to Brian. ‘Smoke?’

‘No
thanks.’

‘So what do you
want to do with the car?’ He asked lighting up.

Brian said.
‘Can I leave the spare with you? I could drop the car round
tomorrow for the wheel stud and you could do the timing. How much
would that cost? It’s not company money.’

‘I could do the
job for three thousand,’ Doug quoted. ‘A thousand down so you don’t
waste my time, agreed?’

‘Ok sounds
good,’ agreed Brian. ‘What time?’

‘I’m open at
eight.’ Doug answered, taking the thousand off Brian. He went round
to the back of the car, removed the spare tyre and rolled it
towards the workshop.

Brian eyed up
the bike. ‘That a CBR?’ He asked.

‘Yup Fireblade,
I modified it a little, you into bikes?’

Brian nodded.
‘I had a Suzuki 750 in the UK, not sure I would

ride a bike
here, roads aren’t made for it.’

‘True,’ Doug
agreed, ‘most people have off-roaders. Me, I like this baby,’ he
said proudly. ‘Mombasa-Nairobi in three and a half hours and I only
stopped for fuel.’

Brian asked.
‘You don’t wear a helmet?’

‘No can’t hear
the engine, besides it gives me a false sense of security. I wear
one when it’s raining though,’ Doug said smiling.

‘See you
tomorrow,’ Brian said as he climbed into his car.

‘Ok Brian
mate,’ the mechanic replied cheerfully.

Brian made his
way to a local supermarket, backing the range rover into a parking
space on a slope. He sat in the car wondering if he should call his
boss Njenga. What could he say - that his passport had been stolen
and then mysteriously returned? He didn’t know who was involved in
the theft; it could be anyone trying to keep him away. From what
though?

That night
Brian cooked himself pasta at the flat and later with a pen and
pad, using his analytical accountant’s brain, he wrote out all the
events past and present that had led to his hiring by NNB bank.
Drawing up a diagram with arrows, boxes, dates and names, he was
able to analyse as best he could where the threat was coming from.
He decided not confide in anyone for now. What was clear, was that
it cantered on his job and so far emanated from Malindi, with a
large question mark over the accident with the tuk-tuk. Had it been
deliberate, or just opportunistic? He was surprised to notice it
was past midnight by the time he had finished.

*

Doug was
waiting at the workshop. ‘Morning captain,’ he called out,
cigarette hanging from his mouth. ‘Traffic’s a bit heavy; want me
to run you into town?’

Brian
hesitated. ‘On that?’ Pointing at the fireblade.

‘Sure, you look
like you could use a hit of adrenaline.’

‘Yeah what the
hell, do you know the Westlands branch of NNB?’

‘Yup, let’s
go,’ Doug replied flicking his cigarette away, climbing on the bike
and firing it up. ‘Hop on,’ he invited.

Brian tucked
his briefcase under one arm. ‘Take it easy eh?’

‘Yeah, being a
biker you’re probably a lousy passenger?’

‘The worst.’
Brian agreed.

‘Ok, leave the
steering to me and keep your body loose, go with the flow.’ The
powerful bike pulled out into the traffic, headlight on full beam.
The latent growl of the 1000 cc motor turning into a snarl as Doug
feathered the clutch to alert other road users of his presence. He
manoeuvred the black Honda through the cars, flicking it left and
right through gaps hardly using the brakes with competent ease.
Keeping ahead of the traffic they stopped at a set of traffic
lights and were joined by a fellow rider on a large BMW.

Doug exchanged
pleasantries with the other rider, whose response was somewhat
muted by the full face helmet. It was only as the lights changed
and the BMW pulled away from them did Brian notice the rider was a
woman, judging by the hips and figure.

‘Friend of
yours?’Brian asked.

‘I wish!’ He
replied chuckling. ‘Like to ride both.’

Brian was
enjoying himself. The wind in his hair and early morning sun on his
face gave him a sense of freedom and well being. He soon got into
Doug’s rhythm and was sorry when the ride was over outside the
bank. ‘Thanks, I enjoyed that, see you later.’

‘You’re
welcome,’ Doug replied handing Brian a card. ‘My cell phone number,
call me first in case of any delays.’ With that he blipped the
throttle and shot back into the traffic. Brian watched with envy as
Doug rode quickly out of sight.

*

Patel
registered the NGO Company while Kamau supplied immigration
documents on two Danish nationals. A further hand over of cash had
the NGO’s inception back-dated to the previous September. In the
ministry records the organisation would appear legitimate. Armed
with an original certificate and an official letter appointing
Golden Palm as the agents, he flew back to Malindi. He was
surprised by Azizza waiting for him at the airport.

‘Thought I
would collect you,’ Azizza explained, smiling.

‘Really my
dear, it’s best we keep a low profile,’ Patel said looking around
nervously. He almost shouted when he spotted the Mercedes in the
car park. ‘You drove here in that?’ He demanded waving his
briefcase at the car.

Azizza was
hurt. She had missed him, and now he was angry, and spoiling her
surprise. Patel stood holding his briefcase, surrounded by hustling
airport touts. He looked as though he would take up the offer of a
tuk-tuk ride to town. Instead, he moved towards the car. ‘Ok, let’s
go.’

Relieved, she
walked eagerly alongside him. ‘Did you get the papers? Nicholls
left for Nairobi and he found his passport,’ she reported all in
one breath.

‘Can’t you wait
until we get to the office,’ he rebuked her. Patel did not like
surprises. As Azizza drove, he challenged her. ‘What is the idea of
using the Mercedes, have you been driving it all over Malindi? I
hope to God Evans hasn’t seen you in it, or worse a friend of my
wife’s.’

‘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.’