Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (18 page)

‘Ok, you happy
now? Remember your promise.’

Lucy nodded.
‘No problem, which is your car?’

Evans told
her.

‘Ok, I meet you
at the car. I go to the toilet,’ she stood up.

‘Wait,’ Evans
protested.

‘You want to be
seen leaving with me?’She was all business now. ‘Ok wait here.’

‘No, you’re
right. Come to the car,’ he agreed.

Lucy walked off
towards the toilets. Evans impatiently paid his bill and hurried
out to his car. After twenty minutes, angry and frustrated he
walked back into the bar. Lucy was nowhere to be seen. He drove out
aggressively swearing rudely at the askari, refusing to tip
him.

The bouncer
went into his office. ‘It’s ok, sista, he’s gone.’

‘Thanks bro,’
Lucy grabbed his muscular arm in a friendly hug.

Evans got back
home still fuming, his wife and kids fast asleep. Taking a beer
from the fridge he sat on the sofa, and leafed through the Mercedes
documents carefully reading every line, making sure there were no
anomalies. The car was his alright, indisputably his.

One thing was
clear; Patel was definitely worried about Nicholls - new offices,
NGO organisations, whatever next?

The fraud was
getting more and more elaborate and without him, they could do
nothing, yet they treated him like he was a junior partner. Evans
drank his beer feeling bloody minded over this gross injustice. And
they have taken away my car - why - because of Nicholls? As Patel
had pointed out, he was just an innocent victim of a bank hoax.
There was nothing to link him to the Golden Palm other than he
being the manager. Evans kicked off his shoes and adjusted the
cushions on the sofa, methodically sipping the beer as a plan began
to form in his mind. Of course it is so obvious, that damn
muhindi
is not so smart after all. He fell asleep on the
sofa, dreaming of silver coloured Mercedes and sexy ladies dressed
like Azizza.

*

He woke up to
find his wife standing over him with a cup of tea. ‘Where were you
last night? You smell like a brewery.’

He grunted a
reply and took the cup of tea, almost spilling it as it seared his
lips. ‘Ohh is hot,’ he muttered.

‘Explain?’ She
asked hands on hips.

‘Leave me in
peace, woman,’ Evans growled. ‘I had an important meeting. Let me
wake up first.’

‘Oh really, so
where’s the car?’

‘You can take
the Toyota, I have made arrangements. Now let me finish my tea!’ he
barked.

Evans braved
his wife’s driving as she weaved imperiously in and out of traffic,
always in the wrong gear. She turned in at the ‘Out’ sign of the
bank car park, stopping abruptly. He got out without saying a word,
and strode into the bank.

Once in his
office Evans opened the file for Golden Palm and studied the
figures. He made calculations and worked out percentages. He
intended to confront Azizza that morning and wanted to be sure of
his ground. Satisfied, he settled down to wait for her, he was
going to teach those two a lesson. For far too long he had put up
with their demands, it was time to make a few of his own.

When Azizza
came to drop off the keys, Florence told her that Evans needed to
see her.

‘I’m really
very busy,’ Azizza said. ‘Here are the car keys.’

‘I’m sorry,
madam, he insists you see him,’ Florence repeated.

Azizza entered
Evans office, holding out the keys. ‘Here you go,’ Mr. Big
Shot.’

‘Oh good, I’m
glad you have come, sit down,’ he pointed at a chair, crossing the
office to close the door and blocking her exit. ‘There are things I
need to discuss with you.’

Azizza remained
standing. ‘Evans, I’m in a big hurry, what do you want?’

‘Take a seat
and I will tell you. It won’t take long.’

She sat down
with ill grace. ‘Speak then.’

He took a
moment to compose himself. ‘I need you to talk to Patel. I don’t
feel that I’m getting enough out of this deal considering my
position. Without me there is nothing Golden Palm can do and I feel
my cut should represent my importance. I have gone over the figures
and I think the profits should be split more evenly.’

Azizza frowned.
‘What do you mean more evenly? How do you know what the profit
margin is?’

‘I’m a bank
manager,’ Evans explained, waving an arm round his office. ‘I work
in figures all day long. I got a first in mathematics at
university. I know all about profit margins.’

‘If you want a
bigger cut, it means I get a smaller one. I don’t like the idea of
that at all,’ she replied, ‘and you’re not doing anything extra for
your cut, are you?’

‘Yes, but I
could do nothing at all and then no one would get a cut,’ he smiled
triumphantly.

Azizza frowned
at him. ‘You want to shake us down, now?’

‘No, it’s not
like that, I want my talent recognised.’

‘Talent to
expose us? You will also suffer if you do.’

‘I don’t think
so, I will merely explain to Nicholls how I was duped by a couple
of confidence tricksters. It happens all the time to bank managers.
You, on the other hand, will definitely go to jail -and your smart
friend.’

Azizza was
struggling to understand Evans’s logic. ‘Let’s be sure we are on
the same page. Unless you get a bigger cut, you are prepared to
sabotage the scheme, despite the risks to yourself?’

‘No not
sabotage, it does not have to go so far, you only need to tell
Patel he has to start treating me right.’

Azizza got up.
‘I’ve heard enough of this rubbish; you can tell him yourself. I’m
not your damn messenger.’ She angrily tossed the car keys on his
desk and strode out of the office.

Evans was
daunted at the prospect of confronting Patel. Still, he reasoned,
he had managed to get his message across.

Azizza was
shaking with anger as she got out to the car park. ‘Bastard,’ she
muttered under her breath. Despite telling Evans to contact Patel
himself, she knew that he knew she would relay his message. She
called on her mobile. ‘I need to talk to you, it’s Evans,’ she
explained.

‘Ok, let’s meet
for lunch, the usual spot.’

The curry house
was where Patel liked to have his crisis meetings. Somehow the
familiar smells and tacky furniture reminded him of his childhood
home. Azizza arrived looking worried.

‘I have ordered
for you,’ he announced.

‘Has Evans
called you?’ she asked.

Patel shook his
head crunching on a
samosa
. ‘What does our greedy friend
want now, he already has my car.’

Azizza took a
sip of water and then relayed the conversation that had taken place
in Evans’s’ office. Patel listened without interrupting now tucking
into a plate of crispy carrot sticks, dipping the ends into a
chilli sauce. ‘Did he say how much more money he wants?’ He asked
after a moment of silence.

‘No, but why
the hell should he get more?’ Azizza demanded her voice rising.

‘Because, as he
has pointed out to you, he can bring the scheme to a full stop, if
he so chooses.’

‘But it means
he can also end up with nothing at all?’

Patel grinned.
‘I would do the same thing in his position,’ his eyes glistening in
merriment.

‘But that’s so
dishonest!’ She spluttered with indignation.

Patel started
to laugh, not his dangerous giggle, but a deep belly laugh. She
frowned at him and made as though to get up and leave, she could
see nothing funny about the situation.

‘My dear, I
find it so amusing that you should be upset about Evans being
dishonest.’

She gave him a
wry smile saying dryly. ‘Ha ha, ok I get it.’

‘Let’s eat
first; we can discuss the details later.’ Their food order arrived
and they ate; only glancing at one another occasionally. Patel
wiped his mouth with a napkin and got up to rinse his hands in a
nearby sink. Ordering tea as he sat down at the table, looking at
Azizza, she nodded. ‘Two,’ Patel amended. They went back over the
details of Azizza’s meeting.

‘So Evans
believes that this fellow Nicholls will vouch for him if it comes
to the crunch?’ Patel summed up.

‘It seems so,
he is the company auditor.’

‘Hmmm,’ Patel
mused. ‘Without Nicholls, Evans would get very short shift from
head office. They would fire him anyway, or at least pin the crime
on him regardless of whether he was involved - the inevitable
banking scapegoat.’

‘But why would
Evans give up his cut. It’s more money than he could ever make in a
lifetime at the bank?’

‘Evans is
watching the hoops we are willing to jump through to accommodate
Nicholls. He reasons - if at all - that the only one preventing us
from being exposed is him and therefore he should be accorded more
respect, i.e. money. We have also shown -it’s always a mistake -
that we are able to make concessions to keep him and the scheme
going, so we are not about to walk away. I think we should agree to
his demands.’

‘What? Give him
more money?’

‘No, I didn’t
say that, I said agree to. If he wants to keep moving the
goalposts, no problem, we can also move ours.’ Patel delivered this
last statement with finality, slapping his napkin down on the table
as though he was swatting a fly.

‘How can we
stop him now increasing his demands whenever he likes?’ Azizza
asked.

Patel did not
answer, looking grim. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He picked up his
phone and called Evans. ‘Hello It’s me.’

Evans on the
other end blanched. ‘Er, hello.’ He said surprised - Patel seldom
called him at work.

‘Are you free
to talk? I understand you had a meeting with Azizza this
morning?’

‘Yes I did. I
was going to call you,’ Evans mumbled.

‘Azizza has
told me what transpired at your meeting today. You have obviously
thought about it. What are your terms?’

‘It’s obvious,
I want more money,’ Evans said belligerently.

‘Yes how
much?’

‘A larger
percentage,’ Evans hedged.

‘I see. Can you
put a figure on that percentage?’

‘I want fifteen
percent.’

‘Ok,’ agreed
Patel. ‘Fifteen percent it is - after all the expenses and only on
new loans you process. Do you agree?’

Evans could
hardly believe his luck. ‘Yes, that will be fine, thank you,’ and
this time added ‘Sir.’

‘Good. Azizza
will be round with the NGO papers this afternoon. How is the car,
are you enjoying it?’

‘Yes, thank
you.’

‘Now I
understand Nicholls drives down on Sunday and intends to go through
the park. Do you have the car registration number?’

‘Yes he is, and
I do.’

‘Good fellow,
read it out to me would you.’ Evans read out the number. Patel
copied it down using water and his index finger as a pencil on the
plastic tabletop.

‘Thanks, and
you have his mobile number?’

‘Yes,’ replied
Evans.

‘Can you read
that out to me too?’

‘Why do you
want his mobile?’ Evans asked alarmed.

‘Oh I thought I
might introduce myself to your boss,’ said Patel, an edge on the
boss. ‘On second thoughts - text it to me will you,’ a command
rather than a request.

‘Yes, ok,’
Evans said reluctantly.

‘Now Nicholls
will be staying at the same hotel right?’

‘Yes he
will.’

‘Let’s meet at
the golf club for a drink sometime,’ he offered an olive branch.
Patel rang off and sat staring into space for a moment, then with a
sigh put his phone in his jacket. ‘He wants fifteen percent,’ and
in a notebook he wrote down the car number.

‘That’s almost
six times the amount.’ Azizza complained.

Abruptly, he
stood up. ‘It’s only on the new loans and he will never be paid
it.’ His eyes were cold and flat, ‘can you settle this bill, I have
to go.’ He quickly walked out of the restaurant.

Azizza sat
there somewhat dazed. What an earth is Patel up to. She shivered
involuntarily. He could be so creepy, just another side of the man
that so intrigued her.

Patel hailed a
tuk-tuk outside the restaurant and gave the driver directions to
the house. As he sat in the cab, he switched the sim card in his
phone and rang Kamau at the immigration department.

‘Hello Kamau,
it’s Patel. I need to see you urgently. Yes, and that new passport
you have arranged for me. It’s ready? Good, thank you. Listen, I’m
flying in this afternoon, we must meet today, the usual place. I
have another job for you.’

Patel glanced
at his watch, he could make the one thirty flight if he hurried. He
told the tuk-tuk driver to wait as he entered the house, grabbed a
jacket, a small pre-packed hold-all and a large envelope from the
safe. Back in the taxi, he urged the driver on. At the airport the
plane to Nairobi was being boarded. He hurried to the ticket
office. ‘Can I have a seat on that flight?’ - pointing at the exit
ramp.

The girl
scanned the computer, shook her head. ‘Sorry sir, it’s full.’ Patel
put two thousand shillings on the counter just concealing it with
his hand, but she had seen enough.

‘I’m sure one
of your passengers has a problem with their ticket don’t you think?
My name is Patel.’

The girl
smiled. ‘I think you’re right Mr. Patel. You’re very lucky Sir.’
She put her hand over his, took the money and tapped at the
keyboard. The printer whirred and issued Patel with a ticket. ‘That
will be five thousand, Sir,’ she said firmly. He grimaced, the real
price bumped up by an additional two thousand. He paid without a
quibble and hurried to the security desk. As they scanned his bag,
he heard over the tannoy, that a Mrs. Farrow should report to the
security desk immediately. Patel smiled pleasantly at a worried
looking woman hurrying back as he walked out to the plane.

*