Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (34 page)

‘Now what,’ he
said in exasperation as he got out of the pool and sat back in his
chair. He took a swig of wine and undid his sodden boots. ‘Women,’
he muttered to himself, his mind now focused on that fleeting
moment when she was in his arms, yearning for more. Presently
gathering up his shoes and the wine bottle he followed her across
the lawn, wondering what her next trick was going to be. He found
her sitting on the floor in front of the music system fiddling with
it, her hair wrapped in a towel, another one around her body.

‘This thing, it
no work,’ she stabbed at the controls.

‘Where did you
get the towels?’ He asked as he walked past her.

‘In the
bathroom up,’ she pointed.

‘You might want
to switch that on first,’ he said mildly pointing at the wall
socket.

‘Ahhh, yes
good, where my wine?’ She demanded.

He handed her
the bottle, and went upstairs. He found a towel in the bathroom as
well as Lucy’s very small panties on the tiles. Drying himself off
he wrung out his jeans and hung them over the shower rail, his eye
returning again to her panties. Grinning as he held them up and
wrung them dry as well. You’re heading for trouble Nicholls, he
told his reflection in the mirror.

Downstairs,
Lucy had got the TV going and was watching entranced. ‘Look,
Birin,’ she called excitedly, naked figures on the screen, a white
woman with two men, one of them was black.

It stopped
Brian in his tracks. ‘Where the hell did you get that?’

‘Look the black
man he has a big one,’ she laughed at Brian’s expression, kicking
her legs on the floor in glee, her towel riding up her thighs
teasingly.

He grabbed the
remote off her switching off the TV.

‘Ahhh, why yous
did that,’ she protested.

‘Listen Lucy,’
he raised his voice, ‘I’m in a very serious situation and I need to
talk to you. Stop fooling about.’

Lucy pouted a
little. ‘Birin why you such old mans? You no funs,’ she added
undoing the towel and drying her hair with it.

Brian grabbed
her arm and yanked her off the floor. ‘Listen to me,’ he shoved her
roughly towards the sofa. She twisted in his grip and resisted him.
He deftly hooked her ankle with his foot and tripped her backwards
into the sofa, the movement so quick it shocked her into silence; a
flash of fear crossed her face as she scrabbled to cover herself
with the towel. ‘Lucy, I’m not going to hurt you,’ he reassured
her, and pulled up a chair. ‘Listen, some people are trying to kill
me, do you understand that?’

She nodded,
large eyes silently staring at him.

‘Good,’ he
said, ‘now let’s talk about Evans.’

Lucy rubbed her
wrist. ‘You hurt me,’ not meeting his eye, ‘get me wine,’
recovering her poise a little.

Brian chuckled,
and handed her a glass. ‘You are something else.’

She took the
wine and sipped it watching him over the rim of the glass, defiance
in her eyes.

‘So now back to
Evans. You know where he lives?’

Lucy nodded and
reaching into her bag, took out a comb and started to untangle her
hair, a remote look on her face.

Brian waited,
watching her. ‘Are you going to tell me?’

She shrugged,
seemingly engrossed in her grooming. He leaned back in his chair.
‘Shit,’ he muttered under his breath, taking a sip of wine and
staring at the ceiling. They sat in an uncomfortable silence with
only the rasping of Lucy’s comb between them. He tried again.
‘Lucy, you said you would help me.’ He reminded her.

She waved her
comb round the apartment wordlessly.

Brian stood up
suddenly exasperated. ‘Fuck it,’ he said. The movement startled her
and she took up a defensive position, hands raised as though to
ward off a blow. He went to the kitchen to look for more wine. He
found another bottle, and offered to refill her glass. ‘I‘m not
going to hurt you, trust me.’

‘Birin. Theses
peoples, the Indian, the fat man and the Arab womans. They stealses
money from bank?’

‘Yes a lot of
money.’

‘But it no your
moneys so why, why, you care?’

‘Because it’s
my job, that’s why - the bank hired me.’

‘Theys want to
kills you - thisis not good job for you.’

He smiled
ironically. ‘You’re right.’

‘If I heleb,’
she held her head on one side, ‘will you get money?’

‘If you want
money, I can give you some,’ he offered.

‘Everyone wanti
money,’ she said, resuming her combing.

He agreed. ‘Yes
that’s true, but not everyone is a thief.’

‘They thives,
want to steal your life also. What do you want?’

‘I want to stop
them stealing, to put them in jail.’

She shook her
head. ‘They kill you first.’

‘No, if I catch
them, I take them to the police.’

‘The polices,
they are the worst thives!’She snorted.

‘Ok, so what
would you do?’ He challenged.

She became
animated. ‘I would takes the money.’

‘Then you would
just be like them, a thief,’ he stated.

‘No I would be
a rich thievs,’ she giggled at the idea.

He frowned.
‘It’s not that simple Lucy, these people are ruthless, the good
thing is, they think I’m dead.’

She stopped
combing and looked at him. ‘Deadi?’

‘Yes,’ he
related what had happened on the drive down from Nairobi. She
listened gasping and shaking her head in disbelief.

‘Where you
friends now?’ She asked as he finished his story.

‘At the farm
with his uncle,’ Brian answered.

‘And he kills a
policeman? Ohhhh, that very bad, now all polices will look for
him,’ her eyes round with fright. She stared, a look of awe on her
face. ‘Thisis bad for you Birin.’

‘Yes - that’s
what I have been trying to tell you.’

Lucy got up,
and climbed into Brian’s lap.

‘Listen I don’t
think this is a good idea.’ his voice thickened with desire as her
towel fell down revealing a pair of perfect breasts.

‘Birin, your
ideas no good, you listen to Lucy ideas now.’

SIXTEEN

Patel woke up
late after his long drive. Although annoyed at Azizza’s subterfuge
over the password, he had given it plenty of thought on the trip
from Dar-es-Salaam. Adapting his plans accordingly, he made phone
calls and set up appointments as he ate breakfast.

For the next
phase of his plan, he had chosen Adelphi Finance, a little known
corporate bank in Mombasa. He opened a joint foreign exchange
account in N.J. Shah’s name and Karl Shoit using the Danish NGO
certificate. Patel explained that Karl was away in the field and
would be in shortly to introduce himself. In the meantime, N.J.
Shah would be the only signatory on the account. The manager saw no
problem with this arrangement after Patel told him the transfer
would be made that afternoon.

Back on the
street, he rang Azizza. ‘My dear did you miss me?’

‘In your
dreams,’ she snorted. ‘Where are you and what wicked plans are you
up to now?’

‘Oh this and
that,’ he replied with a giggle. ‘I’m in Mombasa. Listen do you
have a pen on you?’

‘Yes, what is
it?’

‘Write this
down,’ he gave her details of the new bank account. ‘Now I want you
to transfer five hundred thousand dollars from our account to this
account in the name of N.J. Shah. Have you got that? And I want it
done this afternoon.’

‘What? And who
is N.J. Shah,’ she asked alarmed.

‘He is my new
partner,’ Patel answered smoothly, ‘and he won’t be making up
passwords without telling me.’

‘Don’t you want
to discuss this; it’s a large amount of money?’

‘No discussion
needed my dear seeing as you took it upon yourself to deny me
access to our account, you can do what you want with your money,
but starting today I want mine in this new account,’ he said with
finality.

‘Ok Boss,’ she
replied sarcastically, ‘but you will have to accept the bank’s
exchange rate.’

‘No problem. I
will be in Malindi later. Goodbye my sweet.’ Next he called Kamau,
the phone rang unanswered. He bought a newspaper from a passing
vendor to check the foreign exchange rates, when a small headline
on the back page stopped him in his tracks. “Chief Immigration
officer mysteriously missing.”Patel held his breath as he read the
sparse details. Uncharacteristically, Kamau had not come home last
night, any news of the missing official to be reported to the
nearest police station.

‘Fuck fuck,’ he
swore and immediately rang Azizza.

‘What, can’t
stay away?’ she drawled.

‘Have you read
today’s paper?’

‘No not yet,
what’s up?’

‘Kamau is
reported missing - you did transfer him that money?’ There was
unusual panic in Patel’s voice.

‘Yes, yes of
course.’

‘Oh man!’ He
swore and without explanation hung up. He felt very vulnerable and
exposed on the street. He went into a nearby restaurant,
distractedly ordering tea and reading the article as though the
words would reveal more than they did. His phone rang startling
him; he did not recognise the number. ‘Hello.’

‘Is that
Patel?’A familiar voice asked.

‘Yes who is
that?’

‘This is
Detective Mugo from the Malindi police station.’

‘Ahhh yes, what
can I do for you Mugo?’

‘Yes Patel sir,
I thought I should tell you something.’

‘Go ahead
detective.’

‘There are some
policemen from Nairobi here looking for you.’

‘Looking for
me, do you know why?’

‘I think it has
to do with that
mzungu
Nicholls, because they came to get a
picture of him that was e-mailed from Nairobi.’

‘I see,’ Patel
said, thinking furiously. ‘Did you tell them anything, do they know
what I look like?’

‘No. They did
not speak to me, only to Inspector Fimbo.’

‘Do you know
what unit, C.I.D., Special Branch?’

‘They are from
a new unit, Counter Terrorism.’

‘What?’ Patel
squeaked. ‘Any names? How many are they?’

‘Yes they are
two. One is called Cyrus sir.’

‘Ok Mugo,
thanks for informing me and let me know if you find out any more
please, ok?’

‘Yes sir, are
you in Malindi?’

Patel ignored
him and hung up badly shaken; he sat in stunned silence. Counter
terrorism? Surely Nicholls was dead - what would they need his
picture for - and now Kamau was missing, had he told someone about
the contract? What if they picked up Azizza? Her bloody password
will prevent me from getting my money. He must react
immediately.

He took a
chance and rang the mercurial Fimbo. ‘Hello, it’s me Patel,’ he
announced.

‘Oh, oh
muhindi
, what have you been doing?’ Fimbo asked.

‘Sir, I need to
talk to you urgently about a private matter. Is now a good time?’
Patel asked.

‘You call me in
ten minutes, and have your checki book ready,’ Fimbo warned,
laughing as he hung up.

Patel sat
nervously, fiddling with his pen. The e-mail photo of Nicholl’s
could simply be a follow up because he was missing, a police APB.
Blast Kamau, not only did it appear he botched the hit, but somehow
the police now had Patel’s name. An idea came to him as he sat
there. He reached for his phone and called Azizza.

‘What’s the
story now?’ She demanded.

‘Can you find
out what that new manager’s name and number is at my old factory,
the one from India? He has only been here three days and I have not
met him yet.’

‘Yes why, what
has this got to do with anything?’

‘Just get me
his number, please, it’s really urgent.’

‘Ok,’ said
Azizza, puzzled by Patel’s anxiety. He seldom uses the word please
for anything, what could he be up to?

Patel rang
Fimbo again.

‘
muhindi
! What can I do for you or what can you do for
me?’

‘I was just
thinking an important man like you, should be driving a landcruiser
like mine.’ Patel offered.

‘This is very
true my friend, but you know the Kenya government is not so
generous. They spend all the money looking for terrorists these
days.’

‘Yes this is
what I have heard,’ Patel replied smoothly.

‘Even in
Malindi right now, they are hunting a terrorist who owns a plastics
factory. You know where to find him?’

‘I see, well I
would have to make enquiries. Do these searchers know what the
terrorist looks like?’

‘Hmmm no, but,
I think I can help them,’ Fimbo cackled.

‘Perhaps your
memory could be refreshed?’

‘Yes perhaps it
could, maybe you could call me in half an hour to refresh me,
heh?’

‘Yes ok. Thank
you,’ Patel said and hung up, at least he had a temporary reprieve
- time to work fast. Azizza called him with the number he had asked
for. Composing himself, he rang the manager. ‘Hello is that Jayant
Dogra?’

‘Yes it
is.’

‘Ahhh good. My
name is Patel, I used to own the factory. We have not met yet, but
welcome to Kenya.’

‘Thank you sir,
I’m very happy to talk to you, there were some questions I had on
the manufacturing side. I hope we can meet soon to discuss them,’
Dogra said enthusiastically.

‘Yes, yes of
course, all in good time. Now Dogra, things are done a little
differently in Kenya, as you have probably realised by now.’

‘Yes things are
a little different here,’ Dogra admitted.

‘Don’t be
alarmed but right now I’m in Nairobi in the chief of immigration’s
office - he is a good friend of mine. There has been a slight mix
up with your work permit - nothing to worry about -but you might
have some policemen looking for you.’

‘Me,
policemen,’ exclaimed Dogra,‘but why?’

‘Like I said,
things are a little different here in Kenya. My business rival is
trying to make trouble for me, you understand? There has been a mix
up. I can sort it out, but it’s best not to resist the authorities
in this country. Now this is what I want you to do.’