Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (38 page)

Taking the tea
through to him, she put it down by his chair and then sat down
opposite. ‘You have some explaining to do.’

Patel held up
his hand. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘things have been difficult. Evans got
his car?’

She nodded.
‘Yes, he’s happy.’

Patel leaned
back in his chair. ‘At least somebody is.’

Azizza raised
her eyebrows. ‘Come on Mister, spit it out, what the hell have you
been up to? And why are you driving a car with Tanzanian
plates?’

Patel stalled.
‘You did the transfer to the account in Mombasa?’

Azizza glared
at him. ‘Yes it’s gone.’

‘Thank you for
sticking a password on our account,’ he said sarcastically, going
on the attack.

She smiled at
him without humour. ‘It’s a good thing; I don’t think I would have
seen you or the money again.’

‘Oh come now my
dear, we have to trust one another.’

‘Trust?’ She
snorted, ‘trust!’ Her voice rising.

‘Yes,’ said
Patel, ‘have I ever let you down?’

Azizza ignored
the question. ‘You just walk out on me and the next thing I know,
you are Nairobi and Dar-es-salaam. What was that huge amount of
money to Kamau for?’

‘Listen, it was
necessary to safe-guard our interests.’

‘And I suppose
it’s no coincidence that Nicholls has met with a mysterious
accident? Huh, tell me.’

Patel smiled a
little smile. ‘Come now my dear, your imagination is running wild.
You know these
mzungu
s, they come out here and behave like
they know everything. No-one in their right mind would go into the
park on their own - anything could happen in the bush - it’s a
dangerous place.’

Azizza scowled.
‘I don’t believe you for one minute. You used Kamau the immigration
man as your contact, who has also “gone missing.”You’re a miserable
liar, for all I know, the men that killed him are probably now
looking for us.’

Patel said
firmly. ‘No, Kamau’s death has nothing to do with us. It is
coincidental, just a hazard of his career.’

‘So what was
that money for?’ She demanded.

Patel sighed
wearily, seeming to lose interest in the conversation. He stared at
his teacup and repeated quietly. ‘It was a necessary expense and I
needed another passport. Listen,’ he went on, ‘for the sake of
argument, Kamau would not have revealed who I was and even if he
did, there is no link to you, so you’re perfectly safe.’

Wanting to
believe him she said. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes dear.
Apart from Evans, no one knows of your involvement.

‘And what about
Nicholls?’

‘You read the
papers; he is out of the picture’

‘So what’s the
story now,’ she asked, ‘is Evans the next one to have an accident
and after that it will be my turn?’

‘Listen stop
this, your imagination is getting the better of you, there is
nothing to be afraid of. I have thought it through and all I am
doing is protecting our interests.’

Azizza shook
her head persisting. ‘So what’s with the other car, the TZ plates
and this other passport?’

‘That’s part of
my escape plan, and it could be yours too,’ he added
confidentially.

She retorted.
‘Why should I trust you with anything now?’

He stirred
sugar into his tea. ‘Trust?’ He said, echoing her earlier
statement. ‘As of now you’ve got all my money - and yours - and you
talk to me about trust?’

She smiled.
‘Yes, you see I haven’t run away with it, isn’t that an indication
that you can trust me?’

Patel chuckled.
‘You’re a crafty one my dear.’

Azizza took
this as a compliment and smiled. ‘Yes.’

He tacked. ‘I
think it’s time to wind up this operation.’

She looked
puzzled. ‘I thought, that with Nicholls now out of the picture, we
could continue as normal. What else has happened that I don’t know
about?’

‘My dear,
sometimes one has to cut one’s losses.’

Azizza was
thrown by this simple statement. ‘What do you mean? Why, can’t we
just keep going?’

‘It was all
going very smoothly, but now it’s got very complicated and my
instincts say we now need to extricate ourselves.’

‘Okay suppose
we do stop, what do you suggest?’

He rubbed his
hands together. ‘Now, before we go any further, I want you to
transfer the rest of my money in dollars, to the account in
Mombasa. What you do with your half is up to you. I would not leave
it in that account,’ he advised.

Azizza was
stunned, she hadn’t thought this through, and if she transferred
the money, her grip on Patel would be over. ‘They won’t transfer
large amounts like that in one go.’

‘Yes I
understand, but you can transfer the maximum amount every day over
the next few days. If the bank raises any questions, we have the
NGO’s certificates validating our organisation.’

‘Wow, you’ve
thought of everything. So, what about Evans?’

‘For the moment
we continue the transfers as normal.’

She pulled a
face. ‘Don’t you think that is pretty useless?’

‘We can’t stop
now. In a few days time I’ll have my share and I’ll be able to
leave.’

Azizza was
silent then asked. ‘So what is your escape plan?’

‘I’m going to
ship out the Tanzanian Landcruiser with the money secreted in it to
Durban, South Africa.’

‘South
Africa!’

‘Yes, I will
fly down, collect the car, convert the money to gold and diamonds
and move the lot to Europe - clever, eh?’

‘I don’t
believe you. Why buy another car, just use yours?’

‘Mine is going
to a policeman, as a thank you.’ He lied.

‘So how would
you be able to help me?’ She asked.

‘We could ship
out your share with mine,’ he replied evenly, his eyes glinting in
amusement.

She laughed
aloud, her nervous tension finding an outlet. ‘I don’t think so,
but thanks for the offer.’

‘So what will
you do with your share?’ He challenged her.

‘You never
know, I might buy a shipping agency, in Tanzania.’

Patel chuckled
at the insinuation. ‘This has been fun hasn’t it my dear. You have
been quite a star.’

Azizza searched
his face for sarcasm, but only saw respect in his eyes, it made her
feel shy and embarrassed.

‘This star is
hungry and as I have all the money, it’s time you took me out to
dinner.’ she suggested, flustered.

Patel looked at
his watch. ‘Not tonight, I have to go and meet Fimbo, but certainly
tomorrow.’ He threw her a bone.

Azizza replied,
acidly. ‘I might not be free tomorrow; you can drop me in town now
on your way to your meeting.’

After dropping
her, Patel rang Fimbo. ‘Where shall we meet?’

‘Heh, Pateli,
it is you, I’m hungry let us meet at the Mambo Club, do you know
it, near the airport?’

Patel drove out
to the ramshackle bar - it looked like a civil servant hang-out. He
sat in his car and waited by several government registered
vehicles. Loud ethnic music boomed out from the depths of the bar,
a single story dive adorned with coloured lights. Spits of cut meat
roasted on charcoal braziers in front of the entrance. Patrons
wafted in and out, most holding onto bottles of beer, drinking and
chatting loudly.

A police land
rover pulled up and Fimbo, swagger stick in hand, got out from the
passenger side - people moved away as he walked into the
entrance.

Patel gave him
a few minutes and then followed him in. An unusual sight in these
parts, he drew ribald comments and curious looks as he walked in.
‘Hey
muhindi
you want woman?’ A man called out. Patel
ignored the taunts and looked around for Fimbo. He was sitting in a
large chair at a table on a raised level - obviously a regular -
the king upon his throne.

Patel slipped
into a smaller chair beside him. ‘Hello Inspector,’ he greeted
Fimbo.

‘Ahh Pateli,
new place for you eh.’ He leaned forward as though in confidence
and breathed. ‘No crooks in here,’ and laughed loudly at his own
joke.

A waitress came
to take Patel’s order.

Fimbo
interrupted rudely. ‘Did you bring my car?’

Patel placed
his order, unflustered. ‘I brought you many cars my friend,’ and
handed over the list he had collected in Mombasa.

Fimbo tapped
the list with his baton. ‘What’s this?’ he swigged his beer bottle,
staring at Patel.

‘It’s a list of
cars that are available in Mombasa. You can choose what you want
from there,’ Patel said helpfully.

Fimbo leaned
closer. ‘No,
muhindi
.It is your car I want.’

Patel smiled.
‘My car is not good inspector, very unreliable. Every week it is at
the garage, but these cars are perfect, just choose one.’ Patel
opened the list helpfully.

Fimbo picked up
the list. ‘I want a Landcruiser,’ he announced as he peered at the
paper suspiciously. He tossed the list at Patel. ‘Read it to me, I
have no glasses.’

Patel began to
read. ‘Is there a white one?’ Fimbo interrupted.

‘There is a
grey one and a silver one,’ Patel announced.

‘Hmmm,’
muttered Fimbo, ‘me, I want white one.’

‘No problem
sir. I can arrange to have it sprayed.’

‘This will take
too long. Ok, I take the silver one. When do I get it,
tomorrow?’

Patel looked at
the glass the waitress had brought with his beer and wiping the
neck of the bottle took a sip. ‘It’s better if you see the car in
Mombasa, my driver can take you there.’

Fimbo was
enthusiastically tucking into a plate of meat, and alternately
swigging his beer. ‘I don’t like Mombasa,’ he frowned, ‘you bring
the car here.’ An intermittent strobe light lit up his large
features, an ancient cruel mask.

Patel waited
for him to stop eating. The inspector pushed his plate away, took a
gulp of air and burped loudly. He leant back in his chair and eyed
Patel. ‘You don’t look like a terrorist to me.’

‘I’m not, it’s
a big mix up. Who was looking for me?’

Fimbo picked at
his teeth. ‘Big shot from Nairobi, called Rubia. What have you been
up too? How do I know that you are not working for
Al-Kahida
! You,’ waving his finger at Patel, ‘are a tricky
bastard.’

Patel smiled.
‘I’m a legitimate businessman that is all. This Rubia, did he say
why he wanted to talk to me?’

‘No he no need
to explain, he want you - you go. He has good job eh? It’s lucky
for you I’m such a good friend.’

‘Yes and I’m
grateful to you inspector. There is a nice hotel in Mombasa, you
and your good wife can stay there - at my expense of course - while
you choose your car,’ putting his hand on the list.

Fimbo watched
Patel. ‘A hotel and my wife eh?’ He mouthed the toothpick. ‘That
list - is there a Mercedes?’

Patel looked.
‘Yes three or four, if you would rather have a Mercedes that will
be even better.’

‘No I want a
Landcruiser, but my wife she like Mercedes.’

Patel not
missing a beat responded. ‘That’s excellent. When can you be free -
this weekend? My driver can take you to Mombasa.’

‘I will talk to
my wife
muhindi
. In the meantime, I need your passport and I
will have some expenses,’ said Fimbo.

‘My passport,’
Patel smiled ingratiatingly. ‘Why? I’m not going anywhere.’

‘That is true,’
agreed Fimbo. ‘So I will have your passport and twenty thousand to
make sure it does not go missing eh?’

‘And when do I
get my passport back?’

‘That’s for me
to decide. Have you got it with you?’

‘I can give you
ten thousand.’

‘I said twenty,
muhindi
,’ retorted Fimbo.

‘You will get
the rest tomorrow.’ Patel pushed an envelope of across the
table.

Fimbo glanced
down and quickly slid it into his pocket. He dismissed him. ‘Go
now, and don’t make me come looking for you,’ he warned, waving a
waitress over to the table. He barely glanced at Patel leaving as
he ordered another round of drinks.

NINETEEN

Brian completed
the e-mail draft to his sister and read it out. ‘Come on Brian,’
Doug said getting exasperated, ‘someone has tried to have you
murdered for goodness sake, just because they failed doesn’t mean
they won’t try again. You’re a marked man, you can count on
it.’

‘I didn’t want
to alarm her, she’s my sister.’

‘Just write it
out as it happened, at least if we don’t make it, someone will have
all the facts.’

‘What -
including your hi-jacking and shooting?’

‘Yes of
course.’

‘It’s too wild
a story. I would find it hard to believe myself, things like this
just don’t happen over there.’

‘They happen,
just not in the same way,’ countered Doug.

‘Bullshit,’
said Brian.

‘Look, let’s
not argue about it, just write the story, time’s-a-wasting.’ Once
the e-mail was written, they went over it. ‘Ok, you might as well
send it now.’

‘I thought the
plan was to call her this evening?’

‘She’s going to
get a shock anyway. If the cops pick you up while you’re on the
phone, you won’t be able to send it then, will you?’

‘Cops pick me
up? They think I’m dead.’

‘Not the ones
hired to kill you,’ muttered Doug.

‘You say it’s
the police who are trying to have me killed?’

‘Brian, stop
this crap, that tart has gone to your head. The guy I shot was a
cop. The man in the river - supposed to be you - was a cop. Get
your head in gear!’

‘You’re right,
I’m sorry,’ he got on line. ‘Here goes,’ and clicked the send
button. ‘I wonder where Lucy got to?’

They went
downstairs; there was no sign of her. ‘Bugger it,’ Brian looked at
his watch, ‘she went two hours ago.’ He rummaged around in the
kitchen. ‘I’m not sure there’s any food here.’ He found some
crackers and a tinned ham. ‘This will have to do.’