Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (57 page)

‘Hey,’ he
called out, his colleague looked up at him myopically.

‘What are you
doing here?’ The sleepy cop asked, rubbing his eyes. He explained
what had happened holding out the mobile.

His colleague
flicked it open. ‘Look it has a camera,’ he enthused.

‘Yes,’ he said,
taking the phone back and putting it in his pocket. ‘What do you
think we should do?’

‘We? You’re the
one who let him go.’

‘Don’t you
think I should tell the boss?’

The sleepy
guard shook his head, and yawned. ‘No, that one will be well drunk
by now, and if you tell him he will create shit for both of us. I’m
hungry. Let’s go and get something to eat,’ he stood up and
stretched.

‘What about the
muhindi
?’

‘What’s wrong
with you?’ He replied crossly. ‘The boss will find out tomorrow,
don’t you want the mobile?’

‘You’re right,’
he agreed as they crossed the road walking away from the hotel.

*

Fimbo was
enjoying himself. The empty beer bottles on the table were only
starters and he was now going through the spirits in the mini
fridge. He sat in front of the TV, volume turned up and watched a
football match, turning occasionally to Susan who lay half-naked on
the rumpled bed looking bored. ‘Did you see that!’ He enthused, ‘he
heee, that foota is good.’ The match came to an end; Fimbo elated
his team had won.

The next match
was in half an hour, he stared lustfully at Susan. Their first
session had been quick and he wondered idly if he was ready to take
her again.

‘I’m going
downstairs,’ he announced, getting up and taking a mini bottle of
whisky from the fridge.

Susan rolled
over on the bed onto her stomach. ‘I’m hungry; bring some food back
with you.’

‘Use the
phone,’ he pointed, ‘room service. Order what you want,’ and went
out of the door, bottle in hand, dressed in trousers and his
vest.

He caught the
lift down, leering at two female housekeepers in the corridor. On
the ground floor he strode out to the car park. He tried the door
of the Landcruiser, it was locked. Thwarted he moved to the
Mercedes, same thing. ‘Shity,’ he muttered.

He opened the
whisky and took a swig, wondering what to do next. He took out his
mobile and called Patel, to no avail. Next, he rang one of his men.
‘Where are you? Come to the car park,’ he barked. He ran his big
hand over the bonnet of the Mercedes possessively, a look of pure
avarice on his face.

His two
constables came through the main gate and stood nervously waiting
for him to notice them. Fimbo squatted down in front of the saloon
and fingered the shiny chrome on the grill, looking at his
distorted reflection.

He looked up
and saw them. ‘Come here, where did the Indian go?’ pointing at the
empty parking space.

‘He went with
the car,’ the constable offered.

‘Ok, but where
is Patel?’

The constable
shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Fimbo stood up.
‘You don’t know?’ He turned to the other man. ‘Did Patel come out
of the front of the hotel?’

‘No sir, I did
not see him,’ the other cop replied truthfully.

Fimbo burped
and took a swig on his bottle. ‘You like my cars?’They both nodded
enthusiastically.

*

David heard a
knock on his door. ‘Sir, a man here wants to see you.’

He looked up
from a file he was working on. ‘Who is it, what does he want?’

The
receptionist looked frightened. ‘You better come sir.’

Closing the
file and sliding a paperweight over it he stood up stretched and
walked out to the reception. ‘Where is he?’

The
receptionist nodded at a tall man sprawled in a chair across the
hall in a leather jacket and jack boots.

Not another
cop. David walked over and introduced himself.

The man did not
smile, giving him the once over. ‘You are the manager?’ He
asked.

‘Yes I am. How
can I help you?’

The man glanced
out towards the foyer. David followed his gaze and saw two other
tall men similarly dressed standing watching them. More cops, now
what?

The cop took
out an ID badge and flashed it. David read the words CID in large
letters before it went back in his jacket pocket. ‘You have a guest
in this hotel, an Inspector Fimbo from Malindi.’

‘Yes,’ nodded
David, ‘with his wife in Suite 501.’

‘He came with
two other policemen. Do you know where they are now?’ The cop
asked.

David shook his
head. ‘They are not staying with us.’

‘Where is Fimbo
now?’

‘I think he is
in his room. I can find out.’

‘Wait, do not
call the room. Do you have another key?’

‘Why?I won’t
allow my guests to be disturbed unnecessarily.’

‘This is police
business and it is necessary. Get the key, we will go with you to
the room,’ he waved the waiting men forward.

David hesitated
and then got the master key. The four of them rode up in the small
lift in silence; the three taller cops dwarfing him, their
controlled aggression filling up any empty space.

When they got
to the door, the cop pushed David aside and leaned his ear against
it listening, he could hear the TV. He drew his pistol and silently
motioned David to open the door.

The cops rushed
in, guns at the ready. Susan leapt off the bed squealing in fright
as the men burst into the room. One cop went in the bathroom; the
other one switched the TV off at the plug. The silence was
palpable. ‘Where is he?’ The first cop waved his gun at Susan.
‘Fimbo where is he?’ He repeated menacingly.

One cop pushed
the curtains aside and looked out; he called David to the window.
‘Is that him?’ He asked.

‘Yes that’s
him.’

The cop waved
his gun at the other two. ‘Quickly!’ he shouted as they bolted from
the room. He barked instructions into a radio as he followed,
leaving David by the window watching Fimbo.

He looked at
the mess in the room. Empty bottles, the rumpled bed and finally at
Susan, who was curled in a ball of terror hugging a pillow, looking
very ordinary, fat silent tears on her cheeks. ‘It will be ok,’ he
said kindly as he left the room and shut the door.

Fimbo looked up
in surprise as the gates to the car park opened and a police
Landrover drove in at speed. Two uniformed policemen with machine
guns jumped out of the rear as the Land rover came to a sudden
stop.

‘Hands up!’
They shouted and pointed the guns menacingly at them; the two
constables raised their hands.

Fimbo sneered
at the armed men. ‘And who the fucki do you think you’re pointing
those guns at?’ He took a swig of his bottle and glowered at them
defiantly.

Three men,
leather jackets flapping, ran towards them from the hotel, they
stopped behind the men holding the machine guns. ‘Inspector Fimbo?’
One of them asked.

‘Who wants to
know?’

‘CID,’ the man
flashed his badge.

‘What do you
clowns want with me?’ He laughed.

‘You’re wanted
in Nairobi.’ He read out two names from a piece of folded paper,
looking expectantly at Fimbo’s companions. They both nodded.

‘Good,’ said
the cop putting the paper in his pocket. ‘All three of you are to
come with us to the airport. Now.’

Fimbo took
another swig of his bottle. ‘You musti be joking, put your arms
down,’ he told his constables irritably, ‘we are not going anywhere
with these fools.’

They hesitated,
half lowering their arms watching the armed men for a reaction.
‘Keep them up,’ barked the man in the jacket. He walked over and
under Fimbo’s smouldering gaze, frisked them both, removing their
pistols. ‘Ok, get in the car.’

‘Stand still!
Blast you!’ Fimbo cursed them.

The man with
the jacket reached into his waistband and pulled out his pistol. He
walked over to Fimbo and discharged the gun in the air beside his
ear. Fimbo dropped his bottle, ducked down and made a grab for the
gun with one hand.

The man was too
quick for him and struck the exploring hand with the pistol,
drawing blood. Fimbo yelled out in pain.

‘I don’t have
time to fool around,’ the man told him and waved his other men
forward. ‘Cuff them,’ he said.

*

Azizza was
startled by noise of the gun. She pulled back the curtain and stood
back, gasping in shock as she recognized the large figure of Fimbo,
handcuffed and being bundled by a uniformed policeman into the back
of a Landrover. She watched the car reverse - other men pile in -
and then quickly drive out of the gates. She sat on the bed. Oh my
God, what has Patel been up to now? A shiver of fear ran through
her, she tried his mobile number, it was switched off. She called
his room on the house phone. It just rang and rang.

*

Patel sat on
the plane, a row of seats to himself. He looked out at what he
thought might be his last view of Mombasa.

There was
little sentiment in his gaze, instead he was thinking about what to
do at Nairobi airport. He had a ticket for London, in the name of
N.J. Shah but it was booked from Dar-es-Salaam. Fimbo had really
fucked things up for him. He would have to buy a new ticket in
Nairobi and risk using his real name and passport.

The aircraft’s
engines revved up. He relaxed, he had a whole hour to come up with
a plan - there would be a way round this he was sure. He had to
leave Kenya today; he could feel the law breathing down his neck.
Patel smiled to himself as he envisioned Fimbo waking up, hung over
and expecting to drive his new cars home, what a surprise he was
going to have and giggled at the image. Abruptly the noise of the
engines died down and then stopped. Now what?

‘Ladies and
gentlemen please remain in your seats; we have been requested by
the airport authorities to wait,’ the pilot announced over the
intercom. Several passengers groaned aloud at the news, Patel
shrank down in his seat in fear.

The stewardess
opened the aircraft door. From where he sat he could see the
tarmac; it was a long drop if he decided to run. His thoughts were
interrupted by the noise of a large helicopter decked out in
military camouflage. It landed with a clatter not far from the
aircraft and a police Landrover raced over towards it. Other
passengers craned to watch the drama.

The helicopter
door slid open, fold down steps appeared and several uniformed cops
got out. Police officers seemed to be helping someone down from the
back of the car. Patel unbuckled his seat belt and leant over the
seat in front of him for a better view. He gasped aloud as he
recognised Fimbo in a blood-smeared vest being taken up the steps
in handcuffs. He watched in horror, his mind racing. The door to
the helicopter slid shut, the Landrover backed away and the
aircraft departed, the clattering noise receding; passengers
murmuring among themselves.

The stewardess
shut and locked the door; cheers went up. The pilot came on the
intercom, honey smooth. He told them he was sorry for the delay and
the ground temperature they could expect in Nairobi. Patel had a
thousand questions running through his mind.

THIRTY-FIVE

It was almost
dark when the helicopter landed in Nairobi, the pilot had radioed
ahead and two police Landrover pickups were waiting to meet them
with Firdus in the official Mercedes. The prisoners were offloaded;
Katana stayed back to thank the pilot and shake his hand. He walked
over to where Firdus was standing by the car.

‘Well done,’
Firdus congratulated him with a smile.

‘We didn’t get
Patel or Azizza,’ Katana apologised.

Firdus waited
for the helicopter to take off before he spoke. ‘Don’t worry, this
lot will help us get them.’

‘Yes I hope so,
what happens now sir?’

‘I have told
Cyrus to escort them to the police station at Westlands - I have
already spoken to the OCS and they are expected. We will let them
cool off overnight and begin the interviews tomorrow. My nephew and
Nicholls should be here in a few hours. Let’s get back to the hotel
and you can brief me on how it went.’ Firdus put a fatherly arm
around the detective as they walked to the Mercedes. ‘Well done,’
he repeated as they watched the two Landrovers drive off.

Fimbo was in
the second pickup, together with Cyrus and an armed policeman. He
was handcuffed to the steel frame holding up a torn canvas awning
that flapped urgently in the wind and was cold, dressed only in his
vest. Now less defiant, he had spotted Katana talking to a tall
distinguished older man at the airport. There was something about
the man which sent a chill down his spine, he searched his mind for
a memory. The torn canvas let intermittent flashes of light into
the back, spotlighting Cyrus’s face.

Fimbo could see
him watching him and said. ‘I remember you, you came looking for
Patel. What is this all about?’

Cyrus moved
closer so he could hear. ‘What?’

‘This arrest,
it’s to do with Patel?’

He didn’t
reply, and then said. ‘Yes.’ Fimbo could not see the loathing on
Cyrus’s face, in the mixed shadows.

‘Help a brother
out,’ Fimbo asked lowering his voice.

‘I can’t hear
you.’

He moved his
manacled hands. ‘Please help me brother. I’m just a simple cop,
I’ve done nothing wrong, you know what’s going to happen, they will
blame me for everything.’

‘You want to
make a run for it?’

Fimbo hissed.
‘Yes, help me brother.’

Cyrus stared at
him and then quietly undid the handcuffs as Fimbo watched the other
cop over his shoulder, keeping his hands in position by the
frame.

Cyrus moved
away giving him room. Fimbo gave him a nod of thanks and then
turned to look at the tailgate of the Landrover, the canvas awning
left a gap big enough for him to get through. He carefully moved
his legs up from his sitting position, now squatting on his
haunches, tilting his head sideways his peripheral vision on the
armed cop. Cyrus moved unseen, carefully he un-holstered his gun, a
glint of excitement in his eyes.