Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (28 page)

He then went in
search of a good metal workshop; the taxi driver found one on the
outskirts. Patel walked up to the yard gate and rapped on the sheet
metal door. ‘Hello!’ he shouted, ‘hello!’A small window at head
height slid open and an African face stared at him. ‘Yes, what you
want?’

‘Hello,’ said
Patel, ‘I need some work done on my car, who should I talk to?’

The man looked
doubtfully at him. ‘Where is your car?’

‘It’s not here
I want to bring it tomorrow morning.’

‘Ok, you come
tomorrow,’ he moved away from the window to slide it shut.

‘No wait, I
need to discuss the job with someone now, is the foreman here, or
the owner?’

‘Ok you wait.’
Presently a low door in the gate opened and the gatekeeper motioned
Patel inside. ‘Get in,’ and as Patel stepped through and
straightened up, he pointed to a corner of the yard to a shipping
container converted into an office. ‘Over there, the boss is
there.’In the yard there must have been half a dozen workers,
cutting, spraying and welding three or four vehicles at feverish
pace, there was no doubt in Patel’s mind that this workshop was one
that handled stolen cars - perfect. His presence brought all work
to a halt as they stared at him. A figure appeared at the office
door and barked an order to the workers.

Patel picked
his way across the yard stepping over pieces of metal. ‘Hello,’ he
said as he shook hands with the boss, a tall muscular African in
his early thirties.

‘Yes
muhindi
- you want to buy a car? My name is John.’

‘Mine is
Noordin,’ replied Patel. ‘No I already have a car but I need
modifications made to it.’

‘Ok step
inside,’ John instructed. Patel explained how he wanted the car
modified and handed over drawings. John studied the A4 sketches.
‘Yes we can do this job, but your fuel supply will be greatly
reduced.’

Patel smiled
encouragement. ‘What do you suggest?’

John worked on
a sketch pad on his desk and then handed the drawing over. Patel
studied it. ‘Can you get me another spare tyre to cover the
boot?’

‘Yes,’ John
nodded. ‘Now the front tank will no longer contain any fuel; you
only want an inspection hatch under the front seat?’

‘Yes, you’re
right,’ Patel smiled.

‘I see, so you
would like us to paint the inside of the tanks?’

‘Yes,’ Patel
said enjoying himself, ‘with red lead paint, four coats,’ holding
his fingers out, ‘no rust,’ he smiled.

John chuckled.
‘Mr Noordin, this job is going to cost you,’ tossing the pencil on
the table he leant back in his chair.

The two of them
negotiated a price. Patel knew he was paying over the odds but was
confident that the conversion would be done properly. The deal
struck, they shook hands, and Patel made his way back to the
hotel.

*

When Brian
woke, Doug’s bed was empty. He took a moment to orientate himself.
With no change of clothes he had to dress in yesterday’s clothing.
His unshaven face added to the feeling of discomfort as he splashed
water on it in the bathroom. He peered at himself in the small
mirror and decided he needed a coffee before he could begin to
think straight.

He made his way
through the house, passing by the kitchen to a cheerful smile from
the maid. ‘Good morning sir,’ she said brightly and giggled. ‘Would
you like bleckfast? Coffee or teas?’

Brian returned
her smile and gratefully said. ‘Coffee please, first I must have
coffee.’

‘Ok you go, I
bring,’ she said shooing him along. Brian entered the sitting room.
It looked completely different from the night before; a well-kept
garden spread out from the front steps of the veranda over a wide
green lawn. Sunlight flashed miniature rainbows off a rotating
sprinkler.

Beyond the
garden was a breathtaking view of the open bush for miles with low
smooth hills in the distance. ‘Wow,’ he said, ‘I could live here
for sure.’

Margaret
interrupted his rapture. ‘Coffee sir?’ He poured himself a steaming
mug, slid into an easy chair on the veranda, and marvelled at the
view. It was quiet and peaceful with only the sounds of the birds
and an occasional whispering gust of wind through tall trees on the
side of the house. He idly wondered where Doug was and when
Margaret came to take his breakfast order he asked her.

‘Mr Douglas, he
went out on his
pipipiki
,’ she informed him.

Brian smiled
and frowned. Margaret thrust her hands out in front of her, and
made a thrumming noise with her lips, a passable imitation of the
Honda. He grinned. ‘Oh the motorbike!’

She smiled.
‘And the Bwana, he go to Malindi,’ before Brian could ask where
Firdus was.

‘Ok thank you,’
said Brian as she took his breakfast order. He was tucking into a
hearty breakfast, the eggs done to perfection, piercing the yellow
orange yolks so that they richly soaked into the toast, grinding
black pepper over them. He heard the sound of a bike approaching
the farm. Doug soon joined him on the veranda. Eyeing the bacon and
eggs, he called out to Margaret to bring him the same and slumped
into a chair beside him.

‘Did you get
through to Gem?’

‘Yup she is
fine, found a spot about twenty miles from here where I picked up a
signal.’

‘How is your
head?’ Brian asked pointing with a fork at Doug’s bandage.

‘Throbs a bit,
might ask you later to help me change the dressing? There is a
clinic on the farm, but the medic here is a firm believer in
injections - the more painful the better - and I don’t need a pain
in the arse as well.’

‘Sure. Any
chance you can lend me some clean clothes?’

‘Help yourself
from the cupboard in the guest house. My uncle has gone into
Malindi.’

‘Yes, the maid
told me,’ Brian said through a mouthful.

Doug got up to
get himself a coffee. A brightly coloured bird landed on the
veranda rail, and cocking it’s head to one side, eyed Brian and his
plate, it was soon joined by another. Brian held his breath
enchanted as it’s iridescent plumage caught the sunlight. The birds
hopped closer along the rail. Then hastily fluttered off, alighting
on the lawn as Doug returned.

Brian pointed
at the two birds. ‘What are those? They were right here on the
rail.’

‘Superb
starlings,’ Doug answered sipping his coffee, ‘they are after your
toast.’

‘You scared
them off.’

‘Don’t worry
they have short memories, bird brains.’ Sure enough, the two birds
came back, only to flit off again as the maid brought his order.
Doug tore a piece of toast in half and crushed it, sprinkling the
crumbs on the floor. In a flash the two birds were back, they took
comical two footed hops, watching the humans closely, heads cocked
to one side for any trickery. They were about to reach the crumbs
when Doug leaned forward to get at his plate, they retreated and
studied him. Brian sat perfectly still willing the bird’s forward.
Doug laughed at the expression on his face; he looked like a little
boy.

‘Don’t worry
mate, there will be ten of them here just now.’ Sure enough, three
more arrived and the pecking began in earnest. This busy band
suddenly scattered on the arrival of a larger bird with a powerful
looking beak, white coloured body and a bright red rump. He took
over proceedings bossing the others as he gathered up the crumbs.
‘White headed buffalo weaver. There is the origin of the expression
“pecking order”.’

Brian tried his
hand with sprinkled crumbs, leading to some heated squabbling as
more and more birds joined the fray. The buffalo weavers despite
being out numbered were in charge. A shadow crossed the lawn and
all the birds scattered in a rush. Doug leaned forward looking up
at the sky. ‘Falcon,’ he said.

‘Magic, pure
magic,’ Brian said in appreciation of the show. ‘Now what’s our
next move?’

Doug looked at
him as he finished his breakfast. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose
it is our move. I’m up on a possible murder rap, while someone is
trying very hard to murder you - a sobering thought,’ he said as he
looked off into the distance.

Getting up from
his chair with a sigh, he said. ‘Let’s take a walk, it helps me to
think.’

Brian followed
him down the veranda steps. The two of them walked out of the
garden and round the fence joining a worn red earth path that
snaked off into the bush. Walking in single file he asked. ‘Where
does this go?’

‘Down to the
river,’ Doug replied over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go and see all the
non development your bank has paid for.’

Brian wished he
had changed his clothes, his T-shirt wafted body odour at him. They
were soon at the river’s edge, brown slow moving water about two
hundred yards across with only the occasional eddy marking its
smooth surface. Dead trees half in the water lined both banks. Doug
turned and gestured back the way they had come. ‘Sometimes the
river really floods,’ and he pointed to a discoloured embankment
behind them, ‘right up to there.’

Brian turned,
and as he did so, saw what looked like a log on the opposite bank
detach itself and side into the water with a quiet splash. ‘What
was that!’

Doug pointed.
‘A crocodile, look, there’s about four of them sunning
themselves.’

He looked but
could see nothing. ‘Where?’

‘See by that
over hanging branch in the river? Just underneath that is one, and
two others about fifty yards down from there. There’s a fourth, you
can just make out his tail behind that bush, and two in the water.
I make that six.’

Brian thought
Doug was having him on, until a movement on the sandbank revealed a
crocodile opening it’s jaws, when a tick bird obligingly hopped
into the bright yellow mouth and started cleaning the crocodile’s
teeth. Brian stepped away from the river edge in alarm. ‘Yes I see
one,’ he said excitedly, ‘what is that bird doing?’

‘Mobile tooth
pick,’ replied Doug.

‘Really?
Dangerous job!’

Doug sat on a
dead branch in the shade of a large fig tree a few yards from the
water’s edge. He took out a cigarette and lit up, waving at Brian
to join him. ‘Come on, let’s make a plan, as you can see for
yourself,’ Doug moved his arms, ‘there is no development here.’

Brian frowned.
‘I can hardly grasp the scale of it, it’s so, so blatant. How can
they think they can get away with it?’

Doug blew smoke
in the air. ‘That’s Kenya for you, anything is possible if you have
enough money, and the whole of the civil service is rotten from the
head down.’

‘Are there no
checks put in place at all? The government must adhere to some
laws?’

‘Oh yes, there
are laws. The popular view of them is that they are for foreigners
only, meaning you and me.’

‘But you are a
Kenyan?’

‘Yup, but
essentially, I’m a second class citizen, let me be seen to be
breaking a law and the administration will self righteously come
down on me like a ton of bricks. In essence it’s pay up or go to
jail.’

‘So how does
Patel get away with it?’

‘He will be
spending money, keeping people sweet.’

‘Evans the
manager in Malindi, will be in Patel’s pocket?’

Doug nodded and
crushed out his cigarette with his boot heal. ‘Your boss may be
involved also.’

‘Njenga?’ Brian
puzzled. ‘I find that hard to believe.

‘Who hired you,
Njenga?’

‘Yes and no. It
was decided by the directors of the bank - of whom Njenga is one -
essentially to upgrade the bank’s capabilities, train the staff on
computers to an international level.’

‘So you weren’t
brought in just for this Sabaki project?’

‘No, the Sabaki
project, i.e. Golden Palm was new and highly successful. I wanted
to examine it and see how the bank could develop it into a country
wide interest earner.’

Doug grunted.
‘Hmmm, Njenga may not be involved in the scam, but you can’t rule
that out.’

Brian frowned.
‘Jesus what the fuck am I going to do?’

‘Stay out of
sight for the moment, there are some very nasty people out there
that want you dead. My uncle used to be on the police force and he
still has contacts. We had discussions on this topic this morning
and he has gone into Malindi to make some discreet enquiries. For
instance, the cop that kidnapped Gem and me is from a unit he has
not heard off before. It must have been formed after the bombing of
the American Embassy in Nairobi, counter terrorism etc. He will
find out what he can.’

‘But what’s the
use? If the government is all so rotten, who can anyone trust?’

‘There are a
few good people out there, I’m sure my uncle will know what to
do.’

‘What if I just
turn myself in to the British Embassy and explain that my life is
under threat?’

‘Yes you could
do that, but first you will have to prove that is true. Let’s
assume that you are now on a missing persons list. Maybe not yet,
but if you don’t show up at work you will be. Your bank is duty
bound to inform immigration, they in turn will inform your Embassy,
who will then pressure the police for an answer. You pitch up and
say “here I am,” they are pleased to see you, but now have to
inform the police. The police of course, will want an “interview”
and then you’re back in the shit. What we don’t know is what they
have done with the car. This unit is a counter terrorism unit, they
could have used your car in any number of nefarious activities,
implicating you and thereby explaining your sudden
disappearance.’

‘Jesus! Like
what?’ Brian exclaimed.

‘A hit and run
accident for example would necessitate a country wide hunt for you
wouldn’t it?’

‘Oh fuck! This
is crazy!’ Brian swore, standing up.

Doug nodded.
‘Yup, but let’s see what my uncle has to say, he knows better how
these things work. Let’s go back up to the house. I need a hand
with my dressing.’