Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (58 page)

Fimbo waited as
the vehicle slowed and speeded up in the traffic, judging his
moment carefully. The car all but stopped, and Fimbo made his move.
For a big man he was surprisingly quick. He spun round, put his
hands on the tailgate and vaulted sideways out through the gap, the
canvas gave slightly and then flipped back hiding him. The armed
cop looked up as the pickup bed bounced and he shouted out, but
Cyrus was already across the gap following Fimbo out, gun
drawn.

Fimbo hit the
ground feet first, losing his footing and crashing onto the bonnet
of a following car. The woman driver screamed. He rolled onto his
feet - stood up to run - and Cyrus shot him through the back of the
head. The inspector fell forward onto the road, arms out, quite
dead.

The sound of
the shot and ensuing drama brought all traffic to a standstill. The
armed cop scrambled out of the pickup, eyes wide as he saw Cyrus
standing over the body. ‘What happened?’ He shouted.

‘Prisoner tried
to escape,’ Cyrus said waving his handcuff keys. ‘Did no one frisk
him?’

The driver and
another cop from the cab ran round to look, guns drawn. The other
escort had also stopped and more cops arrived standing around the
body, taking in the scene, others waved the traffic away
menacingly, clearing a space. ‘Jesus, now what do we do?’ He
asked.

Cyrus put his
gun in his waistband and lowered the tailgate on the pickup. ‘Let’s
load him up, come on let’s get moving,’ he urged, lifting up one of
Fimbo’s arms. The others joined in reluctantly, muttering amongst
themselves - Fimbo after all was one of their own - this shooting
was bad news for all of them. They manhandled the dead body into
the car; one of Fimbo’s shoes fell in the road. Cyrus shut the
tailgate. ‘I will ride with the other prisoners,’ he announced
taking charge and climbed into the back with Evans, no one else
climbed in with him. The escort slowly set off, cops shaking their
heads, a following car ran over Fimbo’s shoe squashing it into the
tarmac.

Evans was
slumped in a corner looking miserable. Fimbo’s constables looked at
Cyrus anxiously, faces lit by the lights of the following
Landrover. ‘What happened? The boss, is he ok?’

Cyrus said. ‘He
is dead, he tried to escape.’

‘Dead! Oh, this
is terrible.’

‘You remember
Titus?’ Cyrus asked them.

‘Who?’ They
looked at him puzzled.

‘Never mind,
shut up, stop talking.’ He sat looking out at the evening sky, at
least he had avenged his friend’s death.

The two
constables argued quietly amongst themselves, they reached an
agreement, the elected one called out timidly. ‘Sir?, I have
something for you - in my pocket, it’s important, it’s evidence,’
he said.

Cyrus snorted.
‘Evidence of what?’

‘I think you
want the Indian man. I have his mobile sir.’

‘How the hell
did you get that?’

Evans came out
of his stupor a little as he listened.

‘He gave it to
me, it’s in my pocket.’

Evans sat up.
‘You have Patel’s mobile? Call him, he can explain everything!’

Cyrus sneered.
‘Idiot.’ He reached into the constable’s pocket and smiled as he
saw the expensive mobile, switching it on to read the directory.
‘Evans, aha,’ he pressed the number. A few moments later a
galloping horse’s ring tone went off in Evan’s pocket. ‘Yes it is
you,’ Cyrus laughed.

The constable
asked. ‘Sir, it’s important evidence we have given you, you will
remember us won’t you?’

‘Yes, I will,
don’t worry you’re unforgettable, but if you want me to help you,
this thing is between us. Understood?’

The constables
nodded in unison.

‘If you speak
to Patel, he can explain everything, he is the one you want not
me,’ Evans offered.

‘Shad up,’ said
Cyrus, pocketing the mobile.

At the police
station, the prisoners were given a mouldy blanket each and pushed
into a cell that was already full. Grumbles came from the other
prisoners, as they made room for them on the floor. Evans called
out. ‘I need a lawyer, it’s my right!’ Just before the door clanged
shut.

A voice in the
dark said. ‘You fat one! Move away,’ a leg kicked at him, ‘you
smell of shit.’ Evans received more kicks as he moved round the
crowded cell. ‘Get away, sit with your friends.’ He sat with the
constables who were very quiet; the last thing they wanted was to
be known as cops.

The OCS
interviewed Cyrus over the shooting. ‘Yes,’ agreed Cyrus, ‘bad
news, I should let my boss know.’

‘You will do
that said the OCS, after you have accompanied the body to the
morgue.’

He got in with
Fimbo’s dead body and they set off for the morgue. He examined the
features on Patel’s expensive phone, starting in surprise as it
rang in his hand. Azizza - he read and then answered holding it
close to his ear, he heard her voice, smiled to himself and then
switched it off. A nice new phone was some consolation.

*

Patel waited
for a large woman passenger to come down the aisle before slotting
in behind her as she exited the aircraft. He stuck close to her at
the bottom of the stairs using her as cover while he walked across
the apron to the main building, alert to anyone who might be
waiting for him, walking quickly to the exit as the other
passengers waited for their luggage to be off loaded. Out into the
foyer he was instantly pressed by taxi drivers offering to take him
into Nairobi, still others pushing meeting placards at him. He was
grateful for the crowd, speaking to no one he hurried through the
melee and across the road, more persistent touts followed him.
‘Taxi, taxi,’ they called out.

He entered the
international terminal, intuitively knowing he had very little
time, the sooner he got through to the relative safety of the
departure lounge the better. He casually walked the length of the
check-in counters, paying particular attention to the time and
destinations on offer.

The one to
London was not for another five hours, one to Mumbai in just under
an hour and a half, already a small queue of passengers waiting to
check in. He noted with a wry smile one to Antananarivo in
Madagascar in two hours time. He found an ATM machine and drew
enough cash to cover his ticket. Getting to the end of the lounge,
he saw an overhead sign to the Kenya Airways counter. Patel paid
for a seat on the flight to Mumbai using his real passport, and
with no luggage, he was soon seated in the departure lounge,
waiting for the gate to open.

THIRTY-SIX

Azizza tried
Patel’s number in vain, it was still switched off or he was out of
range. From her room she looked forlornly out at the car park.
Where is he? She went downstairs and asked the hotel guard on the
gate if he had seen him.

‘He went out
with the other man who brought the cars.’

‘That maneno
with the police, what was that all about?’

‘They didn’t
tell me,’ the guard shrugged, ‘the police, they just swoop when
they like.’

Azizza
disappointed, thanked him and walked away.

‘What’s your
room number?’ he called out a hopeful look on his face. ‘I can tell
you if he returns.’

She looked back
and said. ‘I don’t think so,’ exaggerating her hip movements a
little as she walked on. Back in her room, she began to worry. Has
he been mugged and his phone stolen? She lay on the bed and
pictured scenes of him in hospital, injured, with her by his
bedside and him professing his love for her at last, she slipped
into a light sleep as the daydream took over. She woke up later,
the room almost dark. Hurrying to the window, the lights were on in
the car park, a few more cars, none of them his.

She tried his
room number, the phone rang unanswered. Glancing at her watch, the
potion would be starting to work soon. She turned on the lights in
the room and took out the clothes she had selected, she may as well
get ready, he could return anytime.

At around
seven, Azizza went and asked the reception if there were any
messages for her. There were none.

She then
persuaded the receptionist to get a master key so they could check
his room. They went upstairs and knocked on the door - there was no
response - the receptionist used her key. Apart from two unopened
suitcases, the room was empty.

‘Sorry,’ said
the girl, ‘I can let you know if I hear anything.’ They parted on
the stairs and Azizza caught the lift back up to her room. She lay
on her bed utterly miserable, as the time ticked inexorably on.
He’s done a runner she said to herself at last daring to accept the
obvious and burst into tears at the thought - that bastard had
dumped her after all they had been through.

She pulled
herself together in between sobs, and went over the lunchtime
conversation when he talked about them leaving for Dar-es-Salaam.
She pictured him speaking to her searching her memory, his face and
voice, for any inflection or signs of deceit. Suddenly she gasped.
The potion! Has it caused an adverse reaction? What if he is truly
sick somewhere?

The mental
torture was unbearable. At around nine she tried his number this
time, her heart leapt, it was ringing! Relieved she waited for him
to answer, getting ready to admonish him. The phone clicked on, she
could hear someone breathing, with sounds of traffic in the
background.

‘Hello Patel,
can you hear me?’ The phone clicked off. She threw the mobile onto
the bed angrily, that bastard! Now convinced he had done a runner
it was so typical. He’d only brought her to Mombasa to make sure he
got his money, he had lied again and she like a fool had been taken
in.

Looking at
herself in the mirror. To hell with him, stupid skinny bloody
Indian and to think that I Azizza, a woman who could get any man,
have thrown myself at him, I will show him. She needed a real man.
She opened the fridge and took out a miniature bottle of gin,
unscrewing the cap she held her nose and downed it in one gulp, the
raw spirit searing her throat, making her gag.

‘I’ll show
him,’ she said, going into the bathroom wiping off her teary makeup
and reapplying it with a vengeance. She walked out of the door and
headed for the hotel bar. ‘I’ve wasted enough time, I’m rich and
I’m available, it’s time for some fun,’ she told her reflection in
the lift mirror, standing tall and pushing her breasts out, looking
approvingly at the image. ‘Very nice,’ she said out loud.

*

A hundred miles
out of Mombasa, Doug pointed at a side turning. ‘That’s where we
went on the bike.’

Brian looked.
‘It seems months ago we were there, this has been quite an
adventure.’

Doug agreed.
‘And then some. By the way what ever happened to that piece I gave
you?’

Brian started.
‘Bugger it, I think I left it in the apartment!’

‘That is not
good, it was an important bit of evidence.’

‘Whats you
talking?’ Lucy asked from the back seat.

‘Nothing to
worry your pretty head,’ Brian told her.

‘Can you
remember where you left it?’

‘I think it’s
in a drawer, in the desk with the computer. Doug can you pull over
I need to take a leak?’ Brian changing the subject.

He frowned as
he got back in the car, put on the seatbelt and looking in the rear
view mirror pulled out onto the highway. ‘I can’t piss,’ he
muttered to Doug, ‘something’s wrong.’

‘Can’t
piss?’

‘I want to go
but nothing, it just hurts.

‘Drink lots of
water,’ Doug advised.

‘Yes that might
help,’ Brian took a water bottle off the dashboard and gulped down
its contents. ‘What do you think will happen to Evans, once your
uncle gets hold of him?’

‘I would
imagine he will lose his job for sure and may even end up in jail,
just another victim of greed and corruption.

‘Your uncle
seems very capable.’

‘Oh yes - you
know he was offered a job with Interpol.’

Brian was
impressed. ‘Why didn’t he take it?’

‘He doesn’t
talk about it much, he was devoted to his wife and when she died,
the fight went all out of him.’

Brian smiled.
‘Behind every successful man, eh?’They chatted amiably as the
journey progressed into the dusk.

Lucy had fallen
asleep on the back seat, lightly snoring. They stopped half way to
refuel and get something to eat.

Brian looked
for a toilet while Doug attended to the car.

Lucy walked
over sleepily to a courtyard café and ordered tea, Doug joined her;
there was no sign of Brian. The two of them sat in silence sipping
mugs of hot sweet tea and munching sugar buns watching traffic go
by on the highway.

Brian appeared
out of the gloom, looking very agitated. ‘Doug, can I talk to you,’
he stood away from the table.

Doug mouth full
asked. ‘What’s up?’

Brian motioned
him to join him as he walked away. Lucy frowned. ‘What’s problem?’
She called out.

Doug shrugged
and got up to follow Brian.

‘I have a
problem,’ said Brian. ‘I just went to pee and the pain was
unbelievable, and what came out was full of pus.’

‘Oh, you know
what that probably is.’

‘No, what?’

‘Miss Malindi
there has given you a dose.’ Doug tried not to grin.

‘Dose of what,
what do you mean?’

‘Gonorrhoea you
know, the clap.’

Brian hissed.
‘What, the clap! I don’t believe it.’

‘Didn’t you use
rubbers?’

‘Yes in the
beginning. So it’s just an infection nothing else?’

‘You will have
to get tested; unfortunately it goes with the territory.’ Doug
didn’t have to say what was on his mind.

‘Fuck,’ spat
Brian, ‘get rid of her!’

‘Get rid of
her, what do you mean?’