Beverly Hills Maasai (13 page)

Nebala didn’t look happy. He barked out some words and Samuel came forward. He took the bow from his back and removed the two arrows from his belt—he was going to shoot Carlos!

“No, no, you can’t do that!” I yelled as I jumped in front of our gardener to protect him. He didn’t have a leaf-blower to use in his defence.

Samuel handed the bow and arrow to Nebala. Nebala then took a step forward, extending his hands, holding the weapons out to Carlos.

“We did not know it was your tree. We return what we took without asking.” He bowed his head slightly.

“I don’t want your bow!” Carlos said. “Just … just don’t do that again … okay?”

Nebala nodded. “We took what was not ours to
take. We offer our apology.” He extended his hands farther, offering the bow and arrow again.

I knew it would be an insult if Carlos didn’t take them.

“Please, Carlos … it’s an apology,” I explained.

Reluctantly Carlos took the bow and arrow from him and then looked at the offering. “Your apology is accepted.” He reached out his other hand and the two men shook. He then did the same with Samuel and Koyati.

“That’s better,” I said, sighing in relief. “They just didn’t know it was a special tree.”

“All trees are special,” Nebala said.

“That’s right!” Carlos exclaimed. “Each and every one.”

Nebala nodded in agreement. “Each plant, each tree, each rock has its own spirit.”

“I don’t know about the rock part, but I agree with the part about plants,” Carlos said.

“And all of this,” Nebala said, gesturing around the yard, “is yours?”

“All of it.”

“These plants are all strange to us. Where we live we know each plant, each tree, each rock, each clump of dirt. Is that how you know these plants?”

“I know them like I know my own family members.”

“Yes, yes, because they are like family—each has a spirit,” Nebala said. “You must have great knowledge.”

Carlos actually puffed out his chest. “Thank you.”

“Could we ask of you a great favour?” Nebala asked. “Could you teach us?”

“I could teach you a thing or two.”

“We wish to know which of these would be used for medicine,” Nebala said.

I laughed. “We get our medicine from the pharma—”

“Shows what she knows!” Carlos said, cutting me off. “There are plants here that can be used for indigestion, rashes, to make your skin soft, and to heal infections.”

“Really?” I gasped.

“Really, yes.”

“And food, which of these plants are foul and which are for food?”

I almost said something but didn’t want to look stupid again.

“Most of this stuff is just to look at,” Carlos said.

“Not to eat?”

“Decorative. Eye candy. Do you know how much food could be grown on a piece of land this size? People here seem to think that it is better to look good than to be good!” he exclaimed.

“So none of this is for food?” Nebala asked. I didn’t know whether he sounded sad or confused, or both.

“Well, I can show you leaves that can be made into tea, some roots that can be cooked to make a good stew, and some herbs to make that stew taste spicy.”

“I didn’t know any of that,” I said.

He huffed. “You cannot learn everything watching that NTV!”

“It’s MTV, and I do go to school.”

“There are things you cannot learn in school, only through life or—”

“Excuse me!” came a voice.

We turned toward the back door of the house. It was Carmella.

“Alexandria, there are some men at the gate wishing to come in,” she said.

“Men? What sort of men, and why do they want in?”

“Policia.”
she said. “And they wish to talk to somebody about trying to kill a cat and trespassing. I tell them we know nothing … Is that right?”

I gulped. Maybe that wasn’t right, but I certainly didn’t want to tell them anything different. Maybe we could explain all this to the cranky neighbours, but maybe it would end up with Samuel being hauled into court, charges being pressed, and Samuel missing the race. I couldn’t let that happen—too much was riding on it. I figured this was one of those times when bending the truth to help somebody else might be the right thing to do. After all, it was a victimless crime—even the cat got away safely!

“Is my mother home?” I asked.

“No, she leave.”

“Good. Go back and let them in.”

She turned to leave.

“But, Carmella, please take your time. We need to get ready for their arrival.”

I stood outside the front door and watched as the big gate opened up and the police car entered and came slowly up the driveway toward me. It came to a stop right in front of me, in front of the house, and two officers climbed out.

They were both young and tanned, with perfect hair and capped teeth, and they wore designer shades. Even the police officers in L.A. looked like movie stars. Was there some sort of bylaw that you couldn’t live or work here if you weren’t at least fashion-friendly?

“Good morning,” one of the officers—the slightly younger one—said.

“Good morning,” I replied, trying my best to sound friendly—friendly and innocent. I was innocent until proven guilty, and as long as the three Maasai
stayed hidden in the wine cellar where Carmella had placed them, I’d
stay
innocent.

“We’ve had a complaint,” the one officer said.

“That’s too bad, but my father always says there’s no point in complaining about anything because nobody really—”

“No,” he said. “Not complaining, a
complaint.”

“Oh … what does that mean?” I asked, trying to sound dumb to go along with the innocent act.

“It means that we received a phone call from your neighbours about a disturbance.”

“My neighbours are disturbed? Is that dangerous? Should you be calling somebody, like a psychiatrist or—?”

“No, no. Not
disturbed
… disturbance,” he said. “They made a complaint about—”

“They should take my father’s advice about not complaining, because nobody wants to hear about what you think is wrong. It’s better just to have a happy outlook on life!” I said, adding an element of kooky cheerfulness to go along with dumb and innocent.

The one officer let out a big sigh. Maybe I could get them so frustrated they’d just leave.

He took a deep breath. “Look, let me try to explain it one more—”

“Let me try it,” the other officer said, putting a hand on the first one’s shoulder. He was just a little more perfect than his partner, and that somehow made him
less
handsome. Even perfection needed a fault. I looked at the name tag on his chest—Officer Owen Osler—perfect alliteration, but it sounded more like
the name of a character on a police show than a real police officer.

The first officer bowed from the waist. “Certainly. Be my guest.”

“Your neighbour called because he said there was a trespasser in his yard.”

“Then shouldn’t you be there catching the trespasser rather than here asking me questions?” I asked.

“They reported that the trespasser climbed
out
of their enclosure and
into
yours,” Officer Osler explained.

“You think there might be an intruder here?” I glanced around anxiously. Next step in the evolution—add in a dash of worried, just bordering on paranoia. “Should I be scared? Is he dangerous? Should I call the po—Wait, you
are
here. Thank goodness!”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

“If there isn’t, why are you here?”

“We have to investigate. Standard operating procedure.”

“Which wall did he climb over, and when did it happen?”

“Less than twenty minutes ago. The wall behind your garage.”

Just beside the garage, Carlos was working in one of the flower beds. He knew the parts we were going to play—we’d worked it out before the police arrived.

“Our gardener has been working over there all morning. If anybody came over the wall I’m sure he would have noticed. I’ll call him over.” I took a few steps in his direction. “Carlos!” I yelled. “Come …
venga!”

He looked up, stood up, and leaned on his shovel.

“
Rapidamente!”
I yelled, and he started walking.

“You speak some Spanish,” one of the officers said.

“Oh, just a little bit,” I replied. “In southern California it’s almost impossible to get by without some Spanish, especially since so many of these people learn so little English.”

Carlos came over and removed his hat.

“Carlos, these are police officers … they are not from immigration,” I said, saying each word loudly and slowly and clearly. I turned to the officers. “You know how they’re always afraid you’re going to pick them up and ship them south of the border. Even when they’ve already got their cards, like Carlos, they still worry.

“Carlos, have you seen any … any …” I turned back to the officers. “I don’t know the Spanish word for ‘trespassers.’”

“I do,” the first officer said.

He quickly spat out a question to Carlos. I knew enough to figure out what he’d asked. Carlos was going to deny seeing anybody. He shook his head no and then proceeded, in Spanish, to tell him he’d been working in the yard all day and he would have seen somebody climbing the wall, but he’d seen nobody.

“Well, that’s settled,” I said. “He didn’t see anybody.”

The officer gave me a confused look. “I thought you didn’t speak that much Spanish.”

I started slightly, then recovered my composure. “I understand more than I speak,” I said. “Besides, I certainly understand what it means when somebody shakes his head—unless that means ‘yes’ in Spanish.” I wanted
to change the subject. “Did the neighbours tell you what this intruder looked like?”

“That’s the strange part,” the officer said. “They said there were two intruders. One of them was described as looking like an African warrior, all dressed in red, and he was carrying a bow and arrow, which he used to try to shoot their prized Siamese cat.”

“The neighbours on this side?” I asked, pointing to the wall in the direction we all knew. “You have to know that they have a little problem.” I held my thumb to my mouth and tipped back my hand and head. “A little bit of a drinking problem … not that I like to gossip.” I paused. “I didn’t even know they had a cat. Perhaps it’s a sign of age. They are getting a bit older … perhaps their eyes are starting to go a little.”

“Really? Interesting that they described the second intruder as being a young girl with blonde hair, about your age, and wearing clothes that exactly match your clothing.”

I laughed. “In southern California it’s almost impossible to find a woman who
isn’t
blonde,
isn’t
dressed fashionably, and doesn’t at least
look
my age from a distance—even women in their sixties. I guess that’s the beauty of cosmetic surgery. Everybody can look young … at least from a distance. How close did these people get to this supposed intruder?”

“Probably not close enough to get a good look at her face, if that’s what you’re worried about, Alexandria,” the officer said.

“I’m not worried about anything,” I said, “because I have nothing to be worried about, and—How do
you know my name? I didn’t tell you my name … did I?”

“The beauty of modern police work,” the one officer said. “We ran the address on the computer in our car and found the names of all people living at this residence.”

“All people and all their previous criminal convictions,” the other officer added.

Okay, innocent had gone out the window.

“And we were able to discover that you have three previous convictions as a juvenile.”

“Three?”

“Three,” he said, holding up three fingers as a little visual. “Vandalism, theft under, and then a breach-of-probation charge.”

“That’s really only two … Two little misunderstandings from when I was a kid.”

“Those offences were within the last year.”

“That was so long ago. I’ve changed … especially since I’ve—” I stopped myself before I could finish the sentence and tell them about all the charity work I was doing to help people in Africa … the place where African warriors with bows and arrows came from.

“Since what?” the officer asked.

“Since … since … I’ve turned sixteen. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve matured, grown up, taken responsibility.”

“Have you?” he asked.

The tone of his voice left little question that he doubted me. I had to do something to remove that doubt.

“If you’d like, you have my permission to search my house and the entire property. You don’t even need a search warrant.” I thought I’d offer a little bluff.

“So you’re saying you’ll let us search the entire house and the grounds,” he said.

Was he was trying to call my bluff?

“Of course,” I answered. I didn’t blink. “I’d love to clear this up.”

The two officers looked at each other, and then one shrugged.

“I guess that won’t be necessary.”

I’d won the bluff. But I did have a backup plan. I’d watched enough episodes of
Law & Order
to know that they really
did
need a warrant if they wanted to search, so if they tried to take me up on my offer I’d just take it back. By the time they did get back with a warrant—if they even bothered—my Maasai would be safely hidden somewhere else, maybe at Olivia’s house.

“I’d actually
want
you to search if the whole thing weren’t so silly,” I said.

“There’s nothing silly about a trespassing charge, especially for somebody with previous criminal convictions. It could be very serious,” the second officer said.

“I mean the
whole
thing. Can you really believe that there was a Maasai warrior in my neighbours’ yard who was trying to kill a cat for breakfast? That’s just too silly to—”

“Who said anything about breakfast?” Officer Osler asked.

“And who mentioned Maasai warriors specifically?” the other officer questioned.

I felt a flush creep over my whole body. I couldn’t even choke out an attempt at a lie.

“What school do you go to?” Officer Osler asked.