Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (5 page)

‘You mean
politically?’ she asked.

‘Hmmmm, yes,’
murmured Patel.

‘My sister
doesn’t know about this, I must warn her.’

‘Honey, best
not to talk to anyone - even your sister. We have the factory to
sell and any uncertainty about the future will drive the price
down. I want you and the boys out of here, to create a safe base
for us all, including your sister. I will join you as soon as I
have cleared up all our business here, and I will buy you another
car,’ he promised, ‘a better one.’

‘You want to
sell everything? What about the farm?’

Patel had
inherited two hundred acres north of Malindi, near the town of
Mambrui, at present a worthless piece of bush that was ambitiously
called the farm. ‘No I won’t sell that, it will be held in trust
for the boys, but yes, everything else will be sold. You know you
can ask your uncle to find us a house to rent. It’s about time the
boys got a decent education and I’m sure you don’t want to see them
in boarding schools,’ He appealed to her motherly instincts.

‘No, you’re
right,’ she agreed.

The two boys
joined their parents on the balcony, Jitu eleven, the eldest,
followed by Gulam, nine. ‘Oh lazy bones,’ greeted their father,
‘mum look what your sons are doing. Going to be late for school
eh?’

‘No school, it
is a holiday,’ she hugged each one in turn.

‘Oh good,’ said
Patel, ‘I need help on the factory floor,’ he teased, ‘holidays!
What’s that?’ recalling his own childhood.

Patel addressed
his children in mock severity. ‘I have an important mission for you
two. You are to accompany your mother to London! You will be her
bodyguards! And also to make sure she doesn’t spend all our money,’
he teased, seizing Jitu in a hug. ‘You are looking at the next I.T.
genius mum.’

‘What’s I.T.?’
Asked Gulam.

‘Oh tube light
has woken up,’ teased his elder brother. Gulam tried to get at
Jitu, their father held them apart. ‘Now, now,’ he warned
affectionately ruffling Gulam’s hair. ‘No time for fighting, go and
check on the new car. Make sure it has no puncture to worry your
mum,’ as they ran off excitedly.

‘London, we are
going to London!’ shouted Jitu. Fatima gazed at her husband
adoringly.

She snuggled
into his shoulder. ‘I will miss this place,’ she admitted, ‘we can
always come back for holidays can’t we?’

‘Yes, of
course, my dear,’ he lied, ‘now, I must get off to work to support
my holiday-minded family.’ He kissed her lightly on her
forehead.

*

At the factory,
Patel did his usual quick tour and in the office he responded to
the more immediate e-mails and orders. He paused in these tasks to
call Azizza with instructions to get the next hundred title deeds
from the land office.

‘Are you sure?’
She queried. ‘It’s a lot of money to outlay.’

‘Yes,’
confirmed Patel, ‘we need to get things moving. You got the note I
left about a further advance to Evans?’

‘Yes,’ she
confirmed.

Patel
continued. ‘And remind Evans I need the information I asked him for
yesterday, as soon as possible.’ He cleared his desk of the most
pressing business and instructed his secretary to get hold of the
managing director of Poppy Buckets, one of his main rivals in
Mombasa. She quickly connected him.

‘Farook how are
you - it’s Patel from Malindi.’

‘Ahh, Patel,
king of Malindi,’ Farook responded.

‘I have a
proposition for you,’ said Patel.

‘Oh really,’
Farook said warily. ‘Are you looking for a merger, competition to
hot for you?’ Leaning back in his chair, intrigued.

Patel got
straight to the point. ‘No, I wondered if you would like a
distribution centre in Malindi. I have decided to sell my factory,
are you interested?’

Farook sat up
in surprise. ‘Really,’ then in disbelief. ‘Why?’

‘Listen Farook,
I’m a busy man. You’re the first one I have called.’

‘Yes, Jugdish
my friend, I am interested, what sort of price are we talking
about?’

‘How soon can
you get down here to assess the product?’ Then you can make me an
offer.’

Farook, picking
up on the urgency, looked through his diary. ‘I can be there on
Thursday by ten; would that be good for you?’

‘Yes,’ Patel
replied, ‘perfect, and bring your engineers with you.’

‘Ok, but tell
me my friend, why the hurry?’

‘It’s my wife,’
Patel replied not elaborating.

‘Nothing
serious I hope?’

‘No, no - you
know, women.’

‘Ahh, yes, if
the woman unhappy, the man cannot stay.’

‘Yes, exactly,
can deny her nothing,’ Patel giggled.

‘You will let
me have first option won’t you, keep it amongst ourselves,
right?’

‘Yes of course,
I can do that, see you day after tomorrow, thanks.’

*

Evans arrived
at work hung over and in a bad mood, made worse by the questioning
looks on the security guards faces as he drove up in the small
Toyota. He had gone home from the golf club the previous evening,
nervously thinking over the lie for his wife about the Mercedes,
only to find her absent, and a message on the answering machine;
she and the two boys had missed their flight from Nairobi and would
not be back until Thursday. With no cooked food in the house, he
went out to the Day and Night Club for chicken and chips and
decided to stay and have a few beers. Inevitably, he drank more
than he had intended to, drove home, and made a complete fool of
himself trying to bed the house maid.

She had
rejected his advances politely trying to reason with him and when
he drunkenly persisted, curtly informed him that his wife had
anticipated he might attempt this and to inform her if he tried.
Thwarted and outmanoeuvred, he had angrily slammed the door to her
room shouting out that he was going to fire her. He was her boss,
not his wife.

This morning
she was nowhere in sight. His white work shirts lay un-ironed in
the laundry basket. Dismissing the idea of attempting to iron one
for himself, he resorted to wearing his used shirt, which smelt of
yesterday’s sweat and now sported a tomato sauce stain just under
the left pocket. Childishly feeling sorry for himself, with a
throbbing hangover, he sat in the small Toyota lamenting his lot.
No Mercedes, no wife, no clean shirts, no breakfast, no maid and
recalling in a sudden panic, he couldn’t remember where he had
hidden the package Patel had given him. That bloody Indian it was
all his fault.

Arriving at
work he grunted a greeting at the security guards and fled to the
safety of his air-conditioned office. ‘Florence,’ he barked as he
passed her desk, ‘get me the file on small loans, the ones handled
by Golden Palm.’

‘Yes, sir, good
morning sir,’ she said.

Evans was
uncharacteristically rude. ‘And hurry up with my tea!’Drinking tea
and leafing through the Golden Palm file, he quickly added up the
money out on loan and calculated his cut. Reassured at the size of
the figure, he relaxed, it was time to yank that Indian’s tail. How
dare he take my car. He then busied himself with work.

An hour later
he was interrupted by Florence. ‘Excuse me, sir.’

‘Yes, what is
it?’

‘Azizza from
Golden Palm is on the phone.’

‘Hello Azizza,’
Evans greeted her breezily.

Azizza returned
his greeting and relayed Patel’s message.

Evans responded
pompously. ‘I’m not processing any more loans, until our original
agreement is honored.’ Pleased at the stunned silence on the other
end. ‘Furthermore if we can’t clear up this oversight by your
company as soon as possible, it might necessitate a reconsideration
of our favorable lending rates.’

Azizza
recovered quickly and responded in the same tone. ‘Thank you, I
will contact my director and get back to you as soon as I can,’ and
rang off.

Evans was
enjoying himself. Hah! That should make them think about messing me
about. He didn’t have long to wait. His mobile rang. He didn’t
recognise the number.

‘Evans, it’s
Patel here. Azizza has relayed your message to me regarding the
loans, your percentage is twenty five percent right?’

‘Yes it is, and
I want it now,’ he chuckled confidently, leaning back in his
chair.

Patel went on.
‘At present that would amount to 125 million, if you want to keep
the Mercedes at 8 million, your cut would now be 117 million
right?’

Evans sensing
he was losing ground said belligerently. ‘I want my money and my
car!’

Patel continued
unfazed. ‘With all the advances you have had including the one
yesterday, your cut would be 110 million.

‘Listen to me,
I want my money, can’t you hear?’

‘Evans, you can
confirm your cut on the Golden Palm small loan scheme is at present
is 110 million, including the Mercedes, right?’

‘Yes, that is
right,’ he said slowly and clearly, ‘and I want it now.’

‘Thank you,’
said Patel.

‘For what?’ The
manager asked puzzled.

‘Evans, listen
to me,’ Patel said with a giggle. ‘This conversation has just been
recorded. Azizza has more applications to process this morning,’
the steel in his voice rose in timbre. ‘Be a good fellow and do as
you’re told and stop messing us all about. I’m sure you don’t want
to go to jail. You’ll get your cut once this project is completed,
until then, behave yourself.’

Evans stared at
his mobile in disbelief as Patel hung up, he fumbled with the
buttons and hit the re-dial button in anger, but stopped as the
reality dawned on him. He slumped in his chair, tears of
frustration welling up behind his eyes. ‘Bloody bastard,’ he
breathed, ‘bloody bastard.’

Florence walked
into his office and put documents into his in tray. Among the
papers were more loan applications for Golden Palm awaiting his
signature.

*

Patel replaced
his sim card in his mobile. ‘What a clown.’

She grimaced.
‘Do you think it was a mistake to take the car?’

‘No it’s
totally inappropriate for his bank salary; you know we only gave it
to him to hook him up, besides I can now use his resentment against
me to control him.’

‘Yes, but can
we trust him?’ she asked.

‘No, but then
we never could, so what’s new?’ He shrugged dismissing the notion.
‘I’m selling the factory,’ Patel announced abruptly, ‘and sending
my wife and kids overseas. Better get organised to leave Malindi,’
he advised her.

Azizza was
shocked. ‘What, when?’

‘The wife and
kids as soon as possible, and as for us,’ he rocked his hand, thumb
and forefinger extended between them, ‘once we have got the rest of
the money.’

She stared at
him frowning and he smiled. ‘For now it’s just precautions, but we
can’t just sit here. We need to prepare a back door for a clean
getaway.If you need any advice just ask, ok?’

Azizza said
carefully, her mind reeling. ‘I need time to think and will let you
know thanks,’ wondering if this was one of Patel’s nasty tricks
trying to panic her, her intuition told her that he was genuine,
but he was a tricky bugger, a really tricky bugger.

‘So who are you
selling to?’ She asked hiding her fear.

‘I have a
meeting with my main competitor, tomorrow.’

‘Wow, that’s
fast work,’ she murmured.

He grinned at
her. ‘That’s me baby fastest crook in town!’ mimicking a western
gunslinger, chuckling at his own joke.

Despite
herself, she burst out laughing with him, releasing the tension
between them; life was never dull around this man.

THREE

Brian Nicholls
looked forward to his first trip to the coast. To this end he had
collected a number of travel brochures on Malindi. He stared at
glossy pictures of pristine white beaches, dive boat excursions
with dolphins and whale sharks, deep-sea fishing in azure blue
water and safaris to tented camps in the nearby game parks with
elephants and lions. Nightclubs, restaurants and modern hotels all
close to one another; it seemed ideal, the perfect small town
resort.

Brian was an
eager new broom, having been unemployed for two years in England
after a bank take-over. His subsequent divorce hadn’t helped and at
forty-five he had felt all washed up. His luck it seemed had now
changed with this new job, with a place in the sun at last and he
had every intention of keeping it. It was Brian who had pushed to
examine the accounts of the NNB Malindi bank. The manager Evans
Njugu, seemed to really know his stuff. He was hoping to discover
what methods Evans was using and replicate them countrywide.

Brian had only
been in Kenya for a month. One of the perks of the job was a 4x4
Range Rover, which he had been learning to drive, loving the
powerful burble of its V8 engine, its style and stance on the road
captivating him with the promise of rugged adventures and best of
all, it was a British car.

He had done the
rounds of cocktail parties, meeting a whole cross section of
nationalities from all walks of life. The most stuck up so far were
the other expatriates, but then he was used to that having worked
for a while in Hong Kong - his only other foreign posting. He knew
it took a while to get accepted, however, he didn’t lack company in
his social life. His colleagues at work had welcomed him into their
fold, with invites for a drink after work or on weekends. It seemed
easy to make friends and after overcoming his inhibitions, the
active promiscuity of the Kenyan girls made him feel like a kid in
a candy shop.

The work was a
pleasure; his salary beefed up with a third world hardship
allowance. His job description of auditor and personnel training
consultant gave him plenty of scope to be creative. Brian was in
his element. He had bought a road map of Kenya in anticipation of
touring the bank’s branches countrywide in his 4x4. This job was
going to be fun.