Elephant Dropping (9781301895199) (9 page)

Brian appalled
at what he had just witnessed, considered walking out of the gate
but realised he wouldn’t get far without shoes. Waiting for a while
for the noise to abate, he hobbled back to the station dreading
what he might see. The reception was unmanned; he could hear
distant screaming, followed by what sounded like loud slaps, and
more shouting. Presently, the reception cop came back, breathing
hard, a huge grin on his face. He was sweating and his eyes were
shinning with excitement.

‘Get in,’ he
breathed at Brian.

Brian said.
‘Actually, can I wait here?’ Where the hell is Evans? He needed to
get out of here fast.

‘Ok, no problem
colleague.’

Evans drove up
to the police station with Brian’s briefcase, astounded to see his
boss, standing outside in a stained shirt, barefoot, one shoe
tucked under his arm.

Brian looked at
Evans in disbelief. Is that my briefcase? It is!

‘So sorry for
your trouble, Sir,’ Evans apologised, handing it over. ‘I drove
straight up here. What has happened?’

Brian explained
the accident, including his lack of shoes, while opening the
briefcase to check its contents. Relieved to see the money but
flicking through the documents, he couldn’t see his passport.
Eventually he put the case on the ground and methodically went
through it. No passport and no work permit. Shit!

Evans stood
there embarrassed at the sight of his boss scrabbling through his
briefcase kneeling in the dust.

Brian wracked
his brain. Have I left it in the apartment? No, I wouldn’t travel
without it - stolen? Surely not, the money and credit cards were
still there. ‘Did they send the copy from Nairobi?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. I
drove straight up here. Why do the police want your passport
anyway?’ Evans asked.

‘They say I
need to prove, who I am.’

‘Oh, do you
have a driving license, or any other ID?’

‘Yes, good
thinking Evans that might work.’ He fished out his driving license,
a credit card and his business card.

Mugo appeared
at the reception. ‘Hey you
mzungu
,’ he called out, ‘I was
looking for you.’

‘Ah, Detective
Mugo,’ Brian hobbled over. ‘This is Evans, my colleague from the
bank. Good news he’s found my briefcase!’ Evans stayed where he
was.

‘Come here, I
know you,’ the detective grinned.

Evans
reluctantly joined them.

‘This is your
mzungu
?’ Mugo pointed rudely at Brian.

‘Yes, he is my
boss from Nairobi,’ Evans agreed.

Brian eager to
get away, interrupted. ‘Look, here is my driving license and a
business card,’ handing over the two items to Mugo.

He gave them a
cursory look and held onto them. ‘Passport?’

‘It’s not here,
I must have left it in Nairobi.’

Mugo pointed at
Evans. ‘You were supposed to bring a copy?’

‘Yes Sir. The
office in Nairobi is sending it.’

‘Ok, bring it
here tomorrow morning at nine sharp, and bring this
mzungu
with you. You can go,’ Mugo instructed, waving them away. Brian
hurried to get to the car, despite his painful ankle.

Evans drove
them out. ‘I’m so sorry for your troubles Sir. Do you want me to
take you to a Doctor? Or hospital?’

‘No thank you,
Evans. Just take me back to the apartment. I think my ankle is only
twisted; I just need to rest it. If it’s still swollen tomorrow, I
will see a doctor. How did you find my briefcase?’

‘The taxi
driver brought it to the bank. I paid him a reward; he said you had
offered one?’

‘Yes, that’s
true, how much did you pay him?’

‘Five thousand,
five hundred,’ he said too quickly, realising too late he had just
missed an opportunity to make something extra.

‘Oh, thank you,
remind me to reimburse you. I have never seen such awful police.
Outrageous, how can they get away with such behaviour?’ Brian
said.

‘They are the
law, they only want money.’

‘Those bastards
aren’t going to get one red cent out of me.’

Evans smiled in
sympathy. ‘Us Africans,’ shaking his head.

‘No.’ Brian
disagreed, ‘those are just common bullies and there must be someone
I can report them to?’

Evans just
pursed his lips and looked blank.

‘Will you call
me when you have the e-mail?’ Brian asked as they reached the
hotel.

‘Yes Sir. Do
you need any help, to your apartment?’

‘I can manage,
but I might need a lift with you tomorrow?’

‘Ok Sir, I will
collect you at eight thirty?’

‘Yes, that’s
good for me.’ He hobbled to the lift. As he rose to the third
floor, he looked at the single shoe he was still holding, wondering
why he still had it. I guess it’s a sort of trophy - a wry grin.
Once in the apartment, he looked everywhere for his missing
passport, upending his briefcase onto the bed. Bloody odd, my
passport must be in Nairobi.

His mobile
rang. ‘Mr. Nicholls,’ a voice drawled.

‘Yes, this is
Brian Nicholls, who is this?’

‘This is
Detective W.K. Mugo, do you remember me?’

‘Ah, yes
Detective, how can I help you?’

‘Ahhh, it is me
who can help you.’ the voice drawled.

‘I’m sorry I
don’t understand?’

‘Are you
missing anything?’Mugo asked mysteriously.

‘Oh yes, I left
my driving license with you.’

‘Correct.’

‘Thank you, I
will collect it tomorrow.’

‘Ok, don’t be
late,’ ordered Mugo, and rang off.

Brian swore.
Cheeky bastard, these police were unreal. He stripped off his
clothes and had a long shower, as though to wash away the
uncomfortable afternoon. He carefully felt around his ankle, the
swelling was not going down. In the fridge, he found a small ice
tray in the freezer section; he popped out the ice cubes, wrapped
them in a flannel and lay down on the bed getting as comfortable as
possible resting his foot on a towel. Trying to relax he attempted
to read a novel he had picked up at the airport in Nairobi, before
falling into an exhausted sleep.

*

Evans drove
back to the bank. Before going in he phoned Azizza. ‘I have just
taken Nicholls back to the apartment,’ he informed her. ‘After his
accident someone handed his briefcase in at the bank. Those cops
are bad news. They insist on seeing his passport to prove to them
who he is.’

‘Where is his
passport?’ she asked.

‘He looked in
the briefcase but he must have left it in Nairobi.’

Patel waved his
hands in the air in triumph.

‘Amazing,’ said
Azizza, ‘that was lucky, who handed it in?’

‘The taxi
driver.’

‘Wow, there are
some good guys around,’ she responded.

‘He got a fat
reward,’ countered Evans. ‘Anyhow, I have to take Nicholls back to
the police tomorrow, with the passport copy.’

‘So he has had
no chance to check the bank files yet?’

‘No, not yet,
he asked me to set up an office for him, and we were supposed to
start this afternoon.’

‘That’s good,’
she encouraged.

‘All this stuff
is making me nervous,’ Evans complained, ‘but he likes my work. I
could get a promotion - we even talked about going to London.’

Patel looked at
the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘A promotion?’
quizzed Azizza keeping her voice even.

‘Yes, he says I
have done such a good job, he could help further my career.’

‘Listen Evans,
just stay focused on what you have to do for this coming week.’ She
turned away from Patel to avoid laughing at his expression. ‘I’m
going to submit more loan applications tomorrow, do you
understand?’

‘What?’ Evans
said in alarm, landing abruptly.

‘Don’t worry,
everything will be fine. Just act normally, do your job, and
remember you can always call me if you get worried. You have done
excellent work so far,’ she praised him.

‘Ok, thanks,’
said Evans and rang off.

‘A promotion,
Evans wants a promotion?’ Patel giggled.

Azizza smirked
and switched her phone off speaker mode. ‘What are you going to do
with his passport?’

‘We may need it
later,’ he replied, not elaborating.

‘Do you think
it’s wise to leave all the money here in Malindi?’ she asked,
sounding him out.

‘Oh, my dear,
thinking about your cut are we?’ he teased.

‘Yes, of
course,’ she murmured, watching him closely.

Patel nodded.
‘I have been thinking it is time we set up a non-governmental
organisation to support Golden Palm.’

‘An NGO?’
Azizza was incredulous.

‘Yes. This NGO
will be an international aid organisation, one that funds the small
farmer,’ Patel waved his hand at the map on the wall, ‘namely the
Sabaki Farmers Co-operative, helping them to service their member’s
loans, and it will appoint Golden Palm its agent in Kenya. It will
mean we can legitimately move hard currency in and out of the
country!’

Azizza stared
at him absorbing this audacious plan, wondering briefly if he had
lost his mind. He studied the expression on her face, waiting for
the penny to drop.

Her mind raced
through this new puzzle, a peel of laughter burst forth. ‘It’s
brilliant,’ she gasped. Patel laughed tears with her, a relief from
the tension of the last few hours.

Azizza
recovered first. ‘This NGO will come from which country.
America?’

Patel shook his
head. ‘Too nosy.’

‘Pakistan?’ She
offered.

‘Too cheap’, he
laughed. ‘I like the idea of Brazil,’

‘Oh you speak
Spanish?’ snorted Azizza. ‘Amigo!’ Raising her hands above her head
and clicking her fingers.

Patel suddenly
looked at his watch. ‘I’m hungry,’ he announced. ‘Curry?’ He
suggested with a big grin.

‘I feel like
nyama choma
,’ she said smacking her lips lustily.

He agreed.
‘Shall we take the Mercedes, my dear?’

‘Absolutely,’
Azizza gushed.

FIVE

Brian woke with
the dawn, the swelling on his ankle almost gone. He sat with a cup
of coffee on the balcony looking out over the ocean. It would have
been nice to have a swim before work, but he decided to keep his
ankle rested before going back to the police station.

Away from the
heat of the moment it seemed ridiculous that Mugo needed to see his
passport. It was Brian’s first brush with the Kenyan authorities -
he had heard stories of police corruption - if it was a bribe Mugo
was after, he wasn’t going to get one from him. He ordered a large
breakfast and later dressed for work in long trousers, shirt and
tie, incongruous in Nike trainers; he would find a shoe shop later.
Looking at his watch he went to meet Evans.

The manager was
only a little late. ‘Morning Sir, I got it,’ he waved a document.
‘I called you yesterday but there was no reply.’

They drove to
the police station. Copy in hand, Brian went to the reception.
‘Good morning,’ he announced to the cop behind the counter, ‘I have
come to see Detective Mugo.’

‘Who?’ He
stared at Brian, ‘ok, you wait,’ the cop announced, busy with the
ledger in front of him.

The policeman
made no move to call the detective. A period of time passed before
Brian said sarcastically. ‘Excuse me sir. I hope I’m not disturbing
you, would you tell Detective Mugo I’m here.’

‘No problem
colleague. He no here, you wait.’

Evans was
listening to the car radio as Brian walked back and said. ‘That
damn detective isn’t here yet.’ They sat, radio playing while Brian
quietly got worked up.

A white
Landrover entered the compound. Brian recognised the cop driving
from yesterday by his swagger stick. There were two others, one was
Mugo. ‘This shouldn’t take long,’ he said and followed the trio
into the station.

The cop at the
counter waved him through. ‘He’s here,’ he said unnecessarily.
Brian crossed the courtyard to the office and saw a woman dressed
in jeans and a tank top, sitting crouched on the floor, quietly
sobbing. She glanced in his direction, a pretty face, sporting a
swollen black eye. She looked young and vulnerable.

He knocked on
the detective’s door and without waiting, walked straight in.
‘Morning, Detective,’ he announced breezily, ‘I have the copy you
asked for.’

‘Ah, Mr
Nicholls, you have come,’ said Mugo equably, taking the proffered
e-mail from Brian. He read it carefully and then wrote on a pad in
front of him. ‘Where is your aliens pass?’

‘I have not
been issued with it yet, the bank has applied for me,’

‘Which bank,
this one in Malindi?’

‘No, the
Nairobi head office is handling it.’

‘You should
have an aliens pass, Mr Nicholls it’s the law. In these days of
terrorism, we have to be careful; you could be working for
Al
Khaida
for instance,’ Mugo announced flatly. Brian almost burst
out laughing at the very idea. Mugo went on. ‘Now I have a copy of
your passport, it should not be hard to find out if your work
permit is genuine. In the meantime it is illegal to have a job
without a valid permit. Inform your manager that I have said this
and call me tomorrow morning. Here is your driving license, you can
go now.’

Brian could
hardly believe what he was hearing, but saw it useless to argue.
Determined to wrench a measure of justice in this uneven match he
picked up his license and asked. ‘Detective, that girl in the
courtyard, what crime has she committed?’

‘What business
is that of yours?’ Mugo asked.

‘She looks very
young.’

‘Not too young
to be a prostitute,’ Mugo said smugly.

‘Can I pay her
fine, would you then release her?’

Mugo looked
surprised. ‘You want to pay her fine?’Then suspiciously, ‘that’s
five thousand shillings?’