Kimathi and other Forms of Terror
Friday. March 31st, 2017. 20:03h. Tel-Aviv Estate – Embakasi. Nairobi.
(See Chapter One here in case you missed it: http://www.chanchori.com/2017/03/28/nairobi-wept/)
“Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear papa, Happy birthday to you…”
Sophie and Gina are singing to their father who is seated on a couch secluded from all the rest in the house and who is now beaming brightly at them. He in a way resembles a King on a throne. The cake has “Happy 50th birthday papa” splashed all over it.
Kimathi Mariga. The man of the hour. The birthday boy. He that towers at six feet four weighs ninety three kilos and drinks at least three hundred milliliters of Smirnoff Vodka a day. Father of the fifteen years old identical twins Sophie and Gina, and husband to the thirteen toed woman who chose to die at child birth. Yes. He is convinced that she chose to die at childbirth. Sentiments which he keeps away from his girls for obvious reasons.
He stands up and his bald head catches much of the light in the room. Bright lights flooding from the overhead fluorescent tubes.
Sophie, his favorite, hands him the knife and his huge hand clasps the entire handle in it. Phone cameras flash as friends and family take and keep a digital record of this moment when a giant decides to celebrate his 50th birthday just because his twins, the most beautiful girls in this whole wide world, asked him nicely to do it.
Kimathi thinks that that is a cliché. “The most beautiful girls in this whole wide world.” But it is his favorite cliché so he doesn’t really mind it. And it isn’t really a cliché if it’s true. His girls are beautiful.
Standing at a corner with a cigarette in hand and a glass of Gin and Tonic, is Kimathi’s younger brother Mathenge Mariga. At thirty three years of age, Mathenge is slightly built and looks way younger than thirty three. The only thing that stands out about him is his eyes. They have a glint of mischief in them. A light that women notice. Some say that he is looking at them as if he wants them. Others think there is something mysterious about his eyes. Something sinister. A deeper intention to cause malice. But whether attracted or scared by it, women do notice it. It really is the kind of thing that gets men saying, “I don’t know what women see in him. Must be the dog.”
Ah yes. The dog. Mathenge’s six years old German Shepherd that is a retired Military Dog. Standing at sixty three centimeters tall and weighing thirty one kilos, it is a carnivore that shouldn’t be messed with. For some reason that nobody could comprehend, Mathenge named it Taylor. Initially when asked why he gave it such a wuss name, he would reply, “I don’t know. Maybe it is because I have a thing for Taylor Swift.” But then the answer would always be followed with another question. “Does that mean you want to doggie the dog?”
At the moment, Taylor is seated at Mathenge’s feet, observing the party in silence.
After Kimathi has cut and taken a bite of the cake and after he has fed some to the girls and a few guests and after more pictures have been taken and he has forced his face to smile throughout the horrifying ordeal, he and his brother meet up at the balcony.
Their house is on the sixth floor and the balcony, which is facing Jomo Kenyatta International Airport’s general direction, is quite windy at the moment.
Kimathi: What is wrong now Mathenge? You are wearing your ‘I feel like shitting in my pants’ face.
Mathenge: Oh, I have one of those, huh?
Kimathi: Just tell me what the problem is brother.
Mathenge: (Leaning against the banister rail and dropping the cigarette butt six floors down) She is doing it again.
Kimathi: (Nodding affirmatively) She is doing it again. Of course. Well, let’s go then.
Friday. March 31st, 2017. 22:03h. Little Kettle’s Bar and Lounge. South B. Nairobi.
Little Kettle’s looks much like it sounds. Little. And dingy. And a little bit cute. Like a cute little kettle. It is the kind of place where philandering men and women meet for a stolen quickie, a stolen smile and a much longed for orgasm and throat souring moans. Things which have dried up in most marriages.
Which is no surprise that Mrs. Mathenge and her partner are holed up in one of the rooms on the eighth floor, engaging in the aforementioned orgasm inducing activities.
Downstairs, Kimathi, Mathenge and Taylor show up at the reception desk and flash their badges at the bored looking receptionist in a weave that is six minutes away from rotting on her head and so much lipstick that Mathenge remembers what their mother used to say about “women of nowadays”.
“Heee! Have you seen them? These women of nowadays! They must use Vaseline to put on their trousers and their lips look like they have just come from drinking blood.”
Kimathi is of a different breed. He just thinks, “Can you imagine getting a blowjob from a woman with so much lipstick? You might think she has bitten your dick off.”
Kimathi: (To the receptionist with the fakest smile on earth) Hello love.
Receptionist: What do you want? (Spots Mathenge behind Kimathi and is prompted by the former’s nervous look on his face to ask) Do you guys want a room?
Kimathi: You are kidding.
Receptionist: Well, your friend looks like he is about to shit in his pants.
Kimathi: (Chuckles) Yeah. He does have one of those faces, doesn’t he? (Leans closer to the glass barring him from the receptionist and whispers) I am Kimathi Mariga with the Directorate of Criminal Investigations and my friend is Major Mathenge. He’s with the Army. We are looking for a couple…
Receptionist: (Cynically) The DCI and the Army are working together now? To look for couples?
Kimathi: Well, (turns to Mathenge) What’s your wife’s fucker’s name?
Kimathi: Yeah. Fucker. What’s his name? The dude fucking your wife?
Mathenge: (Getting irritated) I told you his name is Fakha motherfucker. (Shoves Kimathi away and addresses the receptionist himself) I am looking for this woman (He takes his phone off his pocket and shows her his wife’s picture)
Receptionist: (Automatically) I haven’t seen her. And also, Little Kettle is not in the business of disclosing client information.
Mathenge: (Leans closer and places his badge on the glass so she can see) Take a look at that badge. Then take a good look at me. (The receptionist looks away with an attitude) I said look you cunt! (With even more attitude, if that’s even possible, the receptionist obeys as Mathenge hisses between his teeth) Now, are you going to make me threaten you with arrest? Are you going to make me put my gun in your mouth and make you smear it with that shit on your lips? Which room is she in?
Receptionist: (With a trembling voice) Room 809
Mathenge: (Sigh of relief) Room 809. Good. Now, why don’t you be a darling and pass me the extra key? (The receptionist is reluctant so he smiles at her) Please.
The key is passed to him and the trio heads off to the elevator. Had they stayed, they would have seen the liquid trickling down the receptionist’s pants on to the floor.
Kimathi: (Once they are inside the elevator) So, what are you going to do?
Mathenge: I don’t know. Maybe ask my wife nicely not to fuck around on me anymore.
Kimathi: That’s a nice approach to it. Why did you bring the dog then?
Taylor looks up at Kimathi with a low growl and he puts his hands up in surrender.
Kimathi: OK. You are not a dog. You are just Taylor. (He flashes Taylor a saccharine smile and he growls again; this time a little louder)
Mathenge: Leave Taylor alone, would you?
Kimathi: Women do that to you brother. They either cheat on you or they die while giving birth to your children. (Shrugs helplessly) What can I say? Life sucks.
On the third floor, the elevator opens and an elderly couple in their sixties enters holding hands and smiling at each other. Then they go ahead to act like there aren’t two other men and a dog inside the elevator with them.
Elderly woman: (To her man) Tell me what you’re going to do to me when we get to our little love den you naughty boy. (She grabs his butt and Taylor looks away. He is embarrassed)
Elderly man: Well, I will take my teeth off so that I don’t bite your nipples when I ….
Kimathi: (Protesting) Guys! Guys! Come on. We have a baby on board!
Elderly woman: Oh. We do? Which one? The bald giant or the tiny nitwit?
Kimathi: That would be the fucking dog darling. (Taylor growls fiercely) Sorry Taylor. But their behavior is embarrassing.
Elderly man: (Lets go his wife’s hand and steps uncomfortably close to Kimathi staring him down) When we get room… (To his wife) What room are we in again darling?
Elderly woman: Room 712
Elderly man: (To Kimathi) When we get to room 712 my wife and I, we will tear our clothes off each other. Down to the very last garment. Then she will take me, all of me, in her mouth and she will love it. Every inch of it. (To his wife while still looking at Kimathi in the eye) Won’t you darling?
Elderly Woman: (Husky voice) Oh yes I will. You know I will.
Elderly man: (To Kimathi) Then I will take my teeth off and I will work those nipples with my gum, just the way she likes it. (Taylor hides behind Mathenge who is busy fighting the urge to burst out laughing at his brother’s current discomfort) And I won’t even stop at the nipples. (To his wife but still staring Kimathi down) Will I darling?
Elderly woman: No baby you won’t.
Elderly man: I will go all the way down to the south where afforestation is appreciated… (And Mathenge can’t hold it in anymore so a huge burst of laughter comes tumbling out of his mouth and the elderly man turns to him with utmost severity) Did I say something funny?
Mathenge: (Stiffens) No sir.
Elderly Man: Then you must be a retard. Only retards laugh at things that are not funny. Are you a retard son?
Mathenge: No sir.
Elderly Man: (His eyes sweep Mathenge over and his voice softens) Are you a soldier son?
Mathenge: Yes sir.
Elderly Man: Well, takes one to know one. You married?
Mathenge: You could say that.
Elderly Man: You married or not?
Mathenge: I’m married
Elderly man: But not happily I figure
Mathenge: Probably not. Or she wouldn’t be here with some other dude
Elderly man: No she wouldn’t. She would be here with you. Whoring herself to you. (Jabs his own temple with his finger as the elevator doors open to the seventh floor) You have to think outside the box son. It has worked for me all these years we’ve been married. (To his wife) How long have we been married now darling?
Elderly woman: Thirty six years
Elderly Man: And who is my whore tonight darling?
Elderly Woman: The same whore you married thirty six years ago.
Elderly Man: My one and only whore. What would I do without you?
The elderly couple leaves and the doors shut as the elderly man flashes a careless salute at Mathenge who returns it just as carelessly.
Kimathi: (Loud sigh) That was not uncomfortable at all (Taylor coos softly in agreement) At least the do… (Stops himself just in time) Taylor understands sarcasm.
Outside Room 809 is a terrible place to be at the moment. The sounds emanating from inside represent true pleasure which is a searing dagger in Mathenge’s ribs.
Kimathi: If those sounds are anything to go by, Fakha is really living up to his name.
Mathenge: Shut up!
Kimathi: What do you propose we do brother? We could go down to the bar and grab a beer as they… (The woman’s voice inside the room escalates into a loud shriek) She just had an orgasm. A big one.
Mathenge: You are enjoying this, aren’t you?
Kimathi: Well, you are the one who went ahead and married a ten year old.
Mathenge: She is twenty three
Kimathi: And you are thirty three. What did you expect? You are like a grandpa to her. She can respect you and even love you but you can never be her best friend
Mathenge: Says the man who (The woman inside’s voice comes up again. This time in a guttural moan and Mathenge pictures her digging her nails into Fakha’s back the way she used to do when they started dating)
Kimathi: She just had another orgasm, didn’t she? Multiple orgasms from the sound of her voice.
Mathenge: We really are standing outside the door as my wife gets the brains fucked out of her on the other side of this door, aren’t we?
Kimathi: Yeah. We kinda are. You’ve got to give it to the guy. He is really giving it to her.
Mathenge: OK, I am going in. (His hand flies to the back of his waist where he pulls out a pistol and corks it)
Kimathi: Is that a Beretta?
Mathenge: Really? We are going to stand here and talk about my gun while my wife is in there getting orgasms from that dude?
Kimathi: (Rolling his eyes) Relax. He is already in there. Get them a minute. It is not like his name will be tattooed on her vagina.
Mathenge: (Irritably) Well, it is a Beretta M9 semi automatic handgun with a 15 bullet capacity (Adds with a mirthless smile) And if memory serves, it is a United States Armed Forces favorite side-arm. Happy? Can we please now get in there? (Kimathi unholsters his own gun and corks it and Mathenge expresses shock) A revolver! You brought a .357 Magnum? Why? It’s not like we came to shoot elephants?
Kimathi: Can we please stop my sister in law from having another orgasm now? Even though she appears to be totally having fun…
Mathenge unlocks the door using the extra key and it swings opens silently.
There are two small beds in the room. Small like three by six small. And on one corner is a comfortable looking chair. When Mathenge enters the room, the first thing his eyes catch is the face of his wife on top of Fakha doing things that married women do with their husbands.
The expression on his face doesn’t change. This isn’t the first time he has walked in on her with another man. He walks quietly to the chair in the corner and rests comfortably on it as he strokes the barrel of his gun. Taylor follows his silently and squats beside him and they both watch this intense lovemaking session.
Kimathi on the other isn’t so silent. When he enters the room, he trips on his sister in law’s stilettos and grunts as he regains his balance by supporting himself against the wall. But it is this noise that grabs the attention of the screwing couple and the lady turns, sees Kimathi with the gun, shrieks, gets off Fakha and hides under the blankets. Fakha sits up and glares at the intruder
Fakha: Who the hell are you?
Mathenge: (Admonishing his brother) Couldn’t make a silent entry could you? Oh, I forgot. They don’t teach stealth at Kiganjo
Kimathi: (Brushing the air in front of him) Ah relax. Think of this as pause. (Turns to Fakha) Oh, don’t stop on our account. We are only here for the show. (To his brother) And we’re willing to pay for it, aren’t we?
Mathenge: I haven’t watched porno since college. (To his wife) What say you you put on a show worth the weight of my wallet? Huh darling?
Fakha: Look, this isn’t…
Mathenge: What it looks like? Nah it ain’t. Because what I saw when I strode in was my wife riding you. At least that is what I thought I saw. But that couldn’t have been it, could it? Because, you know, she is married and all and I don’t think you are her husband. I should know. I married her. And I hear when they divorce you, you kind of notice. I haven’t noticed that I have been divorced. (To Kimathi) Have you noticed that I have been divorced?
Kimathi: No little brother. Unless they turned off the notification in that regard. (Scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully) Wait. Have they invented that option yet?
Mathenge: Not that I have heard of. And I am a lawyer. You’d think I’d know some of these things.
Kimathi: Guess it is a good thing that your wife is in the room. We should probably ask her if she has divorced you.
The brothers stand next to each other at the foot of the bed and glare at the naked ‘couple’.
Mathenge: Darling, am I divorced? (His wife keeps mum staring at him with big, round, scared eyes) Come on sweetheart. I am sure it is a simple question. You know; one of them that come with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers.
Wife: I… I am sorry I….
Mathenge: Shhh!!! Yes or no?
Mathenge: So you are just stepping out on me again. Huh. (Scratching his temple with the muzzle of his pistol) That is very interesting. I never thought I could be cheated on. You know; you meet a girl you love so much that you marry her; you do everything you can to make her happy because when she’s happy you’re happy, you are there for her emotionally, physically, financially….
Kimathi: Ah people cheat. Why don’t you grab a seat brother? I’ll handle this. (Mathenge obeys as Kimathi sits on the edge of the bed beside Fakha.) I hear your name is Fucker.
Kimathi: Fakha, Fucker who cares? It’s all tomato tomeito to me. So Mr. Fucker, I am sure you know that this nice girl you’re in bed with is married, no?
Fakha: She doesn’t love…
Kimathi: Uh uh uh… Just answer my question. Before my veneer of kindness gets sponged off by your inanity. (Turns to his brother surprised at himself) Huh. My English is kind of awesome nowadays. Get Taylor to dress your wife up. It is kind of distracting knowing that she’s just here looking naked and shit.
Mathenge: (To Taylor) Fetch the lady some clothes, will you?
Taylor springs to his feet and heads for the door where he collects the wife’s thongs and bra in his mouth and takes them to her side of the bed. She grabs them a little too fast and wears them under the blankets as Taylor makes another trip around the room collecting her skirt and blouse.
Kimathi: (To Fakha as Taylor works) When a thief steals, in some necks of the woods, they get their hands chopped off. So it does make perfect sense that if you steal another man’s woman, you get the organs that did the stealing chopped off.
Fakha: Please I…
After the wife is done dressing up, Mathenge beckons at her softly and pats his lap indicating that she should go sit on it. Silently, she steps out of the bed and does as asked. Every little bit of her is trembling.
Kimathi: (Begging) I just want to shoot a little bit of your penis off please. Pretty please? I have always wanted to blow someone’s gonads away. (Excited) But I will be careful. I promise. I will just shoot off a little meat! (Measuring what he means by ‘little’ using his thumb and index finger to indicate a millimeter) Please?
Fakha: I know I made a mistake and (turns to Mathenge) I swear to you this will never happen again….
Kimathi: (Grabs his chin and makes him face him) Hey! I am the one who’s talking to you. Now the choices here are really simple. You either let me shoot off the tip of your penis, or I shoot your head off. And I am pretty good at shooting people’s heads off. (Polite smile at him) I should know. (Playful whisper) I shoot people’s heads off all the fucking time. I cross my heart and hope to die if I am lying.
Fakha adopts a face that shows the world that he is about to cry his heart out especially after Kimathi’s face turns to stone and he points the gun at his inner thigh.
Fakha: Please. Please don’t.
After about a minute of begging, Kimathi bursts out laughing maniacally claiming that he wouldn’t shoot a man. He wouldn’t know what to do with all the blood and he would oh so hate to have to deal with the paperwork. So he asks Mathenge to send Taylor to the car to fetch a bottle of Old Monk he left lying around in the car.
Kimathi: (To his sister in law) Go with Taylor. (Whispering) And don’t call him a dog. He hates that.
Mathenge: (Reassuring his wife) Go on. He won’t bite. Stay in the car. We’ll just be a moment with Fakha here. Then we will go home and talk about whether I will kill you or divorce you. Either way, you are in trouble.
When Taylor takes Mrs. Mathenge to the car and brings back the bottle of Old Monk, the brothers coerce Fakha to have a shot or two or eight with them. And they all talk about how they have screwed other people’s women too. Married, engaged, dating… they all have a conversation like it doesn’t really matter what her marital status is. As long as she is a consenting adult. And they collectively whine about how bitter the Rum is.
A couple of hours later, the three drunken men and the drunken dog leave the room acting like friends. They all stand at the corridor as they wait for Mathenge to lock the room up. It is while he is locking up that Kimathi grabs a hold of Fakha’s ankles and hurls him off the corridor. He doesn’t even think about it. It is like an instinct that suddenly overcomes him. Like a yawn that he has no control over.
As Fakha falls down eight floors, he doesn’t scream. As the air beats his face fast closing the gap between his body and the hard concrete below, he doesn’t scare. It takes less than five seconds for a man to fall down eight floors to his death. He spends all that time trying to wonder what is happening. And though his body lands with a soft thud on the floor, it is the multiple shattering of his bones that attract Mathenge’s attention. That loud squash sound that sends neck hairs rising.
Mathenge: (Turns around after locking the room with a sense of urgency) What the hell was that sound? (Regarding the missing Fakha) Where is he?
Kimathi: Where is who?
Mathenge: The dude. The dude. That fucker dude.
Kimathi: Oh. I think he suddenly had an itch to take a couple of flying lessons. (Looks down and sees Fakha’s body on the concrete below and a pool of blood forming under him then turns to his brother) I don’t think he is a fast learner.
Mathenge: (Leans over the banister rail and stares down at the body in shock.) What the fuck did you do?
Kimathi: (Heading for the elevator) Ah shut up. As if this isn’t why you asked me to tag along
Mathenge: (Following him) You think I asked you over so we could kill the guy?
Kimathi: Say that again. A little louder this time. I am not sure if the whole Nairobi heard you.
Mathenge: (Grabs his brother’s shoulder and turns him around) Why did you do that? What are we going to do now? What is wrong with you?
Kimathi: (Casually as he heads for the elevator again) Ah relax. He is drunk. We’ll just say he fell off the rail. People fall to their deaths all the time. It ain’t like we shot the dude.
At the elevators, he presses the ‘going down’ button as his brother paces nervously around. They ride the elevator all the way down in silence and it is when they get to the ground floor that they realize that Fakha is trying to move even though his body is too broken to do much of that.
Kimathi: (Impressed) Can you believe that? Dude falls eight floors and he is still alive. Gotta love a fighter.
Mathenge: Now we have to call the hospital.
Kimathi: Yeah sure. You do that. I will just grab a smoke in the meantime.
He retrieves a packet of cigarettes from the inner pocket of his jacket and a lighter and lights up. He looks around for a place to sit as he smokes but on finding none, he looks at Fakha who is lying on his back, longingly. With the cigarette lying idly on his lips, Kimathi releases a long and relaxing sigh as he sits on Fakha’s heaving chest causing a line of dark red blood to flow from his mouth.
He smokes casually as Mathenge makes a frantic call to a hospital.
Mathenge: (After making the call and seeing his brother seated on the man’s chest) What are you doing? You’re going to kill him.
Kimathi: Ah. Death is overrated.
Mathenge: Seriously dude. Get off him!
Kimathi: (To Taylor) Yo Taylor! I hear human flesh is sweet. Kinda salty, but sweet. Maybe you could have a go at Fakha’s jugular. (Taylor looks up at Mathenge enquiringly)
Mathenge: Walk around Taylor
Kimathi: Just bite the guy already! Put him out of his misery! (But Taylor only takes orders from Mathenge so he steps away from the scene as Kimathi’s face crashes with disappointment. He takes a long drag from the cigarette and blows a couple of smoke rings before releasing a thick cloud around his face and asks with a low thoughtful voice) Do you know why your wife cheats on you? Why she always appears to be searching for something else?
Kimathi: Your wife. She cheats because she doesn’t feel safe with you. Whether she knows it or it is just a sub conscious thing she has; she doesn’t feel like you can protect her. She doesn’t feel like you are an alpha male. Are you an alpha male brother?
Mathenge: Get off the guy! You are killing him!
Kimathi: Oh. I was just getting comfortable. I had even forgotten that I was sitting on the chest of a dying man. In my head I was thinking I’m home hugging my little girls. (Turns to Fakha) Care for a cigarette mate? (Fakha stays silent so he shrugs at his brother) I don’t think he likes me too much. (To Taylor who is watching the unfolding scene with interest as he now squats beside Mathenge awaiting orders) What about you? Care for a smoke? (Taylor coos softly and looks away) I guess that’s a no. Well, if you are worried about my living chair, I figure that’s something we can remedy. (Casually, he covers Fakha’s mouth and nose with one hand and watches as the light fades from his eyes and his face stops twitching with every ember of life lost. As he kills the man, he speaks nonchalantly) Death is a funny thing brother. One second you are there having a drink with your friends, the next you shut down. Kind of like a computer. A button is pressed. A power button. And suddenly your screen goes blank. When you think about it, it gets a bit uncomfortable. Scary even. But when you take your mind off all that weighty, darky “oh my God I just killed a human being” bullshit” well, it gets pretty easy to press another person’s power button. I should know. I am doing it right now.
Mathenge: Well thing is brother, if I knew you were going to execute the guy in the dark, I would have just done this on my own. I guess I wasn’t quite ready to pop my ‘I have never killed anyone’ cherry yet.
Kimathi: And what was your plan? Plant some weed on him? Some coke maybe? Get me to get a few of my boys in the DCI to testify against him? Well, I just wasn’t feeling like taking the pussy route tonight. Sorry. And let’s all act like you tried really hard to stop me from cutting his breathe off just now you little hypocrite.
Mathenge: So what happens now?
Kimathi: Now your people in their little ambulance will get here in an hour. They will find the dude dead. An autopsy will be conducted. The tox-screen will indicate that he had alcohol in his system which will support our ‘he fell because he was drunk’ theory and his death will be ruled an accident. And the world will sleep better tonight knowing that there is one less wife fucker philandering with impunity. How’s that for a plan?
Mathenge: You are sick.
Kimathi: Thank you very much. I always love it when someone sees me for who I am. It leaves a lot less room for bullshit. Hey, I need to talk to some guys in Mathare tonight. Issue them a “get out of town or else…” warning. Care to join me?
Mathenge: Fuck off
Kimathi: I need my brother on this. Come on! You are in the army now! What are a few gang bangers in the slum going to do to you?
Mathenge: Are you going to kill them?
Kimathi: I am more afraid of them killing us. But hey, it might be a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.
Saturday. April 1st, 2017. Mathare; Nairobi. 01:03h
Inside this large room with six people in it (four men and two women), the most conspicuous thing is the arsenal on the table. There are enough automatic weapons on that table to aid significantly in a raid against a police station. Or six.
The group leader of the gang of criminals in the room is thirty-eight year old Josaya who is currently telling the group;
Josaya: The worst people ever put in this world are cops. Police officers are like that special breed of creatures that was cursed by God to roam this earth heaving piles and piles of shit all over the rest of mankind. Do you know what I hate about cops? Their sense of entitlement. They feel like just because they have that badge and maybe a gun, they run this country. A cop will shoot you dead right in front of everybody and nothing will happen to him. People will make a little noise; there will be more human rights defenders in the country for a couple of weeks and on good days, that cop will be arrested and if God is in a good mood, a trial will take place. But you can rest assured that that cop will be acquitted and put back in the street. I am a criminal. I rob banks for a living. Consequently and quite naturally, I don’t like cops. But another reason why I hate them is because every married cop I know has a side chic, all cops are greedy, they like free shit and they like killing people just because they have a gun and a badge. I like shaking people’s hands. It is a sign of respect. When I walk into a bank with my M16 Rifle, I like shaking the bank manager’s hand before robbing his joint dry. Because I respect him as a human being. But a cop; I would never shake a cop’s hand to save my own life because I don’t respect them in any capacity. To me, they are not even human. They are dogs; a necessary evil meant to remind humans that a government exists. You don’t shake your dog’s hand. You just don’t.
Just then, the door opens and Kimathi strides in with his big smile on his face, his Revolver in hand and Taylor and Mathenge in tow.
Kimathi: Ladies and gentlemen, give a welcoming hand to the dogs. (Points at Taylor) And Taylor. (Whisper to everyone) He doesn’t like being called a dog.
Josaya: (The rest of his crew is reaching for their weapons but he motions them to stay calm with his hands as he returns Kimathi’s smile) If it ain’t the big bad dog with the big bad Revolver. And he brought two more dogs with him this time. (Taylor growls) What can I do you for Sergeant?
Kimathi: (Taylor and Mathenge stand at one corner of the semi lit room as Josaya waves Kimathi to a seat and lights a cigarette) Do you know what I really want to do right now Josaya?
Josaya: If you came here to bore me to death with words, you are doing a great job. (Blows a cloud of smoke in Kimathi’s face)
Kimathi: (Brushing the smoke away with his hand) I came to tell you that I know.
Josaya: (Feigns surprise and addresses his crew with jest) Oh my God! He knows! (Turns to Kimathi) In my defence, when your mama decided to lay with me, I didn’t know she was your mother. Or I would have said yes when she asked me to take the condom off.
Kimathi: (Ignores the remark) Later today, April 1st, 2017 at 14:30h, you and your bunch of sorry looking baboons will try to rob the co-op bank at Moi Avenue. At that time, me and my group of well armed law enforcement officers will be waiting for you. When you show up, (Leans closer to Josaya to drive his point home) we will kill you all.
Josaya: (Chuckles as he fetches another cigarette from his packet.) Want a cigarette?
Kimathi: I quit
Josaya: Come on. As a show of good faith.
Kimathi: (After appearing to think about it for a second) Sure. Why not. Cancer is as good a way to go as any, right? (He takes the cigarette and Josaya lights it up for him)
Josaya: You already know my plan Kimathi. I am well armed as I am sure your intelligence has informed you, my crew is well trained, and we are all hungry enough for that money. So here’s what will happen tomorrow. We will show up at that bank with enough arsenal to bring a military barracks to its knees and you will show up with whatever you think is prudent for you to show up with. Hey, let me ask you something?
Kimathi: Is this the point where you say you’re ready to die for money? Then ask if I am ready to die defending it?
Josaya: Nah. I don’t do clichés. Did you ever watch that 1995 movie called Heat? Directed by Michael Mann…
Kimathi: Starring Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro? Are you going to refer me to that lengthy shoot-out?
Josaya: Look at us finishing each other’s sentences and shit! Damn! I feel like we’re married right now. Take that shoot-out, which is hands down the best shoot out ever brought to film even today, and transfer it to the streets of Nairobi. I will kill you tomorrow for that money.
Kimathi: (Nonchalant) I thought you said you don’t do clichés.
Josaya: I lied.
Kimathi: I guess then that only one of us sees dawn tomorrow, right?
Josaya: Isn’t this thrilling? Knowing that there is a 50% chance you’ll be dead in eighteen hours? I don’t know about you, but I have me a boner. (Crashing out his cigarette) This is so exciting!
Kimathi: (Crashes out his half smoked cigarette and rises up) I would offer to shake your hand, but you don’t do respect when it comes to cops.
Josaya: When I do kill you, I will shake the hand of your corpse.
Kimathi: Fair enough. (He bows his head a little, winks at one of the ladies in the room and signals at Mathenge and Taylor. The brothers and the dog walk out with Mathenge wearing a “I don’t understand what just happened” face which makes him look like he is fighting the urge to take a dump)
April 1st, 2017. Eastleigh. Nairobi. 02:41h
Abu is holed up in a single room apartment with three other men and a map on the table in front of them. He is explaining something to them;
Abu: Today at 15:00h, we will take this bank right here (Points at Cooperative Bank along Moi Avenue on the map). Since it is Saturday, the bank will have closed and only the staff will be in there. We will divide ourselves in two groups. One group will assemble the staff as the other one plants C4 (pointing at various places on blue prints of the bank also on a nearby table) here, here and here. At 17:00h and after we receive the signal that the girl Halima has put herself on fire, we will drag the bank officials to the street, line them up as everyone watches and execute them. You might be wondering what we will be doing inside the bank between 3pm and 5pm. We will be recording the bank staff as we persuade them to say that there is no other God but Allah, and Mohammed is his true prophet. Videos which we will upload on the internet for our Muslim brothers and sisters. We will “persuade” them all to denounce Christianity and then kill them when the time is right. Of course if we have learnt anything about Kenyans is that they love to gather around a spectacle. We will make sure we put up a good show to attract enough of them. Then when they gather around, the C4 we planted at the bank will go off. Allahu Akbar…
“Allahu Akbar” His group says. Under the bed in the room are wooden boxes full of C4 and automatic rifles. Unknown to them, a group of heavily armed robbers and equally armed cops have a date at that very bank at that very time. Robbers, police officers and terrorists. All at one point. All planning to kill.