Paradise for Bandits

By Githara Kimani

When Charlie Rumi, a drug-world factor gets wiped out with his beautiful wife by a corrupt policeman over a deal gone wrong, his two sons, Bobbie and Andrew, decide to go after his killers. Like his father, Bobbie is an underworld operative who has built himself into a powerful prince of crime on the loot his dad had on the night he was murdered.

Bobbie has landed a lucrative deal to use his army of goons to protect the Nairobi City public transport business against the depredations of one Sam Bwoba, believed to be the biggest crime lord in the country. In Sam’s pay is one Dahir Ishmail, the deputy police commissioner in charge of the city police force.

Working with Michael, a down-and-out free-lance journalist who has been after the Rumi murder story for six years, Bobbie and Andrew soon discover that it was Dahir who killed their father. But they also discover that both Sam and Dahir are only small fry working for a powerful criminal organization with a dangerous economic and political agenda; an organization that deceptively calls itself the Society for Attainment of Social Stability... The SASS.

This SASS thing is a ruthless monster of tremendous political and economic power. It has interests in drugs and all manner of criminal business; it has tentacles in all sectors of the legal economy, but its real agenda is political.

All is going well for the SASS. Its grand plans to take over the country are at an advanced stage when out of the blues, the Rumi boys drop square in its path, and everything suddenly swings out of control.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Githara Kimani
• Release date: May 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9789966170064

Githara Kimani

Githara Kimani is a Kenyan who lives in Kenya.His other books are: GOLDFIELDS, published by Oxford University Press (East Africa) and available in print version. Blessed are the Solomons, available in E book, and Toy Phone also available in E book at major e-book retailers.He is presently working on another books.He writes movie scripts and radio plays.He can be contacted onEmail: [e-mail]: [phone]

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PARADISE FOR BANDITS

Githara Kimani

All rights reserved

Copyright ©: 2023 by Githara Kimani

ISBN 9789966170064

License Note

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This is fiction. All characters are creations of the author and are not intended to represent anyone living or dead.

CHAPTER ONE

Charlie Rumi got up from the hotel bed. He glanced at his watch with some impatience that showed in the momentary compression of his lips. He had sat there for close to twenty minutes. He thrust his hands deep into the pockets of the overcoat he was wearing and looked around the bare walls, noting with distaste the brown smudges on the white paint. A film of fine dust had settled on the lampshade and on a basket of old dried flowers hanging on one of the walls.

He started pacing. In the right-hand pocket, his fingers closed around a gun. The feel of the metal in his hand was reassuring. Nothing else was, however, because Dahir Ishmail–Da-Ish, as he was popularly known down at the Lower-Mid-Town police station where he worked–was now almost twenty minutes late.

From outside, the hum of the city reached him mutedly. In the small room he felt claustrophobic. He walked towards the window intending to pull aside the curtain and open a shutter to let in a little of the outside, and maybe take a look out there. His hand stopped halfway. It was not good practice, he thought, resuming his impatient pacing. He thrust the hand back into his pocket where it continued to caress his gun.

Damn you Da-Ish. Where the hell are you?

He glanced at his watch again. Barely two minutes had passed since he had last looked, he realized.

I need to calm down, he thought. But... Why the hell was Da-Ish never on time? he wondered, but even as the thought passed through his mind, he realized just how unfair it was. Da-Ish was always on time, always delivered, and…

That was it!

He stopped his pacing, standing still in the middle of the small room. That was it. He was anxious because Da-Ish, who was never late for an appointment with him, was late.

Why?

He stared at the closed door, eyes narrowed. Could Da-Ish have somehow got wind of his plans? No, it was not possible. How the hell would Da-Ish know what he was planning when he had confided in no one? Not even his wife, Lolly, knew exactly how this was supposed to work. Come to think of it, he had not at any time conclusively decided to do this, until late that afternoon. It had sort of come in stages. He had toyed with the idea for two days, half-rejecting it as too bold, too aware of the consequences if he failed, yet at the same time getting tantalizingly drawn to it. When he called Da-Ish yesterday to set up this meeting, it was the normal thing to do. He was still not completely sold on this diversion from the usual plans. At 2.00pm today, he had gone and talked to two other men, still weighing it up. It was after he talked to these men that he realized he had, without ever making a definite decision, committed to go ahead with the plan. And having accepted it, he had quickly made the final arrangements.

And now here he was, waiting for Da-Ish, whose arrival would kick off the real action.

He realized he was mainly only nervous, edgy because he was reaching beyond himself, veering off the beaten path, yet deep down he felt a cold excitement, the same kind he had felt that night years back when he walked out of his shack in Mathare to go and meet Kyalo to conclude his first drugs deal. Somewhat irrationally, given the circumstances, as if he wished to recap before rolling down the blinds on a part of his life he knew was right then playing out, his mind switched to the past, to that eventful night. It was an important day in his life, for it was also the day he met his wife, Lolly.

Ah, Lolly, she of the long, glossy tresses that fell over her shoulders, her satiny, near-white skin and the tantalizingly faint blue in her eyes; that exciting exotic lilt in her silky voice. Lolly was perfection. He had met her some nineteen years ago, when she was barely fifteen, and plucked her from the slums where she had been living with her destitute family; an aging, fat Creole mother and two indigent brothers who spent their time chewing qat and sticking needles into their arms, all mired in poverty and hopelessness.

Charlie had just plucked enough courage to dump a frustrating existence as a law-abiding hawker on the mean streets of Nairobi to enter the criminal, dangerous but lucrative world of drugs. The break came one afternoon when the city inspectorate swooped down on a bunch of hawkers on the street with characteristic savagery. In the ensuing stampede, his cousin, Clem, a newbie just in from the village, was crushed by a bus as he ran for safety.

He had had it. The sudden, uncalled-for death shocked him into realizing he would most likely die on the street one day, too. If that was his fate, he swore he would not die trying merely to put food on the table. He won’t die a petty death for hawking oranges. No. He would do something big, die big. His reasoning was simple, dictated by survival and completely unencumbered by thoughts about what was good and what was not: If a hawker could be treated like a criminal and hounded to death, what difference was there between him and a drug dealer? Only one: A drug dealer had a better chance to make a lot more money and live a bigger, better life; and not necessarily a short one, either.

He knew. He had been around. He knew drug dealers and he knew hawkers.

He remembered the night well. He had left his wife, Mary, and their little boy, Bobbie, in their two-room timber shack in the slums of Mathare and crossed the road to Eastleigh to meet his contact, Kyalo in a pub, promising them to return in about an hour. In the club, as he walked along a dark corridor to a room at the back where Kyalo waited, a sweet young voice had attracted his attention from the shadows.

Sshh… Hey, guy…

He merely glanced into the dark corner, saw a small figure in the shadows and dismissed the caller as just another down-and-out from the slum trying to hook a guy for a quickie in some dirty room upstairs, a common thing in this type of low club. He did not care much for that sort of thing. It was a costly kind of fun for him. As a hawker, he was barely making ends meet for himself, his wife and little son.

In a dark backroom, he found Kyalo waiting for him behind a forest of beer bottles.

What the hell, man? Are you trying to drown yourself? he asked and sat down.

Have a beer, Charlie, Kyalo invited him, but he shook his head emphatically. He was there to do business then go back to his slum room and sleep, ready for tomorrow. He knew Kyalo made a lot of money factoring for several people, but Kyalo was no better than a vagabond who spent money carelessly when he had it then resorted to bumming for fags when nothing was going for him.

That was not the kind of life he wanted. He intended to make a pile of money quickly and move his family the hell out of the slums.

No, Kyalo. I have to get back home, he said.

What's the hurry? Relax. Have a beer and let's chat. There is a lot I can tell you about this business, Kyalo insisted and belched loudly.

I know, Kyalo, but I told my wife to wait up for me. She gave me only one hour.

Kyalo laughed at him. He wasn't married. Indeed, he disdained serious emotional attachments, being aware he could never carry one to any fruition.

Wife? You are rushing off to go back to your wife? he spat wife out as though it was a dirty word.

Cut it, Kyalo. You got the money?

Okay. Sure, I got the money. Let's see what you got, Kyalo said.

With false confidence, Charlie dipped his hand into his pocket, drew out ten tiny sachets filled with a white powder, and dropped them carelessly on the table. Being a rookie, and this being his very first deal, he was aware it could go wrong. He could lose money. The guy who sold him this stuff may just have fobbed him off with a bunch of sachets filled with white chalk. There was no way for him to tell...until now.

He winced at the prospect. He would have to go after him and…

No. he would just have to cut his losses and walk away. That’s it. He did not want to start that way on this road. If anything, he was determined to go into this as quietly as possible.

Apprehensively he watched as Kyalo took a random sachet and examined the white powder inside, then, wearing the face of a connoisseur, he pulled out a pin from the tip of his shirt collar and stuck it severally into the polythene. He squeezed out a few powder grains and put them on his tongue. He nodded and looked at Charlie.

Well, what's doing?

Charlie sighed, relieved.

You know what, Kyalo. We talked. He was aware he was being screwed, but it was to be expected. He was the rookie here. He himself had screwed the guy who gave him the drugs. When he put out feelers for possible deals, a contact had taken him to a leaky shack in Majengo where he found a dirt-covered guy huddled in fear. He was only a few steps ahead of the police and wanted just enough money to keep him running.

"Just the same, knock off something. Two thao, manze..." Kyalo said

You taking the lot?

Of course. And more if you have it.

One hundred and ninety thousand for the lot, then.

Kyalo took the sachets and dropped them into his pockets then took out a thick roll of bills, snatched off ten, and chucked the rest across the table to Charlie. Charlie casually dropped the money in a pocket and stood up.

You sure you don't want a beer?

No, thanks, I’m good. I'll see you around, Charlie said, feeling good. He had made his first real lump sum of money. This was going to work out okay, and if he could help it, he did not intend to get trapped in the self-congratulatory kind of rut Kyalo got into every time he made a little money.

He went out into the corridor and began walking quickly towards the bar.

Hey, guy...

Charlie turned his head and gasped. The girl had left the shadows and was standing in a triangle of light spilling out through a door at the far end of the corridor opposite the entrance to the urinal. She was small, very slim… A kid, Charlie thought. Her dark glossy hair fell freely over her shoulders, and she was dressed in a tiny skirt that left her slim legs bare almost to her buttocks.

What's up guy? Come on, I’m real.

Charlie turned and walked over to her. She took his hand and pulled him out of the light into the shadows.

What the hell are you doing in a place like this?

That's not a nice question. Come on, I'll give you a good time, she said leaning against the wall and tugging at his arm as if she meant to give him a good time right there.

Good time? Do you even know what that means? You're just a kid.

I'm not, I’m sixteen, she said fiercely. Charlie laughed. She had to be lying. She looked no more than fourteen.

And you think sixteen makes you a woman? Where do you live?

That's none of your business. And get the hell away from me, wise guy, she said angrily and slumped against the wall, suddenly cold, hands dejectedly crossed over her tiny breasts.

Hey, no offense, come on, Charlie said, trying not to laugh again.

Kyalo came out headed for the urinal, saw Charlie in the shadows, and laughed.

Is that the wife, Charlie? You're worse than I thought.

You shut up, Kyalo, Charlie said and turned to the girl. She was looking away from him, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Why are you crying? Hey, come on. Is there a way out of here other than the front? I… I want to talk to you, he said, surprising himself. He did not know what it was he wanted to talk to her about, but something about her being in such a place, about her looks and seeming vulnerability kind of infuriated him and at the same time drew the man in him irresistibly.

She nodded towards the half-open door. Charlie took her hand and led the way into the doorway.

***

Charlie paced the room, his ears keen to the sounds of the night outside. Momentarily he froze as a siren blared, then, as it died away, he went on pacing. He was a big man with good muscle now beginning to be over-laid with fat, dark of complexion, clean-shaven under the dark homburg, and sporting a dark brush mustache now streaked with grey.

He had been in drugs now for close to two decades, not in a big way, but he had made a living out of it. He owned his house in a good neighborhood, had a good car, and some spending cash in his account. He was not rich, but he lived well; he, his wife, and son Andrew. He had avoided violence, preferring to act not as a gangster but as a businessman, the way an owner of an insurance agency was. His role in the trade was that of a facilitator, an agent through who the real drug people connected. He got his money through cuts and commissions on deals he helped to arrange such as the one he was involved in at the moment. Only this time, it was going to be... Well, a little different.

He reviewed his plans carefully in his head and realized that with Da-Ish already running late, those plans were going wrong. He reminded himself he was over-reaching himself. And once again, he debated briefly if maybe he shouldn’t just let it go and withdraw to his safe limits.

He shrugged, realizing it was now too late to step back. The decision had been made and plans put in motion.

He raised his hand to check his watch again and froze, hearing brisk footsteps on the corridor outside. The footsteps stopped outside his door. For a moment there was silence, then came a soft knock on the door.

He took a deep breath and finished the action of checking his watch. It was 8.24 pm. If it was Da-Ish, and he was expecting no one else, then he was twenty-four minutes late. Had there been time, he would have liked to have the damned cop explain himself. As it was, there was not going to be any time at all.

Or so he hoped.

He turned to the door slowly, took a step forward, and reached it. He put his hand on the key that was in the lock and stood rigid, as though waiting. There came another knock on the door, this time louder, impatient.

Good.

He sighed again, closed his eyes and tightened his right hand around the gun in his pocket. And his mind flashed once again to that night he met Lolly.

She had led him familiarly through a dirty, dark corridor into a shadowy Eastleigh night. They stood in the shadows, her hand still in his. He was still not sure what he wanted with her, just that he had to get her out of that place he had found her.

Have you eaten? he asked her.

No. I don't have the money…yet. I'm going to eat later.

Come on, then. I think you better eat, he said and led her to a small café across the street. He ordered a plate of chips, two eggs and coffee for her, then sat back to watch her eat hungrily as he nursed a cup of coffee.

She can’t be more than fourteen, but… God, is she beautiful?

I don’t want you to get angry, but… Hey, you can’t be doing this… I mean, I think you’re kind of young to be in this sort of thing,

Lolly stopped eating and looked up at him.

Look guy, I told you, I'm almost sixteen and... Look, it’s not like I love to do it, but, I need the money, she said, looked at him levelly for a moment, then continued, I might as well tell you; I need money to take home with me. I thank you for the food, but if you can’t give me the money, I have to get out there again and find some.

She was so forthright, so matter-of-fact about it he almost laughed. They stared at each other in silence, then Lolly turned back to her food and began to stuff forkfuls of chips into her mouth, cheeks bulging.

For some reason, looking at her, he thought of his cousin, Clem, who had died on the street a few months back. Clem, only twenty two, had come to Nairobi determined to do whatever it took to make a living for his wife and child back home. Like her, he was forthright and stared out into the ugliness of the world with an innocence of intention that was crushing to behold. And now he was dead, leaving his small daughter that he loved so.

Hey, slow down, Charlie said, suppressing a smile.

I need to get back to work, mister. I have to make some money tonight, Lolly told him and slammed another forkful into her mouth.

Why is the money so important? Why do you need it so bad?

Is that a question? Why are you out meeting that drug-dealing asshole, Kyalo, at this hour?

Hey, you know Kyalo, then?

Of course, I know him. He is a mean bastard. He threw me out in the middle of the night and refused to pay me. I hate him, Lolly said angrily.

Charlie stared at her, feeling not only surprised but experiencing a stab of pure jealousy as well. He just could not imagine Kyalo and... No.

Where do you live?

Mathare.

With your parents?

With my mother and my two elder brothers.

Brothers? Come on. Why don’t they help you instead of you doing this? Charlie asked with some annoyance.

She stared at him for a while, then shook her head, a faint and rather sad smile playing on her lips.

You don’t get it, maybe. Mother is old and my brothers… Well, they are both worthless drug addicts.

Drug addicts? Charlie asked and felt a tiny stab of guilt. Here he was, out dealing drugs with Kyalo and talking to a beautiful and desperate girl who is out trying to hook up a man for the night so she could take some money home with her, because her brothers, who should be the ones out working, were useless drug addicts.

Yes, addicts. You just wouldn’t believe how they are. Why, that Randy tried to rape me earlier today.

Charlie suddenly leaned forward, aghast.

He what?

You heard me. He tried to rape me, and would have had mother not pulled him off me.

Godalmighty. What kind of family is that?

Rotten, mister. Real rotten. Those two spend all their time getting drunk and sticking needles into their arms.

Wow! Tell me about them.

With touching frankness, she told him how earlier that day, she had come from having her only good skirt mended and found her elder brother, Randy, sprawled half-up against the wall of their shack, nursing a glass of liquor and muttering drunkenly to himself. A soft oaf with a bearded face that looked like an over-ripe mango from over-indulgence in drugs and cheap liquor, he was dressed in a dirty old coat that was several sizes too large and a pair of dirty faded jeans, Randy’s hair, with a texture like her own, was long and dirty, his eyes rheumy. His mouth hung slack and wet, lips red and pitted to almost cancerous from liquor.

As she passed into the shack from where she could hear the rough sounds of an un-tuned guitar, he gave her a wet leer, grabbed the glass and swigged, then lolled his chin on his chest.

Lolly passed on into a kind of sitting room. It was dark and chaotic, the only light coming in through a small window high up on the wall. Her other brother, Rick, sat on a tattered old car seat, the only sitting furniture in the room. Rick was tall, rangy. His hair had the same texture as Lolly’s and Randy’s, but because he was handsome and fancied himself some sort of music star, his was worn in thick heavy dreadlocks that he knew gave him an uncanny resemblance to Bob Marley. His face was just as blotchy and discolored. He was sitting with his dirty feet up on a low, rough table with a clatter of utensils on it. He had a roll of bhang stuck in his mouth, and was strumming on a guitar discordantly.

The room was dirty, littered and clattered with things strewn everywhere on the floor. There was a curtained off area, and a door that led to the one private room, their mother’s bedroom.

Lolly slipped behind the curtained-off area, singing softly, sat on the bed and pulled out the tinny skirt she had gone to have mended. She looked at it critically, stood up, and put it against her thighs. She did not quite like it, primarily because, she being small naturally the skirt enhanced that smallness, making her look too much like a schoolgirl. While this sometimes worked to her advantage, particularly with the more depraved of men, it was often not so good. It made most men shy away. There was a law about sex with minors.

Well, it was the only good one she had. It would do for a while, but she needed to make some money and buy herself something better. She began to dress hurriedly. There was nothing in the house. She had to go out and bring home some money for food. As she slipped off the dress she was wearing, Randy came into the room and she could hear him talking drunkenly to Rick.

Rick, hey, got a fag on you, man? I feel fucking lousy, man,

What is it? You coming down with something? Rick asked, still playing on his guitar, screwed-up face writhed in marijuana smoke.

Ah, no, man, nothing I can’t take care of with a nice big snort of good shit. Give me a fag.

I don’t have a fag, just this joint. Want a puff?

Randy staggered over to Rick, flopped down on the car seat, and took the joint. He puffed on it several times and gave it back.

Aw, man, I need to get my hands on a pinch of real good shit. Damn, I'm hungry. Where has that girl gone to? Lolly! Lolly!

I’m in here, Randy. What do you want? I’m busy, Lolly called out.

In there? What the hell are you doing in there? I’m hungry, Randy called back indignantly.

I’m changing, Randy.

Where are you going? Randy asked, stood up and staggered to the curtain, grabbed it, and unceremoniously swept it back. Lolly only had the skirt on, her upper body bare, pert little breasts standing out provocatively, her near-white skin flawless. She shrieked, grabbed some garment off the bed, and tried to cover herself.

Randiee… You bastard! Pull that curtain back and get out.

Randy just stood there ogling her, a slack-lipped grin on his mouth. Behind him, Rick too stared.

Oh, God. Rick, take a look at her. Isn’t she something? Man, we got us one hell of a beautiful sister. Just take a look. She’s a angel, Randy said finally, still staring lecherously at her. Then he let the curtain drop, but with him on the inside. He began to walk towards her, reeling slightly. There was a look in his eyes, a cunning, hungry look.

Suddenly Lolly looked alarmed. She took a step back.

Get out Randy…

Where are you going, little girl? Randy asked, his voice now thick with unmistakable desire.

Lolly stepped back, still clutching the garment over her breasts.

Randiee... Get out or I’m going to scream.

Randy lunged and grabbed her hand. He twisted it to force her down on the bed. Lolly began to scream.

Mum...! Mum...!

Scream louder, little bitch. Where are you off to at this hour, huh? You want to go peddle ass, don’t you, bitch?

He twisted the arm harder, forcing her on the bed face down. He tried to pin her down with his body, but she put up a fierce fight, biting and scratching with her free hand, in the process making him angry so he slapped her twice on the face.

Hey, leave off, Randy. Are you crazy? She is your sister, Rick said from the other side of the curtain.

Mum...! Mum...! Lolly screamed, still fighting him off her.

The door across the room from Rick opened and a grey-haired Creole woman came out. She was of enormous girth with a face so deeply lined she looked like an ancient Indian squaw. She waddled across to the curtained-off area and threw the curtain back.

Randy was laying half on Lolly who was still struggling, biting and trying to gouge his eyes out. The mother grabbed Randy and hauled him off Lolly. Lolly grabbed the garment and covered herself again, glaring tearlessly at her brother.

For Christ’s sake, Randy, what are you doing? She is your sister, you doped-out fool, the woman said.

Sister? No, goddamnit. She is a fucking whore. You’re a whore yourself, bitch, Randy snapped back at his mother. She slapped him hard across the mouth. Randy wiped bloody spittle off his lip with the back of his hand, laughed and staggered off towards the door. Near the door, a plastic basin full of utensils stood on a stool. He kicked it down, scattering and breaking things, turned and flipped his mother a double bird, then uttered a hyena bark and walked out.

The mother looked at Lolly.

Are you okay? Did he hurt you? she asked with real concern. Her daughter was precious to her... to them all. Often it was she who stood between them and nights without food.

I’m okay. I hate that bastard.

Don’t talk like that, Lolly. He is your brother, mother said, dropped the curtain and walked back towards her room.

He is not my brother! Lolly shouted after her and resumed her dressing. Rick, who had watched the whole show gape-mouthed now whacked himself and burst out laughing, then resumed playing his guitar.

A moment later, Lolly came out dressed in the miniskirt, a sleeveless top, and high heels, slender arms bare. In her hand was a tiny fancy purse. She headed for the door, long dark glossy hair cascading behind her head. Behind her, Rick stopped playing and watched her.

Lolly, you shouldn’t, you know. Why don’t you...?

Lolly turned on him, hair flying.

What do you mean I shouldn’t, Rick? There is nothing in this house and all you guys do is sit around drinking and doping and behaving like you owned the Hilton. You two need to get off your asses and bring some money in here, or just get the hell off my case, she snapped back and swept out of the room.

Rick stared after her, then threw back his head and bellowed with laughter, slapping his thigh.

***

Lolly sat on a neatly made bed watching Charlie pacing about thoughtfully. Suddenly, Charlie stopped and looked at her. She was achingly beautiful and looking at her, quite aware his life was about to change because he was not going to let this girl go back to…to that.

I don’t want you to go back there, but then, what do I do with you?

Lolly smiled coquettishly at him. He thought it unbecoming.

Damnit, she is only fifteen and already behaving like any old hooker.

I can tell you that, mister, she said and patted the bed significantly.

Can’t you get that out of your mind? he asked angrily.

What else is there? I live in a shack in the slum, for God’s sake. What else is there?

Charlie stopped and squatted before her, looking up into her face.

I too live in a shack in the slums, Lolly.

So what? You’re a man. You can rob and kill when you go hungry. What about me? What about my old mother?

Charlie stared at her, mentally conceding the point. He had come out to do a drug deal because he could do that. She had come out to peddle her beautiful young body because that was what she could do. And come to think of it, it was no worse than what he was doing. Neither was legal or socially acceptable.

He pulled a chair over and sat down facing her, and spoke calmly, gravely.

Listen, Lolly. Hey, I understand. Don’t for a moment think I blame you. I live in the slums too, so I know how things are, but… Hey, listen. What you’re doing is dangerous. You’re very beautiful and as soon as you’re… I mean, as soon as you put on some weight and stop looking like a minor, you will be attracting men to you like a magnet, he said, paused, and looked at her. There was a cynical, twisted little smile on her scarlet lip as if to say she had heard all this crap before. He ignored.

But there is danger there. Men are dangerous animals. Some of those you’ll be going with will be sick as dogs, believe me. At best, you could end up with a deadly disease. At worst, some psycho will strangle you, or stick a knife in your gut. Believe me, I have been around and I know how this little deal works out.

Lolly turned her head away, biting on her lower lip, almost in tears.

I’m all alone. Mother can’t get customers anymore and...

Charlie leaned forward, horrified.

Customers? What kind of customers?

Lolly looked at him, seeming puzzled by his surprise.

Men, of course. Mum has been at it since father left us thirteen years ago. She was younger then. Now she is too old and I have to earn money.

Lolly, you’re saying... She makes you do it, no?

Stop being silly. She didn’t have to make me do anything. What else was there? We needed food... I just had to.

Charlie sprang to his feet, stared at her, then started pacing. And he thought again of his dead cousin, Clem, thought of his beautiful little daughter, now without a father to care for her and therefore just as exposed as this girl.

He stopped, resolutely pulled out two thousand-shilling notes.

Here, take this. Tomorrow morning, go and see your mother, then meet me here in the evening.

Lolly took the money, looked at it, unbelieving and somewhat puzzled. She wasn’t used to getting paid in thousands.

Two thousand bob? What...? You’re sure you don’t want to...?

Cut it, Lolly. Just do what I have told. Take the money to your mother in the morning then come and meet me here tomorrow at seven in the evening. I have to go now.

He turned abruptly, walked to the door, stopped, and looked back at her. He was agitated. He was confused. He was aware he was about to get his life twisted up in big ugly knots, but…

And lock this door, Lolly. Don’t go out again.

What do you want with me, she asked, truly puzzled. She wasn’t used to men showing concern for her. All they had for her was lust and meanness.

I don’t know. I don’t… Look, take the money to mom tomorrow, then come back and…let’s talk. Okay?

For a moment, they looked at each other, she still holding the two bills in her hand, then he turned, opened the door, and walked out.

Lolly stared at the closed door, then her eyes fell on the money in her hand.

Two thousand bob? What does he want? she asked loudly, and sat staring off.

When Charlie got home, his wife, Mary, and their son, Bobbie, had long slept. His double life as a drug dealer with a family on one side and a klande on the other had started. And so too had began the first of a series of events that would, years later, blow the lid off a deadly criminal conspiracy.

Never in life had Charlie ever thought he could get into that kind of entanglement, or wished for it, but then, neither had he ever wished to be a drug dealer.

Well, shit happens.

A few months down, Lolly got pregnant. By then there was real trouble with Mary. She was acting up horrid and had refused to take any help from him. Fights erupted the minute he set foot in the house. On the other hand, Lolly was nagging him about their half-life in lodgings. She wanted to settle down in a place of her own. Fortunately, he had made several good deals and could afford a different kind of life.

He abandoned Mary and her boy, Bobbie, in the Mathare slums and took a one-bedroom flat in neighboring Eastleigh with Lolly where his new son, Andrew, was born.

But for the sense of guilt and the pull of blood that once made him make a half-hearted, ill-fated attempt to reunite with his first wife and son, those eighteen years with Lolly had been years of bliss. Lolly, a sensitive lover, was beautiful then as a nubile fifteen-year-old. Age and motherhood had only enhanced these qualities, and at thirty-three, she still looked as though she was barely twenty.

***

His right hand still clutching on the gun in his pocket, Charlie Rumi opened his eyes slowly, took another deep breath, and turned the key in the lock, seized the door handle and jerked it down with a sudden noisy wrench that at the same time pulled the door open.

Dahir Ishmail stood outside, his dark eyes darting over Charlie restlessly, suspiciously, smooth dark face shinny from the cold white light from the fluorescent fitting above his head. He was short and rapidly going to fat. In his hand, he carried a suitcase. His right hand hovered at the front, free and nervous. He was a cop and Charlie knew he always carried a gun under his coat.

It was a corner room and standing in the door, Charlie could see the corridor leading from the main stairs make a turn to continue towards a few more rooms ahead, and at the very end,