Twisted Times: Son of Man (Twisted Times Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

“Ken, did you have to be rude to your uncle? How mouldy of you? What kind of a person are you? Don’t you even have a little respect for visitors even if you’ve
none
for me?”

I was mute, listening.

“Listen to me, and listen good. There is no way under any circumstance you are going to conduct yourself like that in this house. Now, tomorrow you must go and apologize to your uncle and…”

I did not even stir.

“Are you even listening to me?” I was really getting into his nerves. “You are going to take the job, come rain, come sunshine. My mind is made up.”

I sprang up out of bed with speed that startled him. I stared at him with a despicable sneer, my heart throbbing. I was burning with such loathing that I was about to melt.

Thoughts clogged my mind like threads in a thick drapery, feeling like a hare ready to challenge the lion to a duel.

“My mind is also made up...” I said.

The biff across my face got me by surprise. I think I tasted some salty liquid somewhere. I lost my balance but tried not to fall. Stars twinkled in the darkness of my blurring vision. When the fuzziness cleared my nose was bleeding dripping small pockmarks on the floor. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists and before I could do anything that I would regret later I stormed out and left home in rage with no
Final Destination
in mind.

There was nothing in my past life that I could thank Dad for.
In my past life.
That’s what I thought as I rambled to nowhere in particular. Time and again he had interfered with my plans. Only a year-and-a-half before he had objected to my idea of studying criminology and instead ended up sending me to a slum college in Thika to study Certified Public Accounts.

“What? You want to be a criminal?” he had asked me sarcastically, and my efforts to convince him were futile. All my pleas landed on deaf ears and I knew better than to push any further. There was nothing I could do. I ended up with a diploma in CPA and Computer Operations. Despite all what he had done for me up to now, I could not heartily thank him. I hated him with passion for the mere fact that he kept  getting his way.

It was time I did it my way.

“So what?” a familiar voice said in the distance. “
University! University!
What does he know of University? Nonsense.
‘I am going to the University, I am going to the University’
. Let me come. You will know that this home is mine, and nobody should question what I say. Aeeh! So, a little thing like you can tell me,
‘My mind is also made up.’
We shall see.”

He was back. It was his custom to drink himself to a stupor once he felt he was losing grip on something, or somebody. The alcohol gave him the guts to tell the whole world that he had, ahem, balls.

“Njeri! Njeri! I have come.”

No response came from Mother. I know she just frowned and pulled the blanket over her head and continued to sleep or pretended to be.

“This is my home. I call the shots here… Aeeeh! So somebody has the balls to tell me,
‘my mind is made up?’
I will show you that no one should question my stand on certain issues.”

I checked my bedside clock. It was 11:30 p.m. At certain times I felt I should beat the helpless hell out of him and teach him a lesson or two about disgracing us and howling our family affairs across the ‘hood. But I did not do anything. No one would forgive a son for beating his father, leave alone a drunk one.

“Njeri! Njeri!... I’m back. Do you think I’m drunk? No. You are wrong. I only tasted. Open the door for me.”

Dad was not that well-off. His primary school teacher’s salary was enough to keep us going. Mom supplemented from the
shamba
. His only foible was his stubbornness and drinking.

I knew why he had taken me to the slum college pronto the KCSE results were out – he wanted me to take the course so as to be employed by his brother. Didn’t he have the money to take me to the university? I never knew. I had other plans though. I wanted to study criminology as I waited for the university calling letter.

After the altercation earlier on in the day, I had gone to my friend’s house, just to talk to somebody. By the time I was getting back home I knew that I still needed my father.

As his drunken rants pierced the night and disturbed the neighbourhood, I decided to block everything, and everybody, out.

Block out the world.

Block out the worries.

Listen to myself.

Don’t even think about him, I told myself.

The whole world was now me, myself and I.

Job, a little dappled man with sandpaper hair and eyes like the slits of a cat, sat behind a Dell desktop computer watching the bustle of activity in the supermarket. He liked watching. That was how his life had been for the past few years.

He was at a raised podium-like place inside the supermarket. He was pleased with the sea of humanity moving around inside the building. With every minute of the hour he licked his lips as though he was moistening them. His thirst was been quenched by the unprecedented masses, mostly the bourgeoisies, who frequented his high-end supermarket.

Job was distracted for a moment by a bevy of beauties dressed in taut hipster pants and revealing tops entering the supermarket via the exit door. Why people didn’t follow simple instructions was a mystery to him. Seeing the young women reminded him of the one person he did not like thinking about.

His mind drifted off to that fateful day when the whole hell broke loose and plummeted down on him like a meteorite. He had thought he had lost everything and life was worthless, but his friend’s voice reminded him that there was still a long way to go.
Where there’s muck there’s brass.
That was what his friend in the Customs told him.

Within few months he was up again, but this time round Job vowed that Graces of this world will never come near him. Women with names synonymous to the qualities attributed to God were devil incarnates. Mercy, Faith, Grace, and all. He swore to kill Grace himself with bare hands, but it was as though Grace had gone off the face of the earth. But this did not mean that he did not salivate for her blood – she had to pay, someday, someway. And if she would have transited over to the next world he will torment her soul forever.

From afar, Job heard something crawling on the table. His hairs stood erect. He always feared crawling animals, blamed it on childhood experiences. However, he almost laughed at himself loud when he found out that it was not a crawling creature on his desk. It was the vibration alert of his phone.

Job looked at the caller ID. It was someone who never called unless there was something really important. As he pressed the connect button beads of cold-hot sweat formed on his face.

After the call was over, Samson focused on the light traffic. He drove his new toy, a Nissan X-Trail, warily, eyes fixed on the road, fiddling with the miniature statue of St. Philomena on the car key holder. He was young, talented, intelligent, and he had looks and money. He checked his Seiko 5 wrist watch. He was always on time. The meeting he was going to attend was important to him. He needed to be there in time to make sure everything was alright.

It was his idea that the meeting be at the Hilton Hotel. Job never liked meeting at cosy places. Job never wanted to attract attention. The last time they had met Job made him meet go to a very grimy restaurant in one of the grimiest places in the capital. The air was stinky, acrid, and wickedly pungent. Though he endured the whole time, he did not hesitate to tell Job blatantly that it was his last time to meet at such places.

To hell with your low profile nonsense, Job,
Samson said to himself.

At the Hilton, Samson, aka Sam, found his personal assistant, who was doubling as the secretary, already there.

Mandy was always the parlour wife type of lady; sweet, subservient, and beautiful. Sam knew that she had already taken care of what he had come to ascertain. Not that he did not trust her. Seeing was believing for him.

“Hi Sam, it has been a long day.”

“Sure. I think you’ve already had several pizzas on my dime?”

“What do you take me for…?”

“Easy, easy Mandy. You always tell me that I have got a very dry sense of humour. Call them crude jokes…”

Sam and Mandy had known each other for five years now and nobody could tell that they were not intimately involved with each other. They had boundaries –work ethics.

“Have you
painted
the whole room as it ought?” He used painting to mean bugging. Samson never trusted his dealings with most of his associates. He always taped their discussions as insurance in case of anything.

“Yes… you are going to trust that I would do anything that you tell me to.”

“Of course…” he was already going through the whole room. “Job should be here in ten minutes.”

“Are you going to tell him the truth?”

“About what?”

“Do not dilly-dally with me, Sam. I am your PA for God’s sake.”

“I already know that, Mandy. I shall brief you later.”

“Things are changing with you these days. Are you seeing somebody…?”

“Mandy…”

“Make sure I’m still the one… your
personal assistant
that is."

“It’s almost time… you’ve to go now. I have something to do before the meeting.”

“And you will not need
personal assistance?”

Tone down that sarcasm, babe,
Samson thought.

“Honest to God, Mandy, if I was a killer you will be my first kill.” He then gave her his killer smile that made not only her but all women drool.

As though you haven’t killed me a thousand times with that smile,
Mandy thought as she took her paraphernalia from the conference table.

As she walked out, Samson watched her retreating figure. The rhythmic move of her plump bottom filled him with sensual thoughts.

He was hurtled back to reality by his phone vibrating. It was one of the G8 members calling. He flipped open the flap phone and listened.

Everything was going on as already planned, going as a dream. That’s where it starts.
I hope to God Job takes the bait
, Samson thought as he disconnected the call.

At that moment, Job walked in accompanied by somebody Samson dreaded. The intruder’s presence left him wondering what the hell was Job trying to do. Job was beginning to open his eyes, to learn the rules of the game, but at an alarmingly fast rate.

Samson doubted whether the intruder was really a threat or was just subtle. With Job he had no worry, but not with
him.
They had run into each other severally. Job was supposed to come alone. Job beginning to know the unwritten rules was not good for business, Sam decided.

Later that evening, somewhere in Nairobi, somebody, a man, was avidly lying in wait in the shadows. He checked his wrist watch. It was about time.

His orders were clear – hijack (rob nothing, harm no one); drive off and report immediately that the cargo is safely delivered at the place it should be… and
no mistakes.

In that short period of time that was remaining he needed to think of what lay ahead of him. He had always wanted to please Urbanas, the boss. This was the only way to prove himself worth after his last assignment’s glaring mistakes. He had begged and Urbanas had given him another chance to atone himself. He now had the chance.

In that short moment, he thought of how life was for him so far. Everything was easy. Just that bloody easy. He got what he wanted, whenever and wherever he wanted it. Moreover, he was some kind of a celebrity. He was in the litany of wanted criminals, his name on the lips of the senior most police officers and other high ranking people in the country. He was still a novice but lethal enough. What mattered was that he was most wanted, most talked of in the criminal world.

From a distance he heard the roar of a vehicle. No doubt it was what he was waiting for.
It must be her.

He checked everything to make sure that all was okay. Everything was in order – the ambush was set and the
ambushing force
ready.

A sports car halted before the huge iron gates, dimmed the lights and… the gates did not open electrically. He smiled to himself.
One nil.

From his hiding place he saw the driver, a woman, get out of the car and walk towards the gate. No doubt she was perplexed how come. There were lights in the house, but why didn’t the gate open… she tried the doorbell. It was dead, too –
two nil
.

Then it dawned on her. She was that smart. He could see the realization of what was happening on her face, but it was too late for her to do something, anything, even to scream for help.

He struck with the ferocity of cat.

No mistakes.

Mistakes were not allowed.

Cargo was secured, mission accomplished.