A headache tormented Fred Njagi and it got worse due to the continuous bumping of his head against the cold, hard pick up floor. The speedy and bumpy ride was the source of his headache but what made it worse was the recent traumatizing memory of helplessly watching Diana get ran over by a one -tonne Land Cruiser. His chubby dark skinned colleague, Martin Okoth curled himself into fetal position and sobbed loudly, overwhelmed with their cold ruthless nightmare. The driver turned right after crossing a small colonial -Era Bridge above the Aberdare River then drove full speed ahead to the breach they used for illegal entry into the national park and escape from the KWS game wardens.
" Nyamaza!" (Shut up!") The tall, skinny and dark skinned poacher snapped at Martin as he kicked him.
The absence of fear in Fred's mind turned his thoughts towards home. His life seemed rosy and perfect to his office colleagues and some even silently envied him however, Fred was secretly struggling with a humiliating consequence that was about to rear its ugly head to the outside world. During the previous New year's eve celebrations, Fred did something he thought he could easily walk away from Scott free but, it caught up with him when he least expected. As the world partied to the dying kicks of 2010, Fred got lucky with a lass he had his lustful eye on for about two months. He watched her keenly every morning as he left for work and in the evening when he returned to his flat weary from work. Sometimes his mind wandered off from the office and drifted into a steamy fantasy world. He remembered how his heart raced with excitement and anticipation whenever he visualized his hands resting on her wide shapely hips and their loins enveloped together on his couch. Her young perky breasts were worth fighting for and so was every square inch of her body.
Despite her stunning beauty and his raging desires, Fred couldn't approach her just like any other lady. Cecilia Mueni was a lowly house maid. How would an urban bred, highly educated graduate with a prime white collar job look like in the eyes of his critical neighbours if he was seen flirting with a mboch? (Mboch means house maid in Sheng).That was the first time in his life he reached crossroads. It was a burden suppressing his secret desire so as not to upset the dogmatic cultural norms which dictated the scope of relationships between those of different classes. As days went by, his mind obsessed over her until he couldn't take it any longer.
One random evening, Fred Njagi encountered Cecilia as he was heading up the stairs to his flat. He said a polite "Hi" and she responded warmly to his greeting. Their interaction grew stronger as the days went by until they were no longer uneasy strangers in the presence of each other. In his eyes she wasn't a naive, country girl who was there to be seen and not to be heard. Fred saw her as a gorgeous woman whose only flaw was simply her poor background.
It took a brief phone call for Mueni to fake a stomach ache at 10:00PM in order to convince her aunt, an arrogant moody employer to let her rush to the chemist. Fred leapt with joy when he heard the highly anticipated knock on his door. Fred kept the whiskey flowing as they watched a movie. He made his intentions known when he placed his palm on her thigh. Cecilia gave him the green light by leaning on his chest. It was a night he would forever live to remember. Their forbidden encounters increased with time however they played safe by acting as strangers in the presence of their neighbors. Their toe curling, lip biting, forbidden steamy bubble blew into smithereens on May 11 2011.
Cecilia was pregnant. Her aunt threatened to send her packing if she didn't expose the culprit responsible for her situation. Despite her arrogance, her aunt had her 20-year old niece's best interests at heart. She coerced Fred into agreeing to marry Cecilia or else he would face the courts. To make matters worse, his fiancé moved into his flat in July and their exposed and sneered upon relationship provided juicy gossip fodder among idle housewives.
They were out of the national park and untraceable. The driver expertly navigated the rocky paths that led to Mwaura's mansion perched at the top of an isolated hill. The notorious poacher enjoyed life's finer things inside his palatial residence that rested on two and a half acres and fenced with a high stone perimeter wall. Mwaura slaughtered buffalos in a makeshift slaughterhouse and sold the meat to a tight circle made up of unscrupulous butcheries' owners within Nyeri town. Apart from selling illegal game meat, the widely feared 42 year old poacher with a conspicuous white goatee supplied eighty to ninety percent of cannabis sativa within the town.
The driver reached for his phone so he could call one of the men to unlock the large grey steel gate. Mwaura and his driver froze in fear when two tall men in jungle green Kenya Forest Guard uniforms appeared from the nearby bushes, with G3 rifles aimed at them.
“What’s this?" Mwaura snarled as a cautious officer ordered the driver to step out with his hands raised.
“Hands up!"
Mwaura obeyed and gave room for the officer to do a quick search inside his pickup.
“Is it Opiyo who’s sent you to trouble me?" Mwaura turned to one of the forest guards.
The armed officer stared back defiantly but the veteran poacher reached for his phone to call the Forest Guard Chief Inspector. Just as he was scrolling for the Chief Inspector's number, one of the guards snatched Mwaura's phone.
“What the hell do you think you're doing? Return my phone!" Mwaura snapped. His nostrils flared up angrily. The defiant officer simply shoved Mwaura's phone into one of his pockets and pointed the rifle's barrel towards the incensed suspect.
“I am the one who is issuing orders, not you."
Unknown to the Forest guards, the tall dark skinned poacher who kept an eye on Fred, Martin and the Buffalo carcass was crouched. He slowly drew out his 9 millimeter pistol, ready to plant a couple of bullets into their skulls.
“Where are you from and why are you travelling at this strange hour?" A forest guard asked Mwaura's driver.
His silent response. It earned him a couple of heavy backhands across his face.
The forest guard's comrade walked to the back of the pickup to have a look. Like a cheetah hiding in the tree, the poacher sprang up and fired but he only managed to graze the forest guard's left shoulder.
Despite his shoulder injury, the courageous forest guard grabbed the poacher's right hand and slammed him on the stony ground. The toppled poacher yelped in pain whenever the officer's well placed kicks connected with his bony ribcage. Satisfied he had neutralized the threat, the forest guard once again moved cautiously to inspect the suspicious cargo. Fred felt relieved when the forest guard untied the ropes binding his hands then helped the officer untie his terrified chubby friend, Martin.
“Where are you from?"
“We work for Kilele Micro finance bank but we came to Aberdares National Park for a seminar," Fred replied to the forest guard.
The other guard ordered Mwaura's driver to unlock the gate then grabbed the angered burly poacher and used him as a human shield as they stepped inside the compound. The mansion's porch light was on however it was dark and silent as Mwaura unlocked his front door. He felt the G3's cold muzzle on his neck as the forest guard stepped inside and ordered the man to turn on the lights.
“Sit on the floor!"
Mwaura, the injured poacher and his driver obeyed as one of the guards walked towards a large wooden shelf filled with books on wildlife. One by one, the forest guard tossed away the books as he searched for drugs, hidden stashes of money or illegal firearms. He walked towards the red velvet sofa and removed each cushion.
“Why don't we just talk instead of you wasting energy looking for my money?" Mwaura suggested.
The forest guard walked towards Mwaura and said, “We don't care what deal you had with Opiyo because he's no longer in charge of the forest. How many years do you think you and your men will get when I present that dead buffalo as evidence in court?"
“Well, I wasn't aware about the new changes in the forest guard. I have fifty thousand shillings in my upstairs office. One of you can take me there."
“Fifty thousand only?" One of the guards scoffed. “A hundred thousand is what we need to set you free or else you will each spend twenty five years in jail!"
Their stubbornness rubbed Mwaura the wrong way but there was little he could do. He gazed down thoughtfully as if the solution was printed inside the colourful red and black square patterns on his thick carpet.
“I don't have a hundred thousand lying around in my house. All I have is fifty thousand."
The two officers turned to each other then made a silent agreement. The one in charge turned to Mwaura and said, “Let’s go to your office and remember I'm the one with the gun."
They left the living room and walked into a wide corridor with blue walls and framed photos hanged next to each other. Mwaura flicked on a switch and began walking up the wide terrazzo stairs with the alert officer right behind him. The notorious poacher turned right then reached for his keys to unlock the door in front of him. The forest guard kept a keen eye on the suspect as he went behind his sturdy black office desk, pulled out a drawer then removed a brown envelope.
"It's all here," Mwaura emptied the envelope on his desk for the skeptical forest guard.
“Put them back inside the envelope," the guard ordered as his eyes hovered over the scattered one thousand shillings denomination notes all over the desk and floor. Mwaura pretended to be gathering the notes near the officer’s feet but he suddenly lunged forward with a right upper cut that landed squarely on the forest guard's chin toppling him down instantly.
The stunned guard fumbled as he tried to get a firm grip on his G3. Mwaura quickly reached for the small, heavy bronze elephant on his desk and struck it forcefully against the forest guard's head. Bright red spots of blood appeared on the wooden tiled floor just below the forest guard's bleeding head. Now that he had him where he wanted, Mwaura struck another powerful blow on his foe's forehead using the bronze elephant sculpture, busting him open a second time. The poor officer screamed in agony however the thick carpet and walls muted his cries of distress to his colleague downstairs.
" Come here you son of a bitch!" Mwaura growled as he locked in a triangular chokehold and strangled the life out of the bleeding forest guard. The poacher then took the officer's G3 rifle and stealthily crept down the stairs to rescue his men.
The unsuspecting forest guard still had his rifle trained at the driver and dark skinned poacher while Fred and Martin sat on the sofa. Mwaura breathed deeply then slowly but surely he braced himself against the wall, rifle clutched tightly in his hands and peeped again.
“Look out!" Fred pointed at the terrifying sight of an armed Mwaura.
The forest guard quickly pulled his rifle's safety pin and pressed the muzzle against the driver's temple. “Step out with your hands up or else I will kill your men!" He declared. The driver took advantage of the forest guard's distraction and grabbed the muzzle.
Bang! Bang!
Fortunately the stray bullets got stuck in the wooden ceiling as Mwaura's driver and the alarmed forest guard wrestled over control of the G3 rifle. A flash of bravery muted Fred's fears and anxiety. He quickly rose from the sofa, jumped on to the driver's back and delivered hard rights to the man's jaw. Overpowered and outnumbered, the battered driver stopped struggling and the forest guard restrained him using his handcuffs.
Bang!
A deafening gunshot reverberated inside the living room.
Blood mixed with soft, grayish matter spurted from the gruesome skull fracture above the forest guard's left eyebrow. Martin threw up at the vile and disgusting sight. The tall dark skinned poacher who watched over the buffalo carcass reached for the dead officer's G3 but Fred thwarted his enemy's hopes by landing a devastating kick to the man's sternum. No sooner had Fred grabbed the rifle than Mwaura appeared from the corridor.
“Nobody moves or else I'll spray bullets!" Mwaura cautioned them.
“Okay...okay....don't shoot us," Fred surrendered and slowly placed the rifle on the floor.
Bang!
Mwaura hadn't expected Fred to fire since he was already cornered. Unfortunately, Fred only managed to inflict a nasty flesh wound on the deadly poacher's left leg. Martin dove to the floor and covered his head under his chubby arms hoping for the worst while his brave friend took cover behind the couch.
Bang! Bang!
Two bullets penetrated through the couch, narrowly missing him. Fred's heart raced frantically as more fear coursed through his veins. He suddenly sprang up and fired repeatedly at his foe.
"Mwaura! Mwaura!" The handcuffed driver cried out desperately.
The hardcore, seasoned poacher was helpless. He bled profusely from his right shoulder thanks to Fred's bullet and his arm had lost sensitivity. A petrified Martin cautiously lowered his arms and peeked around for safety. Other than the gaping hole inside the dead forest guard's head, Martin's eyes spotted Mwaura lying on the floor with blood all over his right arm.
“Fred! Fred! Let's get outta here right now!"
Fred emerged from hiding and felt relieved when he saw the damage he had inflicted on Mwaura. Only one more remained but his time was about to run out. Fred let the tall, dark skinned poacher take Mwaura's rifle before he quickly aimed and shot his back.
"Please...please...don't kill me! I beg for your mercies...forget about what happened in the pickup!" The fear stricken handcuffed driver pleaded for his dear life.
Instead of mercy, Martin swung his right foot and kicked the driver squarely in the teeth. He kicked the hapless driver furiously again and again until Fred pulled him away.
“We need to go right now," Fred said.
“Then kill this motherfucker!" Martin pointed at the driver.
Click! Click!
The G3 had ran out of bullets.
“There’s nothing we can do bro."
“Yes we can," Martin replied defiantly.
Fred's colleague walked to the T.V trolley and unplugged the bulky old 21 inch grey SONY TV from the socket. Martin balanced the T.V between his neck and right shoulder as he walked back towards the handcuffed driver, still curled into a defensive little ball. The driver yelped and writhed in agony after Martin's kick to the spine sent sharp pain all over his back. Martin instantly slammed the television on the driver's face and the screen shattered against his foe's face.
"Let's go man!"
Adrenaline surged through their legs as they ran towards the gate for their dear lives. Fred decided to carry the slain officer's G3 rifle in case they encountered possible threats on their way out of the forest . The two colleagues made it out of the gate and quickly hopped inside Mwaura's Toyota pick up.
“Are the keys still there?" Fred asked.
Martin checked the ignition and nodded when he spotted the keys. The engine roared to life and they sped off towards the national park. Fred took out his phone and rang Jackie's phone. He almost let go of his final thread of hope when he remembered how dark the thicket was but to his relief, the call went through.
“Jackie! Jackie! Where are you?"
“She’s safe with me," an unfamiliar hostile male voice replied.
“Who are you? Put Jackie on the phone!" Fred snapped.
“You have one week to get me half a million shillings or else you will never see your friend again. Understand me?"
“Listen here motherfucker! I don't have time to play your silly games. You think I'm too frightened to report you the police? You can't hide for long!" Fred shouted.
“Yes we can," the unfamiliar voice answered boldly.