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November 15, 2018

Samantha's Chronicles: Returning the loot

Kenyan money
Kenyan money

What can I say? Yes, I shortchanged Mr N. and didn’t give him his share of the VIP loot. I assumed the CS would never discuss that with anyone. How did he find out?

“He told you?” I ask with a hilariously small voice. It sounds strange even to my ears.

“No,” he responds. “But I have eyes where you bank.” 

 Of course he does.

“I’ll give it back,” I say.

“Yes, you will,” he responds. “Today. Have you gone to the police?”

I shake my head.

“Good. Now go get my money,” he says dismissively.

I leave his office quickly, wondering what happened to banking privacy. Someone at my bank sold me out! Before I go there to deal with this, I have to pass through my office and talk to my boss. I have been missing for a couple of days and I’m not sure what to tell him because the truth is absurd and not very believable. Hey, boss. You know your friend Mr N upstairs? He kidnapped me to teach me a lesson because I stole his share of cash from a CS we were blackmailing. Ya, right! Who would believe that?

I walk into the office but he’s not in. There’s the usual buzz with everyone looking busy. 

“Where is he?” I ask the receptionist.

“He left for Malawi over the weekend. It’s on your email,” she responds.

I open my mail and there it is: My get-of-jail-free card. My boss will have no clue I haven’t been at work. Even better is that I can leave now and go deal with Mr N’s cash.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” I tell the receptionist and leave. 

I’m so tired. Physically, mentally and spiritually, since the devil seems to be reigning these days in my life because of the decisions I choose to make. So, so tired. But I need to sort out Mr N, so I have no time for self-pity right now. I haven’t even fully absorbed the magnitude of what he has just told me. 

He was responsible for kidnapping me. Who the hell does that? Yes, I conned him. But throwing me into a dungeon, holding me prisoner and letting me imagine the worst was going to happen to me might be a bit of an overreaction, no?

Well, he’s in good company. There are many documented cases of overreactions from people who seem reasonably sane. One that comes to mind is some guy who threw himself in front of his wife’s car in a bid to stop her from voting for a party he didn’t support. Dude! Was her ONE vote going to be the decider? She actually run him over; went and voted then went to the cop station to report she had hit him. He would end up in hospital for back and neck injuries and in case you care, his candidate won, despite his wife’s vote. The fact that he didn’t get to vote is an irony we can all muse over. See? This is why political affiliations should be discussed on the first date.

I get to the bank quickly enough and draw one million. The lady at the counter puts the new crisp bills into the cash counting machine. As I watch the money whipping through the machine, I wonder if she’s the one who sold me out. She separates the cash in stacks of Sh100,000.

“Would you like an envelope?” she asks sweetly.

“Yes please,” I respond as she places the money in the piece of brown paper that always announces to the world you are carrying money straight from a bank.

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