he counter lady gives me a brown envelope, the piece of brown paper that always announces to the world you are carrying money straight from a bank. Getting robbed is just what I need right now! With a smirk, I try and stuff the envelope into my bag.
I leave quickly, clutching the bag close to my torso. As I leave the building, it starts to pour. Rain has been falling unexpectedly these days in Nairobi. One minute, the sun is shining and the next, dark clouds appear from nowhere and it’s a downpour. I dash across the street and get into a cab. We make our way to my office amidst the mayhem that always breaks out when there’s a drop of rain. It’s like drivers forget everything they ever learned in driving school when the heavens open up. Is it the rain-spattered windshield that produces anxiety and makes one cling to the steering wheel for dear life? Is it the reduced visibility? If that’s the case, what do you think your lights are for? If your windows fog up, turn on the air conditioning and aim the cold air vents at the windshield. Maintain your tyres. Without traction, you will skid and slide easily on a wet surface. Lastly, slow down. These are not perfect conditions and not everyone has a four-wheel drive that’s actually made for these types of conditions.
My taxi driver looks like the nerve-wracking I-Can’t-Drive-In-The-Rain type of drivers. It’s an agonising ride back to the office, but we make it without crashing into anybody. I pay him and make a dash for dry land. I pass my office and head straight to Mr N’s. His secretary again waves me through. This time, he’s not on the phone and looks up as I enter.
“That was quick,” he says.
“I took a taxi,” I respond. I remove the bulky brown envelope from my bag and slide it over to him. He takes it and places it in a drawer on his desk. He doesn’t count it.
“So what now?” I ask.
“It’s time you approached your polo friend,” he responds.
I shift uncomfortably. The Prude and I are all over social media. We have never spoken since a watchman recorded us having relations in his car. In the video, you can’t make out his face but you can see mine clearly.
“That should be easy enough, to threaten him into putting a name to the blurry face,” he says.
“Remind me again how these are your friends?” I ask him.
He gives me a cold look. “Lock this down quickly, Samantha,” he says, “I want you to get a termination as soon as possible.”
My baby. I put a protective hand over my stomach. The longer the little bugger stays in there, the more I’m getting attached.
“Is this the last one?” I ask.
“One more. Nabil,” he says.
I’m surprised by this information. Isn’t he the one who helped kidnap me? Mr N seems to read my mind.
“He had nothing to do with that,” he says.
“But I passed out in his car,” I say.
“He called me asking where you lived. He is quite the gentleman,” Mr N responds. “I met up with him and offered to drop you myself. That’s how you ended up locked up in that house in Kikuyu.”