• The hunt for Kimondo leads Sgt Makini to his cousin, and he's keen to make him talk
In case we haven’t met before, allow me to introduce myself, but in case you’re already familiar with my miserable life, please be patient with me. There is a method to my madness.
My name is Sergeant Makini, a mid-twenties, lovelorn, male police officer stationed at a police post in the middle of nowhere. Actually, it’s a village in western Kenya, called Jiji Ndogo for a reason. If you blink, you miss it.
Lemme recap my life at Jiji Ndogo for you.
When I was posted, people preferred Covid-19 to me. The boss assigned over me is a moron who wants to quit by any means possible. His wife thinks I’m a wimp. I took in a desperate pregnant woman. His father almost shot me. She left me for her old boyfriend. A new officer was posted. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world. I’m desperately in love with her. She hates my guts. I stormed her date with a local and arrested everyone. I was suspended. I realised my sister was sexually assaulted five years ago. I’m ready to kill Kimondo.
Now that we’re all caught up, why am I telling you all this? Because in the next few minutes, I am going to embarrass every detective who ever came before me. And I never disappoint.
In my quest to track Kimondo, the man who assaulted my sister, I have come across his brother Kibeti. Some names parents give their kids, right? Now Kibeti is tied to his small cot in an undisclosed location in Laikipia.
“What is that?” he asks.
He is referring to a gunia on his coffee table by the bed.
“Since you’re not cooperating,” I say, “I have ways to make you talk.”
I unroll the bag dramatically, revealing my tools of trade. A mwiko, tongs, rusty knife, fork with a missing tine, spatula, spoon, cigarettes, and matches fly all over, some landing on the floor. I pick them up and arrange them on the table.
“What’s funny?” I ask, glaring.
“You’re not very good at this, are you?”
I choose the tongs, click the heads together to scare him.
“What are you gonna do with those?”
I get all up in his face, making the most hideous expression I can muster.
“I’m gonna rip your tongue straight out of your mouth. Then you’re gonna tell me where Kimondo is.”
“You’re an imbecile. How will I talk without a tongue?”
He has a point. I take the spoon.
“How about I gouge your eyes out, huh? And don’t be a smartass. I’m not asking you to show me where Kimondo is.”
“Kwani how much time do you have? Use the knife, fathead. It'll be faster.”
“Still not terrified, ay?”
I take the matches and cigarettes.
“What do you wanna do now, burn my skin with a lit fag?”
“Are you referencing the cigarette or insulting me?” I put a cancer stick in my mouth and light it. “All tough detectives smoke.”
I blow smoke in his face. Now, remember I don’t smoke. Suddenly, I’m racked with coughing fits so bad that I feel like my chest will split open. I throw the cig away. It lands on the thatched roof, which catches fire. Soon the entire hut is engulfed. Quickly, I untie Kibeti and pull him out.
“Damn you, knucklehead,” Kibeti screams. “See what you’ve done? Wait till Kimondo returns from his KCC job in Kericho. He’ll skin you alive.”
“What’s funny?” he asks.
“Who’s the nincompoop now?”
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