• A man sticking up a shop with a knife chose the wrong guy to mess with
I’m still reeling from my conversation with Sgt Sophia the other day. But once again, I’m alone on this side of the highway. Sophia denies shining any light on a possible future relationship with her.
“You said all I gotta do is ask you,” I tell her, “and give you a good reason for liking you.”
Sophia laughs.
“Are you sure I said that?”
“I believe your exact words were, ‘Nothing is impossible. All he has to do is put in a request and wait for the paperwork to do its rounds. But he has to provide concrete reasons for making such a move.’ Remember?”
“Oh my God!” She laughs some more. “I can’t believe you actually wrote it down.”
“I have to record evidence.” I fold the piece of paper and put it in my pocket.
“Well, Sgt Makini, I wasn’t talking about you. Can we get back to work?”
My phone rings. It’s our resident Indian merchant Dr Selitol, sounding more agitated than usual.
“Slower, Selitol,” I tell him. “What’s going on?”
“Jambazi iko kuja kwa duka naiba mimi.”
“Amekuiba ama amekuibia?”
“Wewe nataka shika jambazi, ama fanyisha mimi misamiati? Fanya hara hara!”
“Robbery in progress,” I tell Sophia as I get my gun.
“Finally. Some action.”
We get to Mla Chake Shop. Dr Selitol looks like he’s swallowed a feral cat.
“Where’s the thief?” I ask him.
“Are yaar. Jambazi kwisha ondoka tayari. Nyinyi iko kilometre moja na bado nakuja ni kama natoka Gujarat.”
“What did he look like?” Sophia asks.
“Kama jambazi. Navaa nguo kama jambazi tu.”
“Was he armed?”
Dr Selitol turns to me.
“Huyu nauliza kama jambazi ilikuwa na mikono?”
“Anauliza silaha.”
“Haan! Kisu kubwa kama sword. Mimi toa bunduki, jambazi natoweka kama paka iko moto mkia.”
I retrieve the knife the thief had dropped.
“What did he look like?” Sophia asks. “Can you describe his facial features?”
“Nahin. Hapana iko sura.”
Sophia turns to me.
“Is he kidding me?”
“Hapana rongo,” says Dr Selitol. “Jambazi iko vaa paper bag kwa kichwa. Mimi hapana ona sura.”
“What was written or drawn on the paper bag?” I ask.
“Are you serious?” Sophia asks.
“It’s evidence. Let’s say the bag is written ‘Shop in Dubai,’ do you have a paper bag from Dubai in your house?”
“That makes sense, but do you think the thief will keep it after this?”
“He’s stupid enough to rob a shop with a bag on his head. He might be stupid enough to keep evidence.”
“Paper bag iko chorwa ndovu,” Dr Selitol explains.
“See, Sophia?” I tap my temple. “I’m a good detective.”
The official police line rings.
“Someone is dying!” the caller screams. “Come. Quick!”
“We have a medical emergency,” Sophia tells me.
“We’ll investigate and get back to you,” I tell Dr Selitol as we bound out of the shop.
We’re running as Sophia takes directions to the location. I’m losing my breath.
“We seriously need to petition for a police car,” Sophia says, although she’s doing better than I am.
“Good luck with that. We have a bicycle.”
At the scene, two women are attending to a man on the ground.
“He can’t breathe,” one woman says. “I think someone did this to him.”
“Lemme have a look.” Sophia nudges the woman away. “What the hell?”
The man is struggling to remove a paper bag off his head but it’s tough and he’s tied it tightly around his neck.
“It’s our thief.” I say, pointing to the elephant. “Maybe we should just let him die.”
“Just cut the damn bag,” Sophia screams.