CHAPTER SIX - Nairobi Cocktail, The Sleaze

Freedom, and a new job

Kamau and Oti walked out of the cell, together. Out of the police station into freedom, together.

When the policeman on duty had opened the cell doors that morning, calling out Kamau’s name loudly, everyone including Kamau himself, had assumed it was his breakfast call. This time always triggered stomach rumbles in the cell; rumbles of anticipation because he always returned with something tasty for his cellmates. Not this morning. He had returned after a few minutes wearing clean clothes and an excited smile while carrying extra clothes.

“Wake up.” He kicked Oti lightly. Oti had, over his time in the cell, found it easier and easier to fall asleep on the cold concrete floor. ‘It’s not like what I usually sleep on is any better.’ He had told Kamau one time.

 “Vaa hizo, tunaenda.” Get dressed, we are leaving. He threw the clothes on Oti. Oti sat up with a start. Everyone else in the cell stopped talking to watch the two, with envy and disappointment. Envy that someone was getting their freedom and that the nice food would no longer be available.  

“Where are we going?” Oti finally asked after rubbing his eyes repeatedly and subconsciously slapping his thigh to confirm he was awake and not dreaming.

“Are you going to ask questions or are you going to get dressed? Come on, you have two minutes to get dressed or I am leaving without you.”

As Oti got up, as he let his dirty clothes fall down on the floor, as he wore his ill-fitting new clothes, his eyes did not leave Kamau’s. So focused he was on Kamau, he did not hear other cell mates lament about no longer getting princely breakfast and free cigarettes. Within minutes, a policeman noisily opened the cell door and let the two out. It was not a conscious act, but Oti was tagging on Kamau’s shirt all the way, out of the cell, out of the station building. He did not look at the policemen at the reception, the ones Kamau was jokingly telling he hoped never to see them again.

They stepped out, and only then did he let out a deep sigh of relief, even risked a look back at the building that had been his home for over a month.

“You can let go of me now.” Kamau announced, shaking himself free from Oti’s grip.

“How…how did you manage to get me out?” Kamau was walking fast towards the gate. Oti, still sore from the beating and lack of exercise, was struggling to keep up. But he did, like his life depended on it.

Kamau turned to Oti and smiled before resuming his fast walk. “There was nobody to press charges against you. The police do not have enough evidence to charge you. No complainant, no witness. It happens a lot in such cases, apparently.”

“Oh…” So many questions he wanted to ask, if only his chest was not heaving. With a measure of amusement, he thought how he would have to get his fit back if he was to resume his life of crime. His current state of fitness would get him back to the same cells within days.  

Oti, who was no longer tagging at Kamau’s shirt but walking closely behind, bumped into Kamau when he suddenly stopped outside the station’s gates. He stretched his body as he scanned both sides of the road. Oti tried to do the same, but every joint in his body ached with soreness. He groaned. Instead, he sniffed the air of freedom, took deep breaths, let the air of freedom flood his lungs with freshness. Nairobi, to a newcomer, had a distant smell of sewage, but to somebody who had spent weeks next to a defecating bucket and unwashed bodies in a small air-less police cell, the air outside was like a gift of pure oxygen. He looked up and watched a lanky marabou stork struggling on a weak branch, he kept blinking at the brightness and his eyes hurt some. After being indoors for so long, the light was overwhelming his eyes. It was a small price to pay to see open spaces.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before they change their mind about releasing us…” Kamau had said as he led the way towards the city.

            “Where are we going?”

            “To see Boss.”

            “Who is Boss?” Oti demanded, but he was still a step behind Kamau.

            This was the first time Kamau was mentioning Boss to Oti, but since Oti was hauled into the cell half dead, Kamau had updated Boss about Oti.

“You will soon meet him. But he is the one who pulled strings for you to be released.”

“Oh…” Oti thought about their first whispered conversation in the cell, the day he confessed that he was the one who had robbed Kamau off his phone. He thought about subsequent conversations, all of them bordering on different criminal activities. At some point, Oti had stopped believing in Kamau’s benevolent activities towards him. He was nice to him, and that he appreciated because he was pragmatic enough to realise he was alive only because Kamau had taken care of him. But Kamau had an agenda, that was a fact. He had spent many of his sleepless nights wondering what that agenda was. Every time he sat with Kamau in their corner, he held his breath, expecting to be told what Kamau wanted from him. Whatever it was, he could bet it was a criminal activity.

Now they were here. Both out of the cell, walking fast towards somebody called Boss. This, he knew, was it. He considered running away, but his joints would only succeed in making him fall. Kamau looked like the sort of guy who would shout thief! as payback. He was not sure his house in Kibera still belonged to him, he had not paid rent for over a month. The landlord had most likely thrown his meagre stuff out and moved in someone else. Most importantly, he was curious. So he followed Kamau.

“There he is…” They had been walking in silence for about a minute. Kamau pointed at an illegally parked 4x4 about fifty meters ahead. Its lights flashed twice before the back door was opened by an invisible hand.   “That is our lift.” Kamau said heading for the car.

“That big car?” Oti, who had been like a shadow since they left the cell, hesitated for a few seconds to look at the car. For the countless number of time, he wondered what he was getting himself into, but he decided he did not much care because he did not have a better option. What was the worst they could do to him, kill him? Well, he almost got himself killed a few weeks ago.

Kamau entered the vehicle first, Oti followed him hesitantly. “Shut the door.” There were two occupants, the driver and his passenger next to him. Oti was not sure who ordered him to shut the door, but he did, very quickly. For what looked like a very long time to a nervous Oti, they drove in silence. Oti bent forward and tried to peep at the passengers at the front, Kamau pinched his thigh.

“Welcome back, Kamau…” The passenger finally spoke. He still did not look back.

“Thank you Boss…”

“Welcome, Oti…”

Oti coughed in surprise. They knew his name? He looked at Kamau who shrugged but kept looking ahead. Oti had never seen Kamau afraid, not of the burly cell-mates, not of the harsh cops, but at that moment and time, Kamau looked petrified. He felt himself tense.

“Thank you…” He whispered.

“…Boss…” Kamau added quickly.

“Thank you, Boss.” Repeated Oti, taking cue.

Oti, being a Kibera born and bred, knew Ngumo Estate like the back of his hand.  At first, he thought they were taking him home, had even believed for a moment that they knew where he lived, but they had taken a turning towards Ngumo and into one of the mansions. Boss came out of the vehicle first, leaving the door open. By the time Kamau and Oti were out, Boss had already disappeared into the house and the driver was shutting the door behind him.

Oti, for lack of anything better to do, studied the driver. He was huge and unsmiling. He wore a dark suit that looked too tight on him. Then Oti saw the gun when his court flapped. Oti gasped and took a step back.

“Unaangalia nini?" What are you looking at? the burly man demanded.

“Pole msee...hata siangalii." Oti answered quickly and stepped back farther. He had never seen a gun up-close even in all his years as a criminal. But he was pretty sure anyone could tell a real gun when they saw one.

When Kamau started walking towards the house, Oti quickly followed, throwing the driver a nervous look at the same time trying to control his suddenly erratic heart rate.

The door to the house was open and the smell of food hit their nostrils before they stepped in. Oti felt his tummy grumble, for a moment forgetting what he had just seen. He would worry about the strange people Kamau had brought him to, and the guns, right after he fed. They had not had their breakfast yet, and although Oti did not have a watch, he could tell from the position of the sun that midday was looming.

“You need to shower first, you both stink really bad. Shave yourselves also, I don't want lice infestation.”

Oti had to look for the voice talking to them. It was coming from one corner of the room, a dining area. Boss was already seated and going through a newspaper. “Kamau you know where to go.”

“Yes boss.” He led Oti to a bedroom. In silence, they shaved and showered in turns. In the same silence, Kamau led Oti back to the sitting room.

Boss was still at the dining area, clearing the last of his food. On the table were food dishes and two plates. “Come on, serve yourself. I will be back in twenty minutes.”

The two younger men remained standing until Boss disappeared into another bedroom. Oti studied his back as he disappeared. He, like Kamau, was not an imposing man. Between Boss and the bodyguard, Oti would be wearier of the latter. He looked near harmless, but there was something about the eyes, something Oti had seen in the two seconds their eyes had met, something that had triggered a chill in him. He decided he needed to be careful around Boss, imposing or not.

The two men ate in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. But being silent or looking at nothing but their plates did not require effort. Even though Kamau was fed well in jail, even though Oti had benefited from the food, nothing could compare to the taste of good food mixed with freedom. They hardly looked up from their plates for the seven or so minutes it took them to clear the plates.

Oti burped. Kamau hit his back hard.

When Boss returned, he came carrying three beers and offered each of them one. Oti downed his within a minute, letting out a loud burp in appreciation. He missed the venomous look from Boss as he was too busy basking in the pleasure. Kamau cringed. He was too far to hit Oti.

“Why do you think you are here?” Boss suddenly asked. He was sitting at the head of the table, the two other men sitting on either of his side.

The question caught Oti off guard. He looked around, as if he was expecting the question to be directed at somebody else.

“Why do you think you are here?” Boss repeated the question.

Oti rubbed his freshly shaved beard as he thought. “Kamau invited me…”

“Yes. But do you know why?”

Oti shrugged.

“You are a thief.” It was a statement, good thing for Oti because he wondered what his answer would have been. “We are thieves too so you are in good company, but unlike you, we are a little more polished. We are thieves with a conscience.” Oti wanted to laugh. He coughed instead, keeping his head down to hide amusement on his face.

“We steal cars…” Boss took a swig of his drink, leaving Oti time to wonder what stealing cars and conscience had to do with each other. “We steal cars, but we do not hurt people – not fatally, anyway. We are peaceful thieves.” Oti coughed again. “Can you drive?” Oti shook his head. “No worries. Kamau is a good driver.”

It was another hour of tough talk and tough questions from Boss.

In the end, Oti was welcomed into Boss big network of car thieves. He had could already recite the terms and conditions because within the hour, Boss had made him repeat them severally. Get a driving licence. Do not shoot; do not hit anyone unless it is absolutely necessary and if you do, do not hit to kill; do not target vehicles with women and children; do not do a job unless it has been sanctioned by Boss; do not talk about your job to anyone; all money comes to Boss, unless you have a death wish."

Oti had a problem with the last rule, and he spoke to Kamau about it later when boss left, having been given permission to drink as much as they wanted as long as none of them threw up on his carpet.

“Do you really give all the money to the Boss?”

Affirmative. Except the phones. He does not like disposing stolen phones so we keep those.

“But how would he know how much you robbed?”

Kamau laughed. He had wondered the same thing several years ago. “Trust me, he knows. He has connections…remember, people report to the police station, and you have to declare what you lost in those reports…”

Oti, after a few seconds, opened up his eyes wide with realization. “He has informers…”

“In every corner…”

“Wow. But why would I take all the risk and give him everything…”

Kamau had shrugged. They were at the backyard of the house in Ngumo, smoking weed because they had run out alcohol. They had the house to themselves, apart from the gateman whom they had sent to get the weed for them.

“Oh, you can go it alone, but do  not touch car business, including parking. That one belongs to the boss alone within and around the city. You get into his territory, the chances are he will have you sorted…”

“You mean killed…”

            “By any other name.” He took a drag of the stick before handing it back to Oti. “I know where you are coming from, but trust me, I have been with him for over five years and he takes care of me like I am his kin. But he does not like betrayal – that was the reason I ended up in the cell, because I thought I was cleverer than he is. I got off easy, some have disappeared without a trace…”

There was a long silence between them, too stoned to realise the silence had lasted over ten minutes. Their brain was slowing down with too much food, too much freedom, too much beer and now the weed.

“Let’s go inside and sleep. You still have your 24 hours to decide if you want to work for him or not…”

            “What happens if you I do not want to work for him?”

            “Nothing. There is nothing you can do to Boss, but he can do a lot of nasty to you if you try and double cross him. Just remember once you agree to join, you do not have a choice to leave. It is a pact that must never be broken, unless by death.”

In the end, they were both too stoned to walk back to the house. They blacked out on the grass, only to be woken up by security dogs licking their faces.

***

It felt like watching a 3D movie.

She was in the midst but, but the chaos that were going on around her made her body and soul separate, like for self preservation. The body was needed to negotiate the chaos, the soul needed to watch the body from above, just in case of unseen danger.

Then there were the smells, the crowds, the pushing and the shoving. If it was not a motorbike rider looking determined to knock her down, it was a matatu driver aiming for her head with the side mirror. The minute she thought she had the matatu and the motorbike in check, there would be a blind and sweaty mkokoteni pusher, blind because they seemed not to see anything at all. The icing of it, the sweaty crowds. At some point during her walk to what looked like the god-forsaken part of the city, she had scattered in confusion. Only when she had barely made it inside a shop before the shutters were brought down did she realise she had just escaped a battle between illegal hawkers and the city council askaris.

With her heart in her mouth and walking on eggshells, she arrived at her destination at the end of Kirinyaga Road.  

Many people might have found it hard to believe, judging by how she looked and carried herself, that she was a simple village girl. Years of being in Nairobi had got rid of many village characteristics, like sticking out sore-thumb style because she was afraid of everything, but she still liked order and she still hated crowds. Where she was, was certainly unfamiliar territory, and if it was not so important that she went to where she was going, she would have opted for a lazy afternoon in her house.

But she liked to keep promises, and she had promised him that she would go. Besides, she was very curious.

At the entrance of the building, she looked around her with a folded nose with obvious disgust, wondering how she would ever be able to be one with the chaos were she to strike a deal with the person she was about to meet. Why did he choose to live in such a place?

In spite of the chaos, she smiled with the memory of how she had met Boss. It was not the most romantic meeting, but it was interesting and memorable and it had triggered excitement that was so rare in her mundane life.

***

How they met.

She was in one of her usual prowl joints, and she had spotted him seated alone. Wearing a blue pair of jeans and a black short sleeved shirt. His hair cut was just right; not long, not short, and his bright eyes shone through his chocolate dark skin. When she had spotted him, he had been on the phone, staring at it, pressing keys here and there. She had guessed he was on some social media site. It was not the first time she had seen him, but it was the first time she had paid a lot of attention to him. He did not look like one of her regular customers; in fact, he did not look like someone who would be interested in talking to a prostitute, and even though six years of being a prostitute had taught her that men interested in prostitutes did not have a particular look, she had her sixth sense and it was rarely wrong.

The pub was not busy, probably why she had found staring at him an interesting way to pass time. She was fantasizing about what it would feel like to trace his well-defined face, especially the lips, with her index finger. Since the day she had her first orgasm with the priest, she had upped her sex game. She had found herself checking the internet, looking for ways to please a man and herself.

He had rudely interrupted her fantasy when he suddenly looked up from the phone and straight at her; the suddenness of his movement made her choke on her soda. A coughing fit followed but a waiter had come to her aid, roughly rubbing her back to ease the chocking. It was one minute later when she could breathe properly, and when she had looked up, the handsome man was standing in front of her, smiling at her, a smile so intense – or was it the eyes? What was it with the eyes? They were hypnotising, and she was not sure whether it was in a nice way or a scary way.

“I am glad someone found that amusing…” She said accusingly, dubbing away tears from her eyes with a tissue the waiter had given her. Now she had to renew her make up. She hoped her fake eyelashes were still in place. She then used the same tissue to blow her nose.

“It actually was funny…” He answered, placing his hands on the table and leaning. A hint of his cologne penetrating her nostrils.

Then he sat down. Then he had stared at her, with those eyes. Kiki, as much as she held her gaze, found it unsettling especially when he stared at her for a full minute without blinking. On a good day, even on a bad day, she was not fluttered by men. She prided herself in having met all sorts in her line of work. This particular man made her doubt herself.

“Do you want to come home with me?” He asked, still unblinking.

“Eh…no. But you could come to my hotel with me.” If that was the way he wanted to play it, she was game.

“Why a hotel?”

“Because I play it safe. There are psychos in this town.”

He smiled. “I suppose I look like one of them?” He chuckled and sat back on the chair.

By this time, she had recovered her footing, was no longer unsettled by him. “They do not have a look, so I cannot tell…”

“Alright, Kiki…”

She choked again on her drink, spluttering some on the table. “How the hell do you know my name? I have not told you my name?”

He had laughed. “I have my ways.”

“Have we met before?” She was sure she had seen him before, but she peered into him, trying to work out if she had ever taken him to the lodge house. It was on a Thursday, the day he finally made oral contact with her. The bar, one of the many bars in the busy Moi Avenue, had scattered patronage on that day. Although Kiki was not particularly aware, they went to the same clubs four or five times a week, but for different reasons. Boss deliberately kept out of Kiki’s sight, but he always knew what she was up to.

“If you are wondering if you and I ever got into the sack, the answer is no…” She felt herself blush. “I have my ways, like I said. You are a regular, so am I. You are interesting to watch…”

“Have you been stalking me?” She demanded, looking around for a friendly waiter.

He chuckled again. She hated that she liked how he chuckled. “How much?” He asked instead.

“I charge per hour…”

“How much?” He didn’t flinch.

“Five thousand shillings per hour.” She exaggerated the price for two reasons. One, she was not sure she wanted to go with him; he was making her uneasy and two, he looked like he had money.

“Okay, shall we go?” He was already standing up. “I will give you thirty thousand for the whole night. Let’s go.”

She found him abrupt. And mad.

“Why?” Her voice went a notch higher in panic. She was still seated. She was now frantically looking for a waiter. “I don’t think I want to go with you. Why would you pay thirty thousand for a prostitute?”

 He sat down slowly, his gaze, once again, digging into her in the same way that left her feeling exposed. “Because I can…and I want to.”

She shook her head slowly. She was feeling hot, she knew her face was red. She started fanning herself. “I don’t want to go. You scare me…”

He sighed, folded his hands and studied her again. When he stood up, she thought he was leaving, but he fished out his wallet, sat down and opened it.

“That’s your money. Count it.”

She didn’t take it. She crossed her hands and ignored the sweat that was now running down her face. She shook her head. “I can’t…”

He turned around and summoned a waiter. “Get me the manager…”

As they waited for the manager, they sat in silence. He was still studying her. Once in a while she stole glances at him and felt herself get more upset with the amused look on his face. She wanted to leave, but her legs felt weak even without the weight of her body on them. She took her soda and downed it all, her throat making gurgling sounds that seemed to up his amusement.

“You are a very beautiful woman…” He said between chuckles. She sneered at him, or tried to. Most men liked to use boring and used lines, like ‘have I seen you before’, or ‘I have been waiting for you all my life’. She knew all the cheesy lines, and they helped to break ice, plus she suspected that men used the lines because they were trying to convince themselves that they were getting hooked up with a nice girl. This one was did not look interested in niceties. He did not beat around the bush, he wanted her to know he knew she was a prostitute, but what bothered her was why he seemed anxious to get her.

“You sent for me?” The manager interrupted the standoff.

“Yes I did. Do you know me?”

“Yes I do. You come here often.”

“Do you know her?”

“In deed. She comes here often as well.”

“Good.”  He took the money on the table and handed it to the manager. “Count it.”

“Thirty thousand shillings.”

“Good. Now, I need you to keep it safe in your office. This nice lady here will collect it tomorrow from you. Can you do that?”

The perturbed looking manager nodded, looking from one to the other. “I can.”

“Good. Thank you.” He turned to Kiki whose mouth now seemed to be doing the seeing for her. “See. I am nice. He also knows you are with me. If something happens to you, he will know. Let’s go.” He stood up and offered her his hand. Slowly, she accepted it, feeling a cold chill she should not have felt because it was a warm night.

And so she had summoned her regular cab guy and taken him to her lodge room. By the time they got to the room, she felt herself relax. She was in familiar surroundings. She had shaken the watchman’s hand with some notes. She had done the same with the receptionist.

Now she was in her element. She had disappeared into the bathroom and minutes later emerged wearing red lingerie and renewed makeup, but she stopped at the bathroom door. He was lying flat on the bed with his head popped up with the pillow, fully dressed, looking at his phone. He even had his shoes on. He looked up and smiled. Suddenly she felt too exposed. She crossed her arms.

 “Are you not getting undressed?” She demanded.

He had shaken his head. “No, I am not. I am not here for sex.”

A few times, she had gotten men, who just wanted to talk, but on those times, the men had looked broken, and they had been left by their wives. This one did not look like a candidate for a broken heart. He looked like a man who had the world at his feet. She looked back at the bathroom where her clothes were neatly folded, feeling a sudden urge to get dressed.

“No, stay like that.” He had read her mind. “You look very beautiful, I want to look at you.”

“Just look at me…nothing else?”

“Nothing else. Come on, sit here…” He had pointed at the space beside him. She had only hesitated for a moment. She lay on his chest, allowing herself to relax a little when he put his arms around her.

“So, tell me why you sell your body?” His voice had changed. It sounded caring.

She decided she would never get used to his type of abruptness.

“It’s something to do…”

“But you are a very beautiful girl. You want to tell me that no man out there would be proud enough to own you exclusively?”

“Perhaps I have a problem with being owned…”

“Nonsense. How old are you? Twenty years old? What would you know about not wanting to be owned.”

“I am twenty one, and I do know.” She said stubbornly.

“Is it the sex?” He whispered, patting her bald head gently.

“What about the sex?”

“Is it that one man cannot satisfy you?”

She would have wanted to tell him that it was not the sex. In fact, she had no idea why sex was so overrated – as far as she was concerned, most of the time it was as taxing as peeling potatoes, except for the few times she managed to catch an orgasm. If anyone could ask her what she thought about sex, she would tell them that sex was a blank feeling, just a means to an end. Every time her customers groaned and grunted with pleasure when on top of her, those very times her body refused to remember all the tricks about getting pleasure, she would roll her eyes and wonder what the hullabaloo was all about.

She was hating this line of questioning. Even for thirty thousand shillings.  

She pulled herself out of his grip and swung out of the bed, walked to the window, peeped through the curtains, all along debating with herself on if she was willing, for thirty thousand shillings, willing to indulge a wonna-be psychiatrist

“You know, I do not talk about my work. Even for thirty thousand shillings. Your questions are unsettling.”

He chuckled again, swinging off the bed and joining her at the window. He hugged her, gently. She was shorter than him and when she rested her head on his shoulder, she relaxed. “

 “Exactly what do you want from me?” She whispered. His cologne made her miss the priest.

“I told you, I just want to talk.” He whispered back.

“About me?”

“Why not? Unless you have secrets you want to keep.” Kiki grunted; her whole life was one big secret. “Put it this way, I am curious as to why a girl like you would chose such a demeaning job…” He pulled her at arm’s length and studied her. She held his gaze, thinking his eyes looked gentler than they had all evening. She felt herself relax again. When he asked her to return to bed, she went willingly. He stripped to his underwear and they both slid under the white duvet in-between white bed sheets before assuming their earlier pose.

In the end, she had ended up talking, more like confessing. The first five minutes had been difficult – she hated her life in general, talking about it was not something she had done before, not in such detail. Not even to the priest, a man she had started considering as a friend. She paused intermittently, she hesitated mid-sentence, but he was such a good listener.

Two hours later, when Kiki’s mouth was dry from overuse and his ears ached from listening, they had fallen asleep, in each other’s’ arms. It was one of the most peaceful nights she could ever remember. In the morning, he had wanted to have breakfast with her, but she had declined. They did not serve breakfast at the lodge house, and she was not willing to go out in day light dressed the way she was, and she didn’t want him to see the buibui she always carried in her bag. He had asked for her number, she had given it to him. After he left, she had freshened up, wore the buibui and took a cab home as he walked away and disappeared into the crowd.

For three days after that, she had not gone on the prowl, but she had collected her pay and tipped the manager. On the fourth day, he called her, and she had not needed much convincing to agree to meet at the lodge house. It felt like a date, even though there were no preambles like dinner. He had wanted her to go to his house, she had insisted on the lodge house. He had agreed, albeit grudgingly.

Their second day had some similarities with the first day, but this time she had not changed into lingerie. They sat on the bed, they talked, they laughed, they fell asleep in each others’ arms. At midnight, almost as if he had set the alarm, he had tapped on her should gently, waking her up. At first, she had thought that he wanted to have sex, but he did not. For a woman who had always managed to arouse men with a mere look, his behaviour made her wonder if she was losing her allure.

 “What?” She had asked groggily.

“You have been talking about yourself, but I have not told you anything about me.” She sat up against the headboard to give her full attention.

“I cannot have sex…” His confession was typically abrupt.

“What do you mean? Cannot or will not?”

“Cannot. Something happened to me when I was a small boy, and I cannot have sex…”

“…okay.” Even to herself, her response had sounded stupid, but it was all that came out as she shifted on the bed.

“That is the long and short of it. I have never had sex in my life…”

“Ever?” He shook his head. “Well, trust me, you have not been missing much, there is nothing phenomenal about sex.”

They both laughed uneasily, squeezing each other’s’ palms. What a strange paring, they both thought.

“You don’t enjoy sex?” He asked, almost hopefully. Misery loved company, he thought.

Kiki shrugged. “Put it this way, I do not know what the fuss is all about. People kill, maim for sex – I don’t get it. At all. It\s awesome now and then, but I wouldn’t harm anyone because of it.”

It had taken her over ten minutes for his confession to sink in properly. In those ten minutes, he had been quiet.

“What is your name?” She had asked eventually.

“I am Boss…”

“Is that a legitimate name?” She asked between giggles.

“People who work for me call me Boss…maybe one day I will tell you my real name.”

“So, Boss, why have you been stalking me, and telling me all this? Is this something you do with random prostitutes?”

“Believe it or not, you are the first prostitute, the first woman, I ever shared a bed with.” She gasped. It was true. Almost half of his female employees were ex-prostitutes, but he had never spoken to them the way he was doing with Kiki. He would have them driven to the house in Ngumo and the deals would be sealed there. With Kiki, he felt like a predator, and he was enjoying the chase. And she was absolutely beautiful. “But to answer your question, I like you, and I want you to stop selling yourself?”

She had laughed loudly, for lack of something else to do.

“I am not joking. I can offer you something better…”

“What, sexless marriage?” Even as the words came out, she knew it was a bad and tactless choice of words.

“Do not make a joke of my situation, please…”

“Sorry.” And she meant it. “I am sorry. I am just confused about what you want with me…it is a strange situation for me. Usually I deal with men who cannot have enough sex, not the other way round.”

“Haven’t you ever thought of doing something different?”

She shrugged. “Like what? I am a form two drop out, the only certificate I have is a primary school one. I have been a prostitute for almost six years…I would say there is nothing out there for me because I do not see myself as a house maid or a messenger. I suppose I could get married to a rich man, but I doubt the men I meet would want to marry me.”

He nodded.

“What do you want to offer me?”

“A chance to work for me…”

“What do you do?”

He had cleared his throat. She had looked at him suspiciously. She asked the question again, this time round with a little more force.

“I am a robber…”

She jumped out of the bed, went to the door, seemed to change her mind about leaving, went to the window, peeped through the curtains, and finally looked back at him. He was still in the same position, his expression like someone deep in a poker game.

“Robber? You want me to be a robber?” It was slightly higher than a whispered question.

“Do not judge me, it’s not like you are a priest!”

“I am not judging you; that is your monkey. I am just concerned about the fact that you want me to become a robber…a robber!” She giggled, but only because she remembered one of her regular customers, Father Joshua. How ironic!

“I do not hurt people, they come to me willingly…”

“And who said I hurt people?”

“What robber does not?”

“I do not hurt people. They are usually too scared to resist.”

“Robber…” She sniggered, moving back to the bed, sitting on it and facing him.

“What kind of robber are you?”

 ‘I do cars…”

She laughed. “…As in, car-jacking?’

“Whatever you call it. I deal in cars...I do cars.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. I no longer do it myself, I have people doing it for me.”

“How do you know they do not hurt people…?”

“Because I would know. I have ears everywhere…”

“Even with the cops?”

He shrugged. “I said I have ears everywhere.”

“So you want me to steal cars? I cannot do that, I am sorry I have to decline the offer…”

Because she was right in front of him, it was easy for him to hold her hands. It was a gentle but stable hold. “Listen. You do not have to agree, but if you say no, I am good at disappearing, you may even wonder if you did ever meet me. If you say no, obviously you cannot talk about it to anyone, ever…” His eyes looked slightly crazed, or it may have been her imagination.

“Okay. What then?”

“If you say yes, you would be among many. I usually have three people per team; one beautiful woman and two men. You go on your regular prowl…identify a man...before you agree to go home with him, you will have to make sure that he drives, and what sort of car he drives. You will be in constant communication with your team mates and if the car fits the description we want, you will go ahead. They will trail you, you are still in constant communication, and at the right spot, the boys will attack. They will take your phones, money, everything, and the car…you will obviously be too devastated to go ahead with your client, your client will be more concerned about finding his car to worry about you. Another team will pick you up after a few minutes to take you home, of course. Job done.”

Kiki laughed. She could not believe something so evil had been laid out so gently to end up sounding like a prank. She flatly refused the offer. He had left the lodge house in the middle of the night. Two months later, she had called him because after much thought, she had decided she was done with prostitution and needed a new challenge – however, deep down she knew she missed him. She could not stop thinking about him, and it bothered her. She had never missed anyone in her life, except her dead mother. And that was why she was in the middle of Nairobi chaos, because she was heading to his house somewhere at the end of Kirinyaga Road.

***

Her patience in negotiating the chaos finally paid off. She was right in front of the building on Kirinyaga Road, but for a few moments, she stood outside feeling apprehensive, taking in the surroundings. The name of the building was displayed on the main entrance so she was certain she was at the right place. She looked at the other buildings next to it, they all looked similar; dilapidated. What was a man as polished as Boss doing in such a place?

It was only when a mad man pushed her with his sack full of whatever mad men carried that she shook herself. For a brief moment, her eyes and that of the mad man locked but she looked away quickly, making the decision to enter into the building. The mad man stopped for a brief moment to watch her take the stairs into a building.

On the ground floor, there were tiny shops displaying all sorts of wares; hardware shops, car spares shops, mirror shops, clothes shops. The chaos she thought she had left on the streets seemed to have poured into the shops; people going in and out of the shops, some carrying sacks and heavy luggage. And they were still noisy. She took the stairs to the first floor. It was calmer. Office doors were closed, but there were people milling on the corridors, others smoking outside and making conversation.

She stood at the foot of the stairs leading to second floor, reached into her jean’s pocket and fished out her phone, dialling Boss’ number.

“Kiki?”

 “Hi. I think I am lost.”

“Where are you right now?”

She said the name of the building. “I am standing at the stairs on second floor. There doesn’t seem to be anything up there?” She was peeping at the grilled door that looked more disused than used.

Boss chuckled. “You are not lost. Take the stairs and open the grilled door. I had left it open for you. I am on the floor next. It’s the top floor and I call it my downtown penthouse.” He laughed.

When Naliaka landed on the top floor, she paused to take it in. It was like a different neighbourhood altogether, an affluent neighbourhood. The corridors were clean and tiled. The walls had a green coat of pain. There were plants all through. It was beautiful.

Then a door opened.

 “Come in, Kiki.”

“It’s day time. My name is Naliaka…” she said as she gave him a long look. He was wearing a near tight white tee-shirt, grey slacks and white socks.

“Come in, Naliaka…”

She almost told him what a lovely smile she had. Instead, she said thank you. It was the first time she was seeing him properly at day time. He was a very handsome man and her mind struggled to imagine that he had never had sex. Waste of good genes, Queen would say.

When he shut the door behind her, when she removed her sneakers and left them at the door, Naliaka was ushered into a different world. The softest cream carpet caressed her bare feet. The carpet led her to a massive sitting room donning black leather seats. The biggest flat screen television took a big chunk of one wall; below it was a glass shelf full of sea shells and other paraphernalia. She did wonder for a moment whether he collected them during travels or he bought them from a shop. There was an African painting on the three remaining walls. The cosiest living room she had ever been into, not even Queen’s had been this beautiful. On one corner was the dining area with a table and six chairs. There were food warmers, she could smell the food. Pilau.

Boss was having his own problems reconciling the woman in front of him with the one he met at night, the one whose arms he spent the two nights with, the very one who has giving him sleepless nights. If he had met her on the streets, the only reason he would have looked at her was because she was an extremely beautiful woman, not because she looked familiar. Now, he was observing her as she took in the surrounding, soaking in her fascination of his house, and her beauty. The wig was gone; in its place was a shiny bald head. He decided she visited the barber’s more times than he did. She had on huge bead earrings. Instead of her short skirts, she wore a pair of fitting blue jeans and a tight black top. Her sunglasses, which had covered her beautiful eyes when he opened the door for her, now hang against her protruding forehead – he had never seen a forehead so huge and lovely. No trace of make-up on her except for clear lip gloss. He decided that he liked this version better.

“You look very different.” He finally broke the silence.

“Thank you. I am a different person at day time, that is why I change my name at day time.” She turned to look at him, giving him a once over. “You look different too. Your house is very beautiful…” She turned her attention back to the room.

“Thank you…”

“Who would have thought … and in such an area?”

He laughed. She loved the way he laughed, on top of his chuckles. “In my line of work, you have to know how to disappear…”

The statement reminded her of the reason she was there.

“Come on, wash your hands. The sink is right that way. Let’s sit down because that food is not going to eat itself. If you want a drink first, I can get you. Wine?”

“I don’t drink alcohol. I have enough vices…”

“Ever?” He was aware she had been sober both times they had met, but he had never considered a possibility of her being a teetotaller.

“Sometimes I take a little. Long time ago I realized I operate better when sober…” She explained as she noisily sat on the leather sofa instead on the dining area, folding her legs under her.

“Food, then?” She shrugged. “I am waiting for two other people, they should be here any time but we can be eating as we wait.”

As if on cue, three systematic taps on the door interrupted them. Naliaka did not know it then, but if Boss’ door was knocked any other way, it would be time for the body guards to cock the guns as Boss hid in the special wardrobe.

He opened the door, letting in two men. It was Kamau and Oti. Naliaka studied them from the sofa and wondered if they would be her partners. One of them looked too clean to be a thief, like Boss did. The other one had a look of someone who had it rough in life, and he had scars on his face.

“Right. Boys, this is Kiki. Kiki, this right here is my right hand man, Kamau. This is Oti, his right hand man. You may just be seeing a lot of each other.”

She had been right. The two would be her partners were she to agree, the reason why her reaction was a half-smile as she allowed herself to study them more. “Hi.” She finally said, slightly amused at how the two were gawking at her. It was a reaction she was used to. Making men speechless. They nodded at her, unblinkingly.

She could not know it, but the two men, for those seconds of introduction, had wondered if they had a chance with her. Not even Kamau knew about Boss’ inability to get it up, but for the simple fact that he had never seen his boss with a woman, it was enough to give him hope that he could have a chance with her.

“Come on boys, we were just about to eat. Wash your hands and we can get on with it. We can all bond over lunch. Come on everybody.”

Naliaka had always been a slow eater. Food was not something that occupied her mind, she ate because her body was aware that it needed to eat something to keep going. She had no favourite food and as a result, she ate anything, if only a little of it. As Kamau and Oti ate their food without looking up, as if it was their last meal, she more or less played with the little she served herself, staring at them in disbelief. Boss, on his part, studied her as he ate his food with much more decorum. It was a very amused meal time for him.