Silver Bullet part 2

Image courtesy of renegadefolk.wordpress.com
Image courtesy of renegadefolk.wordpress.com

Her living room was a mess, magazines were strewn across the floor and dirty glasses littered her red Persian rug. On the coffee table was a thin, fine line of white dust. Lying next to it was a shiny steel razor blade. Marie was lying on her couch, her hands flimsily thrown across the armrest. Her hair was a small fro – black. It gave her an 80s pop look. She had nothing on but a red kanga wrapped around her shoulders barely covering her thighs. Traces of the white powder could be seen on her nose and upper lip.

She moved rather slightly as if trying to get comfortable, trying to stretch her kanga to cover her legs. The mosquitoes were having a feast off her light skin. The room was quite dark with the lights dimmed out and the music playing in the background was Michael Jackson’s Liberian girl. The ambiance was unwelcoming but it did not seem to bother her. Balancing at the edge of her coffee table was a half empty bottle of dry gin.

 

The door bell rang echoing across the room. This stirred her up. She lazily got up and made her way to the door – half walking half crawling. Taking a peep through the peep-hole she cursed under her breath as she unlatched the chain. Another lady walked in, dressed in a large brown trench coat that covered most of her body and black heels with Ankara print at the front of her shoes.

“Damnit Marie! Why do you always do this?” she said

Her eyes were concentrated on the coffee table.

Marie shrugged walking to the couch and fell in a heap. She was tired. She did not want another pity party from her sister.

“Leave me be Sandra.” Her voice was coarse and heavy.

***

The sun was shy; kissing the Nairobi skyline like a girlfriend from the bunduz would do if she thought people were watching. The grey Toyota was long gone as the sixty six emerged from the church. Each entered his vehicle and drove off into the city. They had this air of determination around them.

Antonio – the one with an Italian suit fumbled with his phone. Going through his messages he found a couple from Marie. He sighed – she was his girlfriend, or so she thought.

“Where are you?”

“Why are you not replying?”

“I hate you!”

“Please call me when you get this. “

Throwing his phone to the backseat of his scarlet red BMW he fished the inside of his inner pockets for a cigarette. As he puffed away he got lost into a sea of thought. You see his life had not always been fancy cars, designer suits and model girlfriends living in up-market apartments.  However, things had changed – fast! It all started when he met one Pastor Apollo.

Antonio, a young man trying to make it in the big city walked across this grandeur church building on a rainy Sunday evening to seek shelter. The guards would not let him in – he was huge and his clothes were not up to the churches standards. Getting infuriated he punched two of the guards square in the face knocking them out as the others unsuccessfully tried to subdue him. The pastor having heard the hullabaloo came out to investigate.

Surprised at how one man could overpower six of his guards the pastor was impressed and called of the guards. Antonio was invited into the pastor’s office – a well furnished space that oozed of elegance. To this date, Antonio admires the pastor’s candidness. He did not stutter or mince his words.

“Do you want a job?”

“Yes”

“It pays well but it is illegal”

“I will do anything”

“Good come tomorrow at 2.30 am”

The pastor then handed him five thousand shillings so use as cab fare for such an ungodly hour.  That was the start of a rather fruitful relationship. This was however six years ago – now Antonio a rich man himself was having second thoughts.

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