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Boss Jonni’s high-rise had private security, but I knew what to do. I hid in a construction hole outside the high-rise. When, a few minutes later, a car left the underground garage, I ran inside before the gates closed. The key to the stairway was in a box taped under Boss Jonni’s blue Porsche. The car was next to the stairway entrance; the security camera never saw me.

  Everything went smooth. I collected the key from under the Porsche in seconds. I opened the door to the stairway and started to climb the stairs. At Floor 11, I heard people laughing through the stairway door. They sounded white and drunk. I stopped to listen and saw three stains on the concrete steps that looked like three leaves that had fallen from a tree. The noise stopped, and I ran up to Floor 19. I was breathing fast. The Hareef Food Supplies bag was dark from my hand sweat.

  I stepped through the stairway door onto a blue-carpeted hallway. The carpet was cool under my feet, a still blue river. The air was cold from the air-con. I walked down the blue river to 19B. I heard noise on the other side of the door, yelps and shouts. It sounded as if Boss Jonni was home! I knocked.

  A girl opened the door. “Jonni, there’s a meejit here,” she shouted.

  Yes! I was not too early. Boss Jonni was there.

  Boss Jonni shouted from inside, “Let him in quick. Shut da fookin’ door.”

  The girl was in her twenties, tall and beautiful. She had two gold palm-size triangles on her breasts. Nothing else. Her body was long and black. Her head hair was straightened, and it came off her head like a fan. She had bird-shaped eyes, long eyelashes, and wide, deep-red lips. There was white powder under her African nose. The hair on her groin curled. Gold Bikini stepped aside, and I went in.

  Boss Jonni lay stretched out on a brown leather sofa like a lazy lion on a safari poster. A red gown hung off his shoulders. Apart from that, he was naked. He was heavy, older than Wolf, and was not handsome. His face was round and his eyes were puffed up like the eyes of a fish. His mouth was tight and nasty. “Meejit, you have some-it for me?”

  There was a second hooker girl who knelt in front of him, with her mouth attached to his bhunna. Her head bobbed up and down. Most of what I saw of the head-bobber was her big arse. Between her arse and me was a low table with a glass top. In the center was a football-size mound of white. There were snake trails leading from it, and a flat-edged razor blade for chopping.

  I looked at Boss Jonni’s eyes—he was not in the apartment or on the planet.

  On my other sixteen Boss Jonni runs, he had met me at the door, taken the money, and given me the blocks of white. The swap had taken seconds. This time was different. I had never seen him this gone. I held up the brown paper bag. “Boss Jonni, where’s I put tha monay, sa?”

  Boss Jonni shouted, “Ya stupid fook meejit. Leave it in the bedroom.” He waved over his shoulder—I guessed toward the bedroom. “Take eight blocks for Wolf an’ fook off.” Gold Bikini slid next to Boss Jonni on the sofa and folded onto him like a new skin. He kissed her and a smile grew over his mean mouth. Head Bobber bounced faster on his bhunna below. Here was a happy man.

  “Boss Jonni, you mind I’z early, sa?” I said.

  Boss Jonni did not look away from Gold Bikini. “What? Jus’ take tha white an’ fook off.” He kissed her more. It was obvious: he was happy that I was early. I thought, I will tell Wolf that.

  The bedroom door was closed. I was about to open it when Boss Jonni shouted at me over the hooker noises, “Serena here want ta know if your dick is meejit, too. Come an’ show us.” The girls laughed. He added, “Now!”

  “Yes, Boss Jonni Sa,” I said.

  I went back and stood in front of them. Head Bobber stopped and turned round to look. I put the brown paper bag on the floor, undid my trousers, and pushed them down. All three of them gasped. Head Bobber’s face was ugly.

  I pulled up my trousers and picked up the brown paper bag. Gold Bikini whispered in Boss Jonni’s ear. Boss Jonni said, “Serena says you have three legs, ya.” The three of them went into hysterics. Head Bobber sniffed white, laughed, and went back to work.

  I went back into the bedroom. Hammers smashed potholes in my thinking. Through the door I heard Boss Jonni laugh, the girls giggling. My neck thudded under my skin. What a fooka!

  Boss Jonni’s bedroom was bigger than a shack in Kibera. The black shiny sheets on the big bed were messed up. The room had a large TV. It smelled of hookers, sweat, and sex.

  At the end of the room by the window was a large wooden table. On it was a mountain of white blocks. Each block was wrapped in plastic. I needed eight. I emptied the money onto the bed and put eight blocks in the Hareef Food Supplies bag. But growth retards see shadows others do not. Under the bed I saw the edge of something. I bent down and pulled out a black businessman case.

  Boss Jonni screamed from his sofa, “Get the fook outta there.”

  “Yes, sa, Boss Jonni,” I shouted back through the closed door. Fast, I knelt on the carpet, clicked the gold locks, and opened the case. Inside was a green field of money—mainly dollars, some shillings. Piles were wrapped with rubber bands. I touched it. The hundreds were all together, the twenties, too. The money smelled of dagga and white. I guessed there was at least $200,000 and 50,000 shillings. A new drumbeat smashed in my ears: “Take! Take! Take!”

  Boss Jonni shouted again. This time just “Fook.” I slapped the case shut, shoved it under the bed, and ran to the bedroom door. I started to open the door but stopped.

  Loud blasts: “Bah bah, bah!” One, then three, then seven gunshots.

  My thinking, legs, breathing stopped. My chest banged up my neck.

  I put one eye to the door crack. Wolf stood in front of Boss Jonni and the hookers. He smiled as he looked down at them. I smelled gun smoke. He wiped the gun on his shirt. I knew what he was doing—wiping off Wolf prints. He dropped the gun and it landed beside Head Bobber’s mouth.

  In my head I screamed to myself, “Get behind the bed. Lie. Be still.” But my legs wouldn’t move. “Bingo’s legs, move!” my head screamed, but I stood still.

  I looked through the door crack again. Wolf turned toward me. I was sure he could smell me—Wolf smells fear the way Slo-George smells baking. “Shut up,” I shouted in my head. Wolf’s thick eyebrows narrowed. He stepped toward my terror. Then a step more. Three steps. A door slammed somewhere; there was a shout. Wolf rushed out of view. I heard the door to 19B open and bang shut. Wolf was gone.

  Chapter 9.

  Bingo’s Run

  I stood still behind the bedroom door and waited in the silence after Wolf. There was a siren down below. I opened the bedroom door and walked to the sofa. Boss Jonni lay back, head to the side as if he was asleep. Head Bobber was crumpled at his feet; she was his floor mat—an ugly rug of death. But Gold Bikini, in her death, was beautiful. Her eyes were only half closed. As I looked at her, I felt cold, like in a windblast—as if her life had blown over me.

  All three were dead. I felt nothing for them. The siren sounded closer. My legs begged, “Bingo, run.”

  I ran back to the bedroom. I snatched the Hareef Food Supplies bag, which was heavy from the eight blocks. I pushed Wolf’s money back into it, on top of his white. My hands shook. “Take! Take! Take!” called from inside me. I reached under the bed and pulled out the businessman case. I grabbed it by the handle; it was heavy with money. I ran to the main room, knelt beside Head Bobber, opened the businessman case, and put the dark green steel gun into it. In Kibera, one free gun is more useful that a bus-ful of free condoms.

  As I left 19B, I shouted, “Goodbye, everyone,” as if I had just drunk some beers. “See ya’s,” I called behind me, and slammed the front door shut.

  I had seen killing before—lots of it—but it was always crazy. Death was never still like this. A twisting animal gripped my throat. My breaths were mixed up. I breathed out and gasped in at the same time. The blue carpet outside Boss Jonni’s apartment had been a still river; now it was deep and roaring, dangerous to cross. I feared it would drown me. Ever
ything felt wrong. On the bank behind me was Gold Bikini’s beauty and Boss Jonni, asleep with his feet resting on an ugly floor mat. Ahead of me was the exit sign.

  Holding the brown paper bag and Boss Jonni’s businessman case, I ran across the blue river, pushed open the exit door and entered the stairway’s solid-gray-concrete silence. My head fired and sparked. “Bingo, run!” it cried. My legs obeyed. I started down the stairs carefully at first, but by the eleventh floor I was running as fast as fire licks the sky. I had to get back to Wolf. I had to behave like it had been a normal Boss Jonni run. If Wolf thought that I had seen him shoot Boss Jonni, my life would be less than a fallen hair. That was why Wolf had told me to arrive at nine; he wanted me to be his witness of death—but not his witness of killing. I had not obeyed Wolf, and this was the price.

  I needed to hide the businessman case; I could not be spotted on the street with it. A growth retard with a black businessman case is something people notice. I needed to hide it in the high-rise. As I have told you, growth retards look at the world different from tall people. We see ankles, calves, and arses, while tall people see heads, hats, and hair. To hide the case, I looked down. But as I ran down the stairs from floor to floor, there was nowhere to hide it—no gaps, no holes.

  At the bottom of the stairway were two doors: on the left was the exit to the car park; on the right was the building entrance. In the wall between them, just off the ground, was a small gray iron door just wider than me. I turned the metal handle and it opened. Inside was the lift duct. I pushed the businessman case through and it fell inside. I slammed the small door shut and ran into the car park. I waited for a car to leave. Then I ran fast through the car park, out of the gates, and onto Taifa Road. Outside, I bent over at the side of the road and was sick.

  Three boys in the street watched me and laughed. I was sick more. The boys laughed more. They thought I was drunk. As I watched my sick soak into the mud through a crack in the road, I thought how quiet it must be under the blanket of tarmac. There, everything is silence. But life is not that simple. Show me one road where the tarmac is smooth and even. You cannot. We are driven over so much that every road is cracked. No one knows quiet peace.

  Chapter 10.

  Bingo Reports Back to Wolf

  I was careful to wait until after nine. I ran into Wolf’s hut shouting, “Wolf Sa, Wolf Sa!” I clutched the Hareef Food Supplies brown paper bag. At the bus station every day, actors play-act to teach people about HIV and not to beat up women. Workers watch before they go home. It is a good place to lip people. The actors are rubbish, but they make the workers laugh. I can act better than they can. I acted frightened. It was easy to do.

  Wolf’s hut had electric. Like Boss Jonni, he had a hooker draped over him. Wolf said, “What, Meejit?” He pushed her off him as if she was a rag. For Wolf, like me, work was work.

  I screamed, “Wolf Sa, Wolf Sa!”

  Wolf shouted back, “Meejit, what?”

  My panic got real. “Wolf Sa, I got to Boss Jonni.” Tears pushed out of my eyes. “When I’z get there, Boss Jonni, he’s dead. Shot up. Blood everywheres.” Brilliant acting.

  Wolf leaped off his throne and shook my shoulders. “Meejit, what da fook ya say?” Wolf’s acting was rubbish.

  “Boss Jonni iz shot, ya. Fookin’ shot-up dead,” I cried. I held up the brown paper bag. Wolf ripped it from my hand. The bag tore and the eight blocks of white and his money fell on the floor. “What da fook iz this?” Wolf shouted.

  I answered crying, “It’z your monay, Wolf Sa, and I bring eight blocks.” There was silence. Wolf’s face changed—more rubbish acting. He spoke slowly. “So ya sayz Jonni iz shot up?”

  “Yes, Wolf Sa. And two hookas iz shot.” The girl at Wolf’s feet crawled away. “Wolf Sa—please, sa. I bring you’z tha eight blocks.”

  I saw the happiness hidden inside him. Wolf said loudly, “Bet tha fookin’ Manabí kill ’im. Maybe South Ifricans. Maybe police.”

  He didn’t ask me about Boss Jonni’s businessman case full of money.

  Wolf shouted into his mobile. In three minutes, his seven generals, including Dog, had appeared. Everyone shouted and argued about who had killed Boss Jonni. They were silent when Sinja Smith from Parklands arrived. He was like Wolf but worked from Parklands on the other side of Nairobi. I knew his runners. They all said he was crazy.

  I waited at the back of the hut. Dog stood behind Wolf, panting. His eaten-up nose opened and closed. He said, “Wolf and me here tha whole time.” He was well trained. Woof.

  Everyone was talking. Wolf shouted, “Sha,” and everyone got quiet. “Meejit!” he called, and I came forward. Wolf said, “Meejit, you was there, what ya see?” The room was silent.

  “I did tha run to Boss Jonni tonight,” I said. Wolf stared as if his eyes were putting words in my head.

  Sinja Smith, who always wore a red army flat hat (it had come off a soldier’s head) said, “Meejit, tell me what you see there?”

  I said to him, “I did tha run. Boss Jonni all shot up. Blood everywheres.” I threw my arms up.

  Sinja Smith said, “You see who done it?” He looked at me as if he knew.

  I shook my head. “Nah. But I run right out the high-rise. Outside there iz three boys, ya. Jus’ around.” The best way to lie is to tell the truth (Commandment No. 10).

  Sinja Smith said, “What they look like?”

  “They all big,” I said. To me, all boys are big.

  “What else?” Sinja said.

  I was ready. “Don’ know,” I said. I looked down at the floor. Then I looked up, “They all got Tiger ink.” It was dark, and I had been busy with my vomit. It was possible they had Tiger inked on their arms, Manabí style. It was possible.

  Wolf said, “Fookin’ Manabí.” His eyes shone, but he tried to contain his happiness.

  The room filled with murmurs. Dog’s eyes stared at me. He tried to add everything up, but it was too much for him.

  Sinja Smith added, “Manabí, we will fookin’ kill ’em.”

  The crowd groaned, “Kill ’em.” There had not been a good riot for months.

  After a while everyone left. Wolf shouted, “Meejit—wait!”

  When the hut was empty (even Dog was told, “Go”), Wolf bent his finger at me. “Come,” he said.

  I went and stood in front of him. I waited for a slap, but Wolf rubbed the top of my head. He spoke, each word slow and careful. “You tha witness, Meejit. Them fookin’ Manabí kill Boss Jonni. Ya tha witness tha’ Manabí kill Boss Jonni.”

  I nodded. “Ya, Wolf Sa. Manabí kill Boss Jonni.”

  Wolf went on, “Meejit. Right away, I’z need to keep ya safe—very safe.”

  I nodded.

  He said, “In case tha fookin’ Manabí come after ya.”

  There were bosses above Wolf, and even above Boss Jonni. I was Wolf’s witness that the Manabí—and not Wolf—had killed Boss Jonni. This witness had to live.

  I said, “Wolf Sa, where you want me to go?”

  Wolf said right away, “Meejit, you’z go tha orphanage on Haile Selassie. It called St. Michael’s. Tell tha priest Wolf sent ya. I call him on tha mobile. You tell him you tha witness. You tell ’im the Manabí did it.”

  I said, “Yes, Wolf Sa. Manabí did it.” I was quiet for a second. “I’z go in tha morning.”

  Wolf shouted, “Meejit, you’z fookin’ go right this minit—else I slit ya myself!” He slapped my face and I fell. I whimpered for good show. I knew he’d slap me. I knew it made him feel good.

  He went to the cutters’ table and gave me three bags of white. “Give tha pries’ these, ya.” He slid his hand in his pocket and gave me a roll of shillings. “This for ya’s,” Wolf said. “Rememba, you’z tha witness. Tha Manabí did tha kill.”

  That night I got paid more than any actor at the bus station.

  I ran from Wolf’s hut, out of Kibera. But once I was out on the main street, I went slow. Wolf had told me where to go, but I was not in a hurry. In the nig
ht, as I walked across Nairobi, I missed Deborah’s dark. It was the place I wanted to be, but work is work, money is money, and living is staying alive.

  Chapter 11.

  St. Michael’s Orphanage

  The dark wooden door at St. Michael’s Orphanage was large, with two rusted steel hoops for knockers. The streetlights were mostly out, but I could still make out the sign above the door, ST. MICHAEL’S ORPHANAGE, and below it, WHERE HOPE DREAMS. There was no bell, so I slapped one of the iron hoops. No answer. I threw a rock at the first-floor window. The window smashed; throwing rocks at Krazi Hari had paid off.

  A window opened beside the one that had broken. The man who looked out was clearly a whitehead—life had been pulled out of him. He was a white man with a long yellow face and messed-up straw hair. Sure it was two in the morning, but a whitehead is a whitehead anytime. He had no clothes on his thin upper body. I thought he would look good nailed on a cross. “Boy,” he shouted through the open window, “stop throwing rocks.”

  I called up, “Wolf sent me. Where tha priest?”

  “I am the priest,” the man said. His voice was deep and slow. “I am Father Matthew.” He was English. I knew that from porn. He said, “I was expecting you. Wait there,” and the window shut.

  A minute went by. Father Matthew opened the wooden doors. The entrance hall was lit with electric. The priest was long and bent. His chest and arms were still naked. He wore shorts, as if he was about to play soccer. I went inside and he shut the door behind me.

  The priest put his long hands on my shoulders, looked down at me, and gripped tight. “Son, welcome,” he said. “I am Father Matthew, the priest of St. Michael’s.” I looked up at him in the entrance’s darkness; he was a shadow of a shadow. He continued speaking in a slow, deep voice. “I understand that you have had a most traumatic evening.”

  I nodded and looked down at his large white feet. He wore leather sandals like the ones from the Maasai Market.