‘Go, I’ll meet you. Truly.’
She went. It was not often that love came her way. At the bedroom door, she turned and made eyes.
One of the men carrying a brief-case came into the room. ‘We have come to discuss business.’ As he spoke his partner entered and they both sat down. ‘It is like this. We have five lorries, big, nice, in good condition, We want to sell them, and we want one thousand five hundred pounds for them – spot cash. You can repaint them and sell them at eight hundred pounds each. The timber merchants will grab them quick.’ He produced a cigarette and lit it.
Lajide watched him. The directness of the offer left him gasping. He had always thought that no one could excel him in blunt talk. He stroked his chin. Why had they picked on him? On the other hand . . . Beatrice! Here was a chance to spend some real money on her and stun her. That five thousand he had received from Zamil, where was it? Gone . . . he must have some more cash.
‘Excuse me gentlemen. Kekere! Kekere! come and get beer for the gentlemen. We can talk better with drinks.’
‘Just so, sah!’
Kekere bustled about the inner room. She came out, carrying a tray with bottles and glasses. She set the tray down near them and left. Their eyes followed her.
‘You have a very beautiful wife,’ the one with the brief-case said.
‘And young,’ the other added.
‘Women are trouble,’ said Lajide, thinking about Beatrice. But he could not disguise his pleasure.
‘Women soften life. Life is too hard,’ said the man with the brief-case.
‘Yes; when you have one wife it may be true. But a man like me, I have eight.’
Lajide filled his glass. ‘Of course they come and go. Today, six, tomorrow eight. I use to worry myself about them. Not now.’ Kekere came out now and wandered about the room. She picked something and slipped back behind the curtains. The men licked their lips.
‘Where are these lorries?’ Lajide asked.
‘Not far from here.’
‘What kind of lorries?’
‘Very good ones, have no fear. Ex-Army. Used by the Americans and the British during the war. Very good for the timber business.’
While they talked, Lajide kept thinking how he could double-cross these men. The idea did not come all at once. Slowly he rose and went indoors to change.
Kekere lay in bed, half-draped. She looked up. ‘Are they gone? Have you come?’
‘Pss! Listen! This is what I want you to do. If you bungle things, I won’t come to you any more . . .’ In a few quick words he gave her his orders and said, ‘Now, don’t waste time.’
Again and again he warned her that she must do as she was told. Then he went out and met the robbers, who had been waiting impatiently.
It was one of those moonlit nights when a man has to peer into a face to identify it. Lajide approached the men who took him to inspect the lorries. To his amazement he discovered that the lorries were sound: that they needed mere paint – in fact, these men were dealing with him as honestly as one rogue with another. But that did not alter his plan. He too, needed the money and knew well the risk involved.
If Kekere had done her share, the police should be here now. He peered into the darkness, but saw nothing. Then he began to haggle with them, to fill in the time. His ears were tuned for the faintest sounds, and he identified the crunch of boots before anyone else.
A group of men broke into their conversation, two of them in police uniform. Lajide saw the glint of moonlight on handcuffs. The robbers cursed him, but his own men (so he thought) were there awaiting his orders.
‘Take these lorries to the Eastern Greens and sell them. You must travel only by night.’
‘What are you talking?’ asked the uniformed man.
Lajide peered into the face, a strange one and very likely that of a real policeman. Kekere had bungled his plans. He had instructed her not to summon the real police but his own accomplices disguised as policemen. Kekere’s stupidity would cost him thousands of pounds.
He drew back. ‘I don’t speak to you. Am laughing at the thief-men.’
‘You done your duty well,’ said the policeman, gleefully. He turned to the lorry thieves and said harshly: ‘Inside!’ As they clambered into the police van he shook Lajide by the hand. ‘Well done!’
Lajide forced a smile and mumbled something but his thoughts were fixed on how best to discipline the frivolous Kekere. When he got home she was nowhere to be found and she did not show up until Providence dealt Lajide a blow.