Twisted Times: Son of Man (Twisted Times Trilogy Book 1)

by Vincent de Paul

  From afar, Job heard something crawling on the table. His hairs stood erect. He always feared crawling animals, blamed it on childhood experiences. However, he almost laughed at himself loud when he found out that it was not a crawling creature on his desk. It was the vibration alert of his phone.

  Job looked at the caller ID. It was someone who never called unless there was something really important. As he pressed the connect button beads of cold-hot sweat formed on his face.

  CHAPTER 6

  After the call was over, Samson focused on the light traffic. He drove his new toy, a Nissan X-Trail, warily, eyes fixed on the road, fiddling with the miniature statue of St. Philomena on the car key holder. He was young, talented, intelligent, and he had looks and money. He checked his Seiko 5 wrist watch. He was always on time. The meeting he was going to attend was important to him. He needed to be there in time to make sure everything was alright.

  It was his idea that the meeting be at the Hilton Hotel. Job never liked meeting at cosy places. Job never wanted to attract attention. The last time they had met Job made him meet go to a very grimy restaurant in one of the grimiest places in the capital. The air was stinky, acrid, and wickedly pungent. Though he endured the whole time, he did not hesitate to tell Job blatantly that it was his last time to meet at such places.

  To hell with your low profile nonsense, Job, Samson said to himself.

  At the Hilton, Samson, aka Sam, found his personal assistant, who was doubling as the secretary, already there.

  Mandy was always the parlour wife type of lady; sweet, subservient, and beautiful. Sam knew that she had already taken care of what he had come to ascertain. Not that he did not trust her. Seeing was believing for him.

  “Hi Sam, it has been a long day.”

  “Sure. I think you’ve already had several pizzas on my dime?”

  “What do you take me for…?”

  “Easy, easy Mandy. You always tell me that I have got a very dry sense of humour. Call them crude jokes…”

  Sam and Mandy had known each other for five years now and nobody could tell that they were not intimately involved with each other. They had boundaries –work ethics.

  “Have you painted the whole room as it ought?” He used painting to mean bugging. Samson never trusted his dealings with most of his associates. He always taped their discussions as insurance in case of anything.

  “Yes… you are going to trust that I would do anything that you tell me to.”

  “Of course…” he was already going through the whole room. “Job should be here in ten minutes.”

  “Are you going to tell him the truth?”

  “About what?”

  “Do not dilly-dally with me, Sam. I am your PA for God’s sake.”

  “I already know that, Mandy. I shall brief you later.”

  “Things are changing with you these days. Are you seeing somebody…?”

  “Mandy…”

  “Make sure I’m still the one… your personal assistant that is."

  “It’s almost time… you’ve to go now. I have something to do before the meeting.”

  “And you will not need personal assistance?”

  Tone down that sarcasm, babe, Samson thought.

  “Honest to God, Mandy, if I was a killer you will be my first kill.” He then gave her his killer smile that made not only her but all women drool.

  As though you haven’t killed me a thousand times with that smile, Mandy thought as she took her paraphernalia from the conference table.

  As she walked out, Samson watched her retreating figure. The rhythmic move of her plump bottom filled him with sensual thoughts.

  He was hurtled back to reality by his phone vibrating. It was one of the G8 members calling. He flipped open the flap phone and listened.

  Everything was going on as already planned, going as a dream. That’s where it starts. I hope to God Job takes the bait, Samson thought as he disconnected the call.

  At that moment, Job walked in accompanied by somebody Samson dreaded. The intruder’s presence left him wondering what the hell was Job trying to do. Job was beginning to open his eyes, to learn the rules of the game, but at an alarmingly fast rate.

  Samson doubted whether the intruder was really a threat or was just subtle. With Job he had no worry, but not with him. They had run into each other severally. Job was supposed to come alone. Job beginning to know the unwritten rules was not good for business, Sam decided.

  CHAPTER 7

  Later that evening, somewhere in Nairobi, somebody, a man, was avidly lying in wait in the shadows. He checked his wrist watch. It was about time.

  His orders were clear – hijack (rob nothing, harm no one); drive off and report immediately that the cargo is safely delivered at the place it should be… and no mistakes.

  In that short period of time that was remaining he needed to think of what lay ahead of him. He had always wanted to please Urbanas, the boss. This was the only way to prove himself worth after his last assignment’s glaring mistakes. He had begged and Urbanas had given him another chance to atone himself. He now had the chance.

  In that short moment, he thought of how life was for him so far. Everything was easy. Just that bloody easy. He got what he wanted, whenever and wherever he wanted it. Moreover, he was some kind of a celebrity. He was in the litany of wanted criminals, his name on the lips of the senior most police officers and other high ranking people in the country. He was still a novice but lethal enough. What mattered was that he was most wanted, most talked of in the criminal world.

  From a distance he heard the roar of a vehicle. No doubt it was what he was waiting for. It must be her.

  He checked everything to make sure that all was okay. Everything was in order – the ambush was set and the ambushing force ready.

  A sports car halted before the huge iron gates, dimmed the lights and… the gates did not open electrically. He smiled to himself. One nil.

  From his hiding place he saw the driver, a woman, get out of the car and walk towards the gate. No doubt she was perplexed how come. There were lights in the house, but why didn’t the gate open… she tried the doorbell. It was dead, too – two nil.

  Then it dawned on her. She was that smart. He could see the realization of what was happening on her face, but it was too late for her to do something, anything, even to scream for help.

  He struck with the ferocity of cat.

  No mistakes.

  Mistakes were not allowed.

  Cargo was secured, mission accomplished.

  CHAPTER 8

  January 1984:

  Low soft groans.

  More whimpering.

  Somebody somewhere is in pain.

  The cry is familiar.

  No… somebody must be in pain.

  A figure appeared in the doorway to the bedroom of the ‘70s house.

  Crying.

  The crying is coming from the silhouette.

  No. It isn’t a dream. It must be real.

  Mother Theresa woke up only to come face to face with an ocean of darkness… but what had she just seen in the darkness? Who was that crying? She was sure that somebody was there. She could smell her. That crying could not be mistaken. Only one person could cry like that.

  Then it came tumbling down on Theresa. She was fully awake now. Only one thing came to her mind – help.

  Theresa had to do her best. Many young girls died while giving birth. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let that happen. Not to her daughter.

  Hours later, Theresa was relieved. Her daughter was safe, alive and kicking.

  Then the unthinkable happened.

  Shannon denied the baby she had given birth to was hers.

  CHAPTER 9

  Nobody told me that my brother was dead. But I knew long before it was a well-known fact. I saw people coming and going to offer their condolences.

  Everybody gave out whatever they had, said a few sorry words for the demise and did something. Something here took th
e form of a chore, anything they could think of – washing the utensils, cleaning the house and the compound, tending to the cattle, and many other domestic duties. In addition, the family radio was playing those gospel songs that were selling like nothing else those days – the Emali Town choir, Kyande, Munishi, the Twawaombea hit song, and Nilianza Safari.

  I did not cry, though.

  In Africa death is a taboo. People do not talk about it. They talk about death when it has occurred. African death is caused by somebody or something. Death in itself is associated with a bad act, a frightening happening, something that in itself calls for retribution and punishment. Apart from the denial that comes with death, I did not accept my brother was dead. I was surprised to find that I was not alone. Some family members felt that Danny’s death had come a little too early, that it was not in natural order he died that young. They sought to punish whoever/whatever had caused his death. Well, it was whoever. Whomever they consulted told them Danny was bewitched by an aunt.

  However, nobody ever told me the truth, though. I happened to stumble on the doctor’s diagnosis report by mistake three years later. The globe of light that was in Danny’s right eye was not exactly what it had been taken to be, what had been neglected. It was retinoblastoma; cancer of the eye. It could have been treated had it not have been neglected for long. Over the years it had spread to other body parts, causing osteogenic sarcoma, a malignant bone tumour.

  He was a good brother. I loved him though I never told him so or admitted it to myself in his lifetime. We were sworn natural enemies, ever fighting.

  Danny and I grew up together. We only knew one person… our elderly mother, granny. Though she was one hell of a good mother, she taught us how to live the hard way.

  She taught us that we were sons of man.

  She taught us how to live.

  She taught me how to live.

  An unrelenting knocking on the door hurtled me back to the present. It was my sister June. She was carrying a DL khaki envelope. She gave it to me and turned to go. I did not have to ask her where it had come from.

  The envelope had the state-owned university, Nashville University, logo and seal.

  I could not hold my joy back.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Why don’t you say you understand, Mother?” I said.

  “We all want the best for you. I know you can’t see that now, but believe me, we have your best interests at heart.”

  I felt like strangling her. How could she say that? Not again, Mom.

  “Mom, we’ve been through this already. I need you to talk to him. I must go and the scholarship does not cater for my upkeep.”

  “You should listen to your father…”

  “I see you all don’t understand,” I said flagrantly. “You count me not your son then,” I said matter-of-factly, unequivocally pokerfaced. Not a trace of any feeling; blatantly unfaltering of what I had said.

  I saw her flinch.

  “How could you say such a thing? We all love you…”

  “And why don’t you give me what I want if you really love me,” I blurted out.

  For a brief moment I weighed what she had said – Love. I did not have an iota of what parental love was. They did not love me. She did not love me. Not according to my definition of love at the moment. Wasn’t she the one who denied me when she gave birth to me? Or so I was told? Granny once said it in a bout of anger when they were arguing over God knew what and I heard her say, ‘You never wanted this child from the beginning. You denied him after birth and left him with me to take care of your mistakes only to bring another one later. My home is not a children’s home...’

  “We will never wish you any ill. We want all the best for you. Why don’t you see that?”

  “Sometimes I wonder whether I am really your son…” I still had more ammunition left. The shock on her face was detrimental – I did not know to what. Still, she regained her composure in an instant. It seemed to me that she did not want to show me that I was on the winning.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she said, her hackles beginning to rise.

  I said nothing.

  Silence ensued for a moment before I spoke, “Mom, I am sorry. It’s just…”

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  I looked at her straight in the eye. There in her eyes I saw something I had not been seeing all along. It had never occurred to me. I never knew it existed. In those maternal eyes there was an ocean of emotions.

  Emotions. I recognized one as love.

  She was calling to me to go and swim as much as I wanted in that ocean. Then, I did something I had never done to her. I hugged her.

  Her muscles tensed. In that brusque hug all the boundaries were broken. Mother and son were united for the first time.

  Then she began to withdraw, her hands where her breasts had been on my chest. For an instance, I felt that I loved her and no one else.

  “Kennedy my son, I am scared. Your father is a sick man.”

  The weight of what my mother said took time to sink in. Nevertheless, despite my wanting to be there for her, to reach out and console her, I found that all what she had said had no effect on me.

  Yes, dad could be sick, but I wondered what that had to do with me. Was he not the one who, indirectly, used to show me that I was not his son?

  Perhaps it was time for confessions.

  I believe that sometimes people confess, pour themselves out to others, thinking that they would be empathized or sympathized with. Sometimes not all who listen to confessions want to be part of the truth told to them. People do not want to offer any help partly because they do not want any stake in other people’s problems and partly because they already have full gallons for themselves, or partly because they have got nothing to offer, even words. And many a time, once the truth comes out, it becomes hard to handle it. Truth doesn’t always set you free, it binds you to an untaken oath to keep it secret. For me I just did not want to offer anything. Not empathy. Not sympathy. Not the promise of keeping it secret. Not even words.

  “Ken, please, be mindful of me your mother. When a child is well-behaved, obedient and subservient, the child becomes the father’s child because he feels flattered and proud when saying, ‘my son, or daughter, is like this or that.’ But if the child turns out to be a spoiled brat or a hard core, he or she becomes the mother’s child, because we mothers are the ones who bring you up.”

  Mother was talking sense, but I wanted to blurt out that I was ready to be disowned, clouted, and even cursed than always let Father have his way. On second thoughts, I did not.

  “Mom, I know that, but it’s difficult for me to see how come he can’t help and support me get what I want. Just for once Mom, talk to him. What do I have now? Papers of courses I never wanted. Whenever I put across what my heart desires all I get is ‘my mind is made up… you are taking this… you are taking that…’ for how long Mom am I going to live like this. I want my life…”

  “I wish I could do something. I told you he is sick. Don’t pile so much on him, please…”

  I cared for Mom’s happiness, and I never wanted to hurt her feelings. She understood me better than anyone else, and I was free and close to her more than the way I was to Dad who was free to and with his daughters.

  Dad never managed to have a son of his own, and that is how I came to have many sisters. They kept trying to have a son of his own.

  Mom never wanted to conflict Dad and me. I knew she was sandwiched between a hard ground and a rock, but she seemed to favour dad’s side many a time.

  “Kennedy, I do not want to say…” she began to say.

  “Don’t worry,” I said before she went further. “Very soon you are not going to have anything to say.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Everywhere was the aqua blue of the ocean. The smell of the coast was the smell of roses blended with perfume.

  Lying supine on a mattress on the floor of the boat that we had hired at the hotel was my belove
d in a Polka dot bikini. Her small bust heaved up and down rhythmically. For an instant I thought of the sweat slicked love we made, and I could not fight the urge to kiss her pouty lips. I bent to kiss her and then… I woke up.

  I checked my watch. It was 1:30 past midnight. I started replaying the dream. It was the same dream I had been having for long. I really loved her and I wanted to be with her.

  Her was Kate.

  Kate and I were more than friends. I was about to declare my feelings to her when the devil spoilt everything. Another girl popped up and ruined the plan.

  Pauline was angelic, no different from the paintings of the Virgin Mary. Being from a well-to-do family she thought she could get all what she wanted. Her mother was the Principal in the school and this not only gave her the idea that the whole world revolved around her but also the notion that the whole world beat a path to her door. All what she needed to do was just sneeze.

  I did not know when Pauline fell in love with me, but the news took me by surprise. She used a proxy to get to me, but the proxy was not a good messenger. The missive Pauline had written to me was handed over to her secret admirer who went ahead to show it to Kate.

  That was it. Kate never believed me. I tried to explain to her that there was nothing between me and her best friend, Pauline, but she did not believe. Kate told me of the letter that I never saw and told me to stay away from her the way they do it in movies.

  Pauline’s beau, and my friend, Ralph, got mad at me for trying to snatch his girlfriend. Pauline’s secret admirer was Ralph’s friend. He told Randolph of my liaison with Pauline. That was the end of my friendship with Ralph.