President Olivia Chivala Munyi-Lee left her impromptu cabinet meeting in the middle. The UN was calling. Despite refusing to take the calls, the White House persisted.

“The blood of our people—men, women and children, victims of post-poll chaos, political figures who were assassinated, and police officers who die in the course of their duty trying to maintain law and order in a seemingly lawless society. We may forget them, but not their sacrifice.”

However, even after paying the ransom, her abductors didn’t keep their part of the bargain. That was until today in the morning when she came with tears in her eyes and confessed.

“It was Rob,” she cried. “My boyfriend. We cooked everything up. Dad, I’m so sorry I stole from you.” Like she was contrite.

“All evidence is pinned to you. It is your bulimic belly that is securely carrying a truckload of the drugs, your designer clothes that were concealing your junk, Miss Mule,” Inspector Lina said. “Not your dad’s, junkie. And if the grapevine is anything to go by, your father is retiring tomorrow. If I were you, I’d try to persuade Dad to chunk off part of his send-off package to get me the best criminal lawyers around. The judges might decide to get you a few years or a hefty fine, or both, which of course, Dad will pay, or you will rot in jail, and no one will appeal.”

She turned to the cameras and pressed the back of her wrists to one eye. She had used the methylated chapstick that her personal assistant (and campaign secretary) had placed on the podium to dab the edges of her wristwatch and pantsuit coat with menthol. The sting drew the required tears.

“And don’t tell me you don’t know when a lawyer is performing for the cameras too … even if the media weren’t there. You know how it is with clients. They like to see some drama for their money. That’s the babe of criminal lawyers.”

BECKY WAS ON HER FIFTH Smirnoff Black Ice. Panty Remover. That’s what they called it. Take two, and you want to drop your pants for anything that qualifies as male or would make that waltzing in your pants go away.

She didn’t feel concerned at first, not until she glanced over her right shoulder and saw the men running, catching up on her, closing in. Within no time, they were onto her. One of the men slammed her to a wall, and before she could scream, an adhesive tape was stuck to her lips, sealing them as though to keep a secret. Plastic cables lashed her wrists and legs together.

“You are such a selfish bastard, as you always were. It hurt like hell when I terminated the pregnancy, knowing I had also lost you. ‘Where do I go? What do I do?’ I asked myself.”

The nine millimetre fired at point blank range. “You should have stayed where you belong. Get your fat pay slip and enjoy privileges that befit you; leave the streets we prowl to us. You were getting too close to us and made the connection that we are the most feared in Nakuru of late. If only you could get us better pay …”