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It is much easier for a two-hump camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a poor man to enter the kingdom of lucre and subscribe to the trillionaires’ club. Ain’t that what they say? Hell, yes. Though, I don’t give a damn who the hell ‘they’ are. However, whoever ‘they’ are wouldn’t have been further from fallacy.  Blessed are the poor, for they shall inherit the kingdom of heaven. I am not further from the truth.

It started with the Inspector General. It was his mbois in blue who started the crackdown on us. He ordered them and gave the green light for Operation Nasa Miandarati. Well, biz is down, and every town in the country is too hot for our operatives – thanks to the top cop. In his police-reformed mind he refused a too-good-to-turn-down offer.

Our bosses’ names have been making headlines; too bad, and unheard of in this business. Despite stashing the briefcase that the IG turned down, plus bonus, the Minister for Internal Security still tabled the names of our bosses in parliament. What a shocker it was. He double crossed us, too bad for him. The whole world, America and Britain leading, have come down on our bosses like a ton of a thousand bricks. That’s why that terrible accident had to happen. Our condolences to the friends and family of the minister, there wouldn’t have been any other way.

Others, our next kingpins, they dragged to court. In her justice-must-be-served convoluted mind she took the money yet convicted them. Here’s the deal she offered: she was to convict them, but release them after the appeal, please the public and at the same time keep the part of her bargain. That’s not how it works. Even the Mafia knows this. Fine, people are mourning, I feel for the bereaved, but surely, why be so avaricious?

That was the beginning. We had to go for the scum first. Now we are going for the trash.

We know that the police resell what they seize from us through a network of street dealers. Imagine that!

Getting rich out of our expense, reaping where they did not sow.

We know each and every one of them.

From Inspector to Constable.

Watch out!

Copyright ©Vincent de Paul, 2013.
ShortThrillers

Imara Angani

The crew room at Laikipia Air Base was a flurry of activity and a cacophony of telephones ringing off the hook. Fighter pilot Major Ahmednasir Ramah sweated copiously inside his flight suit as he waited anxiously beside the telephone, glancing every few seconds at the crew-room clock.

Deep in his bones, he felt that either this mission would pass as a blip in his military career or it would be his last. Ramah held the telephone handset tight, raised it to his ear, and listened.

The Birthday Killer

When you lose someone you love, a part of you is lost. I have seen it in my short illustrious career in the police’s Special Crimes Unit. Every time I tell someone that their lover, spouse, child, or parent is dead, I watch them shatter before me. Some of them vent their anger on me, or on the police, the government. In another life, I must have been the Angel of Sorrow.

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