The Open Road

Chaoter 26

Stephen



I ran a hand through his scarce pepper hair while sighing heavily. I had just finished the eighth call in a span of six hours in one night. Apparently, the escaped convict was spotted in a hospital in Nairobi. How incompetent were my men? Fifty-six hours and forty-three minutes; that was how long that perp had been roaming the outside world. The telephone shook vigorously as its usual irksome tone blared through the silent office.

"Hello, Inspector General speaking."

"This is CS Katangi, I've been waiting for a status report from you. You understand why I'm calling personally and why it is you I'm talking to right?"

I gulped heavily; the cabinet secretary of Interior Security was calling me. Me! But why? Shouldn’t he be reaching out to the head of the Criminal Investigation Department? Yes, I could already see my well-built career crumble before my eyes, I wondered if they would still give me my pension...Images of my wife and I sprawled on beach chairs in Malindi suddenly appeared in my head. I could feel the gentle breeze in my face, I could see my wife giggle at a scene from her favorite fan fiction…

"You still there?"

"Yes, Sir. Forgive my sudden silence, I'm a little weary, as you can imagine. Robert Obare, the escaped convict, was spotted in Upper hill, a private hospital in Nairobi. We believe he had gone to see Susan Karanja, his ex-fiancée, in the absence of his younger brother, Darren Obare. We have doubled the number of men in uniform at the exit of all counties, spot checks, and some have gone undercover as civilians with the aim of bringing him in. We will locate him Sir, no matter what it takes."

I was not going to let this convict ruin my retirement.

A low satisfied huff emanated from the other side; I relaxed my back into my armchair. I then proceeded to place my legs on my plain desk. I spotted a small hole at the front of my left shoe. It was small, but it was there, gaping at me, taunting me. Swiftly, I brought down my legs, my eyes nervously sweeping the station. After a while, I let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand over my clammy forehead. I wondered whether good old Jack still repaired shoes at Senai Street.

"Listen, Inspector, I want that man caught in the next forty-eight hours; failure to that you will suffer dire repercussions. I will not have the country on its toes, fearing this Robert Obare.”

“With all due respect, Sir, I do not believe that this man is someone to be feared-"

“Then riddle me this Inspector, why have you not caught him yet?”

Luck. Dumb luck.

I chose not to answer; there was no point in arguing with a man who wore makeup to his TV interviews. Such men only cared about their opinion.

“Inspector?”

“I am here, Sir…We will catch him.”

“That is what I want to hear…Remember, this man killed his father in cold blood. What sort of a man does this?”

“Well, I have a few theories-"

“I will tell you what kind of a man does this…”

Why ask me then?

“Dangerous men…Psychotic men…Savages…Lunatics…”

Crazy men.

“…Crazy men!"

I smiled before glancing at my watch; Katumo was going to kill me.

“Now find this man and put him back where he belongs…One more thing, no talking to the press. I will handle it.”

I shook my head and scoffed before replacing the receiver. They were all watching now. Highly ranked officers, politicians, tycoons…In forty-eight hours I would either be a hero or a laughing stock, with no pension. Twenty years on the job and this one task would determine how I would be buried. I could see it now, veiled wife, a few friends, and a dead-beat journalist standing in front of my tombstone written;

He was a husband, a son, a brother, and a shitty cop.

Wait, did tombstones have “and’s”?

Sighing, I fished for one of my burner phones in my desk drawer. I then placed it on my lap and stared at it as my fingers rapped my desk. Twenty minutes passed, the last cop in the station gave me a curt nod before making her way to the station’s exit. I dialed a number that I had sworn to scrape from my memory.

"Hello? I know I owe you one, but it’s over now, no more favors; you are on your own."

I quickly hang up without waiting for a response. Making sure the call could not be traced, I got up from my chair and swung my coat over my shoulder. I swept my eyes over the station one more time before leaving. I exited the police station and made a beeline for my silver Nissan Navara. I fished out my keys and aimed them at the lock on the side of his car. I halted his movements, certain someone was behind me. Slowly, I proceeded to pat my holster, no g*n. Of course, how convenient, I had left it inside my car earlier when I had intended to leave. I felt the cold muzzle of a g*n through my light shirt.

"You should have stuck to your end of the deal." A voice sounded.

In films you see an actor’s life flash before them before they meet their demise. Their memories surface in a vivid, almost divine manner. You sympathize with them, asking why they had to leave their loved ones behind, their pain, their joy. It is a touching moment, and you almost always cry a little. I thought about letting myself have this moment, a last hoorah at life, but I did not. Instead, I shoved my body backward, catching my assaulter by surprise. I then launched my fist to his face, but before I could plant it there I felt something hot pierce the skin covering my chest. I stood there momentarily, stunned, pained, defeated. I heard a faint ringing sound of a gunshot and a series of cuss words. As I fell to the ground, all I felt was fear, and all I saw was darkness.

* * *

Two shots on his chest, the g*n was a silencer, no one heard it blare. The killer gazed at the fat cop’s lifeless body, awed by how quickly life ended. The man had been afraid to lose his career; now, he had lost his life. The killer compared himself to a superhero. He had just gotten rid of a corrupt cop at the top of the food chain; he had done good by his country. Like a soldier from the war, the killer turned on his heel and marched away from the crime scene, satisfied with his act of valor.