seems you have netted a big one today, officers,” said one of the female officers, who was sitting at a table writing something in a book. She had a smallish oval face.
“Yes,” the officer with the onion breath responded, “a rich BEE.”
“Where did you get him?” she asked.
“From between a prostitute’s legs,” said the taller officer.
There was laughter, and Kimathi looked embarrassed.
“Did you take the picture of his thing?” asked the flat-chested female officer who was sitting in the corner. “I want to see how big he is.”
“It’s all in my cellphone, but you’ll have to pay to see the bioscope,” teased the taller officer. “And he is a celebrity. He knows the Police Commissioner.”
“I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see his friend’s porn movie.”
There was another ripple of laughter.
“What’s your name, sir?” asked the officer standing next to a small machine that looked like a till.
“You can’t charge me with anything,” protested Kimathi, staring at the breathalyser. “I’m not under the influence of alcohol.”
“Yhooo!” said the fourth officer sarcastically. “This one seems to know a lot.”
“But I’m not drunk,” Kimathi insisted. “Why should I tell you my name?”
“Whether you want to tell us or not is irrelevant, mister,” said the lady behind the desk. “One way or another you’ll have to tell the magistrate.”
Standing up, she opened a drawer and took out a tube that she connected to the breathalyser. She then demonstrated to Kimathi how he should blow into the device.
“Just so that you know, sir,” started the female police officer before handing Kimathi the tube. “It is illegal to drive with an alcohol concentration of more than the limit of 0,24 milligrams.”
She handed the device to Kimathi, but instead of doing as the officer had demonstrated, Kimathi started sucking air into his mouth and breathing it out so that the device could not read his level. This angered all the officers in the room.
“You have three chances to blow into this breathalyser properly, mister,” said the female police officer with the oval face. “You must not waste our time.”
“I told you, I didn’t drink any alcohol,” said Kimathi with obvious irritation in his voice. “And your German device concurs with me.”
After failing to blow into the device correctly for the third time, the officer with the onion breath ordered Kimathi to stop.
“Well, sir,” said the taller officer with a look of utmost hostility, “we’ll have to go to the clinic to take your blood.”
“What does that mean?” asked Kimathi with a frightened look on his face.
“Hawu, I thought you knew it all, mister,” answered the taller officer in a sarcastic tone. “But, for your information, we are going to check the alcohol concentration in your bloodstream; it will prove that you are drunk.”
“Let’s go!” said the officer with the onion breath.
“Don’t forget to show us his thing before the video hits the cinemas,” said the flat-chested female officer as they exited the office.
“This one belongs to Hollywood,” said the taller officer. “The South African movie houses won’t be able to afford it.”
“Don’t forget us when you make those millions,” she replied.
A few minutes later Kimathi and the two police officers arrived back in the parking lot where they had parked Kimathi’s car and their van. When they opened the back of the van, Kimathi saw that Lakeisha was sitting inside. Looking at her, he knew he was in deep trouble. He was shaken. On the spur of the moment an apology came from his mouth.
“Okay, guys, I admit I’m in the wrong,” he started in a softened tone. “Can we solve this matter peacefully?”
“What do you mean?” enquired the taller officer.
“How much will my freedom cost me?”
“A lot,” responded the officer with the onion breath. “Especially now that we have already gone to all the trouble of breathalysing you.”
“How about a thousand rand, and we forget this ever happened?”
“Bribery is a serious offence, do you know that?” said the officer with the onion breath. “It is called defeating the ends of justice, and you can go to jail for it.”
“Please, guys. I’m begging you. My career is at stake here.”
The two police officers remained quiet for a moment, as if they hadn’t heard Kimathi speak. They then looked at each other and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, they turned their heads in unison and looked hard at Kimathi. The taller officer took out his gun and played with it as if it was a toy. “If you fuck with us, you’ll die,” he said. “Do you understand me?”
“I will never, sir,” Kimathi replied, his heart gripped with fear. “Please forgive me. And yes, I’d had a few glasses to drink when you met me. I’m guilty as charged. I swear it will never happen again.”
“You bet it will never happen again. Do you have the cash with you?” asked the officer with the onion breath.
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay, then. You give us the cash and disappear. But you’ll have to add another five hundred for wasting our time.”
“That’s fine,” Kimathi said, taking out his wallet. “I’m prepared to do that for my freedom.”
The taller officer narrowed his eyes. “The girl remains with us,” he commanded as Kimathi handed the cash to him. “We’ll take very good care of her,” he continued, splaying the bills out between his fingers. “She’s in good hands.”
Kimathi looked at Lakeisha and then nodded at the police officers. He didn’t care if they took her away. She was a liability to him. Lakeisha started to cry like a child, as if pleading with Kimathi to rescue her. Kimathi watched the tears trickling down her cheeks.
“No,” she protested feebly.
“She’s all yours, officers,” Kimathi affirmed in a tone that let them know he didn’t care.
“Of course she is,” said the officer with the onion breath, tossing Kimathi his car keys. “By the way, I saw a pack of cigars in your car. Can I have one?”
“With pleasure,” said Kimathi, opening the car.
“Please don’t leave me here,” pleaded Lakeisha. “Take me with you. I beg you. Please.”
Kimathi ignored her and handed the wooden Cohiba
