Free Black Mischief by Carl Hancock Page B

…’
    â€˜Sonny Jim, why don’t you just … bugger off and let me cross this road in peace.’
    â€˜Is that your place with the smart grass and the flowers outside? The English garden my mother called it. We were passing the other day. She loves the stone wall, too. She would like to see inside. Perhaps your family would like to come to tea one day. Then you could invite us back. That’s what English neighbours do, isn’t it? I’d better hang on for a bit. See you across the road. You could feel faint or something. Delayed shock. But you’re all doctors. You’d know that.’
    He was finding it hard to find a convincing reason for not going back to check on the bike. It would be just his luck that the wrong person just happened by and saw his chance. Two minutes and the machine could be gone. And the girl was gritting her teeth with the effort of keeping going. She could be down any second. He would help her up and carry her to the gate. There would be no hesitation this time. He craved for a repeat of the electric thrill coursing up and down his body that came by touching her flesh.
    She said nothing but plodded on, leading Shadow onto the murram and towards her gate. She focused her mind on the steady, comforting clomp of her big boy’s feet and the nod of his head. Her broken arm began to throb heavily and the pain was intensifying. Please God, I won’t keel over or do anything that would give this strange person a reason to hang about, to come into the driveway, up to the house. She concentrated harder. She knew the big wooden gates would be left open. They always were when she was out on a ride. She hoped that her father was back from the hospital. He was the best one in the family with broken bones. Perhaps one of the boys would be at the gate, out to look for his baby sister.
    Robert, the day askari, sprang up from his seat just inside his little hut and came towards her. She felt safe at last, enough to give a polite goodbye to her companion and send him on his way.
    â€˜Thank you for your help. I’m fine now. You really should go back to check on your … Honda.’
    â€˜BMW.’
    â€˜Yes, I’m sure. But I’m sure, too, that any crooks around won’t be fussy. By the way, we’re not English. Welsh. Not the same. Goodbye. Robert, I think we could close the gate for a while.’
    For the first time in her life Eryl Daniels wished that the driveway of Cartref had been a little shorter.
    Reuben Rubai turned the corner onto his own road. In an instant all thoughts of women and their stupid horses were blanked out from his mind. The bike was gone, helmet and all!
    â€˜Mbaya! Mbaya!’
    He struggled to run along the weedy verge, wished he wasn’t wearing those heavy leathers, switched to the road where it was just as hard to move quickly, thought about the hell and damnation he would inflict on the robbers. As he was turning into his own driveway, he heard the sound of a vehicle racing along the road towards him. Amazing, a police car. They were onto the case already! But they sped by with the two boys in blue not even glancing in his direction. He raised his arms and shouted after them. Far too late even to take their number.
    He stormed up the drive, cursing furiously. In the garage he found his bike resting upright on its stand and Bernard with a grin on his face and polishing hard.
    At the precise moment of this discovery, Sergeant Ezra Kabari was honking the horn of his police Peugeot waiting for Robert, the day askari of Cartref, to open the wooden gates that he had shut less than ten minutes before.
    The sergeant and his inspector had bad news for the Daniels family.

Chapter Ten
    aul Miller and Daniel Komar were visiting Londiani. They usually called in when they were travelling north to keep in close contact with their candidates. The founder members of the Serena Party had news for their candidate for Nakuru