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fire her. He was her boss,
not his wife.
    This morning
she was nowhere in sight. His white work shirts lay un-ironed in
the laundry basket. Dismissing the idea of attempting to iron one
for himself, he resorted to wearing his used shirt, which smelt of
yesterday’s sweat and now sported a tomato sauce stain just under
the left pocket. Childishly feeling sorry for himself, with a
throbbing hangover, he sat in the small Toyota lamenting his lot.
No Mercedes, no wife, no clean shirts, no breakfast, no maid and
recalling in a sudden panic, he couldn’t remember where he had
hidden the package Patel had given him. That bloody Indian it was
all his fault.
    Arriving at
work he grunted a greeting at the security guards and fled to the
safety of his air-conditioned office. ‘Florence,’ he barked as he
passed her desk, ‘get me the file on small loans, the ones handled
by Golden Palm.’
    ‘Yes, sir, good
morning sir,’ she said.
    Evans was
uncharacteristically rude. ‘And hurry up with my tea!’Drinking tea
and leafing through the Golden Palm file, he quickly added up the
money out on loan and calculated his cut. Reassured at the size of
the figure, he relaxed, it was time to yank that Indian’s tail. How
dare he take my car. He then busied himself with work.
    An hour later
he was interrupted by Florence. ‘Excuse me, sir.’
    ‘Yes, what is
it?’
    ‘Azizza from
Golden Palm is on the phone.’
    ‘Hello Azizza,’
Evans greeted her breezily.
    Azizza returned
his greeting and relayed Patel’s message.
    Evans responded
pompously. ‘I’m not processing any more loans, until our original
agreement is honored.’ Pleased at the stunned silence on the other
end. ‘Furthermore if we can’t clear up this oversight by your
company as soon as possible, it might necessitate a reconsideration
of our favorable lending rates.’
    Azizza
recovered quickly and responded in the same tone. ‘Thank you, I
will contact my director and get back to you as soon as I can,’ and
rang off.
    Evans was
enjoying himself. Hah! That should make them think about messing me
about. He didn’t have long to wait. His mobile rang. He didn’t
recognise the number.
    ‘Evans, it’s
Patel here. Azizza has relayed your message to me regarding the
loans, your percentage is twenty five percent right?’
    ‘Yes it is, and
I want it now,’ he chuckled confidently, leaning back in his
chair.
    Patel went on.
‘At present that would amount to 125 million, if you want to keep
the Mercedes at 8 million, your cut would now be 117 million
right?’
    Evans sensing
he was losing ground said belligerently. ‘I want my money and my
car!’
    Patel continued
unfazed. ‘With all the advances you have had including the one
yesterday, your cut would be 110 million.
    ‘Listen to me,
I want my money, can’t you hear?’
    ‘Evans, you can
confirm your cut on the Golden Palm small loan scheme is at present
is 110 million, including the Mercedes, right?’
    ‘Yes, that is
right,’ he said slowly and clearly, ‘and I want it now.’
    ‘Thank you,’
said Patel.
    ‘For what?’ The
manager asked puzzled.
    ‘Evans, listen
to me,’ Patel said with a giggle. ‘This conversation has just been
recorded. Azizza has more applications to process this morning,’
the steel in his voice rose in timbre. ‘Be a good fellow and do as
you’re told and stop messing us all about. I’m sure you don’t want
to go to jail. You’ll get your cut once this project is completed,
until then, behave yourself.’
    Evans stared at
his mobile in disbelief as Patel hung up, he fumbled with the
buttons and hit the re-dial button in anger, but stopped as the
reality dawned on him. He slumped in his chair, tears of
frustration welling up behind his eyes. ‘Bloody bastard,’ he
breathed, ‘bloody bastard.’
    Florence walked
into his office and put documents into his in tray. Among the
papers were more loan applications for Golden Palm awaiting his
signature.
    *
    Patel replaced
his sim