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revenge on whoever perpetrated the heinous act.”
    “Yes, and you would’ve obtained justice for your fiancée, but you go down for murder. You become the lawbreaker.”
    I did not like the heat of a debate that was beginning to mount. It was not the right time, and definitely not the place.
    “I don’t intend to talk about this anymore. You can chase your dreams Terry… I wish you all the best.”
    “Seems like sarcasm is your first name.”
    “Not that I know.”
    A friend of mine, Arnold Kimani, everybody called him Schwarzenegger, a second year BCom student, called me from behind. He was from the library.
    Terry excused herself with a parting shot of seeing me soon.
    “The name’s Ken…” I said to Terry’s back as she shimmered away.
    “Hey you, Ken man. What’re you doing in OTTYs club?”
    “Just talking.”
    “It all starts like that. You will not like it with OTTYs.”
    “Leave the hell alone with me…”
    OTTYs was acronym for old tired third years. Guys used to call third and fourth year female students so meaning that guys were tired of using them since they were old.
    Mostly the OTTYs did their hunting after seeing that guys did not have much of time for them by forming merry-go-rounds for peddling sex and calling themselves socialites. They mostly, in retaliation to what was done to them by the campus guys, went out with working class men much older than them.
    The OTTYs formed fraternities and those who wanted to be members had to subscribe by paying a non-refundable fee. The activities of these sisterhoods were exclusively known to members, but investigative grapevine had it that they provided escort services to ‘who’s who’ in the country – politicians, blue chip company CEOs and celebrities who paid them handsomely for their services, a freelance bordello kind of a thing.
    Every Members Day, Fridays, they would be picked by their men for a weekend away only to return with their reticules bulging with lucre on Sunday evenings or Monday. They were the object of envy by the girls of lesser or no means because they boasted of trendy fashion styles, home appliances in their hostels and dough, sometimes cars and high-rise apartments at leafy ‘burbs if they pleased their clients enough to be promoted to a regular service provider or even more lucrative, mistress.
    “That’s not what I called you for, though,” Arnold told me. “You were looking for a job?”
    “Oh yeah… did you…?”
    “Yes. There’s this friend of mine who wants a transporter…”
    “Like in the movie?”
    “Not really. He owns a sugar warehouse in town… drivers are there, but he wants somebody to be there as they transport the cargo to wherever… something of an overseer.”
    “Does he know I will be doing it part-time?”
    “Of course I told him. He’s the one who got me the one I have.”
    I did not conceal the joy in me. A sly smile formed on his face. I too smiled.
    God answers prayers. That was so quick.
    “Thank you Arnold. What are friends for?”
    “Welcome, Ken. What are friends for… we meet him tomorrow at Uhuru Park.”

CHAPTER 22
     
     
     
    “Is that him?” I asked rather astounded. I did not mean any disrespect but it was the whole idea that the employer was none other than Urbanas the SANU leader. “I thought it was somebody else…”
    “Somebody else better?”
    “Come on, I just can’t believe.”
    “Yeah, the nerd we look down upon owns a big software company somewhere. Wacha madharau…”
    “I did not mean that, Arnold, and you know that. Let’s get over with this, shall we?”
    Urbanas was sitting alone under a lone tree in the park. As usual he was reading a novel. He liked the crime and suspense novels by Robert Ludlum, James Patterson and Michael Connelly. He did not look up until we were seated next to him.
    “Arnold, would you please give us some time… no, no, no. Just sit here. We’re going to have a walk.”
    Urbanas was the most loquacious guy I had