Facebook gangsters land me in deeper trouble

You won’t believe it, but this is what these three morons do. They jack my car, force me to commit a robbery with them, lock me in the boot of my car, take a ride to some lonely estate and order me out of the boot at gunpoint.

The one-armed trio’s leader has his gun pointed to my head. The only lady in the group has tucked her gun in her waist. She is holding a tablet in hand and watching me with a tiny smile playing on the corner of her lips.

“Alright buddy, here is what we’re going to need you to do,” the leader says. “Strike a couple of poses for us.”

“What?” my eyes are darting to and fro. There nobody around. I could scream and not even a bird in the air would caw back. That’s how lonely this place is.

“We want to take pictures of you. So strike some moves, yeah?” his voice might be calm and warm, but the muzzle of the gun, making a cylindrical hole on my forehead is very cold. “Please,” he adds with a smile. I nod obediently.

They all step back. The third one, who speaks with a deep bass, is holding the case full of money that we have just stolen from the Indian in Lavington.

Click click!

The lady stands in front of me and points the camera my way. The camera lights up. Picture one down.

“Strike a ‘peace’ pose. Two fingers held out in front of you,” she commands. Thinking of my wife and the child she is about to bring into this world, I put out two fingers in front of me and the camera immortalises the moment in a picture.

“Now put both of your middle fingers in the air,” she orders and her colleagues chuckle. “Please don’t make me ask again. Also, bite your lower lip and frown. Like a gangster.”

I obey and the camera clicks away.

They turn to the one holding the case and ask him to pass it to me. When he does, they open it displaying stacks and stacks of cash. She takes pictures of me holding the case then they take it away from me.

Finally, they empty one gun and hand it to me. “Alright,” says the camera girl. “Think of yourself as Clyde from Bonnie and Clyde. Or James Bond. Use your imagination. Strike some killer poses with the gun. I know you have imagined yourself taking pictures holding a gun many times. Now this is a dream come true for you.”

I have never imagined myself taking pictures with a gun. But I don’t tell her that. I point the gun in the air and she takes pictures. I pose like James Bond and she takes pictures. Finally, they’re done.

“What’s your Facebook name and password?”

“Why?”

“Please answer the question or I’ll shoot you in both knees.” I supply them with the details which they key into the tablet and smile. They are in.

Back to reality.

They order me to close my eyes and count slowly to a hundred. From a distance, I hear a car approaching but I don’t dare open my eyes until after the car is gone. I’m alone.

I get inside my car and open Google Maps. Top priority is to drive to Jen because I have always told myself that I would never miss the birth of my child. Everything else is secondary to this. Including me walking into a police station to record a statement.

The plan was to take the car back to the office where another driver would have it for the next one month during my paternity leave, but that’s secondary too. All roads for me are headed to Pumwani Maternity Hospital.

I have 16 missed calls from Jen and 12 unread messages. Yeah. I’m in trouble! Somehow I am more worried about how mad she is right now than anything else. I call her as I drive towards Pumwani as fast as I can but she doesn’t answer.

My phone rings. It is the office calling. Our receptionist Peris is on the phone and she is asking, “Hey, did you just commit a robbery and upload pictures of you holding a gun and money and putting up ‘screw you’ signs on Facebook?”

“Wait. What?”

“It’s all over the internet! Complete with “ItsMyTurnToEat” hashtag! Hessy Wa Kayole has killed people for less.”

Yep. I’m in trouble.