Celebrating East African Writing!

No More Shallow Graves by Julius Muriungi


Inside a richly furnished office in Upper hill Nairobi, a black berry phone was ringing. A lightly built man looked at it as smoked his pipe. This was the fourth time he was hearing that ring tone in the year and it was the last time. As Kenny Rogers Gambler song got to its chorus point he picked it up as it was the tradition.

The tone was a sign that a deal had been sealed and the bank account fatter.

As he received the phone, his eyes wandered to the signage on the office wall.

Thou shall never get caught.

‘Deal sealed, partner. ’ a deep voice whispered from the other end and the phone disconnected.

Mr. Tamaa had been in this business for ten years and every time he heard that ring tone he knew that some one was lying dead in the basement and money had changed hands.

On the other end, inside Snit-Tam transport company offices in industrial area, a heavily built man sat before a laptop with a mug of coffee in his left hand.  Snit-tam had been their cover up business but now they could do it full time. The dollars were finally in their account and he couldn’t wait any longer for his partner to arrive. They had to carry out the sacrifice together.

Mr. Sniper had been Mr. Tamaa’s partner for the last ten years and they had killed thirty nine people and the Caucasian lady was to be their last as their cleaned their closet. He opened a secret door behind the huge executive seat and took the stairs to the basement. The lady lay on the floor with her hands and legs tied to the metal chains. As he looked at her a wave of excitement swept through him. Unlike the other ones they had to burn her with the acid they had in the tank, they couldn’t risk.

Tamaa put on his Italian stitched coat and took the lift to the parking lot. He couldn’t help but smile at the beauty of his new BMW X6 as he drove out of the gates towards Mombasa road. Within a couple of minutes he joined Enterprise road. As the large black Snit-tam transport company came into view, he got a handsome tip from an envelope on his passenger seat.

The gate swung open and Mr. Maneno Yote came to the drivers’ door and saluted. The tinted window lowered and he received the tip. He had served as the gate keeper since Snit-tam started its operations and during the four special nights of each year he had accompanied his bosses to bury the drug delivery people. All this time he had remained tight lipped, for he knew a word could send him to the grave. As the BMW parked outside the office block Tamaa put on his glasses and got out.

He got a warm welcome from his partner and they went down stairs to perform the last sacrifice. A look at the lady made Tamaa salivate. As a tradition they gave her an overdose of Viagra and watched her get helpless as she was tied up. Sniper strangled her and they carried her lifeless body to the acid tank. As the fuming liquid ate away her flesh, they hugged.

As the sun disappeared, they sat on the metal block on the loading area and began to plan for a clean future.

©Julius Muriungi Rutere 2010

If you would like this piece to be the Story of the Week, please vote below on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being weak, and 10 being excellent. The numbers will be tallied on Friday and the story with the highest figure shall be Crowned Story of the Week. Be sure to fill in your name and verifiable email. You can include your critique/comment after the vote.


3 comments on “No More Shallow Graves by Julius Muriungi

  1. Liz
    July 12, 2010

    I give the writer a 4.


  2. wamuyu mwangi
    July 12, 2010

    yea very creative a 7


  3. Robert
    July 13, 2010

    Take my 5


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