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A Man And His Price – Season 1 Episode 8 [Completed]

Njenga was speechless, horrified beyond words
and totally disoriented.
“Now, you have built your reputation on a
platform of godliness and purity, virtue and
right. And, I’m sure, most if your life you’ve
lived up to these values. Just one night and a
camera should not undo the years of
exemplary living and selfless service. You are
a role model and a father figure to the nation
as a whole. The people need you, now more
than ever. These pictures will destroy the faith
they have in you –”
“No!” Reverend Njenga cut in abruptly, wide-
eyed and stammering. Muia thought, with
glee, that he looked rather like a drowning
man clutching at straws… “That…was…a long
time ago…my character has always been…
unimpeachable!”
“Yes,” Muia assented, “that will make your fall
from grace all the more…ungracious.
Reputation is a fragile thing, Reverend…it
must remain always intact…it does not require
a break to render it useless; it only takes a
crack.”
“No! No! No!” Njenga’s voice was breaking
now; though defiance still burned in his eyes –
his eyes were shining now, and burned more
fiercely than ever, although now they were
fuelled by sorrow, disbelief, and horror…
“That – was – a – long time ago,” now he
was pleading, looking for some sympathy,
some understanding from Muia’s smirking
face – but almost as if drawn to them by a
magnet, his eyes kept falling to the dozens of
pictures spread across his desk; the topmost
one caught him, and his eyes were riveted to it
momentarily –
In it, he was sprawled across the lap of a
woman whose face was cut off by the
photograph, a lazy, bestial grin plastered on
his face, his eyes screwed up in ecstasy, the
whites showing, and only the slightest hint of
a pupil below his drooping eyelids. He was
clutching a hand-rolled cigarette, the smoke
frozen forever in the moment like a sinuous
column of blue-grey winding upwards into
infinity…he stared into the face barely
recognizable as his own, and right there and
then, his heart broke, and the tears flowed
freely down his cheeks.
“I was young,” he sobbed. “I was foolish! I
didn’t understand–”
“I know, I know,” Muia crooned, as if pacifying
a child who’d just stubbed his toe. “I know,
that’s why they’ll never be seen by anyone but
you and I. No-one else would understand. You
know how people are…always ready to pounce
on their leaders’ slightest mistake,
notwithstanding their own…we are human too.
And human is to err.
This will remain between us. No-one need
know.”
“God will protect me. He will never – never
allow His servant–”
“That’s why He put these pictures in my
hands. To remind you of your past
transgressions, and to give you a chance to
atone for them. To give you a chance to do
right by your country.”
Njenga was crying now, the sobs racking his
old, bony frame, the tears flowing down like
twin rivers of hot, salty anguish…
“Tell me – t – t – tell me what you want…”he
sobbed. “anything…anything…just please,
don’t…please don’t…”
Muia sprang around the desk to comfort him,
like a leopard leaping on its prey. “Shhh, don’t
worry. I promise, I won’t tell a soul…this is all
you need to do–”
He stood up suddenly, and Njenga looked up
in surprise. The tall, smiling, victorious
politician over the broken, crying, subdued old
man, looking up at him like a child to its
teacher.
“You will support my candidature in the
Election. You will endorse me to be the next
President of the Republic of Kenya.”
He said it so confidently, with such conviction,
with such authority, as if it was an edict from
Heaven itself, and disobedience was
impossible, inconceivable…
Reverend Njenga couldn’t help observing this
as he stared up at Glen Muia’s beaming face,
the tears still streaming down his face.
* * * *
Twenty minutes later, Glen Muia was in his
black Mercedes Kompressor, heading towards
his Runda home. He thought back at the
meeting, and smiled in satisfaction. He had
destroyed his opponent, dismantled his
defenses piece by piece and finally cornered
and checkmated him…masterfully done. He
always had known when to go for the jugular.
The image of the fiery old man, broken and
pleading brought a smile to his face. It made
his triumph all the more satisfying.
“I take it, Boss, that you were successful?” his
Head of Security, sitting across from him,
asked.
“Oh yes, invariably.” He replied, chuckling. “Oh
yes. You see, Omondi, in the end, every man
has his price, even the most resolute…the
secret lies in finding it out, and matching it…”
Outside the car it was pitch dark and it had
begun to rain, so hard that the driver could
hardly see, despite the car’s strong
headlamps. He wondered why visibility was so
low all of a sudden. He figured the rainclouds
must’ve shut out the moonlight.
He was right. Somewhere in the sky, a light
had gone out.

The End

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