Short Stories & Poems by WarmBreezeBliss

OPMers = Other People’s Money-gatherers (persons who extract others of their money and property)

Wesley came to us a year and a half ago, introduced to us by a gentle old man in his eighties, who could not remember how he came to meet the young forty-something, so Wesley conjured up a story, claiming that a politician friend had introduced them. Mr. K and the politician did not frequent the same places anymore, so Mr. K. accepted this version of events and took responsibility for the young man, introducing him, in the hope of helping him secure employment somewhere. What was odd, was everyone kept turning down this seemingly harmless young man.

Mr. K. wore out his social capital by asking Wesley join every lunch date, attend private parties of the rich and famous, as well as travel to private spaces with the old man. Mr. K. seemed to enjoy the attention of this apparently helpful young man, who stepped in as a potential aide. The only thing is that he knew far too little about him, so he invited Wesley and his father to a breakfast meeting in his own home. On the day, his wife and house staff served them silently, each privately doubting the young man and his pretend father. Mr. K. kept the light-hearted chatter going and remained jovial in their discussions. At one point, the pretend father begged to leave, after a few deep and exploratory questions, then fled the scene. Mr. K. did not seem to notice. Shortly after, Wesley hurriedly left to see his father off. Mr. K’s wife took her chance to express a very different view on Wesley and openly shared her misgivings. Their lady cook chimed in, rather apologetically but firmly, citing her concerns for their safety. Mr. K laughed and waved off misgivings and left for the day. His wife, Santana took comfort in the fact that her husband was a very wise and cunning man, who had staved off may con artists in his time. His confident demeanor implied he knew something was wrong but would play along. Yet, she was not entirely confident in his ability to sense Wesley’s craftiness, so she held on to hope and prayed.

Later that day and in the weeks to come, everyone who met Mr. K. and Wesley would later call the old man, asking how and why he would need to spend so much of his time with the young man. Nobody trusted him. Mr. K. did not seem to understand why, shrugging off his friends’ misgivings. Once more, Mr. K. laughed off the hints, leaving his closest friends unsure of where he actually stood on the matter. Soon, Mr. K. would introduce the young con to influential business and political figures, believing someone would help Wesley along but the help never came.

Wesley soon begun to ask for small sums to help him fuel his sagging vehicle that cried out for a new coat of paint, brakes, interiors and a new engine. Once in while, he offered the old man a ride in his wagon and the old man went along. He watched Mr. K. study the dodgy interiors and made sure to exaggerate his need for cash, by winding up his cranky car windows several times during each ride. The old man obliged, sending him five thousand shillings here and there. Wesley learned to extract more when he feigned illness, once scoring 10,000 shillings to get his (fake) cough attended to. His one misstep; implying that he had successfully organised a judicial event for 4,000 women at a high-end hotel, then asking for cash nights before, to pay the bills on ticket earnings. That one time, Mr. K and his wife spoke to him on the phone, telling him that he could have paid with the deposits made by sponsors, urging him to seek alternative sources of borrowing. Shocked, he agreed and disconnected the call, dejected and shocked at his obvious error.

The lies continued, as Wesley made promises to suppliers but failed to balance his budgets. Desperate, Wesley would boldly appear unnanounced at Mr. K.’s home, offering to keep him company until it was time to go to their weekly Kiwanis meetings. Santana would hover in and out of the room, protective, watchful, barely greeting him and offering to take her husband to the meeting, in Wesley’s place. The tension in the room was palpable but Wesley stayed frozen to his seat, scared and unable to respond. Santana caught the blank look on his face and assuming the young man failed to understand her intentions.

Mr. K. always laughing off Santana’s offers privately incensed her. She always took it as a matter of grave and urgent concern. Still, she stood by Mr. K., hopeful for the day he would realise just how precarious the situation had become. She disliked Wesley’s sudden acceptance into their quiet, dignified inner circle and persons of senior years. She agonised at the risk he may bring to them and their friends.

Other Peoples Money-gtabbers are not just petty thieves. They are an entitled lot.

Wesley turned forty one days ago. With a wafer thin career history, a bank account nearing depletion, a haggard wallet and living far away from friends and family. His desperate thoughts hounding him, with the Christmas holidays looming two weeks away. He tried to join the media space on repeat and lack of success. The frustration mounting, Wesley raved another Kiwanis group meeting, with

Must be his lack of presence and charm, I mused, watching his oddly disconnected mannerisms and very soft speech. His voice barely audible and so soft, that we all had to lean in, to hear him well. The rest of us either lip-read or left the conversation after turning away to the next new activity, rarely wondering what Wesley had just said. I noticed the other ladies in the room act just as dismissively. There were the occasional questions on why he joined the group. He was neither social nor trying. It made for numerous awkward silences every time.

Just then, two of our past senior officials walked in. A grand old gentleman, accompanied by his friend and former regional chairman. The two men were charming and much loved for their donations and support for the club and community. They were the key decision-makers, after the group presidents. Wesley had somehow connected himself to one of them, which baffled the group at large, judging from the increasing whispers.

Just then, I caught Wesley weaving his way through the crowded meeting room to the Mr. Kimutwe, our former chairman. Mr. K as we know him, greets the young man with gusto, prompting stares and surprise across the room. Each one of us, wondering how the two met or what common interests they shared. As they stood chatting, I pondered on the chance they may be related, owing to the similarity in facial features, mannerisms, skin shade and height. Then I remembered the case of a past co-worker who mimicked our line manager into a long and manipulative game. Sighing, I walked to the waiter and picked a glass of wine off his tray, sipping and watching Wesley and Mr. K chat away, as Mr. K.’s friend stared at the young man.

Hm, I thought. His dear old friend is watching Wesley like a hawk sighting prey. This is unlikely to end well. Suddenly, the friend, Mr. M interjects Wesley’s long drawn out answer with his own diatribe. Mr. K turns to peer at his friend’s face, alarmed and uncertain as to what could have caused such offence. Mr. M takes Mr. K’s arm, practically dragging him away. Chuckling, I watch Wesley’s crestfallen face and watch the two older gentlemen shuffle off to another table, as we are called to order by the lady Chair.

Taking my seat at the adjacent table, I watch the two elderly friends engage in a quick sharp conversation. Mr. K. looks clearly lost, eyes plus mouth open wide, as Mr. M. whispers quickly and sharply, whatever he expresses, his hand gestures indicating his exasperation. Mr. K. finally shuts his mouth, face softening, he looks at his friend and then back down at the table. He seems to relax in his chair, breathing easier, as he perches his walking stick to his right, against the table, smoothing the table cloth before him. He sits back as his friend place place his hand on his shoulder; a show of affection and reconciliation? I assume so and watch the evening’s meeting begin.

After a little while, I turn to fidget with my mobile phone, reminded that I must turn it off or pay a fine should it ring during our meetings. As I turn back, I catch Wesley staring at the two old gentlemen, his eyes following their every move. The lady seated next to me observes Wesley’s stare, blurting out,

‘What an absolute desperate human being. You would think that young man is a jilted lover! Nkt!’

Before I can gather an answer, she adds, ‘So self-debasing. Fancy chasing after an old man like that, as if he is your last hope of survival. Highly suspicious, if you ask me!’ I did not dare ask what she meant.

I sighed in agreement, then eventually added my thoughts,

‘Something does not feel right. It all seems very strange. Mr. K is very particular about whom he allows into his inner circle. This character is a recent entrant into his life and suddenly joins on his sponsorship, something Mr. K. does not do. I do wonder how healthy this man’s intentions are.’

I watched the lady beside me. We had met but could not recall her name. She smiled, eyes sparkling as she laughed, remarking, ‘Some young leeches like this one have no rock-bottom. They will openly ogle, dazzle and prime others to their needs. I think that’s what that Wesley is trying on Mr. K. He has no idea he is in a room full of potential enemies. We would never let that happen! Ha!’

We smiled in agreement, acknowledging how ridiculous this whole episode had been. The session ends and we meet in the Ladies Room. The older woman re-introduces herself, ‘Agnetta. We met at the Chairman’s Ball late last year?’

‘Yes of course, I am sorry I am not good with names but I recognised you, only I did not know how to address you!’

We both laugh, finish touching up our make-up and walk back to our table, ready for dinner. As I take my seat, I see Agnetta standing over Mr. K. and Mr. M., exchanging greetings. The two men engage her in a lengthy conversation. Wesley hangs around the table, itching for a turn to catch Mr. K’s eye but he turns away and continues their three-way conversation. After what seems like another 20 minutes, Wesley slithers off back to his table, takes his seat and remains silent. No one on his table offers him any conversation, so he begins to scroll on his mobile phone, as our lady Chair takes to the podium and asks the waiters to start serving the soup.

The chatter in the room rose, interlaced with bursts of laughter here and there. The camaraderie of this Kiwanis chapter warms my heart. I scan the room and see Agnetta still entertaining Mr. K and Mr. M. Wesley keeps watching his mobile phone and finally rises out of his chair, just as a waiter offers him a bowl of soup. He puts his phone into his pocket, saying goodbye to the people at his table. Only a few answer. Dejected, he walks away to the exit slowly and deliberately, hoping Mr. K. can send for him. Nothing happens and he looks back once more in hope and the doors close behind him.

We never saw Wesley again. Mr. M. had the pleasure and honour of sharing just how much Wesley had siphoned off Mr. K. and other self-respecting elderly gentlemen of their mobile money. The whole room at Kiwanis had found out. I was the last to know and found out that night. Wesley had gone off into the night, only to get arrested in the parking lot, quickly and quietly by Police officers who had all the information and sworn affidavits they needed. I wondered what would happen to Wesley’s fake wife and fake twin sons; he kept sharing their photos with his victims to gain sympathy and extract more money and favours. The trail had now ceased to flow. It is off to jail and court we go!