~8~
Tiger stepped up. “Enough, John. Who has the sharpest dagger a man can ever use in retrieving votes?” he shouted. Enemy Sweeper said, “I do,” and produced an evil-looking blade. “Okay, Sweeper, you remove the stolen votes from that big spy!” “With pleasure, Tiger,” a smiling Enemy Sweeper said, happy at the prospect of vanquishing another enemy from the Mountain tribes. “They have to be taught a lesson not to step on other tribes’ rights.” He walked slowly to the big man tied to the pole, circled him and spat on his face, took a swig of beer from a dirty bottle, and spat it again on the poor man. “Mercy,” Bwana Daudi begged. Enemy Sweeper smiled as if the fear in his victim’s eyes delighted him. “Leave him be,” John managed, unsure of the consequences. “He has harmed no one.” Sweeper cut out Daudi’s navel and screamed in delight. The band of thugs started laughing. Daudi bled profusely from the wound and stared off in the distance. John followed the direction of Daudi’s stare, to a shop door where John was horrified to see a teenage girl, watching with eyes dripping terror. It appeared as though Daudi’s eyes were pleading with her to hide,