Capital crime episode 19

CAPITAL CRIME EPISODE 19
We are in the last days
JERRY
Amoured vehicles; Bullet proofed Vans, left White–house Maximum of Ugbowo district, Benin–City as early as protocols deemed them worthy to begin their journey. The convoy had six hilux cars; and a bullet-proofed Van; all led by a power bike.
Prior to these, I had a long chat with “Valley”, who in turn educated me on one or two things about guns: calibres, cartridges; and daggers. This began in the armoury of White-house, after Matt and I shared our plans and strategy with Valley and men from the state DSS command deployed by the agency. Matt, however, left the most private part of the plan to himself and me. “ Because the future ceases to be if I tell you and many others.’ Matt stated: In other words, It won’t happen.”
I acknowledged this fact: True. I, however, listened to “ Valley”, although, I knew more than Valley confessed.
Matthew would throw jokes at Valley, “…you don’t know. You don’t know what’s going on.”
I would make gest about it, “It will take your money eventually”
And Matthew made issues worse when he and Garba, the Operative from Abuja, said “ For a vanishing…”
“ I don’t understand” Valley chuckled.
“ Yea. Just like that.”I complicated matters, “ Into thin air. Away, with your senses.”
( For readers who are not my Nigerian blood, but from mother earth, this joke is a about bitcoin mining. But the situation surrounding our conversation, made me wieve it in. And it was so funny, giving our contrast in ideas– Valley knew next to nothing about bitcoin.)
Ray, as usual sat in chains, around his legs and arms. He sat in between Matthew on his left, Garba, to his right.
The three men were on the opposite view of Valley and myself.
Walkie-Talkies grimmed on and off. The time was seven AM, Tuesday. All these men– Operatives, warders and the prisoner– had not blinked an eyelid in sleep.
I broke the silence that followed the joke in the moving Van, when I asked Valley a rather personal question;
“ Is “ Valley” your birth name?”
At this, Ray burst into laughter. It was obvious he anticipated this moment, all along.
“ His freaking name is Valley. He got none. ‘No name’ sounds better when you add it to Valley” Such rudeness in his voice when he said“ Mr. Valley ‘No-name’. ”
Valley’s arms gripped his gun with anger written on his face. This however, did not stop Ray from laughing, in defiance to everybody’s wishes.
★★★
Narrator
The neighbourhood in Oluku, rose early today, even before daylight came. People trooped out from different nook and crannings which aligned with the express road. Among these peaceful citizens was a young trader, Khadija
She began the day by sweeping her corner, then shaded her oranges on a tray; upon a stool. Her little corner was on the right-hand side of Mama Bola’s Kiok. And just like many ”roadside” traders, she prayed and prepared for the day; while sighting pedestrians, cross and re-cross the scanty traffic.
“ Goodmorning, Ma!” She greeted Mama Bola.
The woman replied and showed empathy when she enquired about her family and business.
“ We thank God,” She affirmed, “ More blessings are what we pray for.”
Mama Bola, who only arrived a minute ago, turned to open her kiok when she called her attention to something.
“ Yes, I heard about it…” Mama Bola acknowledged, “ I hear say one of those area boys… Obey abi, Obehi, go enter gbese( trouble) for thieves hand.”
“ Them samaram beating, no be small.” ( For my American and UK readers, or African bloods from mother Earth, this word ‘samaram’ is a pidgin slang which is an adverb ‘very well’ for the word ‘adequate’.)
She added: “ Himself, come revenge yesterday night as he catch one of those guys for here, near Total ‘filling’ station..”
“As in eh.. My sister! No be small matter o!”(Truthfully, my sister , its not a small matter)
She told Mama Bola, that Obey and his gang members showed the unfortunate thief, no mercy. They damaged him with slaps and blows.
“ I hear say, them shoot am las las.(They shot him finally)” The gossip was too sweet for the woman and she inched closer to get first hand gist, “ You know say I quick close yesterday” ( You know I closed early yesterday)
“ Yes na! Na for–”
It was at this moment that a Dj across the road commenced his jams everyday. He made an intro with his beats and interrupted Khadija’s speech.
She hissed, “ All this mad people for Oluku sef”
Mama Bola grinned with a smile. She asked if the police had not intervened in the situation, yesterday.
“ Aunty!” Khadija began, “We no get police for this country again. They come carry the ‘dead-body’ comot after those boys do jungle justice finish”
“ My dear” Mama Bola assured her “ For this Oluku, na only God fit save person”
Her( khadija’s) eyes caught a glimpse of a poster bill as it glided into the atmosphere. It had a caption: “WE ARE IN THE LAST DAYS.”
One of those posters had being given to her yesterday, by a preacher. She muttered “ Winners Chapel.”
Mama Bola ended their conversation and she minded her business.
Then continued her shedding with her facial expression telling her intentions for the day when she glanced at the traffic. It was worse yesterday. And being the first and only daughter among nine children, she was sorely the bread winner of her poor family at sixteen years of age.
“ Baba God abeg” She muttered. Then glanced, again, at the poster bill when it flew over a mango tree; a reasonable distance from her sitting position.
★★★
The poster bill glided and came over a tall building. A sign board had a print of “ Bet9ja: Reward for passion,” hanging over a balcony of the building; It glided again, finally, rested on a man’s face. The man brooded with anger when he removed the paper and tore it to shreds. Some one else was with him and both men lay flat, atop the building.
The first man wielded a sniper gun of .50mg ( Military Grade) amour–pericing bullet caliber; peering through the gun’s sniper glass, he returned to his chore after the paper interrupted.
“ Any sign of the insect?” A voice came from an intercom in his ear.
He replied “ Negative! The millipede, is still in the cave”
“Hold your stance” The voice commanded: “ Wait for my orders…”
“Okay.”
The other man heard this but he was busy with his binoculars, surveying the landscape of Oluku. Far in the distance, the Sniper also noticed–like his surbodinate did– how Dj “BeatScratcher” was dropping the jams in succession. The man began to nod.
“ Are you kidding me?” He asked his partner.
“ We only live once” The man with the Binoculars, replied, giving a wryly kind of smile.
*Brace up for the impact* Soon…..