Humping styles episode 4

PELE-DONA: UNPLAY REASONS
HUMPING STYLES
HUMP 4
The Author
The manager of the hotel was almost at the door, but the younger man bent a little toward me and suddenly waved his hand in front of my eyes. The man in the gown paused and looked back.
“What on earth are you doing, Iddrisu?” he asked in an exasperated voice and yawned.
The younger man straightened with a start and looked at his boss with sudden trepidation on his face.
“Mr. Obosu, I think this man is dead!” he announced in a rush, his voice thin and stretched.
“What?” Mr. Obosu asked, startled, and rushed to the bed where he gratefully picked up my hand, and dropped it almost immediately. “Goodness me, he’s cold! Call the hospital immediately, Iddrisu! Oh, dear, oh dear! Did he check in alone?”
“No, sir,” Iddrisu said as he reached for the bedside telephone. “He came in with a lady, and they spent about an hour here, and then she left in a hurry. She was carrying her shoes when she got to the reception. It made me wonder.”
“Stupid boy, stupid boy!” Mr. Obosu said with horror. “Probably hadn’t eaten in days but used his money to buy Tramadol just to impress a pr-stitute, and died whilst having s€× with her. Foolish boy!”
Your mother! Na your grandfather be the foolish boy! Who says I use Tramol? Who says I’m dead? I’m not dead, and I don’t touch tramol, you hear? Just get me to a hospital, you big-headed nincompoop!
WARNING
The words were rumbling on in my head, yes. I couldn’t utter a word in my total paralysis!
The young man was speaking fervently into the phone, and then he finally put the receiver down on its cradle.
“Ambulance is on its way, Mr. Obosu,” Iddrisu said.
“Good, good, now call the police,” he said as he sat down at the foot of the bed. “What a waste, what a mess! Coming here to die and inconveniencing everybody! Stupid boy! What name did he register with?”
“Pele Dona, sir,” Iddrisu said, and the man scowled.
“Pele Dona?” the man said with a shake of his head. “Obviously a fake name, or a nickname. Did he fill in the emergency number section with a telephone number we could call in case of an emergency?”

“Yes, sir,” Iddrisu said.
“Good, we’re done here then,” Mr. Obosu said. “Let’s go and see if we can get the emergency number whilst we wait for the police and the ambulance. It’s going to be a bad day! F-cking boy took Tramadol and decided to conk out here!”
He suddenly pulled off a big sheet of cloth on the bed and used it to cover me, from head to foot, covering even my face!
Don’t cover me completely, you idiot! I’m not dead! You didn’t even feel for my pulse! There’s something wrong with my spine, that’s all! I heard something going ‘kein’ in my spine! Come back here, get the sheet off my face before the ambulance comes, you frog, otherwise they might conclude I’m dead! Come back, please! Remove the f-cking sheet from my face, Obosu, you frog!
But Iddrisu and Mr. Obosu left the room and closed it behind them, and left me under the sheet…dead to all intents and purposes!
So there I was under the sheets, the great Pele-Dona, the greatest player who ever lived, even greater than Casanova himself…lying under the sheets so comfy and so violently afraid. Within me I was scre-ming with terror, and sweating blood.
I was in that stupor of immobility, taking stock of my life, when I eventually heard voices in the room.
Four male voices…
Eventually, I was able to deduce that two voices were police officers, and two were medical staff. The police people walked around the room, recording stuff, talking, and then one pulled the sheet off my face, thankfully.
He was eating a huge meat pie, and he put his head to one side and looked at me.
“Handsome young man,” he said. “Another stupid fool killed by the p*ssy! Anokware etwe wo tumi ampa!”
He was huge with a fleshy face, a day’s stubble mapping his jowls, and as he broke out laughing at his own wit, crumbs of meat pie fell from his mouth onto my face.
Look at your life, you damn policeman! What do you know about death? Let the medical staff come and have a look at me! No p*ssy can kill the Pele-Dona, you frog! It is just something in my spine! Let them check my spine and ease the pain, I beg of you!!’
The other policeman was thin and older, and he had picked up my jeans and presently took out my wallet which he flipped open.
“Driver’s license,” he said. “Lots of cash.”
The other policeman turned away, pushing the rest of the pie into his mouth and rubbing his hands on the seat of his trousers to get the crumbs off his fingers. The elderly policeman fished out my driver’s license and peered at it.
“Ebo Rhule, his name,” he said quietly. “Sounds familiar.”
“These fante guys and p*ssy,” the fat cop said and burst into a short bark of laughter. “They like p*ssy too much.”
“Okay, we have his driver’s license, so we can go online and get other information we need from it, and we can get a next of kin to call,” the lean policeman said, ignoring his fat friend. “He’s all yours, guys. You can bag him up.”
Bag me up…
What the f-ck? Bag me up? Really? I’m now like a piece of trash? Oh, dear Lord, please help me! This is getting rather out of hand, really, and I need help fast! These guys should check me out! They should check for my pulse!
The two medical men came into view now.
Both slim, both dark, both wearing white uniforms, surgical gloves and mouth guards.
One sat on the edge of the bed and reached for my hand.
Oh, yes, yes, thank you sir! Thank you very much! Feel my pulse! Feel it beating strongly! Send me to hospital to be revived!
He felt my wrist for a long time, and then lifted his hand and put his fingers against my upper throat, evidently checking for a pulse.
My friend, my friend, don’t play loose! Don’t do buulu things for there! I have a pulse, feel it, man, feeeeeel the f-cking pulse…
But he shook his head with a sigh.
“Hm, so bad,” he muttered with a sad and solemn expression on his face. “He’s really dead.”
Heeerh, my friend, kafei buuulu onu? What dead? Don’t be a fool, man! Where did you get your training, huh? Gutter Nursing Institute? You’re the most incompetent paramedic in the wh0le world, ahhba! So you don’t know a dead man when you see one? Do I look like a corpse? Feel the pulse, you frog-head!
I’m not dead! Feeeel the f-cking pulse! Oh, Lord, I’m not dead! I can see both of you, man! It is Angela, the witch! She pushed my legs up, forming a V with my body, and something went KEIN in my back…that’s why I can’t move, but I see you! Please, please, please, stop talking nonsense, please! I’m not dead….
tbc