* * * * * * *
KUNLE was about leaving Steve’s house for the hotel when his phone rang. He grabbed it from his front pocket, “Hello”
“Mr. Kunle of Rodshield Chambers?” a voice asked from the other end.
“Yes, I am Kunle”
“Ade Fasheun of Makamala & Co. here.”
“How may I help you, Mr. Fasheun?”
The phone conversation was brief, with Fasheun doing most of the talking.
“It was Fasheun,” Kunle said to Steve once he dropped the call.
“I heard when you mentioned the name; what does he want?”
“They want to have a discussion with us on how to settle the case.”
“They are troubled; did he say where and when?”
“Yes, 2 p.m., tomorrow at their head office. Of course, I didn’t agree to that. It would be at a neutral place and at our convenience. So I chose Saturday 1p.m., at the court premises.”
“It’s urgent for them. Things must have gotten out of hand. The publicity must have been damaging for their clients. So what do you plan to do? How will Mrs. Adewunmi feel about such settlement?”
“I have discussed the option of ADR with her. I advised her it was an option we should gladly embrace if it came our way. She is okay with that.”
“Considering the damage the publicity could do to her, the cost of litigation, the stress, and the waste of time, I think it’s a better option for her.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Let’s assume we get through to this; how much are you looking at?”
“Ten million naira, that includes the humiliation, unfair dismissal, breach of contract of employment, discrimination based on her HIV status, personal injury, loss of pregnancy and of course, general damages.”
“That’s small. We should shoot it up to forty million. Let them negotiate. Does she want reinstatement?”
“No.”
“Then forty million naira is great. We take our ten percent. She walks away with the rest.”





The Story continues... have a great day.

Chapter Twelve
KUNLE POURED HIMSELF another glass of wine. He was staring at some tiny birds playing hide and seek at the banana orchard nearby. He and Steve were sitting on the verandah of Steve’s country home. Because they hadn’t chatted since Steve was released, both had a lot on their minds. They were already tired. The house had been busy with people coming to welcome Steve. And finally after the entire rollercoaster, here they were, all by themselves.
“I have been wondering, how did you get to survive the cell?” Kunle began.
“I had wondered, too. It seemed I adapted, you know. Kind of fit in, after all, most people there weren’t different.”
“The food, the toilet, hmmm, those…”
“Those moments were not something anyone would want to remember. Of course, you already know that, bathing was out of it. For the food and toilet, we did it all together. The anus and the mouth seemed the same. Someone could be defecating at one corner, while others ate at the other.”
“Hmm that’s…”
“That’s not the bad part. The really disgusting part was that people got to evacuate these excreta with their bare hands.”
“Gosh…Allah have mercy. Did you do any of that?”
“I should have, but somehow I got a little lucky.”
“How do you mean?”
“When I got into the place, I got the worst beating of my life and…”
“I forgot to ask, the beating, the ‘hey, kneel down thing…’ I watched something like that on a Nollywood movie. Was there some boss in there?”
“Yea, there was a Boss. That was the thickly bearded guy amongst those released today,” he said smiling. “Those guys beat me until I almost fainted. If not for some miracle, I would have died there.”
“What miracle?”
“Someone discovered who I was, and that was it.”
“How do you mean?”
“I kind of transformed from a punching bag to a celebrity prisoner. They got to discover that I was Steve Obi. At first I was afraid. I thought they would lynch me. But they didn’t. Instead, they loved me.”
“Loved you how?” Kunle winked.
“They were first surprised that I was there, but the surprise soon gave way to happiness. I didn’t know they knew so much about us, about our efforts at Rodshield. Immediately when they discovered who I was, they opened up. They said we had been their only hope of freedom. At first, the sight of me was like their hope was gone, but along the line, it brought back their confidence.” He finished the glass and poured another. “They knew someday I would be allowed to leave, and I would ensure they are granted freedom.” With smiles all over his face he added, “It was so sweet to learn that our efforts were appreciated.”
Matilda brought them steaming fresh-fish pepper soup. The moment she left, Steve whispered,
“How did she get on with my disappearance? My fear was that she would breakdown.”
“She almost did. Not just her, lots of us were going nuts because of you.”
Kunle took a sip of the pepper soup.
“Madam,” he shouted over his voice. “This is just like the old school days. This is too sweet.”
“Thank you, Oga Kunle,” Matilda shouted from across the kitchen. “That is the appetizer. I will soon bring the ofe Owerri and fufu.”
“Fantastic, I thought that was Igbo native soup. When did she learn how to prepare the soup?”
“You will see. That’s what I have been missing. This woman is an angel. She just knows what’s good for me, and she would go any length to get it for me. I think she learned it for me.”
“Ehm, ehm…,” The pepper soup was hot and heavily spiced. “This is so sweet ehm…ehm, my phone, my phone is ringing.” Kunle struggled with his clothes until he got the phone from his front pocket.
“It’s the Lagos office…Hello Shola, ehm… how is Lagos going?”
“Fine, sir. We are doing good. Sir, we got a call from Makamala & Co., counsel to the defendants in the HIV discrimination case.”
“I am listening.”
“They requested to speak to you urgently.”
“Did you give them my cell phone number?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay then. That’s good. I’ll be expecting their call.”
“Sir?”
“Uhuh”
“Please, how is Barrister Obi? We haven’t heard from him for a long while. Let him know we miss him.”
“He is okay. He will hear. Thank you.”
He dropped the call.
“It was Shola. He says the counsel to the defendants in the HIV case would like to speak to me on the case.”
“Hmmm…Makamala & Co, those bullies?”
“What could they be up to?”
“You never can tell. I know them; those guys would win at all costs. They will go any length to win. The only thing I haven’t heard them do is bribe the judges,”
“Who could tell if they weren’t already doing that? You know I am wondering what will make them want to talk to me by all means.”
“Because they want to win, you are talking as if you are not in the system. They want to hear from you, read your tune, just anything, bully someone maybe.”
“It does not look so. The last encounter we had in court didn’t look like they would be bullying us. They rather looked bullied.”
“How do you mean?”
“Our appearance was splendid. All our evidence was admitted, and the witness was just wonderful. At some point, it was like the whole court was crying.”
“Hmmmm, tell me something. Was it their kid lawyers that appeared or something?”
“Not at all, one of the partners in the chambers, the tall, fair SAN. You know him, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes, Ade Fasheun. He appeared? He was there and all that happened?”
“Yes.”
“You must have crushed them then. That guy is their Pele. None of the other partners is as good as he. If you crushed him, then you crushed the chambers. If he could not handle it, no other lawyer there could. They are just a bunch of dumb bullies. Ehhm, did the press show up?”
“Yes, they did—lots of them. You know how sensitive the case is. The papers ran the story for days.”
“Then they are finished. It has been long due for someone to bully those bullies.”

* * * * * * *
KUNLE was about leaving Steve’s house for the hotel when his phone rang. He grabbed it from his front pocket, “Hello”
“Mr. Kunle of Rodshield Chambers?” a voice asked from the other end.
“Yes, I am Kunle”
“Ade Fasheun of Makamala & Co. here.”
“How may I help you, Mr. Fasheun?”
The phone conversation was brief, with Fasheun doing most of the talking.
“It was Fasheun,” Kunle said to Steve once he dropped the call.
“I heard when you mentioned the name; what does he want?”
“They want to have a discussion with us on how to settle the case.”
“They are troubled; did he say where and when?”
“Yes, 2 p.m., tomorrow at their head office. Of course, I didn’t agree to that. It would be at a neutral place and at our convenience. So I chose Saturday 1p.m., at the court premises.”
“It’s urgent for them. Things must have gotten out of hand. The publicity must have been damaging for their clients. So what do you plan to do? How will Mrs. Adewunmi feel about such settlement?”
“I have discussed the option of ADR with her. I advised her it was an option we should gladly embrace if it came our way. She is okay with that.”
“Considering the damage the publicity could do to her, the cost of litigation, the stress, and the waste of time, I think it’s a better option for her.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Let’s assume we get through to this; how much are you looking at?”
“Ten million naira, that includes the humiliation, unfair dismissal, breach of contract of employment, discrimination based on her HIV status, personal injury, loss of pregnancy and of course, general damages.”
“That’s small. We should shoot it up to forty million. Let them negotiate. Does she want reinstatement?”
“No.”
“Then forty million naira is great. We take our ten percent. She walks away with the rest.”









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Chapter Thirteen
THERE HAD BEEN heavy downpour in Lagos, and the streets surged with floods. Most roads were jammed, vehicle horns blaring in all directions. It still drizzled. Barrow ran into the balcony of a bar, joining a crowd that took cover from the rain. That would be his second stop in less than two hours since he got into Lagos. One of the bars—Udeku bar—was on University of Lagos Road. It was a shack, made of plywood, bamboo sticks and used zinc roofing sheets. He blended with the crowd outside for a few minutes; then, he stepped into the bar.
He was embraced with the highlife music blasting from a loudspeaker nearby. The crowd inside were between twenty and thirty-five-year-olds, mostly students, huddled over bottles of beer and steaming bowls of pepper soup. Cigarette puffs filled the air, girls and boys all smoking something. The fierceness in the looks around was enough to show that the place wasn’t open to all. It was the hang out for the K-Cult group.
Barrow searched through the place and found himself an empty seat at the back. He dropped the books he had with him on an empty table nearby. Then he wiped his arms and forehead with a handkerchief. His presence had already drawn some attention; groups huddled together in low-tone conversation.
Speaking in Yoruba, he called the attention of a waitress. A girl walked up to him, and he ordered a bottle of coke. A moment later the coke was brought by the same waitress.
“O se gan,” he said, thanking her.
“Ko t’ope, sir.”
Barrow was wearing a pair of trousers, shirt and tie, and a pair of reading glasses. He was a bookworm. The guys across concluded he was just another naïve fool, and continued with their chat.
He opened the coke and then he reached for a pack of straws on the table. Picking out one, he poked it into the bottle, then took a sip, and another sip, and opened one of the books and began reading. While he read, he made a cursory survey of the place through the rim of his glasses.
He was still flipping through the pages of the book when a voice in heavy Yoruba accent said. “Please, we don’t allow reading in here.”
Barrow didn’t hear that.
That was the owner of the bar, a thickly built, dark woman. She had been observing Barrow since he walked in with the set of books. Who on earth would be reading in a bar? She wouldn’t allow such rubbish.
“Stop reading here. Go to the university library,” she shouted, still speaking Yoruba.
“E ma binu, sorry, ma.”
“What do you want?” she shot at him, with this scornful look.
“What food do you have?” he asked. He would not be intimidated.
“We have goat pepper soup, fish pepper soup, beef pepper soup, bush meat, snail, assorted…,” the woman reeled out all the delicacies available.
When she was done, Barrow asked, “Any rice, beans or…”
“We don’t sell that here,” she interrupted angrily. “Go to a restaurant.” And she wished he would just leave.
“Bring goat pepper soup for me.”
“You pay before service.” She frowned, and hoped he didn’t have the money to pay.
“How much is a plate?”
“Four hundred naira,” she said.
Barrow searched his pocket for his wallet. When he found it, he counted four hundred naira notes and gave to her. She called one of the waiters, the same that had served the coke, and instructed her on the order. Some girls by the table nearby threw surprising glances at Barrow. When his eyes met theirs, they laughed and looked away. Yea, he was the fool. Who cares?

* * * * * * *
MEANWHILE, Kunle had just arrived in Lagos after spending most of the day on the road. The coach had been sluggish and barely pulled into Lagos about 9 p.m. The evening traffic had loosened up. He would go and pick up his car at the fuel station. In the morning before boarding the coach, he had called the guard at the station to fetch him a five-liter container of petrol; he would give him the money when he got there. The petrol problem was easing off, he was told. That would help his movement around the following day. His first appointment with the Makamala Chambers was by 1p.m.
He had alighted from the coach just before its final terminal. A taxi had whisked him off; it was just him and his small hand luggage, so he had gone straight to the station to pick up his car. The car was as he had left it. He connected the battery head, poured in the petrol, turned the ignition and the engine coughed back to life. The guard had done a great job. He tipped the man and drove off.
He was going to turn into the road leading to the Dolphin when a dark Toyota Land Cruiser jeep cut him off, blocking him completely. Three masked men ran into the jeep, broke his side windows. One of them released two gun shots scaring the onlookers as they dragged him into the jeep. The other ran into Kunle’s car, and both cars took off.

* * * * * * *
THE TRAFFIC on First Avenue, the street on which Pedro Hotel was located, was beginning to build up. As the night drew close, cars began to trickle in. This usually continued until late at night. Some cars were already parked in the neighborhood, and the occupants in twos openly caressed. Every now and then, disco lights splashed through the hotel roof into the darkness, exposing the fun seekers in all corners.
Barrow rode in on a Harley Davidson power bike, dressed in a breathtaking outfit—hard biker shoes, knee-ripped jeans, a stud, with sparkly chains round his neck and ankle. As he pulled out the helmet, he drew some attention, too.
He parked the bike at one end of the hotel gate, tipped a guard to keep an eye on it and walked right into the compound. It was Makossa Night; a live band specialized in Soukous brand of music was already thrilling the crowd on the courtyard.
Lots of couples and double couples sat in the canopies set within the courtyard. There were tons of empty beer bottles on the tables, with more drinks on the way. Puffs of marijuana and cigarette smoke filled the airs, and the tongues wagged freely. A swarm of ladies, without male partners, strutted the venue in wait of a new catch, with bare waists and boobs that left very little to the imagination.
Barrow would be the next catch. A dark-skinned lady came rolling towards him. “Bros I like your look, look how fine you are.” She was pointing, in an effort to get closer, “See shoe, see clothe, see…abeg make we enter room? I am Floxy, and I’m ready to give you fun anyway you want am. I be master for the game.”
Barrow kept a straight face.
Another of the girls, tall, skinny, fair-skinned, and barely twenty, said, “Bros see me, I dey gidigba. You are a fine dude. Na beautiful baby I be, too!”
Barrow wasn’t there for such chitchat. He would go into the club, into the rooms, do what he came for and he would be out. He looked over the girls and said.
“I get baby inside.”
“Bros, bros, we fit come in two even in three. Take a look. Are you sure sey you no want this?” The fair-skinned girl was displaying her boobs to Barrow.
“Maybe tomorrow, my babe is waiting for me inside. I can’t disappoint her,” Barrow replied shrugging it off.
“Bros see this…,” almost letting the whole thing out. “…see, see, tomorrow too far o” the fair-skinned girl came even closer.
“You agree tomorrow or never,” Barrow snapped.
“Okay, bros, tomorrow, I dey wait,” she said disappointedly.
“Wetin be your own name?” Barrow asked her in low tune.
“I be Tina. Just ask of Tina, the Special One. Everyone knows me here. I will wait for you tomorrow.”
He nodded and continued towards the club. They pulled away, chatting, “Ground no level, abeg wetin be this one today nobody is interested in patronizing us?”
“Even money to buy beer we can’t get?”
“Abeg make I hear word. No be people dey carry yansh for there? Leave the iyanga them dey do, eventually they’ll come right back to us.”
“Na initial gragra. Leave them, konji don kill them.”
“Na today? No be wi and them? Wi dey tanda for here today. Abeg tell me better tori.”






The story continues...

Let me know you are following. Shadows is available on OKADABOOKS, AMAZON, KONGA and book shops across Nigeria.

Author page. www.tonyekwoaba.com or www.fb.com/tonyekwoaba

* * * * * * *
KUNLE was about leaving Steve’s house for the hotel when his phone rang. He grabbed it from his front pocket, “Hello”
“Mr. Kunle of Rodshield Chambers?” a voice asked from the other end.
“Yes, I am Kunle”
“Ade Fasheun of Makamala & Co. here.”
“How may I help you, Mr. Fasheun?”
The phone conversation was brief, with Fasheun doing most of the talking.
“It was Fasheun,” Kunle said to Steve once he dropped the call.
“I heard when you mentioned the name; what does he want?”
“They want to have a discussion with us on how to settle the case.”
“They are troubled; did he say where and when?”
“Yes, 2 p.m., tomorrow at their head office. Of course, I didn’t agree to that. It would be at a neutral place and at our convenience. So I chose Saturday 1p.m., at the court premises.”
“It’s urgent for them. Things must have gotten out of hand. The publicity must have been damaging for their clients. So what do you plan to do? How will Mrs. Adewunmi feel about such settlement?”
“I have discussed the option of ADR with her. I advised her it was an option we should gladly embrace if it came our way. She is okay with that.”
“Considering the damage the publicity could do to her, the cost of litigation, the stress, and the waste of time, I think it’s a better option for her.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Let’s assume we get through to this; how much are you looking at?”
“Ten million naira, that includes the humiliation, unfair dismissal, breach of contract of employment, discrimination based on her HIV status, personal injury, loss of pregnancy and of course, general damages.”
“That’s small. We should shoot it up to forty million. Let them negotiate. Does she want reinstatement?”
“No.”
“Then forty million naira is great. We take our ten percent. She walks away with the rest.”

















Shadows continues...

Chapter Thirteen
THERE HAD BEEN heavy downpour in Lagos, and the streets surged with floods. Most roads were jammed, vehicle horns blaring in all directions. It still drizzled. Barrow ran into the balcony of a bar, joining a crowd that took cover from the rain. That would be his second stop in less than two hours since he got into Lagos. One of the bars—Udeku bar—was on University of Lagos Road. It was a shack, made of plywood, bamboo sticks and used zinc roofing sheets. He blended with the crowd outside for a few minutes; then, he stepped into the bar.
He was embraced with the highlife music blasting from a loudspeaker nearby. The crowd inside were between twenty and thirty-five-year-olds, mostly students, huddled over bottles of beer and steaming bowls of pepper soup. Cigarette puffs filled the air, girls and boys all smoking something. The fierceness in the looks around was enough to show that the place wasn’t open to all. It was the hang out for the K-Cult group.
Barrow searched through the place and found himself an empty seat at the back. He dropped the books he had with him on an empty table nearby. Then he wiped his arms and forehead with a handkerchief. His presence had already drawn some attention; groups huddled together in low-tone conversation.
Speaking in Yoruba, he called the attention of a waitress. A girl walked up to him, and he ordered a bottle of coke. A moment later the coke was brought by the same waitress.
“O se gan,” he said, thanking her.
“Ko t’ope, sir.”
Barrow was wearing a pair of trousers, shirt and tie, and a pair of reading glasses. He was a bookworm. The guys across concluded he was just another naïve fool, and continued with their chat.
He opened the coke and then he reached for a pack of straws on the table. Picking out one, he poked it into the bottle, then took a sip, and another sip, and opened one of the books and began reading. While he read, he made a cursory survey of the place through the rim of his glasses.
He was still flipping through the pages of the book when a voice in heavy Yoruba accent said. “Please, we don’t allow reading in here.”
Barrow didn’t hear that.
That was the owner of the bar, a thickly built, dark woman. She had been observing Barrow since he walked in with the set of books. Who on earth would be reading in a bar? She wouldn’t allow such rubbish.
“Stop reading here. Go to the university library,” she shouted, still speaking Yoruba.
“E ma binu, sorry, ma.”
“What do you want?” she shot at him, with this scornful look.
“What food do you have?” he asked. He would not be intimidated.
“We have goat pepper soup, fish pepper soup, beef pepper soup, bush meat, snail, assorted…,” the woman reeled out all the delicacies available.
When she was done, Barrow asked, “Any rice, beans or…”
“We don’t sell that here,” she interrupted angrily. “Go to a restaurant.” And she wished he would just leave.
“Bring goat pepper soup for me.”
“You pay before service.” She frowned, and hoped he didn’t have the money to pay.
“How much is a plate?”
“Four hundred naira,” she said.
Barrow searched his pocket for his wallet. When he found it, he counted four hundred naira notes and gave to her. She called one of the waiters, the same that had served the coke, and instructed her on the order. Some girls by the table nearby threw surprising glances at Barrow. When his eyes met theirs, they laughed and looked away. Yea, he was the fool. Who cares?

* * * * * * *
MEANWHILE, Kunle had just arrived in Lagos after spending most of the day on the road. The coach had been sluggish and barely pulled into Lagos about 9 p.m. The evening traffic had loosened up. He would go and pick up his car at the fuel station. In the morning before boarding the coach, he had called the guard at the station to fetch him a five-liter container of petrol; he would give him the money when he got there. The petrol problem was easing off, he was told. That would help his movement around the following day. His first appointment with the Makamala Chambers was by 1p.m.
He had alighted from the coach just before its final terminal. A taxi had whisked him off; it was just him and his small hand luggage, so he had gone straight to the station to pick up his car. The car was as he had left it. He connected the battery head, poured in the petrol, turned the ignition and the engine coughed back to life. The guard had done a great job. He tipped the man and drove off.
He was going to turn into the road leading to the Dolphin when a dark Toyota Land Cruiser jeep cut him off, blocking him completely. Three masked men ran into the jeep, broke his side windows. One of them released two gun shots scaring the onlookers as they dragged him into the jeep. The other ran into Kunle’s car, and both cars took off.

* * * * * * *
THE TRAFFIC on First Avenue, the street on which Pedro Hotel was located, was beginning to build up. As the night drew close, cars began to trickle in. This usually continued until late at night. Some cars were already parked in the neighborhood, and the occupants in twos openly caressed. Every now and then, disco lights splashed through the hotel roof into the darkness, exposing the fun seekers in all corners.
Barrow rode in on a Harley Davidson power bike, dressed in a breathtaking outfit—hard biker shoes, knee-ripped jeans, a stud, with sparkly chains round his neck and ankle. As he pulled out the helmet, he drew some attention, too.
He parked the bike at one end of the hotel gate, tipped a guard to keep an eye on it and walked right into the compound. It was Makossa Night; a live band specialized in Soukous brand of music was already thrilling the crowd on the courtyard.
Lots of couples and double couples sat in the canopies set within the courtyard. There were tons of empty beer bottles on the tables, with more drinks on the way. Puffs of marijuana and cigarette smoke filled the airs, and the tongues wagged freely. A swarm of ladies, without male partners, strutted the venue in wait of a new catch, with bare waists and boobs that left very little to the imagination.
Barrow would be the next catch. A dark-skinned lady came rolling towards him. “Bros I like your look, look how fine you are.” She was pointing, in an effort to get closer, “See shoe, see clothe, see…abeg make we enter room? I am Floxy, and I’m ready to give you fun anyway you want am. I be master for the game.”
Barrow kept a straight face.
Another of the girls, tall, skinny, fair-skinned, and barely twenty, said, “Bros see me, I dey gidigba. You are a fine dude. Na beautiful baby I be, too!”
Barrow wasn’t there for such chitchat. He would go into the club, into the rooms, do what he came for and he would be out. He looked over the girls and said.
“I get baby inside.”
“Bros, bros, we fit come in two even in three. Take a look. Are you sure sey you no want this?” The fair-skinned girl was displaying her boobs to Barrow.
“Maybe tomorrow, my babe is waiting for me inside. I can’t disappoint her,” Barrow replied shrugging it off.
“Bros see this…,” almost letting the whole thing out. “…see, see, tomorrow too far o” the fair-skinned girl came even closer.
“You agree tomorrow or never,” Barrow snapped.
“Okay, bros, tomorrow, I dey wait,” she said disappointedly.
“Wetin be your own name?” Barrow asked her in low tune.
“I be Tina. Just ask of Tina, the Special One. Everyone knows me here. I will wait for you tomorrow.”
He nodded and continued towards the club. They pulled away, chatting, “Ground no level, abeg wetin be this one today nobody is interested in patronizing us?”
“Even money to buy beer we can’t get?”
“Abeg make I hear word. No be people dey carry yansh for there? Leave the iyanga them dey do, eventually they’ll come right back to us.”
“Na initial gragra. Leave them, konji don kill them.”
“Na today? No be wi and them? Wi dey tanda for here today. Abeg tell me better tori.”











Shadows Continues...

Author page www.tonyekwoaba.com www.fb.com/tonyekwoaba kindly drop your comments.

Chapter Fourteen
AT THE ENTRANCE to the club, a crowd was waiting their turn to get in. Hefty guards worked the doors, taking routine search before they let anyone in. At his turn, after he was searched, Barrow was allowed to go in. And upon stepping into the club, he was temporarily blinded by the dimness in the club. Then his eyes adjusted to the place and the disco lights that splashed randomly on the flood of dancers. Just in time the disc jockey featured one of Awilo Longomba’s all-time best, Coupe Bibamba. The crowd went wild.
Barrow stirred along the bopping crowd, looking for cigarettes and beer. It didn’t take long before he found the small bar. He floated across the dance floor in that direction. He was on his second stick of cigarette when a tall, slim girl danced towards him.
“You mind dancing with me?” she asked with a large smile. She was busty, wore tight trousers but still looked decently dressed. Barrow could have declined, but again he had turned down too many advances made at him. Someone could be watching; no one goes into a club with such saintly posture. He would not make that mistake.
“Okay then,” he replied with a grin.
The song switched from Awilo to Fela Kuti. They followed with a new dance step. Few minutes into the dance, the girl started up,
“Is this your first time here?”
“Not really” Barrow replied, he was stooping down, with the new dance step.
“Why haven’t I seen you here before?” She asked, reeling off some majestic steps.
“Do you know everyone that comes here?” Barrow asked.
“Fair enough, but I’m a regular here, and you don’t look like someone I would easily forget.”
“I never knew that. So what brings you here that often?”
“Don’t mind my manners.” She then realized what he meant. “Oh, no. No, no, I am not one of those, call girls! Oh, no!”
“You don’t sound like one, but it’s never written on the face.”
“I am just a girl that loves fun. I’m a student at Lagos State University”
Oh, no, Barrow thought. Same school, wrong place.
“So, what are you studying?”
“English.”
Suddenly, Barrow doubled up in apparent pain, holding his stomach.
“What’s it? Are you okay?” the girl asked.
“I just have this strong pain in my belly, I need to use the restroom.” He looked around for direction to the comfort station.
“That way,” the girl pointed. “Do you need my help?”
“I’ll be fine.” Barrow ran, hitting other people as he tried to pull through.
“I’ll be right back!” He shouted.
He got into one of the toilet compartments, locked it behind him and drew out from his pocket, the hotel building plan Abiodun had given him. Location A was the toilets; location B, the stair case; Location C, the room lobby and location D, Room 32 on the second floor. He searched over the ceiling where Abiodun had told him he would find the staff uniform. He found it and changed into it.
Pedro Hotel provided clubbing and lodging services. The ground floor served as the club, while the rooms were on the first and second floors. Customers who felt the urge to use the room after clubbing could do so. The rooms were booked per hour. Some first-class call girls had rooms reserved for them. When they caught a new customer, they would take him into the room. The damned place was practically a brothel.
Barrow left the toilet. First, he peeped to see if the girl or any other person was stalking. Once he was satisfied there was no such person, he moved swiftly. Around the staircase, he drew a bottle of Remy Martins that was also lodged for him behind a stair fold. He put the drink in a bowl and covered it with a napkin. He took the stair case up. At the lobby on the first floor, he ran into two cuddling partners, tipsy, too preoccupied with caressing and kissing to notice him. He walked fast past them and then took the stairs to the second floor. Once there, he searched the door tags for Room 32. There it was.
He knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, no response. Had he been given a wrong room number? He was about to walk away when a female voice asked through an opening. “Who?”
“Room service,” he said.
“Room service,” the female voice repeated. “We didn’t call you. What is it?” the voice asked.
“Remy Martins,” Barrow replied.
“He said, ‘Remy Martins,’” the voice repeated again. The female voice was reporting everything Barrow said to someone inside.
“But this isn’t the time the drink usually comes. Why?”
“I needed to bring it now. Will be going home early, I am not feeling too fine,” Barrow said.
“He is not feeling fine, going early today,” the voice repeated.
There was a click, the door opened, and Barrow was led in to drop the drink.
He greeted the girl. She was beautiful and young, too, in her early twenties. She nodded to the greeting and led him further into the room. She was naked. The room smelled of cannabis and cigarettes. It was smoggy and badly lit.
Barrow moving further into the room, greeted the other occupants of the room. There was a sturdy guy—most likely the leader of K-Cult group, and two other girls lying on the bed. They were also naked. He had just interrupted an orgy.
The information Abiodun supplied him for the operation was accurate. Abiodun had told him that the leader of the K-Cult group would be at the club. He had a room reserved for him from 7 p.m. to 5 a.m. every Friday. The room number changed, but the routines never did. While his boys clubbed below, he went up with the girls. Every 9 p.m. he was there; a bottle of Remy Martins was served him in the room he lodged. It was part of the routine. Abiodun had used an insider to make the operation a lot easier for Barrow. It was the insider that hid the change-over outfit, the bowl, the napkin and the drink.
Once Barrow was done setting the drink on the table, he made for the door. The beautiful face was behind him to bolt the door. The sturdy guy had stepped down from the bed to pour himself a glass of the Remy Martins when he noticed there was no glass.
“Hey, where are the cups?”
Barrow by then was at the door, but he did not open the door. Instead he locked it and withdrew into the room, dragging the girl with him. She screamed, fighting with all the energy she possibly could. Barrow pushed her to the bed. She was crying. The other girls were petrified.
The sturdy guy was startled but then with a sharp sardonic tune he said, “I don’t get it. Are you mad or something? Instead of you to do your job, you dare touch my girl?” He ran towards Barrow, and flung out his arm to smack Barrow. Barrow ducked and his hand flew by. He swerved in an effort to retain his balance. Barrow took the opportunity and punched him in the face. The girls screamed.
He shook and shrugged it off. He lurched to one side as Barrow took a headfirst dive at him. He darted and spun round Barrow, wrapping his huge arms around him and squeezing. Barrow hit his shoe heel on his bare foot; he screamed and loosened his grip on Barrow. Barrow slammed into his chin. He fell and broke his leg. Barrow crouched, gasping. Then Barrow took a taekwondo posture, launching an attack. But it was a weak one—he hadn’t regained his strength. The guy grabbed Barrow’s foot and hurled him, crashing him at one end of the room. The pain was excruciating.
The girls screamed and ran into the bathroom for cover.
The room was insulated from sound. The thumping and grunting stayed just within the confines of the room, and there were no gun shots yet.
The guy crawled towards the bed top on his broken leg for his gun. He would have loved the kill without a gunshot, but now it was obvious he would use the gun. He reached for the gun, but just when he was about to take hold of the weapon, Barrow zipped and grabbed it.
“Who the hell are you?” The guy shouted. He was leaning against the bed. “I know you are no damn room service. You are not a staff of this hotel. You were sent here by someone.”
Barrow smiled, but he did not say anything.
“You think you could just come here and kill me? Do you know who I am? Do you know what you have done?”
He waited, and when there was no response, he continued,
“I don’t know who the hell you are, but I have seen that you are a killer. I am not a saint either. I know you are no coward, so I request that you afford me the chance of knowing who you are.”
Barrow kept quiet.
“Coward, tell me who sent you!”
Barrow still kept quiet.
“Okay, boy, let’s make a deal. I know you must have been told who I am. I’m the boss here.”
That irritated Barrow. He smashed the gun barrel into his chin, as if to ask, “You still the boss?” The guy fell. When he sat up again, he was begging.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “I have more than five thousand killers at my beck and call, five thousand killers across many universities. Please don’t do this. I am not a man you should kill. The fact that you came after me is enough to hand you a death sentence, but I understand. I could forgive you. I could still let you live if you just come out clean and let this crap die. Let us all walk out of here alive. I could save you the trouble of being hunted by five thousand butchers. You know what that means, right? You are not stupid, I believe!”
He hoped Barrow would make a mistake; if he kept talking maybe he would make a mistake. He would take his chances, but he did not know Barrow was not known to make mistakes. The guy cursed himself; he cursed himself for telling his boys to stay away from the room. By doing this, he had gone against the rule. A cult leader was never alone.
Not like this, he thought. I will not die like a cow. No! I will not leave such a legacy. Thoughts worked his head as he groaned in anguish. He struggled to stand up, but his limbs were fluid. His heart was pounding, sweat trickled down his face. Survival was the key thing; he kept thinking of how he would stay alive.
Barrow bent towards the guy, as if to whisper something in his ear, and he did whisper something. Next thing Barrow was walking away.
“That’s not possible! That’s not possible!” the guy was shouting.
He tried again to get up. This time, he held the edge of the bed. He stood, finally. He did not see when Barrow threw something at him. And he had just opened his mouth to say something, when the edge of the broken trash saucer Barrow threw towards him sliced up his throat. He ran his hand across it. His blood gushed. His throat spurt and his teeth clenched. As he plummeted, his head hit the edge of the bed. He convulsed for a few seconds and died.
Barrow walked to the body, avoiding the pool of blood that had formed. Once he was sure he was dead, Barrow went to the restroom. The moment he opened the door, the girls screamed and closed their eyes. He had pity on them. He was not used to leaving witnesses anytime he killed, but he could not bear the pain of killing these weak girls. He had a conscience after all.
“Please get up; get dressed. I will not touch you,” he heard himself say.
At first the girls didn’t believe he was talking to them, so they didn’t respond. They were shivering and gasping.
“Please, ladies,” he said, his eyes avoiding their unclothedness. “Please could you get up and get dressed? I will like to help you get out of this place. Did anyone know that you girls came into this room?”
“Y…y…yes, n…n…no, ye…ye…yes…,”they were all moaning at the same time.
“Okay, I will leave you here. If nobody saw you, I advise you to wear your clothes and leave this room. Make sure you disappear before someone sees this,” he said, pointing in the direction of the dead body. The girls trembled at the sight of the corpse.
“These guys are dangerous,” Barrow continued. “I advise you to leave now.”
“Do you understand?” he asked. They nodded; they had begun to search for their clothes. Barrow looked at his watch. It was some minutes before nine o’clock. Soon the real hotel waiter would come to serve the Remy Martins and would discover the lifeless body.
He walked to the door and opened it with the key in his pocket. He glanced over at the body. Then, he ran through the lobby. Soon he was at the toilet where he changed back into his clothes. The club was still crowded, and possibly the girl would be there, of course, waiting for him. Perhaps the other cult members might see him at the club, so he would not take any chances. He took the rear door as he had seen in the building plan and exited, moving fast through the crowd outside, avoiding eye contact, especially with the herd of call girls. Once he was outside, he jumped on his power bike and disappeared.







The story continues...

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Chapter Fifteen
“KUNLE OR WHATEVER he is called has been taken,” the voice began. “My boy has done the job, and it was neatly done.” The speaker continued with an aura of arrogance. It was always “My” and “I” except when there were blames to throw around.
“When was that, sir?” the other man with affected Indian accent asked.
“Yesterday night.”
“What about the woman?”
“She too has been taken care of. She had the usual shock, and was being transferred in an ambulance, from her hospital to the general hospital.”The man was smiling, caressing his neck.
He went on, “The vehicle had been tampered with. The brake line was cut, so it crashed. No survivor.”
“So we have nothing else to worry about?”
“That’s right.”
“What do we do with the Makamala lawyers? They have plans to hold the settlement meeting with the…”
“Leave those idiots. Because they can’t do their job, they want to give my millions to that worthless, foolish, sick woman. Thank God she is dead. Let them keep hoping—they will wait forever.” He flared up. “Charan, act something. Be surprised, shout at them and raise hell whenever they call to say they have not seen the Kunle yet. Insist that you would only have the talk with that idiot, Kunle or whatever they call him, and no one else. I want you to do this as we planned it. Get to the boys, have his dead body reserved for me ‘til I’m in Lagos.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am sick and tired of this crazy nonsense. It’s affecting my hospital. And you should work; work so that the reputation of the hospital is restored.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may leave now.” He waved him off and continued on his table.
Gently, the other man walked out of the office.
That was Annabel’s father and Charan Kumal Singh, the Chief Medical Director of Kumal Specialist Hospital. Doctor Charan Kumal Singh, the Chief Medical Director, had been in the country for eight years. Chief Amah had met him years back while in Mumbai to procure equipment and manpower for his new hospital. He was very sure India had the best medical equipment and manpower for his newly built hospital. For the equipment, the Indians were ready to sell as much as his money could afford, but the manpower thing was difficult. Indian doctors were not ready to go to Africa. When he was almost giving up in the whole thing, he found Charan.
Charan was a medical school dropout, working as a sales representative in a medical equipment store. He was assigned to take Chief Amah on tour of their facilities, and while they chatted, Chief Amah discovered the young Indian had been in the medical field. As Charan told his story, Chief Amah saw the frustration in his eyes. He really would love to practice medicine, but he could not. Chief seeing his great desire made Charan an offer to head his new hospital in Africa. He knew the young man would jump at it.
“But that cannot be possible, I can’t practice medicine without a certificate,” Charan had replied.
“Yes, you can,” Chief Amah affirmed. “It is Africa we are talking about. There we could get you the certificate—we have our way around such things. Just say ‘yes’ and everything will be fine.”
Charan pondered this for minutes. He did not really understand, but thought that anyhow, the offer was better than the miserable job he held. It was better than the anger, the frustration he was going through. He believed he needed a new environment—all his life he had spent in Mumbai, seeing the same old place, most of whom considered him a failure. So he said, “Yes.”
That singular “yes” had changed his life. If for any good, he could not say. He had made money in Nigeria, though, but money was not everything. The money had also come with damaging consequences. He had seen himself do unimaginable things. He had seen himself falsify test results, conduct abortions, kill, and even engage in more heinous acts. Little by little, he was pushed further into a myriad of despicable acts. Chief Amah would call him, “Hey do this,” and he would do it; “Hey, do that,” and he would. None of those were humane, but he could not say, “No.” From the day he said, “Yes,” to the forgery of his medical certificate, he could no longer say, “No,” to anything. Chief Amah knew so much he could nail him with, he was enslaved for life.

* * * * * * *
PHILIP EKPENISI scoured the streets in his taxi, searching for the building. He was taking his time. It was early, and the morning traffic in most parts of Lagos was already jammed. He would not go any closer to the major roads. Why hurry? The caretaker of the uncompleted building had given him the address to check it out and contact him if he liked the place. The price was already discussed, and a deal was underway. He was told there were no hoodlums and squatters in the place. He did not believe it though. It was not possible to have an uncompleted building with no squatters in Lagos. Time and time again house owners tried new tricks to evict squatters from their property, but the squatters always found a way back. There were homeless people everywhere. Any uncompleted structure was a luxury—they were better than the under-bridge and they were rent-free. He left the major road and took a dusty track. Why were there no squatters? He asked himself for the umpteenth time. There was one possible reason for this, but he dared not think about it. He would see for himself.
A little deeper down the street, heavy foot traffic was coming against him. The workers were rushing to catch the BRT buses on the highway. It was a cool and quiet neighborhood, with many school people, yet very few schools; it was a good environment for his kind of business. It was not easy finding such a place, there were houses being constructed everywhere, but the owners always completed the buildings within months. Philip needed a long-term rental, and the structure was perfect. He was told the owner had died of cancer, and the building was willed to the son, who was always in the U.S. The boy was literarily dragged to attend his father’s funeral and since then he would not visit Nigeria. His uncle was the caretaker.
Philip’s car swerved to avoid some pedestrians. He was thinking of what to do about the place. He had not seen it, but since he was assured of long-term rental in the place, he would do some facelift, put wooden doors, and add windows, chalkboards and even a small office for himself. He would make it a better center than the others he already had. With this one added, there would be seven education centers in all; that was a record number. Things were getting better; he was beginning to see the big picture.
He got to a T-junction and was confused which way to go, so he slowed down to ask a young lad by the road, handling a ball.
“Please, where is Jack Ofor Street?”
“Turn for here, go down; for the next junction, turn left. Na the street be that,” the lad replied and continued frisking with the ball.
“Thanks,” he replied, driving in the direction the boy had pointed. He was observing the environment. It was not long before he saw the building.
It was a three-story structure which tended to dwarf the buildings around it. Most of the fence had collapsed, there were bushes here and there within the compound, and the building was not roofed yet. There were no windows or doors. It was just a set of blocks. Only a great deal of work would make the place inhabitable. Lots of money would go down the drain, but it was in a fine neighborhood and quite worth the investment. Philip parked the car a distance from the place, and walked. He was not sure what to expect, when there were no squatters. There must be something spooky about the building.
Quietly, he walked in through what looked like the entranceway, since there was no gate. The compound was without life, except some empty bags of sachet water, used nylon bags, used condoms, used cigarette boxes, and bottles of spirits which randomly littered the grounds. The rest were bushes. The farther Philip went into the compound, the more he knew why there were no squatters. The place was a hideout for criminals. But could he reclaim it? He was not sure how he would do it, but somehow he was confident he would. He needed to see the inside.
Philip ambled in through a door which opened into a large room on the ground floor that was supposed to be the sitting room. He peeped into the other rooms. They were empty and littered with cigarettes and marijuana butts. The kitchen floor was heavily defecated. It was a block of flats, with three rooms and a sitting room. Each floor had two flats, and with three floors. There were six flats in all.
Everything about the building was fearsome. He contemplated running away, but just then his eyes caught the staircase around what would be the dining area. He looked over it. There were fresh human prints in the sandy staircase, and there were no cobwebs. Someone had just used the staircase. He had the urge to climb up, but it was too risky, so he snapped his eyes away. He looked at the stairs again, and the prints were right there, heading up, with no cobwebs. If he had gotten this far, then he would see it all, whatever it took. He continued, cautiously taking the steps up.
The first floor had the same room pattern as the ground floor. There was more rubbish littered on the floor. Further into the rooms, he recognized faint traces of marijuana butts mixed with something he couldn’t identify. He felt like running down, straight out and into his car, never to come back. But he was prompted to go on, the same urge that had brought him this far. The third floor was without roof, so he did not bother climbing up to the last floor. Quietly and carefully, he got through the staircase into the sitting room of second floor. It was empty, like all the others.
Then he heard a noise. He was not sure what it was, so he stopped and listened. Someone was snoring; the sound was coming from within the store. To get through the store he would have to get to the kitchen. Quietly he tiptoed, trying not to make any sound. He would peek at the person snoring and run out before whoever it was knew it. But when he got to the kitchen, he met a man wrapped up in ropes and sacks, gagged. Philip was petrified. He tried to run back, but it was too late; the man had seen him and was already mumbling something. Apparently, he was begging for his help.
Quietly Philip tiptoed towards the man, and footsteps approached from the store. He ducked behind a wall, keeping still as possible, slightly through an opening, he peeped. A tall guy walked over to the curled man, and shouted, “Stop disturbing us. Let us rest. Else we will kill you before the appointed time.” The tall guy hit the man on the head and went back into the store.
Philip waited. He did not know whether or not he should run out and call the police, or disappear and not tell a soul. “No! I will not,” he told himself. He had encountered enough to know that was not the wise thing to do. He would run and call the police. After a while, he began to hear the snoring sound again, and once he was convinced that whoever it was, was back to sleep, he stepped out of his hiding, tiptoeing towards the staircase. But, he couldn’t help but look in the man’s direction, and their eyes met. The man had been watching him all along, waiting for him to get out of his hiding. He had stopped muttering and was now shaking his hands. Philip came closer to look at the face; maybe it would help with finding his people.
Damn it, he thought. I have seen this face before!
The man was winking and shaking more vigorously, trying to pass a message. Philip caught it. He came closer to the man and then he recollected the face. It was the lawyer, the same Barrister Kunle he had met some days back. He had dropped him at the airport, and the lawyer had promised to help him register his company. Oh my God! He whispered to himself. Quickly he started untying the ropes and sacks.







The story continues...

Shadows is available on okadabooks, konga and amazon as well as bookshops across Nigeria.
Author page. www.fb.com/tonyekwoaba or www.tonyekwooaba.com

@ pictures. First Picture is a picture of author of Shadows, Tony Ekwoaba.
The second picture is a picture of a young man reading SHADOWS.

Chapter Sixteen
THE TAXI MADE a second stop at Annabel’s place. From the back seat, Barrow gave the driver some naira bills. “Keep the change,” he said and ran off to see Annabel. He had missed her. And while in Lagos he had been thinking about her. He rarely had the company of any girls, and when he did, it was because he could not avoid it. Barrow could not define what he was going through. He was in love, but he dared not say it. Barrow de Executioner, fall in love? It was laughable, yet there was nothing else it could be called.
What else would describe his unquenchable desire for her? He just got into Abuja, he had not seen his boys and he had not briefed Chief Amah or gotten any report on things. But here he was, running to see Annabel. He was overwhelmed with her. She was the only friend, the only family and the only confidant he had. It was true he had boys and many girls all over him, but those were not true friends; they either worshipped him or were awed by his presence. Annabel was the only person that could look him in the eye and scold him sometimes. Maybe it was because she did not know his other sides, or maybe it was her bold nature. She filled the hole of loneliness, the emptiness of orphan-hood and the void of not having a brother or sister to talk to. She was his lover and his family; she was everything to him.
He would give her the gold necklace he bought for her in Lagos, kiss her, hold her and tell her how much he missed her. He opened the gate and ran inside. He was going to surprise her, he ran in through the kitchen door, hiding the gift behind him.
Immediately he got into the kitchen, he slowed his pace, and began easing gently into the room. She was not there. He heard some voices at the sitting room, and he crept towards the voices. Lo and behold, Annabel was sitting on some guy’s lap, kissing. Barrow was startled.
“What! Annabel!” He shouted, the gold necklace fell off his hands.
The guy dropped Annabel and ran out through the front door. Barrow followed, and Annabel ran towards Barrow, trying to hold him. He raised his hand to hit her, but he could not. He pushed her, and her head hit the wall. Then she crashed on the floor. Not looking back, Barrow ran out after the guy. Annabel fainted.

* * * * * * *
THE DOCTOR was still examining Annabel when her father walked in. “Oh my baby, my Ani, my queen!” From the door, he was wailing and he looked pitiful. “Doctor, how is my daughter? How is she?”
“She is still stable. She experienced shock from the knock on the head. She is unconscious, but I think she will pull through.”
“Any internal wounds or something? Have you run test…”
“Yes, we have run preliminary tests on her. The test results will soon be ready. That would help determine if there were any internal injuries.”
“O, my God!” Chief Amah went over to the foot of the bed and sat down. He held Annabel’s hand and began speaking in soft tunes. “I think I should fly you out.”
A nurse walked in with some papers. She handed them to the doctor, who examined them, and stuck them in his armpit. Those were the test results.
“Sir, please may we talk in my office?”
“Oh, no, can’t it wait? I want to spend time with my daughter.” He was still holding unto Annabel’s hand.
“I am sorry. She needs some rest. I think she will come through it.”
The doctor opened the door for everyone to leave. Chief Amah resisted getting up; he would normally have shouted at the doctor. But he didn’t. Annabel’s condition was bad, and she was in this man’s hand. He kissed her arm, got up and followed the doctor. At the door he shook his head, and said more like to himself, “Whoever did this to my daughter, I will get you and I will kill you myself.” As he stepped out, the rest of the occupants were after him.
“Sir, please, my office, you and I alone,” The doctor said.
At that, the flock of his security guards stayed back. Chief Amah and the doctor stepped into the office, the doctor closing the door behind them.

* * * * * * *
BARROW RACED BACK to Annabel’s house. He had lost the guy; the chap had managed to get on a bike after a long chase. He would find him later. Now, he had Annabel to tackle. He had to know why she would cheat on him, perhaps, because she did not know who he was. If she really knew who he was, she would not try such a thing. He ran into the house. “Annabel, Annabel, Annabel.”
Annabel was nowhere close. He searched the house, but she was not there. He dialed her phone, and it was switched off. He left the house and walked into a beer joint across the road. He just sat there drinking and smoking while waiting for her call, but she did not call. When finally his phone rang, he hurriedly answered it, believing she was the one. But it was Chief Amah.
“Yes, X,” Chief Amah said. He always called him X. “You are back in Abuja, I suppose?”
“Yes, Chief. I am back. Sorry I should have called to inform you.”
“Don’t worry, X. It is okay. You did a good job there in Lagos, and I will really want us to celebrate, perhaps discuss some more business over a few bottles of champagne.”
“That’s okay.”
“Boy, come over to my guest house number two. I’ll be waiting.”
“I will be right there, sir.”
Maybe a visit to Chief Amah’s mansion would ease off the stress. When he had taken some whiskey there, he would be relaxed, and then he would know how to handle this shit.
He called to inform his boys he was in Abuja, and that he was leaving for Chief Amah’s place for a briefing.

* * * * * * *
THE MANSION was in Asokoro, the crème de la crème of Abuja. It was an elaborate display of splendor, sweet landscaping, a swimming pool, and the huge edifice. Barrow had the taxi drop him at the gate; he rang the electronic bell and the thugs mounting the gates led him inside.
Inside the compound, he could perceive the scent of pleasure and refreshment. Some barbecue was being made at one end. A bartender passed by with a tray of wine. He was heading towards the swimming pool area where some rawboned ladies were skinny-dipping. About seven of them, light skinned, aged between nineteen and twenty, with tiny legs and generous breasts. They were in wait for Chief Amah’s bedding. Barrow snapped his eyes away, he was not in the mood for such, and if Chief Amah offered him any, he would decline.
He was led into the massive sitting room. Chief Amah was on the phone.
“Send two billion to my Swiss account,” he barked. “I want it transferred immediately; don’t let anyone trace it.”
“Yes, Swiss banks are safer. Send it there.”
He dropped the call.
“See who we have here. Welcome, X,” Chief Amah grinned, with a warm embrace.
“Chief, I’m humbled, sir.”
“X, you never disappoint me. I am proud to have you around and a great job I must say, neat and clean.” He tapped Barrow by the shoulder.
“Bring me the drinks…X, what are you drinking?”
“Scotch, mixed with ice.”
The butler went away for the order.
“Yes, I am impressed, I am really impressed. There are lots of jobs we shall be discussing further. And my colleagues have work for you, too.”
The butler returned with the drinks.
“I am always at your service, sir.”
”Cheers!” Chief Amah took his glass for a toast with Barrow. “More years of successes!” Then he added, “Bring that fool in here.”
The thugs dragged a guy along to where Chief Amah was standing.
“You see this guy?” Chief Amah began. “This guy betrayed me; he struck a knife right through my heart. X, what would you have me do to him?”
“Teach him some lessons,” Barrow replied.
“You are very right. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I will tell him that no one messes with the Iroko and goes free. Please, may you lend me your gun?”
Proudly, Barrow slid his pistol and handed it to the chief, who took it and after examining it, said, “It’s a sweet pistol you got here, X.” He swerved the gun dexterously and pointed the gun at the guy, who had closed his eyes and was mumbling. He veered sharply and shot Barrow in the legs.
Barrow fell, his glass of scotch crashing along with him to the floor. Chief Amah walked across to him.
“Chief, what are you doing?” Barrow screamed.
Back at Annabel’s place, some thugs whom Chief Amah had planted to watch Annabel had taken a snapshot at Barrow and the other guy Barrow was running after, a picture they turned in to Chief Amah. The thugs had gone into the house to inquire what happened, only to see Annabel fainted on the floor. They alerted her dad, and he instructed they rush her to a hospital. The dad hurried to the hospital and at the hospital, he saw the picture and discovered that Barrow had been the idiot that injured his daughter. He also learned that Annabel was pregnant. He had confronted her when she roused, and she said Chris was responsible. This “Chris” he realized was Barrow, and she had plans to marry him.
“X, you see, I was one of the persons that made you, and you forgot that I did.”
“Chief, what are you doing?”
“What I’m doing? I’m going to kill you. I know that no bullet can penetrate unless it came from your gun,” he took a sip. “You see, I am not a man you should have deceived. Not with those oaths you took. I asked you to guard my precious thing, and you decided to make it yours.”
“Sir, I would explain, please…”
“Shut up. There is nothing to explain. How are you going to explain that you beat my daughter ‘til she fainted?”
“Who fainted?”
“Yes…Annabel. How are you going to explain, impregnating my little baby? You scum!”
“Sir, there is a mistake somewhere. Annabel and I love…”
“Shut up! See who is talking about love?” He dawdled round Barrow, “X, I really liked you and was going to make you something big, something everyone would talk about. But you chose to destroy yourself.”
He pointed the gun at Barrow’s head.
“On a second thought,” he said. “I think you will be useful to me before you die. I am going to use you for better things.” He shot more bullets into Barrow and shouted. “Kazeem, go and dump him at the Shrine in Ankpa. Go now. You and others should take this fool out of here. Dump him there; his head will be used for rituals.”














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I need some comments to be sure people are following the story, I might have to stop if the story isn't followed.

great story uv gat there,more ink pen.write on.

Chapter Seventeen
YAZ AND MAFI were up from their sleep. They were exhausted, all through the night, into the early morning; they were awake, keeping watch, drinking, smoking, playing cards to put off sleep. With the sunrise, sleep had hit them hard.
Yaz was the first to wake.
“Oboy no be small thing for night,” he said.
“Yes o, huh,” Mafi said, stretching himself. “Wetin be the time now?”
“9a.m., how time flies. What time did that Indian Dr. Charan say he will come here?”
“He said he will arrive in Lagos today. He will be here this evening,”
“So we go sit down for here ‘til him come for evening? That’s crazy!”
“Na wetin you suggest, make we leave who we dey watch commot?” Yaz continued, “You better go and find something we will eat. We will stick our ass here ‘til that man comes, and don’t forget to buy weed and some drinks.”
“I hear you,” Yaz snapped and got up. “You command me as if you are my boss.”
“O, you wan make we change our duties? You sit down here and watch over the guy, while I go buy the things? I love the fresh air outside.” Mafi tried to also get up.
“Okay, I will go.”
“Oh, I see, you want to go…now you want to go,” he lay back.
Yaz cleansed his face with drips of water from a sachet of water nearby, picked up a twig somewhere and stuck it in his mouth and chewed it. He took his jacket, slipped his feet into his slippers and headed for the kitchen.
“Mafi, Mafi, where is the man?” Yaz examined the ropes and sacks.
“Maaaaaaafi!”
“Wetin! What is that? The man is there or somewhere. Where else will he be?”
“Come and see for yourself. The man is not here,” Yaz yelled.
“You are not serious. I dey come.” Mafi got up and walked to the kitchen.
“What! Check the rooms, and the…”
“I have searched everywhere. Wasn’t it these ropes we used to tie him?”
“How was this possible? I remember I knotted that rope very well.”
“How come he loosed it and disappeared like that?”
“Someone must have helped him, person go don assist am.”
“What do we do now?”
“We go find am. He doesn’t have anywhere to hide. We have his car; we sabi him office, him motel and all him movements. He is supposed to appear for the settlement today and we will catch him.”
“I think we should call the boss, I mean Code 555, and inform him about this.”
“Let’s find him first. Let’s get out of here now. Let’s go.”

* * * * * * *
KUNLE WAS HAVING hallucinations. Philip had whisked him off so fast; he hadn’t believed it happened. He still felt the strong ropes round his legs; the sack, the coldness and the freezing hands of death. People he did not know were out to kill him. His car had been taken. He could not return to his hotel room. He could not visit his office – the killers were watching him. They were going to kill him and as far as he understood, they would not stop until they succeeded.
He had a strong hunch the politicians were behind it. The killers operated with much sophistication; the SUV, A-K 47 riffles, injections, they were not after his money. They were after his life.
The car, his luggage and the trial documents were gone. Could this be linked to the lawsuit? Would the Marakana law firm go to such extent to get him off the trial? He had no clue. He had reported to the police anyway. There was no guarantee the police would do anything, for they had refused to even visit the uncompleted structure where he was kept.
He had called his client’s phone and was given the shocker; she was dead. In an accident, they had said. It wasn’t clear yet if that had any connection with his kidnapping. He would like to see her dead body, but not in this same conditions. Those people could be watching the mortuary, too. They knew everything.
He’d become suspicious of everything. He would walk. Each time he would glance behind him to see if someone was watching.
Politics had terrified him, but this was far beyond terror, and he was just lucky to be alive. He was not going anywhere near politics again. If Steve wished to continue, let him. In fact, for all he cared, Steve could go on and be the savior of the world. He was no superhuman. He would tell Steve that he was done with politics.
Philip dropped him off at Agege, his cousin’s place, and he quickly sent short message service to his office and to Steve: I am not feeling too good and I need some time off, I would be at my cousin’s place somewhere in Agege, I will be fine and I will explain later. That was it; he would hide in Agege as long as he could. Then, he would sneak to Abuja.








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Chapter Eighteen
NEWS THAT THE SENATOR was involved in a plane crash continued to stir discussions. Even though it was unconfirmed since there was no official press release to that effect, his name was on the manifest and it was as though lots of people wished he was better dead. Many days after the crash he was still being discussed, and the conversations were everywhere: 'Did you hear the bully is dead. He died in the crash!' 'Who is that?' 'The senator.' 'Oh! Johnson Ike?' 'Yes.' 'O, I heard, it was so soothing getting to know he too could die someday, but it hasn’t been confirmed yet, has it?' 'He was on the manifest; he couldn’t be there if he wasn’t on the plane.' 'I read that, but why hasn’t his family or anyone said anything about his burial?’ ‘The state is hiding the matter because of the election. They are trying to replace him with someone.' 'I heard his family is based in the US.' 'They are back in Nigeria. I heard they are in Abuja trying to influence the government to release his body to be buried here in Owerri.' 'That’s funny, as if there was a body. I read they were all burnt in the crash inferno.’ ‘That man had the opportunity to change things in the aviation sector.’ ‘And now he is caught in the thing.’ ‘That’s the way life is. I pity the families that went along with him.’
Since Steve Obi got out of the police net, he heard most of these chinwags and kept quiet. However, he’d been reassured by his people of their unalloyed support. A leader must start from home, the ward, and Steve shared this belief. He had to be sure he still had home support.
With the whole thing behind him, he would head for Abuja, nothing serious was happening in Owerri, and he must get to Abuja, to get to the root of the situation. But then, one of the key financiers of APNP had surprised him with a car gift. The business man said he was impressed with Steve’s efforts and was giving him the SUV and a chauffeur as a little encouragement.

* * * * * * *
THE ELABORATE PRESIDENTIAL MOTORCADE rolled out through the Aso Villa. President Adams Jibril Bello sat in the spacious leather seat. It was an S-class custom-made Mercedes Benz, bulletproof, loaded with the newest security and communication techs: reclining seats, big computer screens and all the luxury gadgets, and with Nigeria’s coat of arms embroidered on the seats. The plate number bore the presidential seal, on the right fender was Nigeria’s flag and the left fender, the presidential standard. Nigeria’s Chief Executive was on board. He was heading to the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport Abuja, where he would board the Eagle One, NAF 001 (Nigeria’s Air Force One), for AU general Assembly meeting in Addis Ababa.
The thirty-car convoy led by twenty police escort bikes, smoothly emerged from the three Arms Zone, around the Central Area, taking a northerly route to the National Stadium area, the road was being cleared along. The convoy zapped, blazing blue and red grille lights, sirens blaring everywhere, stopping all other vehicles. The motorcade with the Commander in Chief swerved and headed to the Airport.
President Adams stared blankly at the flipping landmark of the city. He was reliving the conversations he just had at the Executive Council Chambers with his top political adviser –his party Chairman –Chief Atanda.
“I can’t figure out how to resolve the problem with Chief Amah and the Senate President,” the President had said.
“Mr. President, I don’t think it could be resolved easily, and perhaps his problem isn’t only with the Senate President. I guess you have also noticed that his Governor, the state party chairman, and even the speaker of the House are at war with him.”
The President snorted, “I know that.” He pondered the statement for a while. The truth was that the war had divided the cabinet, some taking after Chief Amah, others taking other fronts.
“Mr. President, in view of the forthcoming general election, the tussle is not good for us.”
“What do you suggest we do?” the President had asked.
“I really don’t know, but I think you should reshuffle things. It would do everyone some good.”
President Adams gazed thoughtfully at Chief Atanda. He knew what was meant, but he was not ready to do that with Chief Amah.
“I don’t think that’s the solution.” The president’s tune was lugubrious. It was obvious he had much predilection for Chief Amah, relieving Chief Amah’s appointment was not what he would really want to do.
“Mr. President, considering the overwhelming implications, I think that’s the best solution we have right now.”
A long ominous silence lingered until the President broke it. “What are the other solutions we have?”
“I think the other solution would be to resolve them one after the other. But I am very certain this will not work. Chief Amah is a very stubborn man, and the other parties are also stubborn. They will not agree to anything. Considering the fact that you have been having a rough time with the Senate and the House of Representatives, your siding with the Senate on this fight will make them more indebted to you.”
“Go on,” the President said thoughtfully.
“The war has created lots of political exposure. Some people are already whispering that you are supporting Chief Amah, and that you don’t see any wrong in what he does. I think that’s too much exposure for you. Politically, I think that’s not good.”
“Go on.” The President nodded and took a sip of water.
“Chief Amah hasn’t really done too well politically. I don’t see him even winning his ward for us in any elections. And there are lots of issues against him in his ministry; the opposition could use these things against us. They may use it to set the masses against us.”
“Okay, I will think about it,” the President had said coldly.
It was a difficult call for the President. Chief Amah was a major financier in his first shot at the presidency. The damn man was more like the first person that truly believed he would win the election, and he had injected hundreds of millions into his campaign. The appointment was just to appreciate the man. He would have loved to have him continue as Minister, but the complications, the complications the Chief Amah now posed, were the issues. Winning was the most important thing in the game, and whatever it took, he must win.
His mind drifted from Chief Amah’s issue to Obi. The little brat gave everyone sleepless nights. Every punch at him seemed to give him more popularity. The president had just been told for the fifth time that Obi was being considered by the APNP as governorship candidate in Imo State. For now, he remained the most popular and the most widely accepted candidate APNP could present in the state. That’s going to mean losing the state to APNP. I can’t let that happen. Maybe I should throw him the bait with the senatorial seat. It was better than watch him become governor.
Yes! That’s how it will be, since that idiot of a senator couldn’t live to fight his war.
And the family of the idiot senator is keeping vigil at the Villa, begging to have the corpse. How on earth do people get so foolish, coming to ask for a corpse in the Villa, while their father rotted in hell. Allah wallahi, I will not take any rubbish from them.

















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A thumb up for the work well articulated and more grace to you as we awaits update

Nice. Please update as soon as possible.
Thanks.
The very best freshwaters.

Thanks @ RoyalKeed and PrinceJones. Been a little busy haven't been able to post here. Now since I know people are following the story, I will post more. Keep dropping your messages and invite more people to read along.

Chapter Nineteen
THE CAR ARRIVED at rocket speed, down the rocky road. It was a black Peugeot, with FG insignia on the number plate. Barrow was quietly tucked into the trunk. The other occupants Jonas, Hussein, Kazeem and Richie had cigarettes in their mouths, and the smoke filled the interior of the car. The car stereo blasted at top volume. The guys were drink-and-dope induced. Kazeem was behind the wheel.
Kazeem’s phone rang; Chief Amah preferred to call him rather than the others. On Chief Amah’s instructions, he had no business driving; Jonas was to drive. But the old man was not around, Kazeem itched to drive, he had pleaded, along the line, Jonas had tossed him the car key. Now Chief Amah was calling, and Kazeem must talk to him. They were jolted by the call.
“Oh shit, the old man?” Kazeem did not know whether or not to stop the car.
“What?” Jonas shouted from the back seat. He listened hard so he could hear Kazeem. The music volume was very loud. Kazeem turned it flat low.
“Na Oga, Na Chief dey call…,” Kazeem said again.
“Oh shit…oh shit! Oh shit!” Hussein, who was sitting at the rear with Jonas, shouted.
“What do I do?” Kazeem asked.
“You answer it. You sabi the rule. You weren’t supposed to be driving in the first place. Shebi, I tell you,” Richie, who sat in the front passenger seat, fired at Kazeem.
Just before the phone stopped ringing, Kazeem answered it.
“He…he…hello, sir,” he said, and suddenly he noticed a big pothole in the middle of the road. He tried to avoid it, but he lost his focus. The car swerved and slipped off his grip. He struggled to gain back control of the car, but it was too late. The Peugeot skidded and headed for a tree.
Richie, who sat in front, grasped the wheel and jerked it to the right to avoid collision with the tree, but he too did not look. He misdirected the car to a big rock ahead. Kazeem and Richie struggled for the wheel, while Hussein and Jonas screamed at the top of their voices. The car smashed into a big rock by the road side. The windshield and the entire bonnet area shattered.
The force of the collision jerked the trunk open and threw Barrow out of the trunk into the middle of the road, with few bruises added to the bullet wounds. He was surprisingly alive but still comatose.
The car was in shambles, blood and human parts splattered everywhere. Kazeem and Richie had died from the impact. Jonas and Hussein who were seated at the back were thrown over in shock. Jonas had died of the shock while Hussein had a broken skull, moaning oddly. The damage was intense; he too might not survive it.

* * * * * * *
THE TOYOTA SUV moved smoothly at ninety km/h, and sixty-year-old Papa Edi hunched over the wheel, maneuvering the steering with detailed caution.
Steve sat in the back seat. Every now and then he would take a nap. After a ten minute stop at Lokoja, Steve went back to sleep, for about an hour. The car was new and comforting and Papa was meticulous on the wheel, very careful maneuvering the potholes on the roads and miserly with speed. They were approaching Abuja.
Papa’s services had come with the car from the sponsor – he would drive Steve to Abuja, and be retained if Steve wanted. Steve didn’t think so. Papa was too old. He would pay him and send him back home, but Papa had been pleading.
Steve jerked from sleep, stretched and yawned.
“Papa, where are we?” He asked.
“Oga, you don wake up? We are at Abaji now; we will be entering Abuja soon.”
“Ohhh…,” Steve yawned again, and this time he looked at the passing trees and bushes. “Papa, how come I don’t understand this road?”
“Oga, you were sleeping. You no see the holdup on that major road. The holdup blocked the whole place…”
“Ahhhh…ahhhhhh!”
“Oga, the holdup was very heavy. If sey we take de major road, we for sleep for road, so I take this short cut wey I sabi before. Na sharp, sharp road and before you know it, we go cut off the holdup.”
“Papa, you are sure you know this road well?”
“Ah Oga, I sabi am…you don forget? Shey I tell you I bin dey drive bus from Abuja to Owerri? I sabi all this corner, corner roads. No worry.”
A little farther down the road, a small blockade emerged just at the center of the road.
“Oga, there is something on the road!”
“What is it? Police checkpoint?” Steve looked up to see for himself.
Papa braked the car and switched it to reverse.
“Papa, are you reversing?”
“Oga, I don’t know what it is…”
“Papa, so you are going to take me back the whole way we came? Ah! Papa…”
“Oga, but it could be armed robbers…I no wan go close make them no…”
“Papa, did you see anybody there? Just go a little closer. I don’t think it is criminals…you could turn back whenever we see something bad.”
“Oga, you mean we should continue? I dey fear make we no go…”
“Drive closer. Let us see first.”
Papa obliged, driving slowly at 40km/h, and soon the obstruction was clear.
“Ah! Oga it’s an accident! Na serious accident!” Papa shouted.
“My God! I can see it, my God!”
“Oga, it just happened now. See over there….” There was a body at the middle of the road.
“Papa, please stop the vehicle and park somewhere by the road.”
Papa stopped. Steve ran out to see if there were any survivors in the debris of the car. It was an eyesore. Human flesh and bits of the car littered the whole place, a white substance, most likely, talcum powder from the airbag, mixed with blood, covered most of the interior and the floor. The car was caved in, and the occupants, were smashed beyond recognition. None had survived the crash.
“Jesus! What a terrible thing. They are all dead.”
Papa was snooping cautiously from behind. Steve remembered there was another body he had seen lying spread-eagled in the middle of the road. He ran to take a look at the face, since the others were smashed. Maybe he might recognize the face. He was surprised to discover the person was breathing. He was unconscious evidently, covered in thick blood, but he was still alive.
“Papa, Papa…,” Steve Shouted. “Please bring the car, and be fast. We have a survivor here.”
Papa rushed in with the car, and Steve carried the man into the back seat, hopped in the front.
“Papa, please drive to the nearest hospital.”
“Oga, but we are traveling to Abuja. How will we go...?”
“You said you know this place well, right? Now, take us to the nearest hospital.”
Papa started the car, and they headed for a hospital, just any hospital.

Nice one. Stumbled on this story and I find it very interesting.
Keep it up man

Thanks SparkleBoy.

Chapter Twenty
“CHRIS, I LOVE YOU. I love you so much. I don’t want to lose you,” Annabel declared, her big sexy eyes gazing fixedly into Barrow’s eyes.
“My love, nothing will separate us,” Barrow assured, squeezing her arms gently.
She withdrew her hand; she was staring at the floor now.
“Baby, tell me, what’s wrong?” Barrow raised her face ‘til she was inches close to his face.
“I have this fear I will lose you. I…I’m afraid,” she said mournfully.
Barrow pulled her close to himself and held her cheeks and then placed his arms casually on her waist. Annabel moved her palm around Barrow’s belly, unbuttoned his shirt softly. She stirred her fingers delicately beneath his shirt, moving a little up to the hairs on his chest. She peeled his shirt off, over his head. It fell to the floor. Barrow’s hairy chest called to her fingers. She prickled the hairs, and that brought a pleasurable quiver over him. He smiled, and she smiled back. The adrenaline was building.
Barrow pecked her by the cheek and then kissed her. She laughed.
“Baby, please don’t stop,” she said in-between their lips.
He moved further in, his tongue entangling her in a French kiss. She moaned at the taste of his mouth. She threw her arms around him and caressed his side, it tickled him, and he giggled. His loins were beginning to burn up, thoughts of her jammed his head, but he trailed tenderly. She was his heartbeat.
“Baby, are you sure you want this?”
She bit her lower lip. “I want it…I want it,” she was already breathing fast.
Barrow’s fingers sneaked into her blouse, tingling and caressing the flesh beneath. At the prickle of her nipple, she moaned, and pressed herself on him. Soon the searching fingers found the buttons and hooks to the blouse and the bra, gently unfastening them one after the other. She helped him and soon her blouse was on the floor. Still entangled in the excitement, they staggered towards the wall. Barrow held his foot up and leaned against the wall, he jerked her closer to himself, his arms, down on her curved hip, smooching and squeezing.
“The bed, Chris, the bed,” she whispered through her breath.
Barrow lifted her up from her feet and carried her to his unmade bed. The rays of light from the ceiling illuminated her face. She laughed and raised her head so she could kiss him. Barrow lowered her to the bed which was more cushioning and comforting, and he pressed his hands by the bed so his weight would be on his elbow, but Annabel pulled him by his jean trouser and dragged him until he fell onto her bare chest. Her fragrance intensified the heat in him.
“You are so warm. Baby, get me heated,” she cried invitingly.
For a few seconds, Barrow’s face was soaked in her bare chest, while his hands worked her trousers, in search of the zipper. Soon he found the zipper and with her help, he unzipped it, and pulled it down. She shivered and the bed squeaked.
Barrow began to trail kisses down her neck, her stomach, down, and further down.
“Oh! Baby,” she bit her lower lip to stop an impending moan.
Without breaking the contact, Barrow quickly undid his jeans.
“Your skin is soft and sexy,” he whispered.
She held his hands to her breasts, urging him to go all the way. Just when she was about to experience the intimate sensation of copulation, someone tapped the door.
It was the female doctor that attended to her. The noise woke her. It had all been a dream.
“Oh shit. OMG!” Annabel shouted. “It was all a dream.”
“How are you feeling?” The doctor smiled as she walked into the room.
The doctor, in her late forties, was wearing a white overall jacket above a pink shirt and a black skirt. She had a writing pad in hand, while a stethoscope hung over her neck.
“Hi, Annabel,” she said with more smiles.
Annabel looked up from where she lay, angry.
“I am fine,” she lied and sat on the bed, with her face full of wrinkles.
The doctor walked across to Annabel, fixed the stethoscope between her ears and placed the other end on Annabel’s chest. Then she unstrapped the stethoscope, hung it over her neck, and scribbled something on the pad. She held Annabel’s eyelid, jerked it up slightly and scribbled again,
“Please turn around and face up. I want to examine your abdomen,” Annabel followed the instructions without a word.
“Do you feel any pain?” She pinched one end of Annabel’s stomach.
“What about now? Do you feel anything?” Annabel frowned further.
“Now, do you?” Annabel shook her head. “Okay, that’s enough; please you may pull your clothes back down.” She wrote something down and asked.
“Have you eaten anything this afternoon?”
Annabel nodded. She lied, just to have her leave.
“What about your medicines, have you taken them?” Annabel nodded again.
“Okay, then.” The doctor glanced through the room and then made for the door.
“Doctor, doctor,” Annabel stood up from the bed. “Doctor, when am I going home?”
“When we consider you fit, we will discharge you.”
“I am fit. I am okay,” she jumped up so she could demonstrate she was fit.
“Doctor, look at me. I am fit. I’m very okay; please you have to discharge me.”
“I cannot do that.”
“Yes, you can except my father paid you people money to lock me up.” When the doctor did not say anything, Annabel shouted,
“He paid you to lock me up, right? I thought as much. He knows how to manipulate everyone, and he always gets away with it. He wants me to remain here. Was that some way of punishing me or something? Doctor, you must discharge me. You must!”
The doctor walked back into the room and said softly, “This has nothing to do with your father. We still think you are unfit. You might be feeling physically okay, but we would have to be sure you are truly okay before we discharge you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Annabel, you have some substances in your blood system we must flush out, before we let you go.”
“I have substances …in my blood, what substances?”
“You see, it’s not everything we would be able to explain to our patients. You will never understand. Our responsibility is to make sure you are okay. I understand that you have already gone through lots of anxiety. I don’t want to put you through it any further.”
“But I deserve to know. I think I should be told. It’s my body you are talking about here, my blood. Doctor you have to tell me. What is wrong with me?”
“If you insist.” The doctor pulled a seat and sat down; Annabel went back to sit on her bed.
“You see, when you were rushed into this place, you were completely unconscious. It took you days to regain consciousness.”
“Yes, I was told that one.”
“We were unaware of what pushed you over the edge, but as we always do, we ran lots of tests on you. Your dad, of course, signed the consent forms that permitted us to do that.”
“Yes, yes!”
“We believe the knockout was caused by a hit on your head. And we also discovered some other things too…that you were some weeks pregnant, which you lost…”
“Doctor, please, I know all these already,” Annabel screamed impatiently.
“We discovered that you have lots of narcotics and an aphrodisiac substance in your system. Do you perhaps remember how it entered your system?”
“Aphro what…what is that? What does that mean?”
“That’s what I was telling you,” the doctor said, pushing for justification. “Anyway, an aphrodisiac substance intensively arouses someone sexually.”
“What!”
“We discovered the substance in your blood stream and we also found narcotics, and there are much of these in your system.”
“But how could that be? I hardly even take alcohol. How did I now get such a thing?”
“Think very hard. You will know how it got into your system.” The doctor stood up and walked out of the room. Annabel was buried in her own thoughts.
Since she regained consciousness, days back, she had been wondering what happened. She had woken up to find herself in a hospital bed, her father sitting by the edge of the bed, tucking her fingers, keeping watch on her. It was so unlike him.
His eyes brightened up when she opened her eyes, and he was able to look into them. He ran to fetch the doctor to discharge her, so he could fly her to the U.S. for a thorough medical checkup. First, he had to get her something to eat, but he had returned almost immediately without anything. He was screaming.
“Annabel, Annabel, who got you pregnant?”
Annabel was terrified; she did not know when the name Chris slipped through her lips. Her father had presented two pictures, and she immediately pointed at Chris. She was relieved upon seeing the picture.
“This one, are you sure he is the one?”
“Yes, Dad, he is the one. I love him, and I am going to marry him,” she replied weakly.
“Shut up. You idiot!”
“We love each other, daddy we…,” she started crying, but it was too late. Her father had already left the room. Remembering it all now, she screamed,
“My God, he is going to kill him. He would send his boys after Chris. I must get to Chris. I must warn Chris of the danger,” Then she remembered her last moment with him.
“My goodness, I can’t stand before him! How could I have done such a thing, me Annabel in Jude’s lap, how? How could I be kissing him?” She snapped her fingers.
“Oh my God! It must have been Jude that gave me the thing the doctor was talking about. I noticed the way he looked at me as if he was going to strip me with his eyes, before I entered the room. He must have put it into my drink when I left the room to get the books. My God! He slipped the substance into my drink. That idiot, that idiot has torn my life into pieces. I will get him; I will teach him a bitter lesson. But first I must find Chris; I must get out of this hospital.”


The story continues...

Freshwaters

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Thanks at Dripping ink and Sparkle Boy. What's your view of the book so far? Your candid review. This my first novel though I have 1 more coming out next year. Presently querying U.S agents on it.

Chapter Twenty-One
ANABEL HAD MADE A QUICK escape from the hospital. Since the doctor left her room, in the afternoon, she’d been awake, sketching the plan. She would escape before her father’s thugs got hold of Chris. They would harm him.
She must act fast before something bad happened to him. But how would I face him after all the trouble I had put him through? She thought. How would I even inform him I was pregnant with his baby, and that I lost the baby? She kept thinking. She decided she wouldn’t tell him, at least for now.
Once electricity in the hospital went out about 2a.m., Annabel snuck out of the room, into the dark hallway. She had with her, the little torchlight a nurse had given her. She passed the reception. It was dark. She would have used the entry door but because it was locked, she turned left, taking a long walk towards the back exit. Around the general wards, she heard voices. Evidently, some patients and their attendants were still awake. She held her breath and turned off the torchlight until she passed the area and then she walked into the open. The refreshing breeze of the moonlit night was something she had missed for days. She raced for the entrance gate of the hospital, with the torchlight in her hand still off. It was locked, without a padlock though. Over the edge of the security building, she saw the security man, lying on a wooden bench snoring, obviously lost in a dream land. Quietly, she unhooked the rod that was used to lock the small gate, opened the gate slightly, to a space that could accommodate her and ran out into the street. Annabel was free.

* * * * * * *
BARROW’S DISAPPEARANCE stirred up everything in the MX5. It had been four days, yet no news about him. Something terrible must have happened.
After many foiled attempts at connecting to Barrow’s phone, the MX5 in Lagos called his assistant in Abuja, but he too, had not seen or heard from Barrow. He was sure Barrow had arrived safely to Abuja. Whatever happened to him, it must have happened to him in Abuja.
It was not just the MX5 calling the line. Abiodun and the other clients Barrow had unfinished jobs with were also calling, and they all slipped from surprise to panic.

Abuja MX5 worked out a trail. They were the last to have spoken to Barrow; though they didn’t see him when he arrived. But Barrow had called to inform them he was heading to Chief Amah’s house. That was the last known place he was. The plotting zeroed down to two options: either he was hit by the K-cult group immediately when he got into Abuja, or something had happened to him at Chief Amah’s place. The Abuja MX5 called Lagos to discover if there was any heat on MX5 Lagos, over the killing of the K-cult group head and if Barrow was traced to the killing. They were told otherwise. The heat over the killing was on others cult groups and not the MX5. Barrow could not have been a target. The only option therefore was that Barrow would have been hit at Chief Amah’s place. That explained why it was clean and spotless. Barrow must have been taken by surprise.

A plan was being worked out. Barrow, the leader of the MX5 would not be hit, without the person getting a feel of it. No one, not even the President of a country would be safe from the heat. While a hunt for Barrow was initiated, a hit plan also geared up. Chief Amah and whomever was involved in the hit on Barrow were marked red. They would be eliminated.

* * * * * * *
MEANWHILE, Abiodun had been freaking out. Barrow’s “disappearance” as he called it had ruined his plans. The oil deal he had spent so much money and time planning had just begun to make sense, then this. Initially he had thought it was the normal mobile network connectivity problem, but when it continued for four days, on all Barrow’s phone lines, he concluded something was wrong.
Abiodun had dipped in his pocket to spy on Barrow’s house, and he was told that Barrow hadn’t been home since he left Lagos. A little deeper into his pocket had revealed more stunning news; Barrow had been missing, and even his boys were looking for him.
“That’s not possible, Barrow can’t be missing,” Abiodun shouted. “No, not with my plans built around him. The devil is a liar.” He paced around the room. By now he’d called the other guys in the deal. And in a jiffy, they were all over his house.
“Abiodun, what were you saying on the damn phone?” the last guy to step into the house asked. He had driven 160km/h to Abiodun’s place. The others were all quiet.
“Barrow is missing,” Abiodun said, with his arms wrapped around his chest. He was looking out through the window.
“That can’t be possible, not when we have spent all this money,” the same guy said.
“But how are you sure about what you are saying? The guy doesn’t look like someone that will vanish just like that, are you sure about…?” someone stated, but Abiodun quickly cut in.
“Damn it! I am sure. You think I will be saying a thing like this if I wasn’t sure?’ Abiodun got more agitated, by each minute. “You think I will make this up? You think…”
“That’s not what we are saying. We are only saying, maybe he isn’t really missing. Maybe we need to inquire a little further,” one of the guys stated.
“I don’t get this gist about missing and not missing,” the last guy broke in. “Can’t we just forget this guy and find a way around this deal?”
“That’s the point!” Abiodun stated, “That’s the point I’m trying to get you guys to understand. We can’t pull this deal without Barrow. We just can’t because everything is tied around him. Our connections with NNPC, our inspection of the oil bunker – everything, just lies on this damn guy.”
“Abiodun, you see?” The last guy flared up, “You see why I told you we shouldn’t tie everything around this Barrow guy? You were boasting he was this and he was that and…”
“Shut up!” Abiodun shouted. “You must be a fool. How on earth do you intend to realize the deal without this guy? Sometimes you talk as if you think from your ass. You are just a fool.”
“Abiodun, you are calling me a fool?”
“Yes, and I will call you that again and again, because you act like one.”
“Do you guys hear that? Do you hear him call me that?”
The rest of the guys threw glances at each other. It seemed nobody was ready to get in any disagreement with Abiodun. When the guy noticed that the others were not on his team, he said,
“I can’t sit here and listen to any more of this rubbish.” He stood up and walked out.
“Leave the idiot. Let him leave,” Abiodun said, but that still did not help. There was a long sullen silence in the room, until someone finally managed to break it.
“Abiodun, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Abiodun replied sharply. “I called you guys here because I have been thinking about this, and it’s kind of difficult to figure out the solution to this.”
“I think we should wait a little further. Let’s wait a little further; I have a strong feeling that the guy would be found,” a voice added sarcastically.
And that seemed like it.
After a long while, they all left the place, leaving Abiodun alone.

Chapter Twenty-Two
FIVE DAYS NOW, Steve had spent most of his time attending to Barrow in the hospital. There were other important issues – politics and chamber, but what was more significant than a life? He’d found a way to keep those other issues, temporarily at bay. So he visited the young man in the hospital every now and then, to ensure he got the best medical attention he could get.
Steve had had reservations about the numerous gunshots on the young man’s body. At some point, he was worried over his bond to the guy. A guy with gunshot wounds, someone he had just met and wasn’t sure was a criminal. Maybe he should have just dumped him at any hospital gate and gone his way. But, he discarded this thought. Whether or not the guy was good, he would not condemn him. He thought. He would provide him with what he sincerely believed was the best help he could render a fellow human. Steve had been the Good Samaritan.
He had rushed Barrow to a hospital close to the accident scene, where Barrow was given brief first aid treatment. Because the hospital didn’t have the equipment to handle the injuries, they were transferred in an ambulance to Wuse General Hospital in Abuja, a much more organized place. The General Hospital had insisted on a police report for the bullet wounds. Steve had pushed a few buttons here and there and the police report surfaced. Barrow was quickly dropped on a stretcher and rolled into the operation theatre. Then there were complications. The blood in his system would not sustain him through the surgery; he needed a blood transfusion. Steve volunteered to donate his blood, but his blood type wasn’t the same as Barrow’s. And the hospital had exhausted the blood in its blood bank.
They were losing the young man. He might not make it for much longer. It had been a miracle that he survived it this far – with the multiple injuries, gunshot wounds, severe blood loss. Any more minutes wasted could be tragic.
Steve was terribly agitated.
Everyone was already giving up on the young man when Papa Edi suggested that his blood be tested. He did not quite know his blood type, but if it met the requirement, he would donate. His blood sample was taken, and it matched the requirements. After the required screenings – HIV, Hepatitis B, etcetera, the blood was transfused.
The surgery had taken long hours – with four bullets removed from Barrow’s body, one from his thigh, two from around his hipbone, and one from his vertebra area. He was lucky; none had fractured his organs. He had head injuries, too, though, there was hope he would get around it. He was declared stable, still in a coma. He would most likely survive the surgery.

AT 2P.M., HIS USUAL TIME, Steve walked in through the front door of the ICU. He had been off and on at the hospital, dropping by to check on the young man in coma. He and Papa Edi walked in through the ICU area into where Barrow lay. It was the postoperative recovery room, immediately adjacent to the operating room. A nurse was changing his IV fluids when they walked in.
“Hello Nurse, Good afternoon,” Steve said very politely.
“Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon, Papa,” the nurse smiled.
While Papa Edi nodded, Steve asked, “How is he today?” Steve was pointing in Barrow’s direction.
“He is still stable. We are doing the best we can,” she said and fixed another pint of intravenous fluids. She hung the pint on a standing rod and then injected a few drugs into it. Steve and Papa Edi looked on. She rolled Barrow over, so he would not have sores from lying too long in a position; then she began cleaning fluids on the bed. While she did this, the doctor walked into the room.
“Hello, Doctor,” Steve said.
“Hello, Barrister Steve. Good afternoon, Papa,” the doctor replied. Over to the nurse, he said, “Good job, Ann.”
The nurse smiled. Quickly she finished the cleaning and stepped aside for the doctor, who took his turn.
When he was done with the examinations, he said, “I think he is getting better. Let’s hope he gets around soon,” the doctor was still talking, when Barrow made a sound.
“Oga, did you hear that?” Papa screamed.
“Doctor, what was that sound?” Steve asked.
“I think he is regaining consciousness.” He hadn’t stopped, and Barrow shifted his arms, and then opened his eyes.
“Oh, thank God. Oh, Baba God, thank You o!” Papa shouted.
Barrow stared blankly, first at the doctor and the nurse and then in the general direction of Steve and Papa Edi. His eyes were blank. He stretched to reach the iron bed, so he could get up, but he was weak.
“Take it easy,” the doctor said.
“Where are you taking me to? Where are you carrying me? Who are you?” Barrow murmured, barely audible.
“I am a doctor, and you are in a hospital,” the doctor answered quietly.
“Take me back. Stop dragging me. Hey, who is that?” Barrow mumbled. Then he began to shake. The doctor, the nurse and Steve held him down to the bed. Quickly, the doctor sedated him and after a while his eyes were rolled back in, and he calmed.

* * * * * * *
FOUR MINISTERS THROWN OUT of cabinet, was the front page of The Sun Newspapers. Thisday Newspapers had captured it this way, “Dismissed Ministers cry openly for surprise sack.” The Nation was more direct with, “At last squabble consumes Interior Minister, Chief Amah and three of his ally Ministers”’ The bottom of the front page of The Nation, was another story with the picture of Senator Johnson Ike, the caption was, “As Almighty Senator Johnson Ike is committed to mother earth, who succeeds him?”
The two stories were written by a reporter with some strong sources in government. He stated, of course, from anonymous informants, that the sudden cabinet reshuffle had been set off by the lingering squabble between Chief Amah and the other politicians. The story continued, “The squabble was an inferno, burning the Presidential cabinet down.” Another anonymous source stated, “It was going to consume the party and deny the President his second term ambition. The President had fought to retain Chief Amah in his cabinet, but there were so many people against this and they’d threatened to fight the President if he insisted on keeping Chief Amah and his ally Ministers. It was not the kind of war the President liked to fight. He would not jeopardize his ambition.” Chief Atanda, The Chairman of the party, denying any political connection to the cabinet reshuffle, was reported to have said, “The President knows what he is doing. He has seen the need to bring in fresh bloods, seeing the tasks ahead of him.”
On the Johnson Ike story, the reporter did a shabby job, deliberately avoiding Steve and his party. The story dwelled on what he called, “Unbeatable leadership qualities of the departed hero.”

THE MX5 WAS NOT the type that read papers. They were not interested in any “newspaper propaganda” as they called it. But something about the paper had caught their attention. While they tried to figure out ways to take out Chief Amah, their plans had failed. Since Barrow disappeared, Chief Amah had suddenly replaced his thugs with a battalion of soldiers. And this had made it much difficult for MX5 to take him out. It sucked, but they’d been waiting up ‘til this news in the papers.
One of the members had strolled into the MX5 guest house with The Nation Newspapers in his hand.
“Has anyone seen the papers today?” he asked.
“Which kind of question is that? Who has time for papers? That stupid, rubbish…” Another member replied, with a sarcastic laughter that soon spread throughout the room.
“I’m serious. Today’s paper isn’t that bad, at least for us.”
“That’s to you, not for me and the rest of us.” The others nodded. “Yeah, the papers are rubbish propaganda. It’s same old stories.”
“Then I have to read this story all by myself and to myself.” Ignoring the others he read.
“At last, squabble consumes Chief Amah and his ally Ministers.”
“What, what did you just say?” The rest of MX5 in the room had asked.




The story continues...

You can like my Official author page www.fb.com/tonyekwoaba or visit my website www.tonyekwoaba.com

Shadows is available on amazon, Konga, okada books etc.

Good .

freshwaters:
Chapter Twenty-Two
FIVE DAYS NOW, Steve had spent most of his time attending to Barrow in the hospital. There were other important issues – politics and chamber, but what was more significant than a life? He’d found a way to keep those other issues, temporarily at bay. So he visited the young man in the hospital every now and then, to ensure he got the best medical attention he could get.
Steve had had reservations about the numerous gunshots on the young man’s body. At some point, he was worried over his bond to the guy. A guy with gunshot wounds, someone he had just met and wasn’t sure was a criminal. Maybe he should have just dumped him at any hospital gate and gone his way. But, he discarded this thought. Whether or not the guy was good, he would not condemn him. He thought. He would provide him with what he sincerely believed was the best help he could render a fellow human. Steve had been the Good Samaritan.
He had rushed Barrow to a hospital close to the accident scene, where Barrow was given brief first aid treatment. Because the hospital didn’t have the equipment to handle the injuries, they were transferred in an ambulance to Wuse General Hospital in Abuja, a much more organized place. The General Hospital had insisted on a police report for the bullet wounds. Steve had pushed a few buttons here and there and the police report surfaced. Barrow was quickly dropped on a stretcher and rolled into the operation theatre. Then there were complications. The blood in his system would not sustain him through the surgery; he needed a blood transfusion. Steve volunteered to donate his blood, but his blood type wasn’t the same as Barrow’s. And the hospital had exhausted the blood in its blood bank.
They were losing the young man. He might not make it for much longer. It had been a miracle that he survived it this far – with the multiple injuries, gunshot wounds, severe blood loss. Any more minutes wasted could be tragic.
Steve was terribly agitated.
Everyone was already giving up on the young man when Papa Edi suggested that his blood be tested. He did not quite know his blood type, but if it met the requirement, he would donate. His blood sample was taken, and it matched the requirements. After the required screenings – HIV, Hepatitis B, etcetera, the blood was transfused.
The surgery had taken long hours – with four bullets removed from Barrow’s body, one from his thigh, two from around his hipbone, and one from his vertebra area. He was lucky; none had fractured his organs. He had head injuries, too, though, there was hope he would get around it. He was declared stable, still in a coma. He would most likely survive the surgery.
AT 2P.M., HIS USUAL TIME, Steve walked in through the front door of the ICU. He had been off and on at the hospital, dropping by to check on the young man in coma. He and Papa Edi walked in through the ICU area into where Barrow lay. It was the postoperative recovery room, immediately adjacent to the operating room. A nurse was changing his IV fluids when they walked in.
“Hello Nurse, Good afternoon,” Steve said very politely.
“Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon, Papa,” the nurse smiled.
While Papa Edi nodded, Steve asked, “How is he today?” Steve was pointing in Barrow’s direction.
“He is still stable. We are doing the best we can,” she said and fixed another pint of intravenous fluids. She hung the pint on a standing rod and then injected a few drugs into it. Steve and Papa Edi looked on. She rolled Barrow over, so he would not have sores from lying too long in a position; then she began cleaning fluids on the bed. While she did this, the doctor walked into the room.
“Hello, Doctor,” Steve said.
“Hello, Barrister Steve. Good afternoon, Papa,” the doctor replied. Over to the nurse, he said, “Good job, Ann.”
The nurse smiled. Quickly she finished the cleaning and stepped aside for the doctor, who took his turn.
When he was done with the examinations, he said, “I think he is getting better. Let’s hope he gets around soon,” the doctor was still talking, when Barrow made a sound.
“Oga, did you hear that?” Papa screamed.
“Doctor, what was that sound?” Steve asked.
“I think he is regaining consciousness.” He hadn’t stopped, and Barrow shifted his arms, and then opened his eyes.
“Oh, thank God. Oh, Baba God, thank You o!” Papa shouted.
Barrow stared blankly, first at the doctor and the nurse and then in the general direction of Steve and Papa Edi. His eyes were blank. He stretched to reach the iron bed, so he could get up, but he was weak.
“Take it easy,” the doctor said.
“Where are you taking me to? Where are you carrying me? Who are you?” Barrow murmured, barely audible.
“I am a doctor, and you are in a hospital,” the doctor answered quietly.
“Take me back. Stop dragging me. Hey, who is that?” Barrow mumbled. Then he began to shake. The doctor, the nurse and Steve held him down to the bed. Quickly, the doctor sedated him and after a while his eyes were rolled back in, and he calmed.
* * * * * * *
FOUR MINISTERS THROWN OUT of cabinet, was the front page of The Sun Newspapers. Thisday Newspapers had captured it this way, “Dismissed Ministers cry openly for surprise sack.” The Nation was more direct with, “At last squabble consumes Interior Minister, Chief Amah and three of his ally Ministers”’ The bottom of the front page of The Nation, was another story with the picture of Senator Johnson Ike, the caption was, “As Almighty Senator Johnson Ike is committed to mother earth, who succeeds him?”
The two stories were written by a reporter with some strong sources in government. He stated, of course, from anonymous informants, that the sudden cabinet reshuffle had been set off by the lingering squabble between Chief Amah and the other politicians. The story continued, “The squabble was an inferno, burning the Presidential cabinet down.” Another anonymous source stated, “It was going to consume the party and deny the President his second term ambition. The President had fought to retain Chief Amah in his cabinet, but there were so many people against this and they’d threatened to fight the President if he insisted on keeping Chief Amah and his ally Ministers. It was not the kind of war the President liked to fight. He would not jeopardize his ambition.” Chief Atanda, The Chairman of the party, denying any political connection to the cabinet reshuffle, was reported to have said, “The President knows what he is doing. He has seen the need to bring in fresh bloods, seeing the tasks ahead of him.”
On the Johnson Ike story, the reporter did a shabby job, deliberately avoiding Steve and his party. The story dwelled on what he called, “Unbeatable leadership qualities of the departed hero.”
THE MX5 WAS NOT the type that read papers. They were not interested in any “newspaper propaganda” as they called it. But something about the paper had caught their attention. While they tried to figure out ways to take out Chief Amah, their plans had failed. Since Barrow disappeared, Chief Amah had suddenly replaced his thugs with a battalion of soldiers. And this had made it much difficult for MX5 to take him out. It sucked, but they’d been waiting up ‘til this news in the papers.
One of the members had strolled into the MX5 guest house with The Nation Newspapers in his hand.
“Has anyone seen the papers today?” he asked.
“Which kind of question is that? Who has time for papers? That stupid, rubbish…” Another member replied, with a sarcastic laughter that soon spread throughout the room.
“I’m serious. Today’s paper isn’t that bad, at least for us.”
“That’s to you, not for me and the rest of us.” The others nodded. “Yeah, the papers are rubbish propaganda. It’s same old stories.”
“Then I have to read this story all by myself and to myself.” Ignoring the others he read.
“At last, squabble consumes Chief Amah and his ally Ministers.”
“What, what did you just say?” The rest of MX5 in the room had asked.
The story continues...
You can like my Official author page www.fb.com/tonyekwoaba or visit my website www.tonyekwoaba.com
Shadows is available on amazon, Konga, okada books etc.

freshwaters:
Chapter Twenty-One
ANABEL HAD MADE A QUICK escape from the hospital. Since the doctor left her room, in the afternoon, she’d been awake, sketching the plan. She would escape before her father’s thugs got hold of Chris. They would harm him.
She must act fast before something bad happened to him. But how would I face him after all the trouble I had put him through? She thought. How would I even inform him I was pregnant with his baby, and that I lost the baby? She kept thinking. She decided she wouldn’t tell him, at least for now.
Once electricity in the hospital went out about 2a.m., Annabel snuck out of the room, into the dark hallway. She had with her, the little torchlight a nurse had given her. She passed the reception. It was dark. She would have used the entry door but because it was locked, she turned left, taking a long walk towards the back exit. Around the general wards, she heard voices. Evidently, some patients and their attendants were still awake. She held her breath and turned off the torchlight until she passed the area and then she walked into the open. The refreshing breeze of the moonlit night was something she had missed for days. She raced for the entrance gate of the hospital, with the torchlight in her hand still off. It was locked, without a padlock though. Over the edge of the security building, she saw the security man, lying on a wooden bench snoring, obviously lost in a dream land. Quietly, she unhooked the rod that was used to lock the small gate, opened the gate slightly, to a space that could accommodate her and ran out into the street. Annabel was free.
* * * * * * *
BARROW’S DISAPPEARANCE stirred up everything in the MX5. It had been four days, yet no news about him. Something terrible must have happened.
After many foiled attempts at connecting to Barrow’s phone, the MX5 in Lagos called his assistant in Abuja, but he too, had not seen or heard from Barrow. He was sure Barrow had arrived safely to Abuja. Whatever happened to him, it must have happened to him in Abuja.
It was not just the MX5 calling the line. Abiodun and the other clients Barrow had unfinished jobs with were also calling, and they all slipped from surprise to panic.
Abuja MX5 worked out a trail. They were the last to have spoken to Barrow; though they didn’t see him when he arrived. But Barrow had called to inform them he was heading to Chief Amah’s house. That was the last known place he was. The plotting zeroed down to two options: either he was hit by the K-cult group immediately when he got into Abuja, or something had happened to him at Chief Amah’s place. The Abuja MX5 called Lagos to discover if there was any heat on MX5 Lagos, over the killing of the K-cult group head and if Barrow was traced to the killing. They were told otherwise. The heat over the killing was on others cult groups and not the MX5. Barrow could not have been a target. The only option therefore was that Barrow would have been hit at Chief Amah’s place. That explained why it was clean and spotless. Barrow must have been taken by surprise.
A plan was being worked out. Barrow, the leader of the MX5 would not be hit, without the person getting a feel of it. No one, not even the President of a country would be safe from the heat. While a hunt for Barrow was initiated, a hit plan also geared up. Chief Amah and whomever was involved in the hit on Barrow were marked red. They would be eliminated.
* * * * * * *
MEANWHILE, Abiodun had been freaking out. Barrow’s “disappearance” as he called it had ruined his plans. The oil deal he had spent so much money and time planning had just begun to make sense, then this. Initially he had thought it was the normal mobile network connectivity problem, but when it continued for four days, on all Barrow’s phone lines, he concluded something was wrong.
Abiodun had dipped in his pocket to spy on Barrow’s house, and he was told that Barrow hadn’t been home since he left Lagos. A little deeper into his pocket had revealed more stunning news; Barrow had been missing, and even his boys were looking for him.
“That’s not possible, Barrow can’t be missing,” Abiodun shouted. “No, not with my plans built around him. The devil is a liar.” He paced around the room. By now he’d called the other guys in the deal. And in a jiffy, they were all over his house.
“Abiodun, what were you saying on the damn phone?” the last guy to step into the house asked. He had driven 160km/h to Abiodun’s place. The others were all quiet.
“Barrow is missing,” Abiodun said, with his arms wrapped around his chest. He was looking out through the window.
“That can’t be possible, not when we have spent all this money,” the same guy said.
“But how are you sure about what you are saying? The guy doesn’t look like someone that will vanish just like that, are you sure about…?” someone stated, but Abiodun quickly cut in.
“Damn it! I am sure. You think I will be saying a thing like this if I wasn’t sure?’ Abiodun got more agitated, by each minute. “You think I will make this up? You think…”
“That’s not what we are saying. We are only saying, maybe he isn’t really missing. Maybe we need to inquire a little further,” one of the guys stated.
“I don’t get this gist about missing and not missing,” the last guy broke in. “Can’t we just forget this guy and find a way around this deal?”
“That’s the point!” Abiodun stated, “That’s the point I’m trying to get you guys to understand. We can’t pull this deal without Barrow. We just can’t because everything is tied around him. Our connections with NNPC, our inspection of the oil bunker – everything, just lies on this damn guy.”
“Abiodun, you see?” The last guy flared up, “You see why I told you we shouldn’t tie everything around this Barrow guy? You were boasting he was this and he was that and…”
“Shut up!” Abiodun shouted. “You must be a fool. How on earth do you intend to realize the deal without this guy? Sometimes you talk as if you think from your ass. You are just a fool.”
“Abiodun, you are calling me a fool?”
“Yes, and I will call you that again and again, because you act like one.”
“Do you guys hear that? Do you hear him call me that?”
The rest of the guys threw glances at each other. It seemed nobody was ready to get in any disagreement with Abiodun. When the guy noticed that the others were not on his team, he said,
“I can’t sit here and listen to any more of this rubbish.” He stood up and walked out.
“Leave the idiot. Let him leave,” Abiodun said, but that still did not help. There was a long sullen silence in the room, until someone finally managed to break it.
“Abiodun, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” Abiodun replied sharply. “I called you guys here because I have been thinking about this, and it’s kind of difficult to figure out the solution to this.”
“I think we should wait a little further. Let’s wait a little further; I have a strong feeling that the guy would be found,” a voice added sarcastically.
And that seemed like it.
After a long while, they all left the place, leaving Abiodun alone.

Your storyline is perfect freshwaters..more ink to your pen..Still I follow to the end.

Wait..how many chapters are there??

lovely write-up, keep it coming!

Chapter Twenty-Three
THE ERA OF HIDING had dragged on, long enough; it began to frustrate Kunle. He had thought it would be a brief break, but he was wrong. Now, he was beginning to believe he would never recover from it. As the days dragged by, he’d managed to speak with his office, Steve and other friends a few more times, reassuring them he was OK. But he remained quarantined in his cousin’s place at Agege. He would wake up, eat, read the papers and play with the kids. The only person he had been regular with on the phone with was Philip Ekpenisi, whom he had arranged to hire private investigators to discover who was after him. He would remain in Agege while they got the details. And he had been doing just that, hiding, cooling off. It was terribly boring. He had never lived in such idleness.
He was in the little room that had become his room, in his cousin’s place, thinking through his plans with Philip when suddenly, one of his little nieces, about five years old, ran into the room, shouting, “Uncle, Uncle, my Mummy said that lawyers defend criminals. Is that what you do?”
Kunle stood up, grabbed her and swung her up in the air.
“Yea, that’s one of what lawyers do. Sometimes we defend criminals.” Kunle smiled reassuringly as he released the girl to her tiny feet.
“Does that mean that lawyers work with criminals?”
“Not at all! They don’t work with criminals; it’s just that everyone including criminals have the right to be represented in court by a lawyer.”
“Even when they know they are criminals?”
“Yes.”
“And they still defend them?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, uncle, that’s very terrible. That means lawyers are criminals, too?”
“Lawyers are not criminals. I am a lawyer, right?” Kunle asked, and she nodded her head. “And as a lawyer, I can represent criminals. Does that make me a criminal?”
The little girl nodded her head, and then she shook her head and said, “Uncle, Uncle.” The little girl was dragging Kunle by his cloth. “I want to be a lawyer like you, but I don’t want to be helping criminals. I don’t want to be a criminal.”
Just then the mother, Kunle’s cousin, walked into the room, holding a plate of groundnuts. She smiled as she joined the discussion.
“Egbon, that’s what I have been telling her. She has been disturbing me in the kitchen, I even got lost with her army of questions, so I asked her to come ask you. At least you are the lawyer here.”
“Insha Allah, she is full of wisdom. I tried the best I could answering her questions.”
“Egbon, take some ground nuts. I peeled them for you.”
“Thank you. Before you turn me into a glutton, I don’t want to start getting fat.”
‘”Egbon, nawa for you o, it’s just ground nuts,” she beamed. “Don’t worry. Your colleagues won’t say anything about you getting fat. I just want you to look good when they see you, I promise.”
“Mummy, mummy! Uncle said that lawyers are not criminals.” The little girl had left Kunle’s side and ran towards her mother.
“Yes, but that’s the same thing I told you in the kitchen.”
“Mummy, but why are lawyers called liars? If they are not criminals, why would they be called liars? Is that not true?”
The mother frowned and said, “Are you calling your uncle a liar?”
“No, Mummy, not Uncle…,” the little girl said apologetically.
“Oh, my Queen, lawyers are not liars. The truth is that lawyers defend their clients. A lawyer uses the law to ensure that justice is done. That’s all a lawyer does; he is not a liar,” Kunle stated.
The girl at this point felt she might have offended someone. She playfully ran out of the room and as she sped away, her mother said, “Her questions get me crazy sometimes. She seems to want to know everything.”
“It’s okay; I think she would make a good lawyer. That’s how it starts. I already see it in her,” Kunle said.
“Maybe you should try and take her along to one of your court proceedings. You might have her sit behind and watch the proceedings. Would the court permit that?”
“Yes, but maybe not in my suit. I think I could take her in other times when my case is not being heard. Then, I can watch over her.”
“That’s okay.”

* * * * * * *
MEANWHILE, as Steve traveled back to Abuja, Matilda stayed behind in Owerri, to help with her niece’s wedding preparations. The wedding was planned to take place in Owerri because the bride’s pastor had insisted to hold it in his church. The would-be couple attended the church and had met in the church, though they hailed from the same town.
Talking about the wedding, it was going to be a family reunion. Lots of Matilda’s relatives would be attending. Her mother had called to inform her that she and her father would be attending the wedding, and they would be visiting her place in Owerri. She wondered why they remembered her now. Her parents had not spoken to her in months. This upset Matilda. She awed over the fact that her parents would travel such distance from Kogi to Owerri, to attend her niece’s wedding when they didn’t attend hers close in Abuja. And since she wedded, they would not visit her in Abuja.
But what was my offence? …that I married Steve? That I married an Igbo man? She thought. Aren’t they coming to Owerri now, an Igbo land? Is it because Nene’s husband is Ebira too? She was drawn to tears.
The truth was that Matilda’s parents were of the view that since she “disgraced” her family by not marrying their tribal man, she was no longer their own, at least in the cultural sense of it. And her father had warned her siblings to stay away from her and her alien husband. She wondered why they suddenly cared.
But it had not always been like this. Matilda was once the golden child of her parents until she had fallen in love with Steve. And when she insisted, against their order and got married to Steve, an Igbo man, her parents concluded she had lost the substance that made her their daughter. But could anyone control who he or she fell in love with?
Her thoughts swiftly drifted to her husband.
Thank God Steve isn’t here to see them. I can’t bear them coming all the way to cause problems in my marriage. But why do people judge others by their tribe? Why do people discriminate against others so terribly? She shrugged. Those days, it was that the Igbos were wicked and evil people.
“Thank God! Thank God, I did not listen to them. She thought. Steve has been divine gift; he has been a caring, loving, and adoring husband. He is the opposite of all they said about him.
Thank God I listened to my heart! Thank God I have him and I will never lose him.
Thoughts of losing Steve dazed Matilda, and what scared her more was his sudden insistence for politics. Politics seemed to be the monster she must defeat to have her Steve all by herself. Steve would not listen to any advice to stay clear of this monster. When he was released from detention, she had pleaded with him to abandon this politics thing and go back into full legal practice. Steve would not listen. He said he was on a mission. Which mission? The Pastor had said his move into politics was for divine purposes.
Oh God, please guide him through the dark places. Oh God, I bring him before you.
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Please Drop your comments.

The story continues...

Whao, i started reading this story some minutes ago, nice storyline, diction perfect, depicts/mirrors the society we live in. This should be on front page.
Keep writing Tony.

Thanks a lot @ Tosin. The ink keeps flowing, on my second Novel which will be out next year. You can help share the story about Shadows if you think it's good. My author page is www.tonyekwoaba.com www.fb.com/tonyekwoaba

Chapter Twenty-Four
THE WORLD WAS DIFFERENT for Barrow by the time he regained consciousness in a hospital. He didn’t quite understand how he got there. He ate food he wouldn’t touch in his old life and was cared for by people he didn’t know. Everything was new. It had been so until his last visitor.
Barrow’s last and perhaps only female visitor at the hospital had made him cry. He’d forgotten she existed, the same girl that was once his heartbeat. It was strange how conditions could make one forget what one once cherished very much.
When Annabel walked into the little room Barrow was moved to from the ICU, she was crying. Barrow just stared at her. He stared so hard, his brain began to fix its broken bits, and soon he recalled he had known her. Soon he noticed he too had wet eyes, something that would never occur in his old life. He cried and she too cried, and they searched for warmth and remembrance and cuddled on each other’s bodies.
Barrow had an urge to talk, the moment his memories began to stick together. He hadn’t spoken much since he regained consciousness. There was nothing to talk about then, but now it seemed there was much he wanted to get straight. He was weak, but determined to make sure his memory flashes were accurate.
And Annabel shared just the right prompts he needed.
“Baby, I think God saved you for me. It was a miracle,” Annabel stated.
“I still don’t understand it ‘til now,” Barrow replied.
“But do you remember anything?”
“At first, I didn’t, but since you came, some things are beginning to make sense in my head.”
“Things like what?”
“Things like voices. I heard voices and I don’t understand what they said. It seemed like someone shouted, ‘You are in a hospital.’ It was in a dream, even though I couldn’t tell now whether or not I was dreaming. I think I ran, into a car, and then another moment I was being moved. I didn’t see anything.”
“Do you remember where you were when this happened to you?”
“Don’t you get it? I said I don’t,” Barrow shouted. By now Annabel was ready to run to the door leading out to anywhere but there. That was the first time she had seen him get that angry, and it made him look different, not her man.
“I am sorry. I should not have shouted at you. Please don’t leave,” he pleaded at last.
Annabel quietly returned to where she was sitting.
“What did you say before?” he asked.
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk now. Maybe you should just rest.”
“No, I want to talk. Please, help me. What did you say before?”
Annabel hesitated, but then said, “I asked if you remembered where you were when you had the dream.”
“It was here. I think it was in this hospital.”
“Okay,” she said, since there seemed to be not another thing she could say.
“In this same dream I was telling you, people were rushing into my room. Then I think I heard someone ask me my name, in a very little voice. I wondered whose voice it was because it was so faint…and I could hardly utter or even remember my name. I think I tried to ask them where I was and where they were taking me. But they didn’t say anything, and so I began to shout at them to take me back and to stop dragging me. I don’t remember what happened after that.”
“What about when you woke up from the dream?”
“I don’t remember,” he started off first, and continued. “Wait! I think it was then I was told that I’d had an accident. I think I remember this more vividly now. It was then I noticed truly that I was in a hospital.”
“So you didn’t know before?”
“How the hell do you expect me to have known?” Barrow shouted again in frustration, but then quickly calmed himself. “Sorry,” he gasped and paused.
“I was told that I had been rushed into the hospital by two men, a younger man and one old papa. They picked me up from an accident scene along the road. They had taken me to one hospital before transferring me here. I remember hardly anything; I don’t remember having any accident.”
“My God! Thank God for the kind strangers. Thank God for them!”
“Those men were God-sent. I am sure I died, but they managed to bring me back to life.”
“And you don’t know them?”
“I haven’t seen them before, though sometimes it feels like I have seen the younger man somewhere, I don’t know where, maybe in the dreams or something. You will soon get to meet them; every now and then, they come here to look after me. In fact since about a week or so that I woke up, they come by everyday to take care of me. I heard they were here the three weeks they said I was in a coma.”
“I can’t wait to meet them.”
They were still holding onto each other, when the doctor walked into the room. He noticed that the young man was speedily regaining his memories since the contact with the young lady. So he instructed Annabel to go home and fetch the things he felt would help him recover even more quickly.

* * * * * * *
ANNABEL RETURNED with everything she could find: pictures, clothes, letters, just name it. And they helped. She and Barrow hadn’t left each other’s sight, since she brought him the things. They would talk about some of the items, for hours, and then spend the rest of the hours holding each other. One of these moments, as they caressed and held each other’s hand, Annabel quickly said to Barrow,
“Baby, I have really missed you.”
Barrow had a feeling to say the same, but he was fast drawn to ask himself if he really missed her. He hadn’t thought that the last time he had been with her before the accident. The memory came with an eruption of incredible sadness and anger.
“How the hell do you say you missed me?” he shouted.
“What?”
My God, not now, not now! Let him not remember that aspect, not now, roared within Annabel.
“How the hell do you say you missed me, you cheat?” he yelled, and yanked himself off her hold.
“Get off me. I remembered now. You should go miss your lover boy, not me.”
“It’s not what you think,” she pleaded.
“It’s not what I think? You think I’m a fool? That part of my brain wasn’t washed off; at least I remember that now. I saw you guys, you were on his lap, kissing.”
“Chris, that’s not what you think. I was induced. I was drugged. The doctors testified to this. I can bring you the test results.”
Barrow eyed her, as if she would just vanish.
“Did you say drugs? So that’s your excuse. That’s what you blame for this? Damn it! You think I am foolish?”
“Chris, I love you, and you know it. You know I could never do a thing like that. You know I haven’t known any other man since I met you. You know you were my first and you know you are my only love,” she was crying now.
“Go to hell, you cheat!” Barrow yelled.
“I swear, baby, I swear.”
“I guess I need to also tell you that I now remember that it was your father that caused me all these troubles,” Barrow added tearfully.
“What! Jesus Christ! My father?”
“Your dad personally shot me. He even asked his boys to throw me out for rituals. Maybe I passed out or something. I think we had the accident on our way to the shrine.”
“My father?” Annabel shouted. There was so much fury in her eyes now. She would not believe this sudden fabricated orchestration meant to take away her happiness. She ran out.

Annabel was intercepted by two nurses that rushed towards the room when they heard the noises. She didn’t wait to listen to them. The nurses flew straight to Barrow, and they were surprised to see he was crying.
“Are you okay? What happened?” they asked.
“I want to be left alone,” Barrow barely whispered. The two nurses ran out to catch up to Annabel, but it was too late. She was gone.




The Story continues...happy weekend.

* * * * * * *
LONELINESS HAD BECOME a haven for Barrow. Moments after Annabel and the two nurses left the room, he slipped into deep meditation. It was always a painful exercise nowadays, but he had to think. There was nothing else he could do, lying on his hospital bed. He had to find his footing again; he had to discover who he was. He had started the discovery while Annabel was there, and now he would go the full throttle all by himself.
He began with his name – Chris, Annabel had called him that. He wasn’t sure if he had other names, and he hadn’t remembered anything about his family. Perhaps he didn’t have one. When he had asked Annabel, she too did not seem to know anything. It was strange, he thought. There had to be a mother, a father or sister somewhere. He would find out someday.
But what about her family? It was obvious she had a family, he thought. Why had her father shot me? Could it have been because I was dating her daughter? That didn’t fit. It made more sense if there were other reasons, but how? Then he remembered the man always called him Mr. X. It seemed his other names began to surface in his head. Annabel’s father called him X because he knew him differently. Suddenly, he heard sounds. The gun shots, as they were being fired by Chief Amah, vibrated in his head. Barrow held his hands across his head. Flashes, flashes and more flashes of his killing escapades were flying in, with the sounds banging about in his head. It hadn’t stopped when Steve walked into the room. He was a little later than his usual timing. Some appointments had held him up.
Wearing a familiar smile, with Papa Edi behind him, Steve came right in through the door.
“Hello, how are you today?” Steve asked, as he dropped some orange, pineapple, and pawpaw fruits, somewhere by the bed.
“Hello! Can you hear me? How are you today?” he asked again, but Barrow did not say a word. He just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, with his two hands on his head.
“Papa, please go call the doctor. Something isn’t right with him,” Steve screamed. Papa rushed out to fetch the doctor and back in with a nurse. He couldn’t find the doctor.
“What’s it?” the nurse asked.
“Please check him. I don’t know.” Steve gave way for the nurse to examine him.
The nurse slapped Barrow on the cheeks and stirred him so hard, it jerked him to consciousness.
“What’s it? Nurse, what’s going on?” Barrow said angrily.
“Nothing, nothing,” the nurse pretended.
Barrow looked up, and his eyes met with the smiling face of Steve. It startled him because he’d just seen Steve in one of his flashbacks. In the flash, he was given a picture of Steve and instructed to kill Steve. He would have killed the man that saved him?
“Oh shit. O shit! O…,” Barrow shouted. And his eyes were soaked with confusion and shame.
“What’s it? Nurse, please see if he is having any pains,” Steve implored with worry.
“I am okay, Barrister Steve. Obi, I am fine,” Barrow said.
Steve and Papa were surprised to hear their new friend address Steve by his name.
“How did you know my full name?” Steve asked.
Barrow’s eyes were heavy now, and after some minutes he murmured, “Please, could everyone leave me and Mr. Obi alone for some time, please?”
“Okay then.” The nurse started out for the door. Papa Edi stayed behind, glancing at Steve.
“Go ahead, Papa,” Steve urged. Once it was just the two of them in the room, Barrow sighed deeply, “Mr. Obi, I don’t know where to begin, I don’t…”
“You can begin anywhere, dear. Start just anywhere. I am here. Tell me, what is it?” Steve proposed with a gentle smile.
“I remembered who I was; I was just getting the flashes of the memories of my past life.”
“That’s great news then. That’s what we have been praying for…”
“No, no, no, it’s terrible. I was a terrible person. I was a killer, an assassin, a cultist…”
“What?” Steve said, with smiles vanished.
“I was an executioner for politicians,” Barrow continued in-between cautious sniffles. “And – and I had been contracted to kill you.”
“Oh, my God,” Steve said quietly.
“I had every detail about you and your wife, house and office address, just everything.”
“My Jesus!”
“I don’t think I deserve your forgiveness, sir. I don’t think I deserve anyone’s forgiveness either. I was evil, and I was an instrument of the devil.”
“It’s okay,” Steve managed to utter.
“At least you now realize you were bad. It’s okay.” He tapped Barrow by the shoulder, and then he helped him to sit.
“No, no it’s not okay,” Barrow cried. “I killed your partner Barrister Kunle. I …”
“That’s not possible,” Steve objected, still trying to convince himself that all this was a lie.
“I confirmed his kidnap and the execution.”
“No, I got a text message from him that he was in his cousin’s place in Lagos and I have even spoken to him.”
“Did he tell you he was kidnapped?” Barrow whispered.
“No, he never mentioned anything like that.”
“Then he wasn’t the one contacting you. Someone may have used his phone to reach you.”
Steve stood there, staring at Barrow.
“I’m sorry, Barrister Obi. I’m so sorry.”
Steve stared blankly at the Barrow, while his mind worked on the possibilities.
The last time he spoke to Kunle, he had sounded odd, and since then, he had called but the phone had been off. Kunle had said he was at his cousin’s place in Agege. What was he doing in Agege?
“Sir, I know I have caused you immense pain. I think God saved my life for a reason. He gave me a second chance, and I am going to use it to fight all my evil.”
Steve reluctantly grabbed Barrow by the hand, and urged, “Let’s pray.”




End of Chapter Twenty Four. The story continues...

Chapter Twenty Five
ANNABEL WAS INA FIST FIGHT with her father; at least, she felt so mentally. The taxi hadn’t stopped when she jumped out. She couldn’t wait to get to the gate of their house. She was amazed to see that the place was horribly and surprisingly empty. The legion of police that usually gathered at the place had disappeared.
She would have known if she had heard that her father had been relieved of his ministerial position and as it were, the police men and the whole paparazzi had gone with him. It always did.
She pressed the gate bell, but then she noticed the heavy padlock on the gate. Why was the gate locked? She asked within herself, what had happened to the police men, and the workers inside? Or was he doing this to prevent her from entering the house?
She leaped forward with all her weight and pressed the electronic bell again, and after she had tried several times, she was convinced there was nobody in the house. Fearfully, she ran out.
The next stop was her father’s guest house number one. She was saddened by the sight of the place alone and empty and full of awful stories. So much was said about her father and what he did with women in the place. The taxi stopped her directly at the gate. She paid and walked out, with hopes she would find him in the place, but then, that Iron Gate was also locked. This time, she saw a huge and menacing looking guy standing by the gate. Annabel hadn’t seen him before.
“I want to go inside,” she demanded impatiently.
“Na, your good afternoon be that abi? You cannot go in,” the guy replied angrily.
“I want to go in and see Chief Amah. I know he is your boss. I want to see him.”
“Stubborn head, Chief no dey here. Go find another customer. Go some other place.”
“Find customer? So you think I’m a prostitute? You should open that gate now. Let me get in. He is my father. Do I look like a harlot to you?”
“E no dey show for face. I have told you, he is not here. I don’t care if he is your father. Don’t let me get angry. If I do, you will regret it. Comot for here now!”
Annabel turned and left the place disappointed and in fear. The house was on lock and keys after all. She headed for her father’s hotel. He often used it as a guest house.

* * * * * * *
THE HOTEL was in Gwarimpa Abuja, a fifteen minute drive, but it seemed like forever. She was elated to discover that the place was not also locked.
She jumped out of the taxi, forgetting to pay the driver.
“Hey, my money. You have not paid me my money,” the Taxi man yelled. Annabel ran back, pulled out some naira notes, and threw them into the cab. That should cover the fare; she didn’t bother counting it.
“You will not collect your change, your balance?” the taxi man shouted. Annabel was already barging into the hotel. From the distance she shouted, “You can keep the balance.”

IT WAS A SMALL reception room with a little space for a computer, not bad for a twenty-room hotel. In all, the furnishings were not bad either. Annabel got the directions to the manager’s office from the young lady receptionist, but within a few steps forward, she was face-to-face with the hotel manager.
After they had exchanged pleasantries, the manager said, “Please, have a seat. How may I help you?” He talked from his nose.
“Mr.…?”
“Mr. Ekanem,” the manager added with a warm smile.
“Mr. Ekanem, I am Annabel, Annabel Amah. I don’t know if my father has told you about me or something?”
“Your father?” The manager asked, very surprised.
“Yes, my father, Chief Amah. I am Chief Amah’s daughter.”
“Forgive me, miss. I can see the resemblance. Sorry I missed it.”
“It’s okay. It happens sometimes,” she purred with a sarcastic smile.
The manager offered to bring her food and drink, but she declined.
“Since you have refused everything I offered, how may I help you?”
“I want to know if you have any information about my father. Everybody seems to have disappeared from my house and everywhere. Do you know where my father is?”
The manager smiled. He was not surprised. It was not the first time he was asked the same question within the past few days. Several people seem to be asking the same question, but the daughter, for goodness sake, should not be asking, too. She should at least know her father’s whereabouts.
“I don’t know. The truth, you know, is that there have been a few people asking this same question. You know, Chief used to frequent this place, but for some days, to be precise, since the cabinet reshuffle, he hadn’t been here. I thought you should know where he is?”
“If I knew, of course, I wouldn’t be asking you. Excuse me! You said, ‘Cabinet reshuffle.’ I don’t get that.”
“You know, since he was relieved of his appointment, or you didn’t hear about that?”
Annabel caught her breath, “I didn’t. Please, Mr. Ekanem, how can you help me? I really need to find him.”
“I think you should call Ambrose, his Personal Assistant, you know. He should know what’s going on.”
“I have tried his phone line, but it wasn’t going through. It was switched off, too.”
“You know, you can’t get Ambrose on his main phone line. Let me give you his other lines to try.”
The manager searched through a drawer, and once he found the wallet dairy he was looking for, he flipped through it until he saw the page he had written all the numbers. He tore the page out and gave it to Annabel.
“You should reach him on any of those. Let me know if you need any other thing. You know, we are always here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ekanem,” she responded.
“You are welcome, my dear.”




The story continues...