The cunningly smart is only so because he hadn't been caught....just one detection and smartness appears very foolish...Ohibenemma 2016.

Cc: Kingphilip, Flakkydagirl, Missmossy, Missterious, Ajibolar, Lalasticlala....

I have always thought myself smart; some persons have had cause to disagree with this claim, but I have always felt that was their opinion and every man is entitled to his opinion.

I am writing this now, not to reinforce this old belief, but to concede to the doubters' doubts and the naysayers' nays about my self-percieved smartness.

I promise it won't be a long epistle, for I have never thought of myself a writer. Maybe smart, but never a writer. I will not bore you with too many details, for facts are facts, detailed or not. Did I just promise that? How could I, when I don't even know what constitutes a detailed write-up? I will continue any way it goes, I can only hope you follow me.

Lying has been one vice I have been associated with from childhood. It got so bad that even my siblings thought it wiser to disbelieve me whenever an assertion by me evoked as much as an iota of doubt. It was even worse when there was a counter claim. Then, I would stand no chance; no chance at all. I never knew how much I was held in contempt until the day I overheard my sister say to a friend of hers: "If it's my brother who told you so, I would advise you forget it. You should even be careful enough to check your wristwatch, whether the time is right, if he told you good morning..." I was mad that day; I was on the verge of bursting into my sister's room in anger when my mum called for me.

"Take this money to Iya Tayo and tell her I will pick the change when going to church this evening." She pushed some tightly folded currency notes into my hand.

"Yes, ma," I replied and was about to dash off when she added:

"When I'm going to church O! Not when I'm returning..." I thought it was all over and had turned again to go when she called me back. "In fact, I'm not confident you will deliver this message as intended, I don't want my credit turning to debit when I get there later." My mum stretched forth her open palm: "Let me have my money."

Just then, that embarrassing moment, my sister and her friend walked into the sitting room. Her friend was leaving and she was seeing her off. My mum ended up sending her on the errand instead.
1.

Well, I have so much in mind that I have shot off without as much as an introduction. I will rectify that error immediately. My names are...Oh so sorry, my English teacher had severally...there I go again...my English teacher had warned us several times that the correct way to say it is "My name IS." I never got the explanation behind this posturally defective, grammatical application. Why must one use the singular "is" when it involves more than one name? Well, there will always be many things one doesn't understand. Back to the matter at hand: My name is James Ekpemupolo Krakowei, alias JEK, though that was until a female acquaintance noted that the acronym sounded like "jerk" which was not a good word. I have since tried to stop my friends from addressing me so, but that was one wish yet to materialize. I am the second child and first son of Godisgood Finehouse Krakowei and Regina Beauty Krakowei. Their first born, my sister, Jane Kunumofa Krakowei is five years older than I. This gap, I was told, was due to two miscarriages suffered by my mum after her birth. My younger brother, Greatcountry Goodluck Krakowei is less than two years younger. The circumstances surrounding my birth meant my parents temporarily setting aside their Christian beliefs. The late Jangogo Ateke was the witchdoctor who mixed potion after potion for my mum, all in a bid to ensure my foetus survived. I survived, but will go on to cause many heartbreaks for my parents. If I wasn't caught spying on a neighbour while she bathed in the makeshift outdoor bathrooms regular with villagers those days, I will be dragged home from school all bruised and dirty after engaging a superior in a fight. I had a nickname for all our teachers and was one of the few, if not the only, who could call them by such to their faces. God help any teacher who dared walk past our house after disciplining me for my many misdemeanours. Such is sure to be the target of stones or sticks or any other like objects, hurled from one of the trees dotting our compound or one of the uncompleted buildings around us. It would be their word against mine when next we met in school, and I knew no one with a sharper tongue than mine. My dad was invited to the school on many occasions - sometimes, I would have stressed my innocence in no uncertain terms before we left home, but the old man would leave the principal's office or staff room, or anywhere they chose to have the meeting, tongue-tied. He once admitted that he might have been better off without a son than having one like me, but I knew this was because he had an alternative in Greatcountry. I wasn't a fan of that youngman.

I was a very skillful footballer, with dribbling skills only a few professionals could lay claim to, but my overt desire for the spotlight meant I would end up killing same move I started. I would dribble from the middle of the pitch, move past two, three and even four opposing players; it would remain just a single player to beat before having the goalkeeper at my mercy. A teammate, sensing this possibility, would have moved into position for an easy square pass, but, now revelling in the praise shouts from supporters, I would choose the more difficult but sensational option of taking on that remaining defender. Expectations would have been at the highest, my team coach would have moved close to the touchline and those on the bench would have risen to celebrate an inevitable goal, when I will deflate the baloon. My eventual theatrical clutching of my feet or shin soon failed to fool any. It was no surprise when the coaches later preferred having me on the bench than on the pitch. The team was greater than any individual, the coach would explain; if a player's skills couldn't benefit the team, then the team was better off without such player. This move was vindicated by the statistics that showed a much more impressive win-percentage with me off the pitch than when on it.

Continues soon...

Bravo Please dont keep me in suspense

I wasn't called but i came

Bros eh we stand proper to here o

Ohibenemma will surely blow my mind away.. I'll surely follow this to the very end

Continue the great work

I am here, please let go.

squanta:
Bravo Please dont keep me in suspense

I am here, now; thanks for being there.

UndisputedBosom:
I wasn't called but i came

I am really grateful to have you here.

kingphilip:
Ohibenemma will surely blow my mind away.. I'll surely follow this to the very end

Continue the great work

Thanks sir; may your expectations be met.

Danzakidakura:
I am here, please let go.

Great to have you on..

2.

I tried the JAMB examination four times, with each trial less successful. I had been ten points off the mark at my first attempt, but this had plummeted to seventy two points off the cut-off mark my fourth time of asking. I needed no soothsayer to tell me my destiny lay faraway from the university or polytechnic's campus. With this conviction, I left for Lagos.

"Lagos is a place of boundless opportunities," Rukewve had said. "If you can't make it in Lagos, be sure you can't make it elsewhere." That was five months before my fourth JAMB attempt. He was discussing with Jane while I eavesdropped.

Jane had appeared unconcerned, but I could bet she was concerned. Who wouldn't be? Rukewve used to be her classmate while in the Secondary school, but while he had proceeded to Lagos immediately afterwards on the behest of his uncle, who sold motorcycles there, Jane had, after two failed attempts, gained admission to the university. It had been a coincidence that she was in the village when he came visiting too. The Volkswagen Passat he had driven to our house was one of two vehicles he owned, according to him, the second was a pickup van for goods delivery. He was a Businessman with no particular area of focus.

"I could sell machine lubricants one day and be involved in the supply of granite to building sites the next day. It depends on where the demand is..."

"That is good once those ventures are legitimate ones."

"Strictly legit' stuff. I love money, but know the extent I can go for it."

"That's a good one."

Rukewve's voice descended into a whisper at this point and I know the direction their conversation had veered. Did I really care? It wasn't like anyone would consider my opinion.

Uncle Tejire picked me up on arrival at Lagos. He had advised me to alight at Ojota, and I almost did so at Berger when I heard the Bus mate shout "Ojota! Ojota!" Initially unknown to me was the fact that he was actually calling for Ojota-bound passengers.

Uncle Tejire or Uncle T isn't actually an uncle. He is neither my dad nor my mom's brother, but having been a close family friend since when I could remember, we have always called him by that title. I was in JSS 2 when he left the village for Lagos. He had never missed visiting the village during any festivity eversince: Christmas, New Year, Easter, New Yam Festival, Masquerade, etc. It was during the last Masquerade Festival that he drove a sparkling Honda Accord to our house. It was obvious he was doing well in Lagos; he was never so fleshy while in the village.

"I will only drop you off at home," he announced like one in a hurry, "I have a pressing task at hand which I left just because of you." He gave me a smile which I returned.

But the prospect of being alone at home didn't sound too appealing. What will I be doing alone in Uncle Tejire's house, probably a closed in flat whose tenants barely interacted with tenants of other flats. I had heard it many times that those in the city lived much more secluded lives than the villagers. Civilization, they called it; isolation, I called it.

My thoughts were far from reality, as I was soon to discover. Uncle Tejire lived in what was popularly regarded to as "Face me I face you". He was one of the more affluent tenants able to rent two rooms as against the usual one. Another reality that was soon to hit me in the face was that Uncle Tejire didn't live alone, he lived with two bulbous, extremely dark complexioned women. To make matters worse, they both carried babies which, I soon learnt, were his. I didn't like either of them and knew the moment I stepped into the room serving as his sitting room that it would be extremely difficult to get along with them.

"This is Ekpemupolo, who I said will be coming to live with us for some time," Uncle Tejire said in introduction, his right palm on my left shoulder.

Both women sat on opposite single seaters, with legs spread out, like a competition on who could occupy the bigger space was on. As far as I was concerned, they were on a tie and with their unsmiling countenances, they both looked ugly. Each had her baby sleeping on makeshift matresses, on the floor, beside her chair.

"Welcome O," the one on the left hand side replied, managing a smile that varnished once the words had left her lips.

"Welcome, how journey?" The one on the right hand side said in a heavily accented tone. This one didn't even bother to fabricate a smile.

"It was fine, ma," I replied, unsure of my smile too.

"This is Aunty Sade," Uncle Tejire gestured at the one on the right, "and this is Aunty Abike," he indicated that on the left.

I bowed or nodded at them, muttering some gibberish as greeting. They returned same gesture. None moved from her initial position, and this remained so until Uncle Tejire, having moved my bag into the second room, took his leave.

I sat on the only double seater in the sitting room, ensuring to keep to one side as much as possible. I didn't want to be percieved as having joined in wierd space-claiming competition between Aunty Sade and Abike. They seemed to have forgotten about me anyway, a Yoruba movie was on in the 14" television. After over an hour of silence, an hour in which the worms in my tummy were beginning to sing in discordant tunes, Aunty Abike turned her gaze on me.

"Haf you eat something so?"

"No, ma," I replied, unsure whether she meant the entire day or since I left the village. I had eaten a breakfast of rice and beans, but nothing afterwards.

"You will shop garri? Garri and melon shoup?"

I nodded slowly, wondering how soup made by her would taste. Well, if Uncle T could eat her meals, why couldn't I?

"If you we eat, you shu talk: whish one is this nodding abat?" Saying this, she arose for the first time since my arrival.

About my height, I noticed she wasn't so bad looking after all. Maybe she wasn't facially beautiful, but she had a fine, full and tall frame. She went into the other room and I was hearing the sounds of pots and dishes the next moment.

Aunty Sade, who had been antagonistically silent all along, spoke up. Her tone was conspiratorially low.

"I don't know what is worry Abike; she think only her smarting, she think only her can speak inglis." She sneering smiled, revealing a beautiful tooth gap.

Maybe she would have been more beautiful, I thought, if only she smiled more. But what was it with their attempts to use the Queen's language. Couldn't they just go the pidgin way and pass their message more effectively? Where I came from, it was a thing of pride to speak the "broken" English fluently. My people were even reknowned for spicing it up with some vernacular expressions and slanting. Who bothered with the Queen's language if he hadn't got it?

"You we see, that soup we not sweet."

I said nothing. I wasn't sure what to say.

"I we make jellof later and you we see the different is cliar."

The Egusi soup turned out quite delicious, though a tad overseasoned. It was same with Aunty Sade's jollof rice later that night. That was the beginning of a competition I never sanctioned, but benefitted from anyway. We had our first quarrel two days into my stay with Uncle Tejire; I had declined Aunty Sade's offer of the native delicacy, Eko (ground maize paste cooked to an extent of solidification), and chosen instead a dish of porridge, generously stuffed with fish parts, from Aunty Abike. This caused the former to fly into a rage. Uncle Tejire, as usual, wasn't in.

"Don't you said you no hungry? How come you hungry now?" Aunty Sade paced up and down the sitting room and, failing to find the right words to express her rage, broke into full blown Yoruba. Yours sincerely was at a loss concerning what was being said. Aunty Abike's voice came on next. Sharper and louder.

I knew it was all about me, though I understood nothing being said. Aunty Sade's introduction in English and the constant gestures in my direction did it. The meal I had been enjoying suddenly became tasteless; I set the plate aside and arose.

"I don't see how my choice of food should cause a quarrel! I have been eating from the both of you, why should a single preference now become a problem?"

"It is problem O! It is problem! If I no ask first, it will not be problem, but you say you no hungry; why you hungry to chop Sade food?"

Aunty Sade issued a rebuttal, as expected: "Sango fire that mouth if you call my name again! Do I force 'im ni? Do I sook food in 'is mouth? No be 'is hyes 'e take see and like my delicacious?"

When my efforts failed to yield any results, and being most ignorant in the trio as their rants soon went Yoruba again, I walked out on them. The result was bread and groundnut for lunch and garri soaked in water for dinner. Uncle Tejire settled the matter when he returned that night. Did I say settled? Well, he caused them to temporarily sheath their swords and return to the state of a perpetual cold war.

I no come Lagos come count bridge. I realised I had been idle enough after one week when Uncle Tejire asked me what I wanted to do. I had nothing in mind, I honestly told him, and asked for his advice.

"You can work, as there are lots of jobs for non-graduates. You can also go further and hustle, which could be better paying though more risky. There is also crime, which will earn you some good space in prison. The choice is yours."

And I chose to work. That same week, I got a job in a hotel as a booking clerk. The pay wasn't very fantastic, but the tips were. And with my sweet tongue and good command of English, customers easily took a liking to me. I soon discovered that some persons virtually lived in hotels. Some, who owned houses in town, still chose to have rooms or even chalets permanently booked. We had a politician and actress in this category. It was the latter that will cause me to lose my first job.

"You're such a funny guy," she said after I had handed her room key to her with a compliment on her dress. "Just like my son."

This was a revelation. While I knew she was advanced in years, despite taking very good care of her skin, I never thought her as old enough to mother me. I recovered promptly.

"I am just being sincere; I'm sure all the girls out there will be green with envy."

"Are you serious?

"Yes, ma'am; as serious as the African sun at noon."

She chuckled: "I told you, you are funny."

The closer we became, the lengthier our exchanges were, and these soon delved into personal matters. I learnt of her desire to decrease her movie appearances and go into production. She had made a fortune from the industry and needed little or no partnership to finance her first movie; but she was also not too inclined to use veteran hands.

"I want to pioneer a new generation of talents who would take the industry by the storm," she told me one day.

I got an idea, a mischievous one. This woman had the cash and I had come to earn her trust. How could I turn that trust to money? I was receiving above what some graduates earned per month, but I wanted more. I wanted to move out of Uncle Tejire's two roomed apartment, if possible, into a flat; I wanted to own a car, I wanted more.


Continues...

Hope dis one dey OK for today? Off to the Redemption Camp; more updates tomorrow...

3.

I gave this question some serious thought until something dropped in. She needed fresh hands; fresh but talented cameramen, video editors and even writers. She intended to shuffle between veterans and new hands in her casts. The former was for marketing reasons while the latter for mentoring and freshness. Her passion for new hands was where I could make a break. I didn't like acting; I had heard it made one more famous than rich, I preferred the riches and I wanted it as quick as possible.

"I know some friends who are into video production; I'm sure they perfectly fit your requirements."

"Oh! Really?" There was a hint of doubt on her countenance.

"Yes, one of them is even into animations. He's planning to create an all pidgin animation series soon."

"He must be very good then?" It was obvious my lies had sparked her interest.

"Yes, very good, though not popular at all yet."

"Many very talented persons are still virtually hidden. Like diamonds, they are hidden far down below..." And she launched into a lecture on unharnessed talents abounding around. I half listened as I waited for her to get done with her speech.

"You are just so right, ma," I said when it became obvious she was done. "One thing I'm sure of is using such persons could deliver same quality at much lesser costs."

"You're correct; thank God I shared this with you. Can you help me sound out this friend of yours?"

I promptly agreed to this request. Three days later, I had gotten a friend to recommend a friend's friend who accompanied me to see Madam Actress. A deal was struck, but a substantial amount of money had to be doled out as mobilization fee, for 'my friend' had to abandon a project he was working on to concentrate on hers. When Madam Actress discovered the scam three weeks later, I had left the hotel and relocated to Surulere where I had become the proud tenant of a one bedroom apartment. Her rants on phone were music to my ears. When I could take no more, I got the sim card cut into tiny bits and fed to the winds. That was my first foray into the morbid world of crime. The kickback was so impressive, so handsome that I was sure it won't be my last.

My sweet tongue was of great assistance in the acquisition of contacts, and my dexterity in its usage meant I could be anything I desired to be whenever I so desired. I could be a building contractor one moment and into medical supplies the next; I could be a Pastor in the morning and a Surgeon later same day. I studied hard, not to excel in academics, but to successfully play whatever part occasion required. I could spend hours poring over texts on building. I would cram the various foundation types, reinforcement types, window and door fittings and even roof types and styles. Everything required to play the part would be at my fingertips; it would take only a very sound professional to blow me out, and even such has to have been suspicious enough to go the whole length. Money was no longer my problem, the problem was how to spend it. Uncle Tejire questioned me on one or two occasions on how I came across such wealth, but I ensured he was none wiser after these interviews. I couldn't visit him or his two women, knowing the law could be in ambush, but I ensured to send some cash whenever I could.

I bought a car a month into my stay in Surulere; it soon became a regular at party venues and club houses. I couldn't go to the village yet; I couldn't find the convincing way to explain away my new found wealth to my parents. I would wait for some time, I decided, some reasonable time to make my success appear normal. A year flew by and my success still appeared abnormal. I lied about it when asked by my sister; someone must have gossiped to her.

"Your informant probably mistook me for my boss." I said, in reply to one of her inquests. "My boss is very liberal and easy going and ensures his employees are and look happy always."

"Hmmm, what firm is that?"

"Ablehands Technologies," I lied, off the cuff.

"This is my first hand hearing that name," she said sceptically.

"There are over a thousand companies in Lagos you've never heard of," I replied, using the occasion to show off my perceived superiority.

"It's okay," she hesitantly agreed. "Hope you're finding Lagos agreeable."

"Waoh! It's a lovely place to be."

...It was truly lovely. My apartment, at least, was. I had ensured it was furnished to taste; sky blue curtains adorned the windows and walls, providing a perfect blend with the deep blue colour of my rug. My settees were of a slightly lighter hue than my rug, all exuding an instant cool effect. For electronics, I had a giant home theatre system and a 32" wallscreen television. I have always loved video games and ensured a Playstation 4 console wasn't left out of my electronic gadgets. My bedroom was comfort personified. From the kingsize bed to the airconditioner; from the giant dressing mirror to the chandeliers; from the padded rug to the framed paintings; from the mini home theatre to the desktop computer, I had everything I desired in a bedroom. Lagos, for me, was truly a lovely place.

I was living the life - swindling the gullible, making money, drinking, partying, womanizing and all the vain pleasures anyone could desire; and never thought these could be hampered in any way. But karma, they say, is a bitch. One can never be too smart.

Stealing was one vice I never thought capable of succumbing to, but crime is a multifaceted venture. One path leads to another, and once in, one finds himself only able to go deeper.

I stole her money.

Surprising? But that's the truth: I stole Mrs Johnson's money. As time progressed, successful scams were increasingly difficult to pull off. Maybe my targets were wiser, or I was onto the wrong persons, but the fact was that the accruals gradually decreased. This wasn't desirable at all, not for one who had come to acquire a quite elevated standard of living, not for one who hadn't planned for the rainy day.

I had met Mrs Johnson for the first time in a restaurant, when I went in for a bottle of wine. She was seated alone, almost through with a dish of fried rice. Our eyes met and I smiled. When her facial expression didn't contort into a smile I knew she could be a right target.

I went and drew a seat at same table. A waiter was beside me in a jiffy and I ordered for same as she was eating.

"Mummy, good afternoon, ma," I greeted, pulling off with a good boy personae.

"Good afternoon, my son," she replied with very good accent. She was really the type.

"I can see that you're really enjoying your meal," I continued, determined not to allow a conversational lax at any point.

"Why would you think so?"

I actually had no reason, but replied immediately: "That much is obvious; and it's why I ordered exactly same as you."

She chuckled. "You are so funny."

I knew such older ladies, who took good care of themselves, usually loved compliments, and chipped in one next.

"Your designer did a very wonderful job on this gown." It was of red lace, full and low V-necked.

"Did he? You surely know how to make an old grandma feel good about herself."

My order arrived and I noticed how she scanned the contents of my plate, probably to ascertain if my earlier claim of ordering same as hers was true. I started having doubts if she was as rich as I had thought. The conversation was being too free flowing, and rich ladies rarely eat alone. That moment, her phone rang.

"Hello, Yusuf; I will be with you in a moment...I used the Range Rover, the driver should be inside...just locate it and wait there." She spoke with her caller.

That confirmed it, she was rich. The poor or even middle class never used Range Rovers. She was a right target.

I employed every skill in the book to make her laugh. And it paid off. She had to beg me several times to allow her meal settle well as she was literally rolling on the floor in laughter. I was doing very well, and within very limited time. I had created different profiles, hoping to hit off on one as soon as a channel presented itself, and I was on the lookout for any such channel.

I knew a bit of everything; from public speaking to mechanics, from electronics to plumbing, name it, I had a hand in it. I was waiting for that intended project, event or assignment in which I could provide my expertise. Then, she nearly threw me off balance with the question:

"Paul," for that was the name I had given as mine, "what exactly do you want?" She peered at her wristwatch, probably wondering why her earlier caller was yet to locate her car.

My throat went dry for a moment. What exactly was she driving at? And my brain was blank too. No witty responses were being formulated, no clever deflections, nothing...Then, she put me at ease with her next statement.

"I am a very contented widow, with absolutely no intentions for any relationships again."

Oh, so she was a widow? Her late husband must have left her a lot of wealth. Relationship? That was far off my thoughts. I wasn't a gigolo, and had no intentions on becoming one. But wasn't I? Maybe of another sphere. When I desired women, which were definitely of the younger variety, I spent my money.

"Why would I think of that, ma?" I asked, a smile returning to my face. "I see you as a loving motherly figure."

"Really? Am I looking so old?"

"No! I don't mean that, ma. You are quite young and fresh looking."

The look on her face showed she was pleased with my words. I loved this, but wasn't pleased with the direction our conversation was going. Just then, her phone rang, making my heart lurch. It was becoming an opportunity lost!


But not quite, for she turned to me after answering her call.

"I have to leave now, but can you find the time to see me some other time?" She produced a card from her handbag and handed it to me. "There's my number."

I received it with a bow, immediately thinking of how to convert this acquaintance to tangible gains. From the card, her name was Mrs Oby Johnson and she ran an imports and exports concern.

***

I have taken so much time to explain what led to my having to write this. I would never have bothered writing had things gone according to plan, I would have still been under the impression that I was one of the world's smartest guys. Well, let's continue and get this over with.

I discussed my experience with Mrs Johnson, with my friends, other smart guys like myself, and they were unanimous in urging patience. According to Deolu alias Delulu, he had once worked on a similar victim. The dividends, though long in coming, was eventually worth the wait. He had struck just when his victim trusted him most and the rest had been history.

"With 3.5 million naira sitting in my account, the wait was very worth it," he concluded.

Hmmm! I had never raked in half as much from a single deal. Delulu was a senior colleague in the business. Rumours even had it that he owned a hotel in town!

I took their advice, but with fast dwindling reserves, as it was, I couldn't afford to wait for too long. I visited Mrs Johnson more often, making several suggestive statements in the process. I couldn't understand how she won't be buying any of my hints. Was it that she wasn't as buoyant as she appeared? With an office block as expansive as hers, with an office as tastefully furnished as hers, with staff as contented and efficient looking as hers, considering the quality of cars, likely owned by her staff and parked in the office premises, she was definitely as rich as she appeared. But, what was I doing wrong? Why was she yet to fall?

I didn't believe in being fetish, or I would have taken the suggestion by some to get aid from the supernatural; I had even stopped attending church since my relocation to Surulere. I was what some may call anti-spiritual. I had to try more and I did. In the process, I discovered that Mrs Johnson had a kind heart. She was a selfless giver, who regularly sent donations to some Motherless Babies Homes, assisted the poor and needy around her and was even building a rehabilitation and skills acquisition centre for repentant drug addicts, prostitutes and their likes. She had always been rich, having been born of rich parents. She had even been richer than her husband at marriage, though he had a similar background as hers. The company had been her brainchild and she had done most of the running even when her husband was still alive. He was a Medical doctor, and concentrated more on his flourishing clinic. That had been taken over by the first of their two kids and only son, a doctor who had trained in England. The second was into fashion and was already making her clothing line one to be reckoned with. Everything was virtually well in place, except, of course, yours sincerely. It wasn't a total blackout, though; she occasionally gave me handouts, handsome sums in normal circumstances, but I needed something much bigger. Something much more handsome.

And it came. It was nine weeks after our first meeting. She had just returned from England when I called to welcome her and request for what she brought for me.

"A nice suit, just your size," she replied. "Can you come for it in the evening? I have some meetings to attend very soon."

Meetings so soon? Not even a nap first? And how did she get to know my size? That wasn't for me to worry about, my worry was how to hit her big. I called Deolu and informed him about my pending visit to Mrs Johnson.

"You and this your woman sha; you never still chop and clean mouth?"

"I won't be calling if I had, bros; the woman stubborn die."

There was silence for a moment, during which I knew he was thinking. "You have to become desperate, my brother. Be blunt, tell her you are hungry, tell her business hasn't been fine, tell her you need a contract. Maybe she's beginning to see you as another son who doesn't need anything beyond handouts."

Really, I thought that was the case. She seemed to regard me as a little boy, probably thinking my claims of expertise on many fronts were at best amateuristic. After all, I was younger than her last born.

"Just as you must never allow a lady you're romantically interested in to friend-zone you, so must you never allow a potential client become a father or mother figure."

The call was over some minutes later. I was going to put all he had advised to use. The kingdom of God, as they say, suffereth violence, and only the violent taketh it by force. This time, I was taking it by force.

I still remember clearly how I entered the bathroom a few minutes to five for a warm shower. Then, I got a nice, longsleeved shirt and suit from my wardrobe. After donning these and checking my appearance in the mirror, I thought I looked too corporate. I opted instead for a tee-shirt inside the suit. This gave me a more businesslike, on-the-move appearance. I had gotten my car washed since afternoon and I eased into it with swagger. These were desperate times; only desperate measures could suffice.

I sighted two SUVs driven out of her compound as I drove into the street. They belonged to visitors; I knew all her cars. It was better that way. The less the third parties I had to contend with, the better for my plans. The elements were on my side, for I met no car that wasn't hers in her compound when I drove in.

"I wonder why anyone will return to this country after living under the plush conditions of the West," I began, after we had exhausted the welcome pleasantries.


Continues...

Ohis, pls continue dis story abeg naaaaa. I guess u are from Edo?

hephzibahbeulah:
Ohis, pls continue dis story abeg naaaaa. I guess u are from Edo?

Edo? Yea, yea; you are too?

Ohibenemma:
Edo? Yea, yea; you are too?

Yea.

4.

"Are things really so bad in Nigeria?"

"Terribly so; one barely manages to get by."

"Wait a moment, did you drive here in your car?"

"Yes, ma; what about it?"

"Then you shouldn't be complaining. Many, who don't even own motorcycles aren't complaining."

"Oh that car? You're funny, ma. The fact is that there hasn't been anything coming in, in recent times: the economy gets dryer by the day."

"But, considering all the concerns you are into, it shouldn't be so bad for you?"

"It is, ma. I need contracts, solid contracts; maybe you could help me, maybe I've been looking in the wrong places. I'm becoming really desperate."

"And you said you do plumbing, too?"

"Yes, ma," I eagerly replied. "Plumbing, painting, electrical fittings, name it, I do them."

"Then, we could work out something."

I was so excited that I jumped up to hug her, but had to restrain myself at the eleventh hour.

Mrs Johnson regarded me with some amusement, probably failing to understand my sudden animation, before continuing:

"I could ask the contractor handling the Motherless Babies' home to allow you take over the plumbing works."

I was besides myself with joy. Was this finally that big break? I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, that moment, but that was an undesirable distraction I wasn't going to encourage. Whoever it was could go to hell.

"Oh, ma; I'm very grateful for this. It's been long I handled any plumbing project. Only the bigger technicians appear to get favoured these days of economic downturn." Liar! I thought, but did it matter?

"I trust that you will do a great job," she replied and extended her hand for a handshake like it was a formal business setting.

I grasped the offered hand, once again saying my thanks. The next few minutes were spent ironing out the details. The stage was set; worth almost 2 million naira, this contract had all the tendencies to being my big break.

***

Unfortunately, I delivered to the letter. Unfortunate? Yea! For it had never been my intention to deliver that project. The plan had been to abandon the project at a completion stage of about 20% in the most, but Mrs Johnson or the contractor's ingenuity ensured that the payment came in clusters, determined by the amount of work already done. This meant that I couldn't access the funds in one swoop and bolt.

For the first time in my life, I appreciated the challenges of the average Lagos hustler, as I ran around to secure the services of professional plumbers to justify my initial claim at skillfulness in that field. This face saving move cost me a lot, and at completion of the project, I discovered I should have insisted on a much higher amount at the onset. The balance, for all my effort, was a paltry #48000. For all my effort!

With piling bills all around, #48000 was nothing, and was burned up in three days, leaving me back on ground zero. I felt undone by Mrs Johnson, and started strategizing on how to wreck some sort of vengeance. As if my intentions towards her had ever been noble!

Then, I paid the visit, the visit that was to mar my life. Mrs Johnson was in her office, gorgeously dressed, as usual, in a red full, single-strapped lycra gown. She had a black belt around her waist, same colour as her hair accessories and high-heeled shoes.

She arose when I entered the office, a smile forming on her bespectacled face.

"Look who we have here!" She leaned over the table for a hug.

"Good morning, ma."

After the exchange of pleasantries, during which Mrs Johnson served me a glass of fruit juice, she launched into an account of how perfect my plumbing job had been, how even technicians had hailed it, how I was going to go very far in the field. I wasn't there for those encomiums; I was there to launch a bigger scheme.

"Going very far can only be when I'm trusted with reasonable contracts, ma," was my reply. I watched as her face creased into a slight frown, before widening into a smile.

"Are you saying my contract wasn't reasonable?"

"Not at all, ma. But, in my bid to impress, I ended up being the one undone. The cost of that project should have been much higher." I hadn't planned it that way, but it sounded good, coming out.

"Hmmm. Do you know that even the contractor expressed same opinion?" I shook my head slowly, like one wallowing in self pity. She continued: "The unfortunate side to it is that he was the one making the payments, having received the entire funds for the project at the commencement."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir; your loss was his gain." The sly smile had crept upon her face again.

Was this woman joking with my predicament? I felt the anger build up within me, but had to do all I could to suppress it. I wouldn't achieve my aims through anger; I just had to be calculative.

"A very bad loss it has turned out to be, but all is well..."

"Yea, all is well..."

"Only that I need some other projects to get back on my feet."

She nodded slowly. "That's true. We will see what we can fix up."

It was a ray of hope, but I was really in dire straits. My rent was almost up and the balance in my five bank accounts, three serving business purposes, cumulative didn't amount to a quarter of the rent alone. I thought of my car which hadn't been comprehensively serviced for a while, my kitchen store which urgenty required restocking and our group parties, which would soon be my turn to host, and the ray became barely a flicker. I needed something more concrete, something more urgent.

Our eyes met as I raised mine to look at her, hers through lenses while mine were bare. I did all I could not to blink.

"I need something in the meantime, ma; maybe a loan will do..." Her phone rang that moment and I made my speech fade out.

"Hello, dearie," she said to her caller, after signalling to me for an excuse. "...are you serious?...how much are we talking about?...No, no, I mean your budget...2 million naira is a lot of money O! Yes , , it's a worthy cause or I won't be involved at all...I will support the competition with four hundred thousand naira...Hahaha, the thanks should go to God. And...please, I don't want my name mentioned O! Anonymous donor should do, hahaha...Hope the previous account number is still active?...Expect my widow's mite within the next hour...hahaha...we thank God...Alright, my dear...hahaha." Mrs Johnson turned to face me. "Sorry, that was my friend, Dame Victoria Olakunle; she is the President of the Lend A Hand foundation. Have you heard about it before?" I nodded in agreement. "Okay. They have slated the 3rd edition of their annual quiz/scholarship awards for the under-privileged for next month and I've been invited."

"To cheer them?" I asked sarcastically.

"Of course, to cheer them," she replied like the sarcasm in my voice hadn't been obvious. "I would have loved it had you joined me for that event?"

Never! I promptly declined the invitation.

Why was she derailing our conversation? My aim for visiting hadn't been for any under-privileged; at least not for none other than myself. I didn't like where the ship was veering, I had to steer her back to safe waters, I just had to. Mrs Johnson helped me at this with her next statement.

"Weren't you saying something about a loan?"

I nodded promptly. "Yes ma, that was exactly what I was saying prior to your receiving that call."

"So, continue."

"I need a loan, ma, pending the arrival of contracts. I've gotten multiple assurances, some because of the manner I executed your contract, and I know the contracts will soon start rolling in. I am in dire straits at the moment; so many bills piling up, and I need some respite."

"Does that mean you're living above your means?"

"Not at all, ma," I thought hard and some inspiration dropped in. "I am a rabid investor and have most of my money tied up in stocks and bonds."

"Hmmm, tell me about it," she sounded interested. "But, how come you never spoke about this until now?"

I thought hard again. Did I even know the extent to which I had spoken since I met her? Did I know the extent to which I had lied?

"Maybe it had to do with trust issues, ma; I don't make such revelations to those I don't trust very well."

"So, you didn't trust me all this while?"

"It's not that, ma. I won't be revealing it even now if I didn't trust you."

"Hmmm, I actually thought it was because of the loan you needed."

Why was this woman proving so difficult, I thought, why was she being such an impenetrable rock? I decided not to offer an answer, a decision that turned out right.

"Pardon my sarcasm," she said next. "But, how much exactly are we talking about?"

I had to think not only hard this time, but also fast. I had intended to request for something in the range of two hundred thousand naira, but for one who could give out four hundred thousand in a flash, I no longer thought such an amount worth the hassles that usually accompanied such gigs. I would need to lie low for a while afterwards, I might need to change my car paint colour, I might even need to change my sim card if she was the ranting type that refused to let go. This latter thought couldn't be true of her. The Mrs Johnson I knew, would see my scam as just another trifle, she might even joke about it with her friends. She was that jolly and rich.

"I was thinking of about five hundred thousand naira, ma," I said, forcing a confident smile as I felt the rate of my heartbeats increase.

"Hmmm, five hundred thousand naira is a lot of money O!" I remembered she had made a similar exclamation when her friend called earlier. That hadn't prevented her from doling out four hundred thousand like it was nothing,

"Yes, considering how hard money is to come by nowadays; but I'm sure to bounce back within the shortest possible time." I hoped my desperation will not come to the fore.

"I'm sorry, I won't be able to provide such a loan at a period as this. I am very sorry about that..."

"But, you..." I checked myself on time. But she just promised a friend four hundred thousand naira, for a course with no kickback value.

"But what?"

"But you can at least help to an extent, even if it's not the exact figure I need?"

"I do not really have spare funds at the moment; maybe in a month's time, though."

If there was a definition of bad market in the business, Mrs Johnson was definitely that. How could the same woman who had four hundred thousand naira for charity say so? Just then, her phone rang again. She looked at the phone screen and smiled before signalling for excuse.


Continues...

"Mrs Jalade, how are you?" She said to her caller. "I tried your line several times yesterday to no avail, that was when I decided to send a message...it is okay, why should I be angry? The power situation in our country today can drive anyone crazy...hahaha...so how are my children doing? I was calling yesterday to find out how they are feeding; but anyway, we have made provisions for twenty bags of rice, twenty cartons of tinned tomatoes and a hundred and fifty thousand naira cash to be delivered to you tomorrow...to God be the glory, not man...yes, we thank him...I am planning to visit the home at the end of the month with gifts for my kids...no problem, madam...okay...extend my greetings to them...bye."

...Not again. Another charity case. I felt bad about it. Mrs Johnson appeared to be wasting her money. I knew she didn't do it everyday, but right in my presence, almost a million naira was gone. I was doing the calculations in my head: twenty bags of rice were worth no less than two hundred and fifty thousand naira, and that was besides the cartons of tinned tomatoes and cash... And she couldn't spare the son of man a loan? A fraudulent loan or not. My phone rang just then, but it was a call from the network operators, one of those advert-carrying calls I never bothered to listen to. While contemplating on what to do with the call, Mrs Johnson opened one of her desk closets and brought out a black nylon bag. Placing this on her desk, some of its contents spilled out, naira bundles! I pretended to take the call while watching her next move. So she had been pulling my legs? I could already picture how I would bolt out of her life once I got the money. The time to move to other pastures was nigh, yea, the set time was nigh.

She disinterestedly counted the bundles: one, two, three, four...and stopped. I wondered why as I watched her push the bundles to the side of her desk with the back of her right hand. I was through with my fake call, as alert as a cat preying on a mouse.

"I'm feeling a bit tired now," she said, "I am very lazy nowadays, when it comes to counting money."

I coughed slightly, unsure of what to say. I could help out if she needed some assistance in that regards. I was so convinced that I would be leaving with some of that money on her desk. Her next statement effectively dispelled this assumption.

"It's a pity I won't be able to help you at the moment, I am sure some concerns will arise that may require my assistance, that's exactly what this money is intended for."

She had dashed my hopes yet again; she had allowed my hopes to rise and just when I was at the brink, removed the tiny cord on which they anchored. Why was this woman so wicked? Why was she so heartless? I was going to pay her back in her own coin, I decided; I hadn't had any better plan for her before.

I arose with a wan smile; how I managed to maintain it still baffles me even now. I held her gaze before speaking.

"I will be leaving now, ma; I have to try other places."

"Please do," she replied. "I was about using the Ladies." She arose too.

Very conscious of the bundles sprawled on her desk, I turned and made for the door. She said something I couldn't understand and went in the direction of her personal toilet ensuite the office. Almost immediately I had closed the door did I hear the door to the toilet bang shut too. I did quick calculations and after a quick count to ten, during which I didn't stop moving, I pretended to have missed something, suddenly clutching my pockets frantically.

"Are you searching for something, sir?" Mrs Johnson's secretary asked.

"Yea, think I left my phone in the office." I had already turned back towards the office, knowing the secretary will offer to help retrieve my lost phone.

With great speed, yet careful not to make a sound, I turned the door knob and walked into the office. Of course, the phone was on the chair I had sat upon, deliberately left behind as an alibi in the case of things going off-plan, and the bundles were on the table - so many of them. The latter was my actual target and I didn't waste time in going for them. I stuffed the bundles in every available space; my hip pockets, belt, inner jacket pockets and even arm pits before setting out. I didn't mind the impression my suddenlty stuffed up appearance would create before the secretary; she wouldn't dare accost me. I would have long been on the run before the theft will be discovered, even before Mrs Johnson would emerge from the toilet.

"Are you okay, sir?" The secretary asked as I exited Mrs Johnson's office, into hers.

"Yes, you know your madam can be sometimes funny." I didn't break a stride as I spoke. I didn't even get her response before leaving the office. There was a security man in the passage, but I was past him in a moment with nothing more than a smile. I practically rolled down the stairs, as I avoided anything that could delay my progression. I was out of the building in no time and dashing for my car. The car was in an agreeable mood, and was alive at first turning of the key. A few more seconds and I would be out of the compound, into freedom.

So much could still happen. Mrs Johnson could have emerged from the toilet, noticed and confirmed the theft. If swift enough in decision making, she could promptly direct the sentry at the gate to prevent all exits while quick investigations were made. The secretary won't waste time in directing the searchlight on me. I had returned to the office when, unknown to her, her madam was in the toilet; I had emerged stuffed up, rigid and in a hurry. She would relay all this to a surprised Mrs Johnson, who would take immediate action.

Continues...

But, would she even miss the money? Money that she didn't even know how much? She had acted typically when she failed to count the money. The rich, we had heard, weren't as conscientious about keeping accounts as those who had to pinch from scarce funds. She could pass only a mere glance at the bundles, arrange them back in the bag and return them to the drawer. She could do the spending bit by bit until the money had been totally expended and will never know how much it was, or how much was lost.

With this thought, I relaxed a bit as I drove towards the gate, but my fears returned when the sentry didn't run to open the gate as was usual when I horned. And his face was unsmiling. What was happening?

"Oga, why were you speeding like that?" He asked, leaning beside my window to face me. I didn't even know I was going at a speed above normal.

I gave him a smile: "Maybe I'm too eager to meet up with an appointment. I didn't even know I was going too fast."

"Please, be careful," he said, showing tobacco stained teeth in a sudden smile.

I held my breathe as I watched him go open the gate, and didn't realize I still held it until I noisily exhaled outside the gate. I didn't return his wave as I moved the car onto the road and sped off.

The money, later counted, amounted to two hundred and fifty thousand naira. There were seven bundles of fifty thousand naira each tucked all around my body. This was going to be enough for a while, I thought; enough to pay off some pressing debts and meet some imminent needs.

This appeared the case for a while, actually two weeks, during which I had no contact with Mrs Johnson. It wasn't unusual; maybe she was too busy with business, maybe she was out of the country, it all amounted to no concern of mine. During this period, I had concluded too - a view supported by my friends in the business - that she didn't miss the money, and was beginning to live my normal life devoid of caution when I received a call from Mrs Johnson.

"Paul, how are you?" She said cheerily. All was obviously well.

"I'm fine, ma; hope you are, too," I replied, still not totally assured.

"Yes, I am. It's been a while you got in touch?"

"I'm sorry, ma; have just been a bit too busy."

"Really? I wonder what you've been at."

"Em...some personal stuffs, ma."

"Like spending my stolen money?"

Silence.

"Are you there?"

Silence.

"Can you hear me?"

Silence.

"This silly network," she hissed and ended the call.

Did she really believe the network was responsible, or was this another case of her pulling my legs? This woman was a witch. She had to be to have led me on for so long before baring her fangs. What did she expect me to do now? Now that I had spent over half of the loot.

My phone rang again. I considered not picking the call, but that would mean my initial silence was never about the network. I pressed the answer button and lifted the phone up to my ear.

"Paul, my dear," she began, "did you really think I believed the network was responsible for your earlier silence? What happened to my two hundred and fifty thousand naira?"

Continues...

Flakkydagirl, Kingphilip, Lalasticlala

I was doomed. So she even knew the exact amount? So much for the rich and poor account keeping. What could have even led me to believe such in the first place? How could they have become rich in the first place, and how could they have preserved their wealth if they were as careless with money as widely believed?

"You are silent once again, but I know you're there. You have until tomorrow to return my money, or the consequences could be dire. Have a nice day."

Did Mrs Johnson just threaten me? And in a tone I had never heard her use before? These rich people! They could be so mean behind those polished exteriors.

But I had nothing to fear. I would simply lie low for a while. She didn't know where I lived, or did she? Mrs Johnson had over the course of time proven so clever that I wasn't sure what she knew or didn't anymore.

I didn't hear from her again, until three days later. It was in the evening. I had been indoor all day, and was preparing for my night outing when my phone rang. I answered the call and listened.

"I gave you a day to return my money and you've taken three," she began without introduction, "You are forcing me to go the hard way with you. I don't joke with money, young man!"

Why did she hate me so much? She didn't joke with money where I was concerned, but could freely donate to those unverified humanitarian courses without batting an eyelid?

"If you think hiding indoors all day will save you," she continued after a while of silence, "then you are in for an unpleasant surprise. I am giving you one final chance at redemption; use the whole of tomorrow to comb everywhere you can and return my money. If I'm yet to receive my money by 10 a.m day after tomorrow, be ready to dance to the music." She signed off with a hiss before ending the call.

I was done for! I was neck deep already in unpleasant surprises. The revelation that my hideout was common knowledge was sufficient to smash an already deflated ego. She must have assigned some spies on the lookout, to know I hadn't left the house all day. What next could I do? I called Deolu and narrated the latest twist in my ordeal to him. He was the organizer of the night party I was making plans to attend, but it no longer seemed wise to wait till we met.

"It is unfortunate, but yawa don gas O!" Deolu exclaimed when I was done with my narration. "When things get to such extents, it is best to go off radar, temporarily or permanently.

"But where can I go to?"

"Your hometown should have been the best option, but..."

"That's a no no for me O!"

"Yes, I know. You could try the lesser developed parts of Lagos; Epe, Ajah or Ikorodu. Without a car, you could get lost in any of these locations and no one will find out."

I gave this suggestion serious consideration and decided it was the right one. I barely knew any of these locations, but having been to Ikorodu twice, I opted for it. There was no more time to waste, I had to start packing same night. I packed as much clothes as I could into a leather bag, some personal effects and documents went into another. I carefully arranged what remained of the two hundred and fifty thousand in the inner pockets of my jacket and was good to go. The other problem was shaking off my stalker. For Mrs Johnson to have known that I hadn't left my house all day meant someone was on the lookout. I had to shake off this person, but what if they were more than one? I tried to recall similar situations in some movies I had watched, but knew immediately that I lacked the requisite skill and equipment to successfully pull off any of those moves. I lacked even a pair of binoculars, to start with. Then, an idea dawned; I would drive to the party as planned, in my car; then leave in another car. There would be a third car awaiting me somewhere, which would eventually be the one to take me to Ikorodu. My car would remain parked at the party venue, a deception that will only be discovered after others had driven home after the party. This plan seemed so good I felt my tummy kick in excitement. I communicated same to Deolu, who was in instant agreement; he promised to tie the other loose ends.

Continues...

Lalasticlala, Kingphilip, Flakkydagirl...
Under the cover of absolute darkness, I moved my luggage to the car and set off for the party. The place was already filling up, but that didn't prevent me from locating Deolu.

"Don't worry, everything is under control," he said, with a hug and turned to give some instructions to the sound engineer.

It was thirty minutes later he came to where I was seated and pulled me to a corner.

"Once you see me throw my cap, just go out through that exit," he pointed at a door supposed to be used only by the DJs and sound engineers. "Someone will be waiting outside for you. Every other thing from there has been taken care of."

"Oh thanks, you've been a true brother."

"Yea, now let me have your car keys so we could arrange the transfer of your luggage to the appropriate car."

I handed the keys to him and tried to enjoy the party as much as I could. The cap was thrown too soon. I arose and excused myself from the two beauties with which I shared a table. It was case of survival first, pleasure could come later.

A Honda Accord was parked in wait for me. It was the driver of this who handed my car keys to me. He informed me that my luggage was already in the other vehicle, and that this had already set forth. Deolu didn't even bother coming out to meet me again before my departure, he had so much confidence in his plans.

It was easy from there. Obviously, we were not being trailed; the roads were fairly free that night and it would have been easy to discover had any car been following us. We stopped at Obalende, looked around again to detect any unusual movement, then went below the Third Mainland bridge. After trekking some metres to the pedestrian bridge across the canal, we crossed over and trekked a little bit more to King George V road, where the other car awaited me.

I felt a sense of freedom for the first time since my departure from home that evening, as we negotiated the curves and got back on the bridge to Surulere. This time, the destination wasn't my house, the destination was Ikorodu.
*** *** ***
I was finally free from Mrs Johnson, I thought, as I moved into Pero's house in Ikorodu. He was a friend of Deolu's too, and had made his fortune from same trade. Pero, actually Peter, was neither married nor in any committed relationship, but he never passed the night alone. According to him, he sometimes had two ladies on the same bed with him.

Pero had hit it big in Ikeja when he duped a Whiteman of fifty thousand pounds. The victim had called in the Police leading to him fleeing Lagos. He had laid low for six months, a period during which he effected all necessary fund transfers and a total identity change. An obituary poster had even emerged then of how his pseudonym had been involved in a ghastly motor accident, with his remains burnt beyond recognition. He had waited until his contacts in the Police informed him of a closure of his case file before returning to Lagos, this time to Ikorodu, where he bought a house and tried to do some legitimate business.

It was only a front, he informed me when I asked how the business was going. "Once a smart guy, always a smart guy." He now did most of his jobs on the internet, something he promised to teach me.

I thought him too outspoken for one in the trade, but that was because of the glowing way Deolu had spoken about me, and how he trusted Deolu.

I was with Pero for two days before he got me a place of my own: a little room with a bathroom, toilet and kitchen ensuite. It was there I will spend the next three weeks.

Mrs Johnson's call came in three days after my arrival at Ikorodu, it was my first night in my new place. As had usual, she did all the talking.

"You are deceiving yourself to think you can run away from me, James alias Paul..." Another bombshell. "You've had the chance to change, but since you have chosen to remain stubbornly stuck to your old ways, we will meet soon. Have a nice night, my dear."

When she ended the call, I felt deflated. It wasn't like she was my first victim, it wasn't like others hadn't issued even harsher threats than her, it wasn't even like she was being verbally abrasive, but there was something about Mrs Johnson's words that got at me in a bad way. It was like the case of the proverbial duck who, unlike the hen, reacted very minimally when her duckling was stolen by a hawk, resulting in the hawk being instructed by her mom to return the duckling. I had had others who threatened fire and brimstone, but their desperation was clear for all to see. With Mrs Johnson, it was different; there was this calculatedly calm and assured way she spoke that was greatly troubling. I couldn't bear hearing her voice again. I copied all my sim contacts to the phone, broke the sim and threw away the pieces.

I was finally free.

Life in Ikorodu was simple, but great. It was much more comfortable than what obtained at Surulere. Power supply was more constant, the environment was less noisy, the air was freer and the price of commodities much cheaper. There were very good houses around and new ones sprang up everyday. Yet, rent remained low. I had gotten a new sim and kept in constant touch with Deolu. Most of my time was with Pero, from whom I was learning new ropes in the act of scamming. Ikorodu was good; it was a place I should have relocated to much earlier.

Continues...

How beautifully constructed this is. I love this tale and its moral lessons. More grace to your vision.

Akposb:
How beautifully constructed this is. I love this tale and its moral lessons. More grace to your vision.

thanks, you're welcome...

Lalasticlala, Seun, Ishilove, Obinnau....

But, on my third Sunday in Ikorodu, while I was trying to boil some yams for breakfast, I heard a knock on the door. I wondered who could be knocking so early and went to get the door. There were two men and a lady there, all clutching the trademark leather handbags associated with the Jehovah's Witnesses. I laughed on beholding this sight. These people surely didn't know how to pick their targets; who had time for them that morning? The lady had on a sweet smile.

"Good morning, brother," she said, like she was the spokesperson for the trio. Was that a ploy to gain my attention? Using a beautiful lady to launch the attack?

"Good morning," I replied, determined not to listen to them. "See, I'm very busy right now; can we make it some other time?"

"Now is the accepted day of salvation, tomorrow may be too late," one of the men, the fairer one said.

I observed his faded and bulbous shirt, securely tucked in a similarly conditioned trouser, his expansive tie that could conveniently accomodate three of mine spread out, and his obviously second hand shoes, shiningly polished though peeling at the sides and decided that this was one to be ignored. But there was a red flag somewhere; did Jehovah's Witnesses do salvation messages? Well, I wasn't sure.

"I am cooking right now and will proceed to shower afterwards. I might even use the toilet. I don't have the time at the moment. I'm not even sure of what's coming up afterwards."

"We can wait, sir," the lady said with that sweet smile again.

"Really? Then suit yourselves." I noticed a strain of anger on the face of the darker man, but ignored it. I never invited them in the first place to be mandated to please them.

They waited for me to finish cooking, they were patient as I bathed, in fact I couldn't help wondering if they were okay upstairs, after all there were many other houses they could check on. I called Pero in the bathroom and informed him of the early morning seige, and he laughed hard, promising to come to my rescue with some bottles of wine. I looked forward to this. After getting dressed in a tie and dye buba and soro, I went out to inform my unwanted visitors that I would be with them after eating. The darker complexioned man was on phone with someone when I emerged from my room, but terminated the conversation the moment he saw me. From what I had overheard, he didn't sound like a Jehovah's Witness at all, but how exactly did they sound? After all, Jehovah's Witnesses had a life outside witnessing. Some were bankers, businessmen and women and even law enforcement agents... The latter struck me; were they supposed to do such work, were they supposed to work with the law? I had heard something to the contrary elsewhere; something about their insistence on abstaining from any other sorts of allegiance aside to Jehovah. I wasn't really sure, but the man had sounded like a policeman. The lady's smile soon made me forget this suspicion. She assured me that they would still be there when I was through with my breakfast. It was a highly unneeded assurance. I wished Pero would come soon,

And they waited.

The lady was the one on phone when next I went outside to them. Like before, the call was over before I got to them. I had also been on phone with Pero, he was going to be with me in ten minutes.

"Let's do introductions," the lady began after I was seated with them under the mango tree beside my house.

"Please, let's make this as fast as possible," I replied rudely. "I told you earlier that my day could be uncertain; a friend will be here to pick me up very soon."

"That won't be happening, I can assure you," the darker complexioned man said, to my utmost shock. Then he added: "Jehovah will see to that."

I relaxed a bit, hoping Pero would show up that moment.

"I am Rachael," the lady continued, like she was never interrupted.

"I am Jacob," said the lighter complexioned man.

"And I'm David," said the darker one.

I smiled: "I almost thought you were going to say Joseph." None of them seemed to understand my joke, or they thought it out of place, considering their serious countenances. "I'm James." At this, they exchanged glances. "All well?"

The dark complexioned one sniggered. "I almost thought you were going to say Paul." This time, their countenances brightened.

The game was up. Now, it all made sense; their endless, even senseless patience; those hastily aborted phone conversations, the exchanges of glances, everything! Once again, I had been outsmarted. And I knew it was Mrs Johnson's handiwork. This woman!

I arose: "I'm coming, I need to get something indoors..."

"That won't be happening, I can assure you," the darker one said, his tone taking on a menacing edge. I remembered he had made same statement earlier.

"Can you, please, sit down?" The lady pronounced slowly, yet forcefully. There was no more of that sweet tone.

"As I said earlier, today is the accepted day of salvation, tomorrow will be too late," the lighter complexioned man said.

I sat back, feeling my chest almost ripping due to the intensity of my heartbeats. If only the ground could open that moment, if only I could grow wings and fly away. I could see the outline of my neighbour's wife peeping at us from behind their shutter nets. Like me, their family rarely attended church services. It was now obvious why the trio of "witnesses" chose me and me only for their message that morning. I heard the sound of an advancing car, Pero's car obviously from it's cool, powerful hum. He couldn't rescue me this time; even in Ikorodu, Mrs Johnson had outsmarted me.

*** *** ***

Now behind bars, I wish I could turn back the hands of the clock. Now, I understand why the bible said even God's foolishness exceeds the widest extents of man's wisdom. Mrs Johnson was always a step ahead of me. Unknown to me, she had extensively investigated my multi-vested claims at handling contracts and discovered them to be absolutely false. This discovery had prompted even further investigations until she unravelled how I left my first and only legitimate job. It was with this knowledge, yet with a genuine desire to see me come to some good that she convinced the contractor handling her project to allow me handle the plumbing works. My performance in mobilizing the plumbers who did the job had impressed her so greatly that Mrs Johnson had planned a handsome reward for me. This was to come in both cash and kind, with the ultimate aim being to set me on the path to legitimate income. I scuttled this when I went demanding for a loan. My claims to repayment had made it clear that my intentions were virtually insincere. She knew too much about me to believe any of the lies I was reeling out. Leaving the money on her desk had been part of the plan; she had wanted to be sure how desperate I was - a vital ingredient for crime; and I hadn't disappointed. I felt so silly when I was shown the CCTV footage of how I returned to the empty office to help myself to some of her cash. Conversations between Deolu and a friend in a restaurant had led to the discovery of my location. None of them was aware of being stalked. Getting my address was only a matter of some further digging. I had been smart, but had been greatly outsmarted. What a jerk I had been!

My case comes up for hearing tomorrow. The charges are quite humongous, big names for what I considered petty overtures, and I'm scared. The lawyer gotten for me by Deolu talked tough when we met yesterday, but I don't see him doing much. What arguments can he give against evidence from Madam Actress, the hotel staff, the spare parts importer and others who had been contacted by Mrs Johnson's lawyer? What argument can he give against the CCTV footage of my thievery?

Mrs Johnson is leaving no stone unturned. Her motivation? The desire to see justice served. From what I overheard when she visited the police station in which I was being held, she is determined to send out a message with my case, a message to the Nigerian youth that crime never pays. She wants to send out a message that crime is destructive; she wants to send out the message that while hardwork may be slow, it is the surest way to sustainable success. But I know those policemen and women weren't listening; if they were, they wouldn't have released and destroyed the statement of that rapist just because his father came with enough crispy notes to go round.

THE END...


Kingphilip, Flakkydagirl...

Wow wow wow and more wow

Ohibenemma you never disappoints with your piece

Thanks for sharing.. Twas enjoyable all through the read not forgetting the lessons accompanying it

Lalasticlala, ishilove, Obinnau

Wow what a wonderful piece,i learnt alot Ohibenemma thanks for sharing this lovely story,more grace&inspirations sir.

superb piece...most thrilling...

kingphilip:
Wow wow wow and more wow

Ohibenemma you never disappoints with your piece

Thanks for sharing.. Twas enjoyable all through the read not forgetting the lessons accompanying it

Lalasticlala, ishilove, Obinnau

Big thanks, sir!

virtuedagirl:
Wow what a wonderful piece,i learnt alot Ohibenemma thanks for sharing this lovely story,more grace&inspirations sir.

Glad you find it impactful: wonder why the mods don't. Please, help call on them!

Lalasticlala, ishilove.

emitheo:
superb piece...most thrilling...

Thanks!