NOBODY can stop Old Harry in his desperate mission to exterminate those persons whose names are on his list. Absolutely, nobody! Not even the law, demons or even God! Yes, ‘God.’ He once, audaciously, said, ‘‘Not even God can stop me.’’ And he wrinkled his nose in sheer disdain and irreverence.

In his closet now, backing the miniature window that lets in the rays of the morning sun, Old Harry is transformed into a silhouette and his shadow before him sprawls on the floor, miming simultaneously with him as he fondles with a pistol!

He is planning his next attack! As he does this, his mind time travels to the events of last week — how he gunned down the senator representing Anambra Central Senatorial District because the lawmaker failed to fulfil his own part of their bargain: paying him the remaining sum of three million Naira for his ‘job’ of taking down another top contender for the same seat in the Red Chamber! Not even the lawmaker’s ‘tight’ security nor his CCTV was able to stop and detect his movement! He is simply elusive to these things. He defies technology and human security. The crocodile tattoo on his nape is his talisman. One he touches it, he’s good to go!

And so, when he entered the senator’s compound and walked past the team of policemen, thugs with broad chests and large sinews and a pack of large, angry-looking Alsatians, nobody noticed him. Those dogs, even with their spiritual eyes, did not feel his presence. What a charm!

Entering the senator’s room, he said, ‘‘Hi.’’

As the senator turned on his bed with his blurred eyes open, he added, ‘‘The owner of the garden has come to take what belongs to him.’’

Boom!

The sound of gunshot was followed by a splatter of blood on the mattress and on the wall, forming amorphous shapes.

Old Harry usually says ‘Hi’ to anybody that he’s going to kill. He’s killed many people, most of them notable men in the society. Politicians hire him as their assassin, to take down whomever they think is the thorn in the flesh of their political ambitions. But woe betide you if you failed to fulfil your own part of the bargain! And that was exactly the senator’s case.

This ‘Hi’ cliché started after his widowed mother was raped and killed by three masked men.

It was a very cold night, and his mother had returned home earlier than usual. They had their dinner and, before they went to bed, out of nowhere, three masked men appeared and said, ‘‘Hi.’’ Before his mother could say anything or shout, they descended on her, had their turns, killed her with a pistol and left poor Kingsley( Old Harry) in a perpetual sorrow.

Since then, he vowed to be a hoodlum and kill whomever that offends him.

He adopted the pseudonym, ‘Old Harry,’ which means ‘Devil,’ because, as he said, he has already sold his soul to Devil! He now has no human conscience. Man has pushed him to the wall, and he is not ready to take it lightly with man, too. Fate has thrown in the hat in the ring, and he is ready for the fight, for the war. Like Hercules, he is ready to cut the Gordian Knot, and he doesn’t mind whose ox is gored. Even if fate threw in the towel now, he is not ready to take that. They have pinched him where it pains him the most.

Meanwhile, all the senator’s security men have been arrested for alleged assassination of the top lawmaker. They could not account for the person that killed their boss. And they were the only people in the compound at the time of the incident. Circumstantial evidence could make the legal ropes descend slowly over their necks if a lawyer, who knows his onions, did not defend them!

Old Harry steps out into the road in his Phyno’s Alobam black polo, a blue denim jean trousers, a baseball cap and a pair of black moccasin.

A group of mischievous young boys are running around playfully, laughing and throwing stones at one another.

One slightly heavy stone accidentally hits Old Harry on the nape, exactly the spot where the crocodile tattoo lies. He just slumps on the road and kisses the dust!

The young boys all flee, and people form a circle around his corpse, like vultures would congregate around carcasses.

When the police later appear, they discover a gun perfectly strapped to his waist under the neck of his trousers. They sigh in despondency for having lost a prime suspect. But they are yet to know what led to this man’s death.

Well, I think by now Old Harry knows why he died a shameful death. He’ll be standing before God now to explain why he had to show such irreverence to His Creator.

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