This work of fiction is the creation of Olzeus®. All rights to this work belong to the writer.
This is strictly a work of fiction although specific geographical locations have been mentioned.

It was a particularly hot day in the middle of November. Uzoma was wondering if the heat in Maiduguri was focused on his forehead. Moreso, he was very hungry. His hunger was made worse by the sights of kilishi and nunu showcased in stalls as he walked along Damboa road. "Wetin I wan chop this night?" He soliloquized as he trudged, hunger pangs hitting his bowels like an amateur drummer, unsure of suitable beats for the rhythm in his head.
There were three more bus stops before his lodge. He needed to get home quickly to satiate this hunger but his legs wearied from the strain of the trek. If only he had put his wallet in his pocket that morning, he would have had a quick snack and also taken the boss home, he thought to himself. It was his third month here and it had been much better than he had envisaged. He remembered now, with a wry smile on his face when he went to the notice board of the student affairs department to check his posting. Borno? He had shivered with dread as he imagined different things. He had thought of the heat and all the horrible stories he had heard about the Boko Haram sect.
"Guy, this one you set face like cold akamu. Wetin happen?" Chuka asked him as he slumped on the sofa by the balcony. All he could do was heave a deep sigh, while he closed his eyes as he took a deep breath. He was exhausted. He imagined that this was how Esau felt when he sold Jacob his birthright. "Guy, abeg you fit hell me warm that beans for pot? Like this eh! I for chop one full goat", he spoke to Chuka in his best pity tone hoping it would work on him. "No be only goat. You for add turkey", Chuka replied laughing. "Beans wey dey my belle, I think say you go chop as you commot, shebi you dey do eyes right for road as you see all the kilishi and suya. If you like no go find something chop".
Uzoma felt like a man who had run down a valley in search of water only to meet a swampy, grassy patch. "This must be one of those days mama talked about", he said to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

"Who is this? Okay. Yes I got the package. O yes, you surpassed our expectation and I think our business relationship should be strengthened. Let's meet at 8pm tonight. Okay then".
As Adonye Brown ended the call, he thought of many things. Life had not always been like this. Born into a family of fishmongers by the banks of the Sombreiro, he had run off at thirteen with nothing but the clothes he had on and big dreams in his head. His first home was an abandoned, rusty speedboat that had been left to rot by the jetty close to the Port Harcourt township. He shook his head as he reminisced, stretching towards the bottle of brandy brigadier as he took a huge gulp and grunted. This is one habit he had yet to conquer. Drinking straight from the bottle. He had started by picking up scrap metal from the docks and selling them to the rich Alhajis who had dumps by the naval secondary school road. Inheriting the knack and wittiness for haggling from his mother, it was not long before he started making big profits, creating his niche in the market. He smiled now as he remembered when he went to pay for a house on club road. The landlord had asked if he was paying for his boss with a hint of suspicion in his tone. Those were the days before brick and steel ate up the vegetation along Odili road where he has amassed a fortune in real estate. Money had come. First in trickles and then flowed endlessly like the Zambezi. He had reunited with his family at thirty-three, already a wealthy young man. But there had always been a quest for more. He desired influence and power and like all his endeavours, he had put in his all. Politics had not been as easy as business. Odein, his childhood friend whose peers considered a near-do-well had gone through the political ranks. Starting as a councillor and now in the house of representatives. Adonye always felt envy when they met. He could never really understand how Odein had come to build such following that he was always recommended for political office. Worse, he believed that Odein was not in his class and therefore, he could not kowtow and learn.
Money had opened a lot of doors, protecting his interests and stifling the efforts of his competitors. But it had been different for politics. He knew that he had been naive in the past but he had decided now to change strategy.

I would like to ask everyone here for your thoughts and criticisms on my writing. Sorry I have not been able to write since the last time. Cause is, I have a day job and it's really tasking. Pls, pls let me know what you think about my story so I can be motivated to continue.

Chief Henry, his godfather had been murdered along Lawson street a few days to the last elections and that has changed the calculations. He had been so angry that he swore revenge in front of the cameras. His opponent, Dr Owili had seized the moment and accused him of rabble-rousing. That was a hard lesson. It was the only time he had been so close to victory having secured his party's ticket for the first time after three previous attempts. Worse still, Chief Henry's death has left him without a viable platform
He had to begin anew. His new approach would be three pronged; philanthropy, huge PR and a formidable army of boys that could deliver on election day. He had toyed with the latest idea for a long time and his mind was made up. He would build and service a formidable army. One that would be at his beck and call. One that would be able to cause crisis when the tide goes against him. Chief always said they could be used as a bargaining chip and he could see clearly now. He had always been engaged in philanthropy. Due to his humble beginnings, he was always quick to empathize with the poor in society. This time the motive would be different. He would pay the media to be present when he visits the old people home in the old township, the motherless babies home at elelenwo and at his birthday where he will fete the poor and homeless. It would work. He was sure now. The people needed a name they could relate to. They needed street credibility. He had three years to plan and failure was not on the cards. NOT THIS TIME.

As Osini pulled the trigger and waited for the recoil, he knew this was a head shot. A fast kill. He had learned from experience that the second shot was only necessary if the target twitched a limb. This one did not. As soon as the sharp cry died from his target, he tucked the magnum into the elastic band on his arm underneath his shirt, turned, lit his dunhill switch and disappeared into the night.

It was the prayer cry of the muezzin that roused Uzoma. It was late evening. He woke up famished. Rushing to the refrigerator, he took out a cold bottle of water and gulped.