₦airaland Forum

tohero:
I am already in love with what you've begin with, definitely following till the end.

As a suggestion, the past and present actions could have been written simultaneously. Having two genres interwoven. The love for one genre will keep one going with the other.

I should do that, but the storyline would not allow that. For after the Prologue, only very little sufficed.

Thank you so much, sir, for following.

rapmike:
Larrysun, you no dey try. Since the day I ask you make you come check my story, you no pass comment. Hmnn... its not good oh!



There is God oooh!

I am coming over.

Flakeey:
LarrySun LarrySun...hmmmm you are killing the story softly...

*still reading*. I'll be back

Thank you so much, ma'am.

hisbae:
am your biggest fan Larry.

Wow! Thank a lot, ma'am. I saw your PM.

zinylizzy:
Larry,Happy Easter...kudos

Thank you, Izzy. You're awesome, ma'am.

oghenekome51:
Lol! Ugo fear thief brain! Thanks a bunch for d update, larry!

Thank you, ma'am.

Your siggy keeps me smiling.

Nickymezor:
Nice as always ...Hapi Easter mr Larry

Thank you so much, Nicky! I'm so sorry I'm replying this now.

I hope you had some splendid Easter celebrations, too.

God bless you, ma'am.

stuff46:
Nice one sire! More Wisdom to you.

Thank you so much, brother from another mister.

zyzxx:
Ameen

Wow, where u picking dis words from larrysun
Wow, u are really Gud

I believe u can play all role in real life

more wisdom bro

LOL! I'm just a small cog in a large literary wheel.

seyitanhep1:
She writes!, good, I have searching for more stories to read. Kizzy expect me soon.


Thanks for welcoming me.
But wait, I like Black o. How can you tell someone you want to steal from him? Chai, bad pikin. I guess that is his trademark ™, because this ain't the first time he's using this kinda distraction. Kudos to you Larry boss

He's gradually growing a repertoire of criminal intelligence. Thanks for the text message.

JeffreyJamez:
wow......this could as well be the beginning of a notorious crime syndicate......nice one larry.

It could be the beginning of a terrible scorn.

Mourin:
finally got here, what a nice story so far, more mb 2 ur data

Wow! Mourin is here! You're welcome, ma'am. Your signature gives me some serious thoughts about you.

Jollyjoy:
Wow!thanx 4 d wondaful update larry

Thank you, ma'am. I'm only trying my best.

Happy birthday in arrears, Kizzykeziah. Many years in abundant glory and prosperity. God bless you, ma'am.

Nice story you're writing. I love the originality. It's a plausible story; it happens a lot in this part of the world.

That scene where Tolu's mother was telling her husband that she would not tend to him if mosquitoes bit his bald head and he began running malaria; that scene really cracked me up. So hilarious!

I came across a place where you used the word 'phantom' instead of 'fathom'.

Keep up the good work. You're doing great.

mollusco:
I must register my displeasure. Dami, is Nairaland that filled with mediocrity? Sample the nonsense on offer, and I don't even rate a vote.

I understand that I don't update enough (writing for blog, editing, etc), but, Christ

I understand your points, big bro. The truth is: many of us do not take the time to cross-check what we have written before posting them; let alone the fact that there is an abundance of 'writers' who do not even know the basic rules of writing.

The only reason why you are not rated (I assume that is related to the Writer of the Month votes) is (just as you have rightly said) because you are not consistent in your updates. You've not been allowing your works to remain on the first page of the section. I'm sure many writers would be very much inspired to up their skills if they come across your works. I, personally, learn a lot from your amazing writing skills. Reading your work is like drinking an elixir. I've had such feelings with the works of beautiful writers like Ishilove, OMA4U, StealthIdeals, SenbonZakuraKageyoshi (I hope I spelt that correctly), Whitemosquito, Royver,Vantee20 and Princesa. These are very careful writers I admire; they write with unique styles that never fail to thrill me. I've been humbled by their works. Just like you, they've written classics, I mean literary classics. And they've carved good reputations for themselves here in Nairaland. There are several other people though, even some I don't know.

All you need, sir, is to devote more attention to your work. Doing that would be akin to doing a lot of people (yours truly inclusive) a great favour.

God bless you, sir.

phabulux:
I'm not supporting you. What I want to say may seem to be in agreement with what you wrote. if it is, I have no apology. I kept leaving this section because of the absence of common sense. Poor grammar, wrong syntax, laxity of symbological affiliations, etc.

Ah, I did not say this: Ibon!

I don't understand what you mean, sir. Is the story poorly written? Is it grammatically wanting? Kindly let me know where I erred so that I may make amendments.

Thank you, sir.

*Chapter One - IX (Continued)*

The boys quickly caught up with him and pounded him blindly. The rain was still falling hard. Black tried to slip away from his attackers but they drew him back. They beat him without mercy. For a moment, Black thought he was going to be accorded a similar fate with the thief that was burnt months earlier. He was mollified at the unlikeliness of such thing occurring. He thanked his luck that rain was falling this time; the downpour would not allow any intended water to ignite. Then a scary thought occurred to him. What If the boys carried him to a place protected against the rain and set him ablaze? He prayed such wisdom would not be endowed on the cruel boys. But the beatings were getting out of hand. A punch had already sent a tooth down his throat. He coughed and spat out the bloody canine. One of the boys got a wet stick and struck Black on the head with it. His head split open and fresh blood gushed out. Another blow at the temple sent his head into the mud. Imprinting his face in the wet sand, fortunately quick thinking enough to close his eyes and his mouth before making the sharp impact. Raising his bloody face out of its concave image, snorting soluble sand out of his nostrils, blowing caked mud off his lips, and blinking the murky water from his eyes. The pains were becoming so excruciating that Black thought they were going to beat him to death. And truly, the boys were bent on beating him senseless; they intended to teach him a lesson that would be forever imprinted on his memory. Maybe after tonight, he would not attempt to steal from anyone else again. But, evidently, the boys didn't know Black—they didn't know that his thievery was pathological.

Black wished Basket would come for his rescue as the boys pounded and kicked him. But he knew that Basket would not come; he might be deeply asleep by now. He was beginning to lose consciousness. The money he had taken slipped off his hand and spread on the damp ground. But it appeared as if the boys didn't need the money anymore. They had found a scape goat in Black. They would beat him up until they were tired; and the boys would not be getting tired anytime soon.

Then at the time when Black believed that the beatings would not stop, he heard the sweetest voice of the moment, the voice he had been aching, hoping and praying to hear—the voice of Basket.

"Blackie! Blackie!! Blackie!!!"

Black initially thought he was hearing things that were not there; sounds that his head had only managed to conjure due to the extreme beatings inflicted on him. But he heard his name again in another three close successions.

"Basket!" He managed to scream out. As he did so, he felt another excruciating pain in his side. But he didn't mind the pain. Basket was here! "I'm here! Two nice stranger are dancing with me in the rain."

Basket followed the sound of the voice and came upon two boys beating up his friend. Filled with immediate rage, he flung away his umbrella and charged at the boys. Reaching them, he seized them one after the other by their heads and tossed them away as if they were pillows.

The boys flew in the air like kites and landed on either sides of the road. They were initially dazed at what had happened as they tried to determine the supernatural element that threw them like that. The boys, acting against cowardice, scrambled to their feet and rushed to attack their attacker but stopped in their tracks. One look at Basket's massive fists and enraged eyes was enough to cool any hasty temper they might have been nursing. Basket looked at Black lying on the floor; although the rain was already washing away the blood on Peter, Basket still knew that his friend was not in a good shape. The terrible boys had done an incredible job on him. His anger for the boys intensified. How dare they lay their filthy hands on his friend?

Basket grabbed one of the boys and sent him a hard punch, he could feel a bone crack under his knuckle as he administered the vicious blow. The boy cried out in pain. Before the other boy could think, Basket kicked his legs from under him. The second boy fell and hit his head on the slippery hard ground. Basket left the two boys writhing with pain and went to his friend. He bent over Black and called his name again. But to his surprise, Black groaned and smiled at him.

"What took you so long?"

The rain had stopped now and everywhere was strangely quiet.

"You didn't tell me you were going out. I searched everywhere for you. I came out here looking for you shortly after the rain started. I was afraid something terrible had happened to you."

"Of course not; as you can see, it is something pleasant that happened to me. The boys gave me a VIP treatment. Kindly thank them for me."

"I've already shown my gratitude for their kind hospitality."

Black groaned again. " I think the bastards broke my ribs, but I'll survive. I've experienced more terrible pains in the past."

Basket smiled at his friend; he knew how strong his friend's spirit was. That was one of the numerous qualities he admired in the small boy. Black was an extraordinary boy who lived beyond his pains, either physical or psychological.

Then suddenly, Basket felt a sharp pain as one of the boys hit him with a stick on the back. He gave a great roar of fury. Turning around, he grabbed the boy by the neck, and with a power beyond ordinary, his thick fingers began to squeeze, lifting the unfortunate boy off his feet. The boy clawed at the iron grip on his neck; every attempt to release himself was useless. Then Basket flung him away the second time. The boy crashed on the ground beside his friend, and this time he became limp; he might remain that way for a long time. The other boy, who was still conscious but visibly scared, looked up at the big guy who loomed over him. Basket's fist like a sledge hammer smashed down on the boy's upturned face. He, too, like his friend, embarked on an unconscious pilgrimage.

Trying to rub where he was hit, the irritated Basket returned to his friend. He still found him sitting on the wet ground, his clothes caked with mud and his face with blood.

Black watched his friend try to rub the back where his hands could not reach. He brought his hand to his mouth to cover any involuntary smile. He looked at Basket who was too irritated to find any humour in the situation. To Black, violence was an ill-wind that knew no good.

"What's funny?" Basket scowled. "Stop sitting there like a tired sardine and let's go home."

Black stood on his feet with effort. Basket cast a look at the boys he had rended unconscious and Black picked up the money that had fallen off his hand.

"What happened?" Basket asked, "Why were those boys beating you up?"

"The boys are thieves." Black replied.

"And we're saints?"

"Those boys stole from their parents and I stole from them." Black explained, "But I tripped on the slippery ground when I was running away."

"The great Blackie tripped? That's unbelievable!" Basket was amused. He cast another look at the sleeping boys and said, "So, I beat up two thieves?"

"It appears so. I hope you won't beat me up, too, or rather, beat yourself up. I would be gravely worried at the latter."

"Wow!" Basket was proud of himself. "It's nice to beat up thieves. One day, I will become a policeman."

Black stared at him curiously and asked, "Are you crazy?"

Basket stared back at his friend and smiled, "I was only joking."

Black would have laughed if he hadn't realised that his friend was not joking. He knew that Basket meant what he said.

THE END OF CHAPTER ONE


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Larry Sun can ghostwrite for you (novels, short stories, biographies, autobiographies, etc) at an affordable price. Contact him via email (larrysundynasty@gmail.com) or through +2349061754872. God bless you.

Chapter One - IX

Hours, days, months passed and the boys still continued their nefarious lifestyles. They robbed in style. They betted on who would steal something more valuable. Stealing became a competitive vice between both lads. Hunger became a tale of the past; they were beginning to steal more than mere feeding money. They wanted to return to school and reside in a more comfortable apartment. They ate good foods and wore nice stolen clothes. Within a few months, the hunger-stricken thin Black was starting to recover lost flesh, and his dark skin shone with vitality. He was now a few inches taller and he looked more handsome than ever. This could have been how goodlooking he was before his father's incarceration and the terrible suffering that accompanied his demise. In the world of larceny, Black was gradually climbing his way to the top. Stealing was becoming an addiction—an unavoidable necessity. He was growing so much skilled that a slight bump was enough to take whatever valuables he needed from his prey. Even Basket himself marvelled at his friend's extraordinary gift. Black had grown to become such an expert that he believed he was beyond being caught. The insane confidence that usually spelled the doom of most criminals overtook him. He was no more afraid of being caught because he believed no one would ever be able to catch him. He felt like the world belonged to him and he could take anything from it as he wished. He even thought he was like the notorious Anini who had always been elluding the police; the only difference was that Anini was an older thief who robbed with guns and killed innocent civilians. Black decided he would never kill another person in his entire life. Rather than take a life, he would surrender. But he was sure that matters could never come to that. He was the elusive Black.

He didn't know how wrong he was.

It was around seven this particular saturday evening. He was returning from the field where he had gone to watch some older men play football. The sun had bade an adieu over an hour ago. As he walked home, he saw some people who lived in rented low-cost houses coming out to gather their clothes from the clotheslines outside. The weather seemed not only to be approaching dusk but also to welcome rainfall. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky to have a deluge meeting. Peter increased his stride as he walked home; the waters in the sky were threatening to burst loose. As he ran, he wondered if Basket would have been searching around for him. He could be—or he might be sleeping. His friend enjoyed sleeping than anything else. He could sleep in a tsunami. Black could feel light drizzle on his body; the rain was coming slowly. This was when an umbrella was mostly useful. But Black was not holding any umbrella. The sky was so dark now that the evening had turned to night. He could now barely see the lines on his palms. If he didn't want to be saturated with the iminent downpour, he would have to control his legs more. He was running like an athlete as the drizzle became a light rainfall. He ran into a new street. All these houses on both sides of the street were now locked and the blinds of the windows tightly drawn. Black himself could see silhouettes of families as they chatted and ran around within the houses. Black envied the families and he wondered if he would ever have such happy family. He strongly doubted it. Those kinds of families were not meant for people like him.

He was two streets away from his home when he spotted two boys under the veranda of a locked shop. It was hard to guess how old they were in the darkness, but the sounds of their voices shouldn't place them above fifteen years olds. Hearing the boys' discussions, Black could not help stopping his journey. Luckily for him, the boys did not notice his presence. He slowly crept close and listened to what they were saying.

"How much do you have with you?" One boy asked the other.

"I have five naira here." The other answered. The night lightened up for a moment at the insistence of lightning. This was later followed by the rumbling of thunder.

"How did you get it?"

"I stole it from my mother. She keeps her money under the pillow. It's very easy for me to take any amount from there. But I have to be very careful with the money I take so that she wouldd not suspect the missin money."

"You mean your mother would not suspect the missing five naira? Your mother must be very rich."

"I didn't take all the I've naira at once. I started by taking one naira today, fifty kobo tomorrow. If I took all the money at once, she would definitely suspect something amiss. It's just a matter of common sense." The boy paused and asked his partner, "How much did you bring?"

The other boy smiled proudly, "I brought more than you."

"How much?"

"Ten naira."

"Wow! How did you get that large sum? Since when have you been taking it? Two months ago?"

"I took it at once." Even in the darkness, Black could still see the proud smile plastered on the boy's face.

"You took a whole ten naira at once? That's amazing! How did you do it?"

"Have you forgotten that my father is a drunkard? He comes home everyday drinking like a fish. The wine bottle is his greatest work of art. Each time he comes home swimming in liqueur, he forgets about himself. Last night, I waited for him to sleep off, then I dipped my hand into his pocket and took out this ten naira." He fluorished the money with pride.

The other boy collected the money and joined it with his. He hels the fifteen naira in his hand and asked, "What do we do with it?"

Black was amused at the two boys who had just stolen their parents' money. These were terrible children; how could a child be so wicked to steal from those who gave birth to him and brought him up? That was wickedness. It was unfair. The boys should be grateful that they had parents in the first place. The boys' case was not unlike looking at a gift horse in the snout. Black decided that it wouldn't hurt to take the money from the boys. It would be a thief-take-from-thief scenario—a nemesis meeting a nemesis; Black was the nemesis of the nemesis' nemesis.

He suddenly sprang out of his hiding and grabbed the fifteen naira from the joyous boy. He didn't even wait to hear what they would do with the money. Certainly, the boys were ready to squander the money on either confectioneries or toys. Losing the money would not kill them but the boys went after Black as if the money was their lives.

"Thief! Thief!! Thief!!!" The two thieves sang after Peter.

The chants sounded sweet to Black's hearing as he ran. He wasn't worried about being caught because he knew that those boys would never catch up with him. He jumped over gutters and stagnant waters as he ran. The rain was now coming down with full force. He was soaked within seconds; water dripped from his eyebrows, ears and the tip of his nose. He could barely see where he was going but he knew the roads like the back of his hands. He jumped over fallen branches and ran onward. He thought the boys would have stopped chasing him by now because of the deluge, but both kids were not ready to relinquish their wealth to this bolting small brat.

Black felt them close behind him and ran faster. But something unexpected happened; he slipped and fell.


********************************************************


Larry Sun can ghostwrite for you (novels, short stories, biographies, autobiographies, etc) at an affordable price. Contact him via email (larrysundynasty@gmail.com) or through +2349061754872. God bless you.

Jollyjoy:
Wow!thanx 4 d wondaful update larry

Thank you, ma'am. Your encouragements keep me going.

zyzxx:
lol
Why can't dey look for small job dat can feed them?
Thou black is blindfold by revenge and he started as a thief.
I reserve my comment ooo
Luking forward for what d pet will be use for.

More wisdom,

Exposure to the harsh climates caused them to become who they are.

God bless you, sir.

ezeigbo194:
welcome my e-bride

Remind me to write your toast when that glorious day arrives.

tolam4skywd:
This story is so on point like decimal...

Lol! Nice simile.

Thank you, sir.

akejujoe:
Well done Mr Larrysun . Your stories are always on point.

Thank you so much, ma'am.

******************************

The boys walked far away from where they lived. They didn't want any occasion arising where they would be traced back to their resident. The didactic conversation they had had moments earlier had taught them to at least tread with caution. They knew where they were heading, and they knew exactly what they were going there to do. Both boys knew the danger inherent in their mission. It would be quite tragic if they were caught, but to Black, the likelihood of danger was what would make the task an interesting one. The success if the mission would solely depend on the slickness of feet. Basket, however, had agreed that Black was the better runner, so the dark-skinned boy had volunteered to become the red-herring. If they were careful, if each boy performed his task perfectly, they would pull a successful act. Any slight error, any misjudgement, would be terrible. Black himself was more at the receiving end of this likely disaster. To prevent this mishap from occurring was the reason they chose this quiet street. The less-crowded a street was, the better their chance of success.

As they walked into the street, Black educated Basket about what they were going to steal. What they were going to steal was not a dog, not quite—they were going to steal a piece of electronics. The boys would steal a transistor radio. They stood at a safe distance and watched the street; there were still some few people plying the road. The boys knew quite well that the street was rarely trodden because it was a close. The adjacent street was usually better used.

When the street was finally deserted, the boys came out of their hiding and walked towards the wooden kiosk at the end of the closed street. Occasionally, they would check behind them to see if anyone was approaching; luckily, there was no one else in the street at the time. Most of the people who would enter this street were those who wanted to buy goods from Mallam Yisa, the Hausa man who owned the wooden kiosk. Black and Basket were going to steal Mallam Yisa's transistor radio.

As they approached the kiosk, the boy encountered a local dog suddenly appear from the narrow turning close to the kiosk. The dog bounded past them absent-mindedly, gasping with its tongue suspended to a corner of its mouth. Black and Basket shared a glance and smiled, but they didn't say anything. They knew that it could be easy for them if their mission was to steal a dog. But, on the other hand, if they really wanted to steal a dog, the dog that just jogged past them was too old for them to steal. Aside the fact that the would risk a bite if they attempted to go near this one, they weren't sure if they would be able to outrun it if it came to a chase.

They forgot about the dog when they were close to the kiosk. They had to do quickly whatever they had to do now; someone else might come into the street. The appearance of a third party could foil their mission. They hid themselves behind a condemned vehicle and planned their heist. After about a minute, Black came out of the hiding and walked to the kiosk. He found Mallam Yisa having a siesta in the kiosk; his battery-powered radio rested smugly beside his head. It would have been very easy to take the radio right there, right now; but that wasn't part of the plan. Besides, the radio was broadcasting a Hausa programme, it could be dangerous to take it. The Mallam might be having only a brief shut-eye; a sudden silence might cause him to open his eyes. Black had to stick to his plan.

"Mallam."

No response.

"Mallam!" A little bit louder.

Still no response. The was was deeply asleep. Black could now detect the drool running down the corner of the sleeping man's mouth. He could even hear his snores in close tempo with the sound of the radion. Black wondered why a human being would sleep so carelessly at this time of the day, a midday for that matter.

"Yaro!" He spoke out loud, although he didn't know what the word he had just spoken meant.

The man jolted awake as if goosed with a pin. He looked around him nervously, trying to determine what had brought him back to life. When he saw Black, he gave a frustrated gruntle and regarded the small boy as he would a mosquito that had just honoured him with the poke of a proboscis.

"Wetin you want?" The Mallam asked in Pidgin English.

Black glared at the man and replied, "I want to steal from you."

"Wetin you—?"

And before the man could process in his head what he had just heard, Black grabbed a box of St. Louis Sugar and bolted. The Mallam instantly jumped off his bed and ran after the boy, shouting 'Barawo!' as he went after the thief. His loose dansiki flying in the wind. Even though it was apparent that he could never catch up with the boy, the man still continued the pursue and not for a moment stopping his 'Barawo!' mantra.

As the victimised Mallam ran past, Basket appeared from where he had hidden himself and crept into the shop. He found the radio easily. He switch of the radio, extracted a nylon bag from his back pocket and put the treasure in it. The temptation to take something else from the shop overcame him but because that wasn't part of the plan, he walked out of the shop with only the radio. He saw the Mallam still running after Black. Basket wondered what his friend had stolen to make the man come after him without stopping. He prayed no one would come to this street now; it was particularly dangerous for Black, although there was a wide gap between the pursuer and the pursued. Still, another person might appear before Black and catch him. Without much ado, Basket took the narrow pathway from where the dog had materialised moments ago. The plan was to go home after taking the radio. He and Black would rendezvous at home. He prayed his friend escaped successfully.

Now, when Peter Black was sure that Basket would have played his part, he carefully dropped the box of sugar and ran faster out of the street. As he crossed into an adjacent street, he collided with an approaching person.

The Mallam, now nearly breathless, reached his box and picked it, cursing the bolting boy in his native language. He walked back towards his kiosk to resume his sleep. But he would not find his radio when he got there.

Basket walked home unhappily; he was still worried about Black. He was afraid that he would also be apprehended if Black was caught. He met this boy just yesterday and he already felt felt a strong attachment to him. For the first time in his entire life, he had found someone he could really tell anything; someone with whom he could share his darkest secrets. Somehow, he felt like Black had come into his life for a reason, a reason far greater than mere petty thievery. There was a kind of mysterious aura that surrounded the boy; a strange aura that no one could find the right word to describe. Basket was just discovering some new things about his friend. Peter Black, as he had discovered, was someone who usually thought beyond the scope of the obvious; someone whose perspective could only be viewed by the very few. He admitted that Black, although three years younger, was far smarter than he was. He was the muscle, Peter was the brain. He could physically beat up the small boy, but he knew that Black was capable of crushing him psychologically. He hoped the boy would take the issue of education more seriously. The boy could become a collosal genius. A part of him feared that he might not see his friend again. He felt like crying.

He reached home with a heavy heart and found Black waiting for him.

"Blackie!" Basket shouted excitedly, as if he had found Jesus Christ. He ran towards his friend and hugged him tight.

"You're crushing me, ape!" Black groaned.

"Sorry," he released the boy, "I was carried away with happiness. I thought you had been caught. How did you get here so fast?"

"I ran, of course. I even collided against a young child not long after I dropped the box I took. I could not wait to pacify the wailing child. I ran all the way here. What made you think I would be caught? Didn't I tell you that I cannot be caught?"

"Maybe you are really a prince of thieves."

"Cut the crap and bring out the radio."

"The batteries are still good."

Both boys held the radio as if it was a Christmas present. They took turns holding it. They could hardly believe that they now owned a transistor radio.

"Turn it on." Basket said excitedly.

Black turned on the radio and tuned it to an F.M. station. On the radio was the first time they heard the news about a notorious armed robber named Lawrence Anini. Both boys listened to the news with rapt attention.


********************************************************


Larry Sun can ghostwrite for you (novels, short stories, biographies, autobiographies, etc) at an affordable price. Contact him via email (larrysundynasty@gmail.com) or through +2349061754872. God bless you.

omotalkie:
Hmmmmmm...Getting more interesting by d day. Keep up d gud works.#RESPECT#

Thank you so much, ma'am.

Sleekyshuga:
As usual, smoky piece ..

Observation: Larry, don't you think the vocabularies you used in this last episode are quite huge for a boy of fifteen years?


Still, I follow...

You're right. I felt it when I was writing that part, but I couldn't stop myself. I'll have to revisit the dialogues. Thank you so much for the observation. This is where I'm missing my Ishilove.

God bless you, Sleek.

seyitanhep1:
Black or basket. I like dammey better

Dammex! It's been a while, bro! You're welcome, my brother!

Flakeey:
i ve been away for a while on official assignment.
fully back

Flakeey! Wow! Where've you been? I've missed you so much! Thanks, Ezeigbo194, for bring her back. You're very welcome, Flakes!

Psalmwise:
so 1st chapter jez finish....chai

chai...i love dis crime edition...just like prince of persia

The first chapter hasn't ended. It will soon be.

kizzykeziah:
Black and Basket......

I'm foreseeing unbeatable bond of friendship here. Only wish they had a different thing in common than petty thieving.

I strongly hope to see you on T.V. someday as a really successful writer.

Wow! Me on TV? You're an awesome lady, Kizzykeziah! And a brilliant writer, too. God bless you, ma'am. We'll both be successful in what we do.

JeffreyJamez:
It's been a long while I read something so professional and detailed on NL since Prettyspicey stopped posting on NL..... thanks LArrysun for this beautiful piece, following to the end.

Thank you, sir, for this comment. I learnt a lot from PrettySpicey.