₦airaland Forum

Adinije: @Larry, I hope say no be marijuana u gave my Ariel.

Lol! He needed Dutch courage.

Flakeey: yimu

Lol! Ye of little faith.

Flakeey: i just like him

That's gratifying.

mariemummy: You are just too good in what you are doing Mr. Larry.

Thanks a lot, Marie. I feel honoured.

Ariel smiled ruefully, “How can it be strange? I got the inspiration to write that book while I was using the loo. To be frank with you, detective, many writers do a lot of their thinkings inside the comfort station. I don’t know why, maybe most of our inspirations result from the fragrance that is produced from the release of our bowels.”

“And you’re telling me that’s not strange?”

“Maybe you’d have cracked this case if you’d spent some time in the restroom.”

“Not in your dreams. I used to think that you’ll talk as creatively as you write, but you apparently write better than you talk.”

Ariel shrugged indifferently, “That’s the way of life. Nothing is ever as it seems; isn’t that what you detectives always say?”

“I wonder why you write under a pseudonym instead of your real name.”

“I prefer to hide my light under a bushel.”

“Talking of light; what light can you shed on the events that occurred during the night your father was killed?”

“Oh, I forgot to wish you guys a happy new year. Happy new year!” then he frowned, “I don’t know much about that night. I was so drowsy that I took no notice of anything.”

“Did you hear the sudden scream?”

“Yes, I did. I’m sure everyone in the house did.”

“Where were you at the time of the scream?”

“Where else would I be if not my room? I rushed out to the source of the scream, and after unlocking the entrance door we found father lying there dead. That’s all I can recall.”

“Was there anything that night—or before—that caught you as strange or unusual?”

Ariel frowned again, trying to think back. He finally shook his head, ‘No, nothing strange. My family has always been a strange one already, and nothing can be stranger than strange itself.”

“I understand that you don’t live in this house.”

“That’s right. I live alone in another part of the state.”

“So, you came here to celebrate Christmas with your family, right?”

“Not really. I was made to come here.”

“Please explain that, Mr. Malik.”

“I was planning to celebrate the Christmas Day alone, then I received an odd text message from a strange number.”

“A text message?”

Ariel nodded, “The text message stated that my parents wanted me to celebrate Christmas with them.”

“Do you know who sent you the message?”

“I don’t know. It could have been a family member. When I got here I asked everyone present but they all claimed ignorance. However, I suspect David of pulling such pranks.”

“Who arrived here first between David and you?”

“Sister Ruth came before every one of us; then David and his wife came. I came after them; Vera was the last person to come. Isn’t Vera cute? I wish I wasn’t her uncle. I’m quite frankly enamoured by her.”

Daniel, who had been silent the whole time, raised his head sharply. He could not help glaring at the writer. This was another adversary to his love life. He later felt mollified at the certainty that uncle and niece could not have anything romantic to do with each other.

‘Do you still have that message on your phone?” asked Lot.

“Of course.”

Ariel produced his Android Smartphone and showed Lot the message. The detective, on the other hand, told Daniel to copy out the phone number through which the message came.

“Do you have anything else to ask, Detective?” demanded Ariel.

Lot consulted a paper on the table and read aloud, “There is a tide…” he quoted and looked at Ariel, “Do you know where that quote comes from?”

He carefully studied the writer’s face to catch any emotion of surprise or fear. But Ariel’s face remained passive.

“Who doesn’t?” pronounced Gabriel, “It’s from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. I live and breathe Shakespeare; very few of his lines can escape me. Oh, how I would have loved to have a jug with William Shakespeare and listen to him babble; the sweet, sweet man.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Malik. We shall call on you when we need to ask you any more questions. You’ve been a great help.”

“I’ll answer your call anytime.”

When Ariel reached the door, he turned back and walked towards the detective, “Do you know that this case could be solved by using what I call the Shakespearean method?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It could only be a question of associating probabilities in the most probable fashion. For example, in The Tempest, a shipwrecked duke and his comrades commented on the strong storm that washed them ashore on Prospero’s island and yet failed to dampen their clothing. For years scholars have debated among themselves concerning this singular tempest. Some have defended this mystery by saying that it was a metaphysical storm, and others have postulated equally intricate symbolic hurricanes; it was designed to leave the mariners’ clothing dry. Yet it helps to note that the reason the storm did not disarrange the duke’s clothing was that costumes were the most expensive part of the Elizabethan theatre’s resources and the managements could not risk mildew every time the play was performed, to say nothing of the actors falling prey to pneumonia. It is easy to imagine—once one is armed with this knowledge—the Burbages, father and son, requesting their playwright to throw in a line alluding to their dry habiliment after their terrible confrontation with the elements.”

“I still don’t get you.”

“Okay, let me use a more literal term. Look at it this way, this case could be the core of an onion which is covered by layers of skins. To arrive at this core, you have to peel away these layers.”

Lot regarded him a moment before speaking, “Thanks for your insight, dear scribbler, I shall look in that angle.”

“You’ve only got to search for a chink in the armour of the criminal.”

“The pattern I’m following is totally different from what could be derived from Shakespearean method, onion spices or a gladiator’s shield.”

Ariel considered this statement seriously and said, “Maybe there is no pattern at all. These two killings—my father and mister unknown—might very well be random.” He stopped and brought out an Ipod. “Consider this MP3 player which has a random shuffle function; almost all phones that play music have it. Statistically, it uses an algorithm to create a random order for the songs. But when people listen to their random shuffle mode, they perceive patterns. That is just pure coincidence.”

Daniel agreed with what the writer was saying, “I can swear my BlackBerry MP# player likes to play certain songs. I know mine has a thing for Beautiful Nubia and Banky W, of all the hundreds of songs in the memory.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” asserted Ariel, “Human beings perceive patterns where there really aren’t any. Maybe you don’t have to follow any pattern, Detective Lot, maybe you just have to look at the case in another perspective that does not demand too many what-ifs.”

“Okay, thanks for your suggestions,” said Lot, “Can you kindly leave now?”

“Of course, I’d rather be with my niece than remain here.”

Exit Ariel.

“Famous, dial the phone number.”

Daniel wanted to ask what phone number the detective was talking about, remembered and caught himself at the last second.

The number he dialed was unavailable.

It was only Lot who saw it. The phone number was the exact number they had cracked from the half-burnt note.

TemitopeDaniel: --------------
    Richard walked into the bar- a dusky and dank place filled with best friends, lovers or maybe ex-lovers. As he walked in, he amalgamated the smell of drinks and various sweats that outraged his nostrils as he inhaled deeply. As he motioned further, his eyes were already adjusting to the imminent darkness. He turned his head and looked round, he could see seats that had been filled up. He walked with his friends to the empty barstroll (barstool) in a corner where there were bright spots on the wall, illuminating faces and people in there.
    He could then see that it wasn't totally dark, it was his first time. "As usual." Jay said as he smiled at the bartender and sat down.
    "As usual?" Richard muttered under his breath and took his seat. He placed his wounded hand on the table and continued looking around the bar, it seemed someone was smoking there. He finally found the lady and shook his head. "I think meandering is far better than all these things." He tapped Uche as he spoke.
    "Abeg oh, Richard! Why would you meander? Let's drink and return home, this is the only way you can forget things easily."
    "Really? Drinking? All about forgetting all the bad things, right?" He smiled faintly.
    "Yes, it will wash down your worries." Jay cooed.
    Richard smiled faintly. "Red wine." He told Jay. "And, what's your usual?" He asked.
    Jay grinned. "You know say you be small boy, I take gin and tonic."
    "He's new in the game.." Uche chimed in, smiling.
    "Anyhow." He hissed faintly and smiled.
    As he smiled, he looked down and started thinking again. He was muttering in a way no one would hear him, wondering if God really existed. If he did, why would he give some people long life and even prosperity and on the other hand, give some people a short time to live on earth. It was pestiferous! Some people would be filled with mirth, while other people lachyrmose (lachrymose).
    He was in a flurry state. He was melancholic. It was usually a thing of great fear whenever he remembered his sister- Christina (comma) as an anemic patient. He had heard many people who did eventually die after all the struggles and pains.
    He had always asked himself if Christiana wouldn't end hers in the grave. He had head of testimonies likewise, he had heard people who scraped through and made it, but they've (they'd) just been ten out of a thousand! Would Christiana be part of those that would scrape (scale) through it?
    He didn't know he had started crying again until he was tapped by Uche. He then raised his head and wiped his tears. He had been served the wine then and his friends had started drinking.
    "A skunk can't bite and give off it's scent at a time! Either you drink or be depressed! For God's sake (comma) your sister is still alive (semicolon) she's not dead. You should be happy concerning that, if she sees you like this (comma) do you expect her to be happy? You'll even make her sadder because all she's going to be thinking of would be death! Man, be serious!"
    Richard sighed. "I believe all is well." He said and started drinking.
They were the three young guys that worked with Maverick Company and had been friends since their tertiary education. The three were employed into the big company and decided to live together.
---------------
....a man's destiny...
Temitope Daniel Abimbola

Just a rough review.

TemitopeDaniel: CRITICISMS WOULD BE HIGHLY APPRECIATED, THANKS FOR THE LOVE, HAPPY READING!
→ONE←

---

*CHRISTIANA*
I'm spooked and afraid of this trial. It has gotten to this stage that I have to be prayerful and watchful. The end is near and might come in anytime. This is such an imperilling (perilous) situation that makes me sad, even annoyed at times. Should I say my parents were benighted or what? This is hilarious! They were still unrepentant after Richie spoke with them, they weren't impelled. It seems they did it on purpose.
    I'm now familiar with Doctor Esther and Doctor Kate, they are my best friends after Stephanie. They've always told me to relax, all would be fine, they've been marvellous and interesting to be with. But, would all really be well?
    I can't give any guy my heart because I might die, and wouldn't want to cause him a broken or shattered heart. I hate seeing Stephanie up and doing just to keep me lively, I hate seeing tears in Richard's eyes, I hate it when there's no peace of mind just because of me, I also wish to be free like everyone! I wish to be free! I wish to be able to last for six months or beyond without being rushed to the hospital, I... I also.. want.. j... joy!
******
    "There's no God!" Richard clouted the dressing mirror before him and kept his fist still on the shattered mirror that was left behind.
    He went down on his kneels and tears ran down his cheeks. Uche and Jay rushed into the room and met him on the floor. His left hand had started bleeding as he wept bitterly on his kneels. "This is too much for me to bear! It is!" He made a vehement outcry and laid on the floor.
    Uche and Jay stood close to each other and some steps away from Richard. The two gazed at each other continuously. They were becoming tired of Richard's rambunctiousness (change the word, it is not germane to the description), it seemed his emotion had taken over him finally. "I don't like this, Richard. I don't!" Uche scowled.
    Richard raised his head slowly and fixed his eyes on Uche, just like a collector fixes his insect with Formalin. "I don't like it likewise, I don't want this to happen too. The more I remember God, I get mad!" He snorted.
    "What on earth makes you run mad whenever you remember God? Do you know you're making me annoyed and even pissed off?" Jay spoke slowly.
    "Did I even mention God? Is there God at all? There's definitely no God! None!" He tried to push himself up but his left hand couldn't help. He fell back on the floor and swallowed. "God is wicked, that is if his existence is real."
    "Just because of this trial?" Uche smiled faintly and took few steps to help him up. He helped him up while Jay was fixed on the same spot and watched them.
    "You are wrong, Uche." He said and struggled to gain a stand. He looked into his eyes for seconds and looked at his blood-stained hand then continued. "God is just partial." He said softly and closed his eyes as tears fell.
    "Richard, watch your mouth!" Jay rebuffed.
    Richard looked at Jay with a grimace and went on his kneels again. "This is so unbearable, it is so sad. I wonder how she's been managing, I fear death! She might die!" He burst into tears again.
    Jay then walked to Richard and ruffled his hair. "Stop this (comma) man, we have to get this wound treated now." He told him.
    Richard gave a soft chuckle and looked at his hand. "Why should it be protected? Let me die!" He shrieked.
    Uche sniggered. "Is this how you wish to die? You couldn't visit the kitchen to use a knife on yourself or even drink Dettol antiseptic, you should have perfected those ones before screaming."
    Richard was breathing heavily. He stood up and bit his lower lip. "It's time to ramble." He said as he made the move to walk out.
    Uche drew him back and looked into his eyes. "Let's get this laceration dressed and we then go to the club."
    "Club? Bar section? You know I don't follow you guys, you should know I hate drinking." He scoffed.
    "Just to drink away your sorrows, if you don't wish to drink, you should remain in the house. Don't make an aimless ramble on a winding course!"
    "In this house, I might do what you suggested earlier on. I think you guys can go, lock me up in the house." He smiled for some seconds and continued. "Don't worry, I won't die anyhow, I mean I won't die in a rough way. You will meet a neat and well dressed corpse in the living room."
    Jay laughed. "This guy still dey craze! E be like say you don dey drink the drink wey you talk say you no want?"
    Uche faced Jay. "Should we not go?"
    "Why won't we go? I've been sleepless throughout the week because I've not been able to set my eyes on the beautiful lady for seven days now."
    Richard hissed and walked into the bathroom to clean his hand and take a cold shower. Uche stood by the door, he wished he could monitor him more than that. He knew it had been tough on Richard, he had always felt for his sister who could die anytime.
    He took a deep breath and sat on Richard's bed when he discovered that he had just entered into the bathroom to bath, not to follow his deadly suggestions. If he were in his shoes, he might have done what he suggested so as to terminate his life soon. Really, of what importance is life when it cannot be lived gleefully? Richard had mostly been boisterous, was he really to be blamed?
    His enthusiasm had gone down the drain. He hardly smiled. A month wouldn't end without rushing Christiana to the hospital. It was irksome! It was very revolting! Richard had a strong aversion for it. He did mostly stare at his sister in the hospital bed and both would be weeping. It was such a jeopardizing situation.
    "Guys, go and get ready. I think I should follow you today." Richard said as he stepped out of the bathroom in towel.
    "You want to follow us?" Uche's eyes widened.
    "Yes, go and get dressed." He stared at him.
    Uche and Jay smiled. It was incredulous, wasn't it? They never knew Richie would concur. It was at least better for him that way, rather than meandering. The two dashed out of the room, it seemed the Friday would be great.
----------------------
    "Having two graduates is what I have always wanted, I thank God you guys  concluded everything well." Davies smiled and sipped from the mist-covered glass of wine in his right hand.
    Pemisire plopped down the cushion and gave a long breath. "Dad! It wasn't an easy thing, all the same, a man's..."
    "-destiny (insert a full stop)" Pemisayo concluded it for her. She grinned as she shook her head wondering the kind of twin sister she had. Everyone knew her with those words- a man's destiny.
     Pemisayo rested her back on the chocolate-brown sofa with flared arms. Resting her back couldn't make her legs touch the the white terracotta tile in the living room which ties (tied) the interior to the exterior, practical and easy-to-clean type. She had to place her legs on the black glassy stool which was dazzling lustrous ('adjective and adjective'--wrong. Write either 'dazzling and lustrous' or 'dazzling lustre'. Never 'dazzling lustrous') due to it's reflectivity, caused by the eye-dimming illumination from the wall sconces whose sources were concealed.
    The living room was a big one with an orange curtain round the windows and a 49inch LCD TV mounted to the wall, located (just) about a foot below ceiling. It had two wall mounted shelves directly below the TV, two glass coffee tables with metal framing and two more lamps and leather recliner. As big as the house was, there was no derelict part in it.
    Pemisayo stared at her twin sister- Pemisire (...sister, Pemisire, *Notice the position of the commas*) and beamed. She was clad in a black gown whose fabric was sequenced elegantly. She looked smart and beautiful in the dress. "Your nickname." She smiled.
    "It's the reality, if you guys don't know." She replied and licked her lower lip, she smiled and tweaked her nose. "A man's destiny will surely get him what it has in stock, either good or bad. I think the prayer should be - God should help us change anything bad in our destinies to good one." She added.
    "But in a man's destiny, there are some things that might look somewhat bad but they just look that way just to get the man to his or her promise land, they are good qualities." Davies chimed in as he dropped the wine glass on the stool before him and pressed his lips together.
    "Anyhow, I just know a man's destiny can't be changed." Pemisire sprung to her feet. "I guess I have to ease myself." She said as she dusted her skirt. As she stood, she was five feet, seven inches tall, dressed in a v-neck (V-neck jumper/dress/shirt) with an oval button which had a design of love on it. She wore a white skirt designed with flowers, the skirt had blue ruffles at the end and the flowers are (were) light pink with yellow pollen. She also had a white belt at the middle which looked like strip. (strip or stripe?)
    Pemisire was elegant and rich in glamour. If words could describe perfection, this would be it. She was not chunky, neither slim (She was neither chubby nor slim), 'average' could be the best word to use on her.
    "You and this english (English) of yours... how do you guess you want to ease yourself?" Pemisayo chuckled.
    "I've been feeling ill at ease for a while, I think it's high time I urinated." She smiled and walked in.
    She walked slowly as she pressed buttons on her handheld until she flung the door open and yawned. It was late already, she was tired due to the stress she had undergone that day. She had to dance with her friends at the get-together party for hours. After she had eased herself, she picked up her dairy and wrote something inside it.
    She sat on her Queen-sized soft-side bed and drooped (dropped) the dairy on it. The room was a not too big, it had richly coloured tapestries on the wall, fuzzy black accent pillows with leopard and tiger rugs and a pink silk canopy. The room was painted pink, floor to ceiling (comma) with two shelves in it. One of the shelves had books of various types- novels, diaries and some other textbooks while the other was the home of DVDs. There were also one white acoustic guitar, a nylon guitar and an electric one that all inclined against the shelves. (Kindly rewrite)
    The room also had a flat panel  television with two black speakers at the front. The dresser held the personal undergarments and some unmentionables. The room had a centered traditional chandelier with a trasitional close-to-ceiling fixture that produced the basic illumination and created a welcoming atmosphere. The air conditioner and the window was blacked out.
    She sprawled on the bed when the door to her room screeched open. She dropped her phone and sat up. "Dad." She called and smiled chivalrously.
    Davies walked in with an attaché case which was a box-style case made of leather, scrunched over a hinged frame that opens (opened) into two compartments. "Daughter, I've come here because I think you can be trusted." He said and sat beside her.
    "Trust?" She repeated as she squinted her face. She wasn't sure of what trust meant at that particular time. She knew Lawrence- his friend whom he trusted so much, she wondered if he had been sold down the river by his friend, to make him come to her. Wasn't she to be trusted before? (Wrong construction) Since her mother died of cancer, Davies had no other person who he did confine in but Lawrence, was there any skirmish?
    "Yes." He smiled and dropped the attaché case on the floor. "Mart said he's going to die soon." He stopped abruptly and swooshed out a long breath. "He called me today and gave me this." He pointed his index finger at the attaché case on the floor and faced Pemisire. "Promise me you will keep this as a secret, even from your twin sister." He dimmed his eyes and looked more serious.
    "I... do Dad." She drawled. Her father's reaction was getting suspicious, what could be in the case that he kept from his friend and even Pemisayo? Though, Pemisire was an easy-going type, she did talk but wasn't a largiloquent type like her sister. All she did do was to admonish people concerning life, she was a serious and Godly lady.
    "Good." He smiled and continued as he picked up the case and placed it on his laps. "This attaché case contains Mart's classic documents. He said he insisted that he must be flown back to Nigeria because he was sure to die any moment and wouldn't want his business to collapse. This case contains everything that has to do with all he has all over the world." He was silent for a while before he opened the attaché case.
"According to him, anyone who has this case with him or her is already like him already, a multi-billionaire. He has no child, neither a wife, not even a person to be trusted but me. He told me what he had written in his will, that anyone with the classic documents is entitled to everything he has on earth."
    Pemisire's eyes widened. For Davies to have the classic documents, they've sure have caught a big fish (they had indeed caught a big fish). Who didn't know Mart Foods all over Nigeria? It had various branches of the company in sixteen states in Nigeria and was a multi-billionaire. His real name was Michael Matthew and coined the name out of the latter. He had a food-processing companies (a food-processing company/various food-processing companies), construction companies where various raw materials and finished products were been produced like- Mart noodles, Mart sugar, Mart rice and even Mart cement.
    "Dad." She called him softly. She was awed by the explanations her father had made and kept breathing heavily. She stared at him without blinking, it was a vital thing that her father just got.
    "Now, I'm not sure about my safety." He sniffled. "If anything happens to me, make sure you keep this case as a secret because I see danger on the way. Please Pemisire, know the kind of person you put your trust in, if possible don't trust anyone. I just got to know I've been confining (confiding) in someone who do (does) not wish me well. From all indications, Lawrence may attack me."
    "Dad, stop this joke! He's your friend now."
    "I got to know more about him today. He overheard everything Mart told me and when I left Mart's place, he kept staring at this attaché case with me. He looked annoyed and was portend. In case anything happens, make away with this case with your twin sister and keep your identity unleaked because every man on earth, even his lawyer (comma) would want to have these documents."
It was eight years already that he had been working at the headquarters of Mart Foods with his best friend- Lawrence. He was a man in his late fifties and a cheerful type.
    Pemisire smiled. "Nothing can happen."
    "I pray so." He said and closed the attaché case. He handed it over to her and stood up. "I have to leave now so that your sister won't suspect anything."
    "But dad, this looks partial. You should have called her along." Pemisire stood carrying the case with her two hands.
    "It's not that I'm being paranoid to your sister, the fact is that she's garrulous and I know you're reticent." He replied and walked out of the room.

....a man's destiny...
Temitope Daniel Abimbola

Just a rough review.

I remain loyal

OMA4U: But not on feeble mind so you don't break spinal cords

Don't worry yourself, my bro.

Divepen: What one need to do, immediately, after he/she finish writng his/her first draft..I.e Immediately one have finished, the things one need to know about Editting and the rest.

Good. Thanks.

pricelesslove: but i thought cain is dead. between Larry where is the romantic guy nahh. I'm still waiting for him oo

Forgive me for keeping him away too long.

Nelly21: All I can say is 'WOW' Your writing is flawless and I love the way the story is turning out

Thank you, Nelly. I'm glad you like the story. Have you read the prequel?

Essyydiamond: I love ur story Larrysun.

Thanks a lot, Essy dear.

pweeeetychi: hmmmmmm, i guess mr larry is mysterious too.

Keep up the good work.

Me mysterious? I'm an open book.

Flakeey: hahaha writers are some of the world's most mysterious people
Larry...true of false?
and are you mysterious?

kudos bro.

I didn't say that o! I heard it from Lot himself.

rapmike: As usual, Ariel's writing abilities marks him. A writer always has wide imaginations( to a degree).

A nice observation from a fellow writer.

pweeeetychi: The feeling is mutual, although not as much as i hate cain, I'm beginning to think, Jamal was cursed or so.

What if Mrs malik isn't really blind?
#Just thinking#

Lol! What if she is really blind? Lol!

hebenz: ariel must not die ooooo

I'm beginning to envy the guy.

Flakeey: Ariel
it better not be

he must not be murdered o

Ha-ha! What is it that makes that Ariel so lovable?

Ariel entered the room in quite a cheerful mood, as if nothing in the world was bothering his creative mind. He was enveloped in a well-cut blue shirt. And below the sharply pressed edge of his boot cut trousers the shoes were highly polished.

It was only Lot who noticed something else about the young man. For all his cheerfulness, Ariel was nervous. He was carrying it off under a façade of gaiety, but the apprehensiveness nether was genuine.

He sat down carelessly and offered his hand to Lot, but the detective was in no mood to shake hands with Chinua Achebe or Soyinka if one of them had suddenly entered. Ariel smiled at both men studying him and spread his hands in an amused concentration, “Well, I’d have betted with my pen that I wasn’t called to be physically scrutinized, but here we are.” The geniality was still plastered on his visage. “What can I do for you, gentlemen? This is a pleasure talking to you guys. I suppose you want my fingerprints to compare them with the ones you found on that dagger that stuck on the back the corpse. I didn’t do it. I always stab people in the front, not the back.” He turned to Daniel and said, “I like that suit, Calvin Klein?”

Daniel told him no, Mark and Spenser.

“Fingerprints wouldn’t help,” the footballer said, “The dagger has been wiped clean, but we don’t really believe in fingerprints; it’s just that they’re only routines, but we can’t be expected to bother about them.”

“Your name is Gabriel Malik, right?” Lot asked suddenly.

“Of course, I thought you knew that.”

“I just wanted to be sure,” the sleuth replied and asked, “You’re also Ariel?”

“The one and only—I adopted that pseudonym from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. Who would read Tempest and not remember Ariel?”

“Of course, I remember,” replied Daniel, “Ariel is the spirit that helped Prospero; that wizard with the power of sorcery, right?”

Ariel went over to Daniel and gave him a hug, patting his back. “You’re a comrade, detective!” he told the confused Famous.

“Actually, I’m not the detective,” Daniel pointed at Lot, “He is.”

“My mistake.”

“What have you been drinking, Ariel?”

“Just had a pint of those hard stuffs, I’m alright—absolutely sober—trust me.” He belched and blessed himself, almost getting the sign of the cross correctly on his chest.

Lot smirked, “Trusting you is what I may not be able to bring myself to do, Mr. Malik.”

“Because you think I killed my father?”

“Did you?”

Ariel suddenly laughed out loud, it was an uproarious mirth that extended to about half a minute before he collected himself back to sanity. Lot and Daniel looked at him and asked themselves. Is this the man who wrote Brick of Jericho? What has gone loose in his dome?

“I’d have preferred it better if you’d asked me the question in a more clever way. But the simple reply to that is capital No. I have no cause to have my father murdered. He did not offend me at all. I can’t imagine wanting to kill an animal, let alone a man, but I like guns and I like holding them. I’ve held a pistol a number of times during my research. I like the feel of the Smith and Wesson in my hand, and the scimitar too.”

“You believe your father’s murder was one of vendetta, right?”

“Let’s face it, my father wasn’t a paragon of sainthood—he was a man with the touch of the devil in him. He drank too much. He committed adultery ten million times. He fornicated unashamedly with other men’s wives. And he was very stingy with his money. He always paid cash whenever he needed to make any transaction. In the first place, he hated writing cheques because it was so much bother and his signatures never tallied; so he decided that every time he wrote cheques, the banks were always trying to rob him, so he stopped.”

“We’ll talk about your father presently, Mr. Malik,” said Lot, “Now, let’s talk about you. What’s your middle name?”

“Do you need to know?” after a moment, he added, '‘Do you need to know that for the purpose of your investigation?” the voice was unemphatic, but the eye met Lot’s with something of the insistence of an interrogator.

Lot replied, “I don’t know. Probably not. It isn’t easy with murder to know what will prove relevant. Most cases that go wrong do so because too few questions are asked, not too many. I’ve always felt the need to know as much about the victim as possible, and that includes things about his children.”

“It must be gratifying to have a job which can be used to justify what in other might be called intrusive curiosity.” He paused, then went on, “Anyway, my middle name is Arabic. I don’t even know its meaning.”

“What is the name?”

“Ramon.”

“What religion do you practice, Islam or Christianity?”

“The latter. David used to follow father to the mosque when we were little but he stopped when he came of age. I’ve never set my foot in a mosque my entire life.”

“Ariel, are you a father?”

“Not that I know of.”

This drew a smile, if not a laugh, on the face of the detective.

“You are funny,” Lot commented.

Ariel squinted at him, ‘Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?”

“I think both. I’ve read your novel, Ariel.”

The writer smiled, “Thanks.”

“In one of your novels a character avers to something six times. Every writer should have a pet substitute, or substitutes, for ‘say’. There should be an alternate variation for ‘he said’ or ‘she said’, they can rather declare, state, blurt, spout, cry, pronounce, avow, murmur, mutter, snap—there are dozens of them. I’m not a literary critic though, I just stated the obvious. Your second novel struggles with character development. A novelist should just create his characters and let them go ahead and develop the actions and the plots themselves. You included all the elements of style perfectly—vocabulary, syntax, paragraphing-absolutely perfect.”

“Your imagination is wasted on the detective business. You should be a novelist.”

“No, my father wanted me to become an engineer. You have a real gift for telling a tale, and a flair for titles, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You dedicated your first two books to someone named Erin. Who is Erin?”

Ariel took a long time before replying. His face has changed into a sorrowful countenance. He swallowed slowly and said, “Erin was the love of my life.”

Lot caught the position of the verb and said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Malik. Do you mind telling us what happened to her?”

Ariel shook his head, “She died almost two years ago; she was robbed and stabbed to death in front of an ATM.”

“Was the criminal caught?”

“No,” Ariel firmly replied, “Of all the crimes committed in this country, only less than twenty percent is justifiably accountable. What great works our lawmen are doing.” He looked squarely at Lot and said, “I know who you are; I’ve read a lot of articles about you. In fact, I’m writing one about you. Yet, I feel that this mystery is too complicated for you to crack—I submit, therefore, that you have the chance to prove me wrong. Solve these crimes and I’ll know that you’re really different from those scumbags who call themselves detectives. Honestly, I don’t think you can do it.”

Lot looked at the writer with amusement. A befitting reply was boiling within him but he held his tongue. This wasn’t the time to give such reply. Instead, he said:

“In your third book, Ash, your dedication appears strange to me.”

“How?” the writer asked wearily.

“You dedicated you third book to your toilet,” Lot said, “Isn’t that a little bit strange?”

MaziOmenuko, you should be involved, seriously. Should I give you a tag?

Is Divepen intentionally avoiding my question?

texanomaly: That's good. I would hate to have to break out some Jackie Chan on you.

Lol! I hate troubling your waters. I'll vent my trouble on some other peeps

Obinnau: school work. Coupled with low network in the bank (if u understand what i mean)

I do. Nice to have you around. I almost looked forward to working with you If you understand what I mean.

D9ty7: Thank Jah larrySun is here. Texanomaly is here too? DaveP? This is gonna be fun.

Nice to have you here too, my brother.

texanomaly: Leave my write up alone Larry!

Don't be scared, honey, poetry is my own nemesis. I can't attack poets much!

AudreyTimms: LarrySun as nemesis? Ahhh.....Divepen, I give up. LarrySun has volunteered to take my spot. Amma sit back and watch.

Nah! I'm taking no one's spot.

Obinnau: am good mr Larry. its been a long time.

Yeah, where have you been?

Obinnau: hello!!!! where is everybody?

Hello, Obinna.

LarrySun: Good morning, Divepen. Please, what do you mean by 'Post Writing Knowledge'?

Divepen!

OMA4U: Hey Larry sun I sight you! Expect myriads of question for renaissance like you. Princesa, noble4d, hey the great poet timpaker, to name few. It's gonna be fun. I'll be glad to meet my teacher. Timpaker, be prepared to share a crumb of your poetic biscuit and a cup of the juice.

No shaking.