₦airaland Forum

9


Monday morning, classes had begun in earnest. It was Defence against Dark Creatures. It was a class Vince had grown to love. However, he wasn't feeling it today.
There was something else to do. Mr. Lapwing was the man he needed to be seeing. All of these were just distractions, things to keep him from his real goal. He didn't want that to happen.
Thirty minutes into the lecture. Vince found himself daydreaming. He saw himself go into the man's office and saw the man look at him from far away in the forest like he had the sight reserved for binoculars. Trapped in his trance, Vince didn't know when he slipped off his chair and fell to the floor with a thud.
The class erupted in delighted laughter. A sharp pain exploded on Vince's bottom, but he stiffened himself so he would feel less pain. He dared not show pain, especially as Mr. Zinfandel was now staring intently at him.
“You were sleeping in my class, weren't you?” his deep and sadistic baritone rung through the classroom.
Vince felt instantly sorry, not for the teacher, but himself. It was the exact scenario he didn't want. The other class demarcated from theirs by just a block of wall. It would mean that they would hear what he said. The news would spread, and he'd be humiliated. Worse, all eyes would be on him, and they would then have to delay their plans.
“Get up right now, you dunce,” the teacher commanded.
Vince got up and walked to the front of the classroom. Giggles escaped the mouths of his classmates as he walked past their seats. He didn't blame them. He would laugh too if he were in their shoes. What he concerned himself with was not making a fool of himself any further.
“What was that about?”
Vince knew whatever he replied would form the basis of the gossip that would go out.
“I was thinking about the death of my parents. They had been the best things that had ever happened to me. Today happens to be the exact day they passed away.”
Instantly, the class quieted. Everyone turned up with a sad look. He'd turned that one around.
The funny thing was that he hadn't prepared to say it. The words had flown out from his mouth as though he'd read from a well-revised script.
“Isn't that just so sad? I would never have imagined that. I feel your pain. If you don't mind, I could excuse you from class today. No one would penalize you. You could even take tomorrow off if you want. Just ensure you are in proper shape before you return.”
The words from Mr. Zinfandel were the kindest Vince heard from him since he became their teacher. The man was in the same class with the creatures he spoke about, creatures that ate their kinds and made meat of their families. Yet, kindness had looked so good on him.
“Alright, sir,” Vince said, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. He had to put up the act. Although he realized at this point he didn't need it, Vince went back, as sluggishly as he could, to his seat. He packed his book into his backpack and, with his head down, exited the class.
Out on the corridor, Vince raised his head again. He had scored a significant point in deceiving the teacher.
Vince needed Mabel to go with him to Mr. Lapwing's quarters. The librarian had been fortunate enough to be given a housing unit just outside the school's premises. Vince had judiciously checked the schedule and knew the man would be in the school's library at that time. It was the perfect moment.
Yet, he couldn't do it without Mabel around. She would make it easy. Watching while he worked, she'd ensure that no one sneaked up to him without warning.
Mabel had a class on Mind tapping. Ever since she'd encountered James at the Outworld, it was something she'd taken a liking too. She'd never once missed a class and was determined to learn how to do the same thing within the semester. She was making fast progress.
How was he to get to her? There was very little chance he could just walk up to the class and ask to borrow her. That would score him some severe punishment, plus he would have to explain why he hadn't gone home directly to continue the morning. Gosh, they'd even get around to asking why Mabel herself wasn't mourning since they'd come up with the terrible claim that they were family.
Vince stood at a corner, very close to her classroom. He needed something out of the ordinary. Yet, something that would catch Mabel's attention. So, he decided he was going to do something no one else would suspect, but Mabel would catch.
Vince rubbed his palms together and breathed into it, preparing to start speaking the words of the charm. It was a lengthy one. It would require concentration to come out well. He was in luck as the passage was deserted, everyone inside their classes.
Vince closed his eyes. “Soman da'alia Fuxtus En Trapilia Dux...”'
The wind began gathering around him. It picked up a patch of paper that had been littering the corridor. Dust swept up, leaping into his hands as well.
The paper crumbled and, with the dust, began forming into the likeness of his pendant. The end tipped into spikes.
Just then, someone disconnected his palms. Everything fell to the floor.
Vince opened his eyes. Anger flashed between his eyeballs. Nathan stood in front of him, a smug expression hanging on his lips like a he-goat pleased with itself.
“I'd like to know what that was all about,” he said.

8


A ball of fire danced on Mabel's palm. She tossed it up and down like pebbles, catching it with the tip of her finger. It was the kind of stuff that made people gather around at circuses. However, Vince had seen it many times and was no longer in awe.
More pressing was the issue with the principal. For some weird reason, he knew the key to finding Crayon was finding the principal. Although Vince couldn't understand the logic behind his intuition, to give a reasonable answer for why he would follow that line of thought, he could see, like a scarlet thread, the connection between these two events.
Mabel had told Vince several times to let go of the connection between the principal and Crayon. Yet, he wouldn't stop. No matter how hard he tried to let go of the idea, he kept going back there. There was just nothing better than that. Who else was there to suspect? His train of thought kept heading back in that direction. He could never drop the subject.
Tapping his feet on the floor, he looked up at Mabel. He waited, hoping she would finish her exercise on time. She was counting from one to one hundred. Mabel hated stopping halfway. She was at sixty-five now and had thirty-five more to do.
Vince thought about doing something to distract her. He needed her attention right now. His was a more pressing issue than what she was doing.
What benefit would one derive from throwing fire up and down?
Thinking about it, Vince chuckled.
The serendipity of the event made him want to burst out laughing. How many times had he heard in the past that one should never play with fire? They'd even turned it into an idiomatic expression. If only they'd see Mabel at the moment.
Mabel, at last, stopped to look at Vince. She stood with her left hand akimbo. “What is it you've been waiting to tell me, Vince?”
Vince stared at her, dazed. His brows hung low like a loose clothing line. How'd she known? Was his thought just now open like a comic book?
Mabel saw his expression.”I'm not stupid, Vince. It doesn't take a soothsayer to know you've been itching to say something. Spill the beans now.”
Vince scratched the top of his head lightly. The way he'd planned it was to get their conversation towards that direction slowly. However, he needed to speak up since the opportunity had presented itself.
“I think Mr. Lapwing knows something.”
“I don't get you, “Mabel replied, settling down on the swing beside Vince.
“You're at this your suspicions again.”
“Sure, I am. I was correct the last time. Wasn't I?”
“You were, but you went about it the wrong way.”
Vince kept quiet. The wise thing was to allow her to win this argument. He required her help with the plans he had, not another quarrel.
“Alright, I was wrong. However, this is different. You needed to see the way he kept defending Mr. Lance. You'd never doubt what I think if you were there.”
“And yet, I wasn't.”
“You weren't, but you don’t believe me?”
Mabel rolled her eyes.
“Common, Mabel. I've not felt this close to the truth for some time. I need your help.”
“Why do I have to get involved?”
Vince held his head in his hands like it was threatening to fall off. “You don't have to be so difficult. You know quite well that two heads are better than one. I've been doing this myself the whole time. Maybe it’s time I get someone involved. I think with your help, I might finally be able to crack the lead on this. So are you going to help me or not?”
Mabel folded her hands on her chest. “You're trying to push my hand here. Give me some time to think about it. You don't expect me to just say yes at the moment. What if this gets us in trouble?”
“Crayon is missing, Mabel. What trouble could be more than that? You owe it to Mrs. Mantel to help her look for her son. She's been sheltering you and giving you food to eat. The least you can do is to help her, and by helping her, I mean helping me dig into the profile of this teacher.”
“You know you could have made a more valid point rather than trying to remind me of my condition. My parents may be lost and all that, but you don't have to keep reminding me about it like that.”
Vince cut a frustrated figure. “You're getting this all wrong, Mabel. I didn't mean to do that. Can't you see what's happening?”
She didn't answer.
Vince went on. “I'm really at this point where if I don't get this, I don't know what will happen. I'm scared to my bones. I don't want to fail Mrs. Mantel. Damn, I don't want to fail myself.”
Mabel sighed. Her hands came loose from her chest and rested after beating at her sides.”All right, Vince. I'm going to help you do what's necessary. However, I’m not going to jeopardize my future ever again. Last time, one mistake cost me more than five years of my life. I wouldn't want a repeat of that.”
“Nothing of such will happen,” Vince replied sharply. “You can bank on that. We will apply stealth and ensure that we stay out of sight. What I want is just to do some digging. I want to know who Mr. Lapwing is and who he has been. I want to know what relationship he had with Mr. Lance. That's all. After that, you can take your hands off the investigation.”
“Wait a minute are you trying to tell me that is going to be more after that?”
“Yes, of course. If I do find out he has a hand in Mr. Lance and Crayon's business, I want to know what happened to them and how I can get Crayon back. Isn't that the point of the digging?”
Mabel stood up. “I don't know what gives you these sorts of ideas, but you've got to be careful. Watch where you put your feet. Who knows, a viper might be waiting, eager to strike you.”
Vince watched her as she went into the house. That was two warnings in a few hours. Yet, the resolve he felt had grown even stronger.

annayawchee:
been good

Taking my time to read it, I no wan rush am,

Ann2012:
Thanks for the update Boss

I'm always looking forward to it

11


A million images flashed across his mind as he lay on their floor. Broken glasses shattered in every direction. The house was burning down already. The air was redolent of chaffing wood and burning fabric.
Coleman bit his lip as he careened to his feet. He’d brought this upon Julia. They planted this to him. No doubt about it.
But why bring her into it?
Maybe someone had been at the diner. Maybe someone, other than Julia, had been tailing him the whole time. Who knew? They might have seen her as a threat to their mission to finish him.
No. That wasn’t it.
Julia had called twice earlier. She’d wanted to say something. Maybe they’d intersected her phone. That’s how they know where she lived.
Or, were the people at the forensic working in lieu with the ones who’d killed Hamilton and wanted to finish him before he had the chance to expose them?
Well, they were in for a ride.
But, Julia. Where was she? He hated that they caught her in between. She was innocent. How couldn’t they see that?
He had to get her back. There had to be a way somehow.
The neighbors had come out of their homes. Now, they rallied around the house. A lean guy, with hair sprayed a shade of gold, said he’d seen Julia drive in just as he was coming from the bank.
They crowded at the front door. An elderly woman bit her fingers, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.
Coleman went to her. “Don’t cry Mrs. She wasn’t in there.”
“How would you know that? How would you? Oh, my sweet Julia’s gone. She was the best neighbor I ever had.”
Coleman paused. This new revelation stirred something in him. Listening to all the neighbors speak, Coleman could tell they all held Julia in high esteem. He felt a knot loosened inside of him.
He focused on the older woman. “You won’t believe it but I was in there right before it blew up. Julia’s not there.”
“You’re sure? I could check, you know!”
“How?” Coleman asked looking puzzled.
The woman pointed up. Coleman looked to see a camera.
That was it. He could tell who’d come in and if they were lucky, he could get the license plate.
“Let’s check to find out,” Coleman said.
“Okay,” the nifty old lady said, taking Coleman’s hand as she led him away.
Once inside the house, Coleman saw her house had suffered some damage, too. Seeing Coleman worried, she told him not to worry about the mess. She had a nanny who would come in the evening to take care of the shards before she called in a repairman.
She led Coleman to a small room where a computer idled
“It’s my granddaughter’s. She’s out of town, visiting her father. Her mother, my daughter installed the camera a few months ago. I had it facing Julia’s house because I wanted to know when she came in and out. A very good lady, I tell you. She alone cares for my life in this neighborhood. She comes along every morning to check on me. She sometimes brings me chocolate bars.”
“Wow! She must be really... exciting.”
“Exciting... Yes. She’s exciting.”
“But your safety’s more important,” Coleman added.
She waved him off. “Not at all. Nothing like that. I’m old. Who’d disturb the withering peace of a woman so old? Tell you what; I’ve lived here for over thirty years. Ain’t anything like this happened before.”
“Which is why we have to study this case very well,” Coleman said, bringing her attention back to the tape.
“Aha. Yes. I’ll show you.”
She reached over, and with the mouse clicking, moved from folder to folder. For a woman her age, she had a strong hand and eye coordination. She didn’t even require glasses. And she was proficient with the computer.
“Don’t be surprised,” she said, noticing his eyes bulge. “When you’re old like Lady Patty, you get to find one or two hobbies that would keep your mind sharp and ready at all times.”
She stopped when she arrived in the last at a folder saved in the last few hours. Coleman thanked her and watched looking intently.
Mrs. Patty excused herself to get them both a cup of coffee. He told her his preference for two cubes of sugar and turned to focus on the monitor.
When she came back, he was waiting with news for her.
“Look here. This is when he entered.”
“It’s one man?”
“Yes, ma’am. Come see.”
Mrs. Patty came closer to see the man enter the porch and try to pick the lock. “Oh my God,” she said, her hands clasped to her mouth. Maybe he killed her and burned the house inside.”
“No,” Coleman said taking her shaking hand. “I promise you she wasn’t in that fire. Just watch on.”
“Okay,” she said.
They watched on. Sadly, the surveillance package didn’t come with sound. So, they couldn’t hear what was going on.
Eleven minutes after, they saw them proceed from the house. Coleman paused the tape and zoomed in. He caught the face of the men - the one who dragged Julia by the hair and the one who came out of the car to open the door.
As they entered the car and zoomed away, Coleman could see the license plate. Zooming in, he saw the numbers. He crammed them.
Seeing as Mrs. Patty was now more terrified than before, he led her to a chair where she sat and assured her he would do all he could to bring Julia back.
Coleman exited the house. It was time to call in a friend who’d been itching for a reason to be closer to Coleman.

10


Tired from the meeting with Bennett, Coleman had gone home immediately. He would never expect that a man with such gentle looks could be a great talker. No sooner had the drinks sank home than he’d begun driveling, taking Coleman through the time when he, Bennett and Hamilton had been on the same level as workers. He told Coleman how his father had made certain decisions that didn’t help the late man.
Coleman confirmed from his stories he knew Hamilton. However, Bennett, in all his stories, painted himself the saint and Hamilton the unfortunate one. Although Coleman didn’t like that analogy, he maintained composure, clamping down on the lid that was keeping his anger at bail.
One bullet wouldn’t have sat down and listened to all those crap about his father. One bullet would have drummed this man’s head on the table until a concussion would be the last thing his host would worry about.
Yet, he didn’t steer, didn’t even bat an eyelid. He listened on as Bennett painted for him a picture of a life lived to conquer one milestone after another while his friend, his best friend, continued to suffer from inaction.
Coleman was sure if his father had been alive, his story would be different.
As they’d walked the garden, each with a glass in hand, and the other hand in their pockets, Bennett had asked Coleman to come live with him.
“I can’t do that. We only just met. It would be very inappropriate to do that.”
Mr. Bennett had laughed. “You guys from the military. It’s always about this order. That order. Can’t you just do what you want for once?”
Coleman turned to look at him. “I’m sorry I’ll have to decline your request. If I want to get this investigation over as soon as possible, I’d have to work from the house.”
With that, Bennett had stopped on the matter. Then, he’d moved into his relationship, asking Coleman who he was seeing. When Coleman told him no one, Bennett couldn’t believe it was true. He re-echoed what Julia had said about every lady jumping at the opportunity to date someone in the military.
With all the petty discussions they’d had, Coleman returned home tired and dizzy. He’d jumped on his bed, forgetting that he’d purposed to call Julia back.
So, when the text came in a few minutes into his sleep, he’d ignored it. However, he woke up again ten minutes later when in his subconscious, he’d seen Julia.
He picked up the phone, dizzy eyed.
When he saw the message, he sprang up immediately.
He stopped at the foot of the bed to examine the message again. He looked at the letters if there’d be any subtle sign that would give the message away as a joke. He found none.
As Coleman got behind the wheels, he hoped the message wasn’t some elaborate prank, a subtle attempt to get his attention. If it was that, he’d give her a stern warning. No lady would mess up his life ever again.
Driving fast, like a kid playing grand theft, Coleman arrived at the described place within a quarter of an hour.
The house looked deserted. However, on closer look, he found that the door was open.
Parking his car on the curb, Coleman opened his door and touched foot to the concrete. Pulling out his gun, he edged closer. Crouching as he ran, Coleman surveyed the area to see if anyone was watching.
He cursed at the air.
Some ladies could be stupid. How could a lady as young as Julia stay in a house in such quiet vicinity? It didn’t even look like a single soul lived here. He didn’t hear TVs, didn’t hear kids playing or their mothers shouting.
Anyone could describe this place as a graveyard and wouldn’t be too wrong.
When he reached the door, he made sure the muzzle of his gun went in first. Satisfied no one waited behind the door, Coleman headed for the kitchen. He perceived the smell of gas and wondered if Julia had been cooking before the intruder had come in. Applying stealth, Coleman went through all the rooms but found neither Julia nor her assailant.
He lowered the gun, walking back towards the living room.
He turned into the dark kitchen and made to flip the switch when his better judgment kicked in. Quickly, something sinister could happen, Coleman hurried out of the house.
He took determined steps towards his car, hoping he could string a plan behind the steering.
He’d scarcely opened the door when the deafening sound of glass breaking under intense pressure reached his ears and forced him to the ground.

9

Julia Arlington came back from work early. She had complained about a headache. It wasn’t true. She wanted to get home on time to prepare for when Coleman would come over.
She had reasons to believe he would come. She had something he wanted. It would be her bargaining chip.
She was excited. Straight from work, she’d gone to get stuff for the cooking. She would thrill him to some of her best dishes.
Cooking was her regular pastime. If she wasn’t cooking, she was reading one of Nora Roberts’, her favorite author. But cooking always came first.
Sometimes when she wasn’t cooking for anyone but herself, she entertained the idea of cooking and reading. Today, her attention would focus on nothing other than cooking her best food. No way would she spoil their first time together with a poorly cooked meal.
Julia went upstairs to freshen up. She’d had to go through stress to get the forensic result. The unsolicited interview with Mr. Privet, her boss, her been an unforgettable experience.
Julia couldn’t understand why he’d picked sudden interest in this result. It wasn’t like it was from one individual who had so much at stake they couldn’t help to spoil his career. This was an ordinary workman at a shoe factory.
Nothing to break a sweat for.
Yet, she’d watched sweat roll down her brows as she constantly tried to see reasons with her boss why she had to go with the results.
Julia had played a dirty game, one she knew could cost her job.
When she’d seen that the manager was unbending in his resolve to keep the result until Coleman came for it, she’d played a fast one. She’d accepted defeat and gone back to her station. However, when the manager wasn’t looking, she’d accessed the system and made a photocopy. It would have been easier to forward the document to Coleman but then, she wouldn’t get to meet with him. Thus, she’d printed it out instead.
Now, it lay on the dining table where Coleman would find it when he came.
Before she started cooking, Julia placed a call across to Coleman. It rang and went dead.
Julia frowned. Even if he didn’t want her troubling him, couldn’t he pick up to find out if she’d made good her promise?
She walked away from the phone and began peeling the cabbage. She decided she’d prepare some salad. Most guys she knew enjoyed eating salad. Hopefully, Coleman wouldn’t be different.
But Coleman wasn’t like most men.
Julia stopped slicing as she painted an image of him; his thick iron-like chest making the T-shirt he’d worn yesterday to cling to his frame. God! Those deep-set blue eyes, his bulging biceps. She could see him putting a ring in her fingers already.
She returned to cutting the cabbage, doing this trifling task with delight.
Ten minutes later, she returned to the phone. She placed a call again. She watched it ring until the phone went silent.
Coleman was acting childish if he was ignoring her calls. Hadn’t he believed when she’d said she’d try to fast track the process?
She’d done it. She’d called her boss’s attention to the urgent request that had come in from a man who was working undercover with the FBI.
Although her boss had been reluctant, she’d gone into details how that this man had said it was a matter of life and death and that he’d owe the company one if he could get the result as soon as possible.
So, were all her efforts going to waste?
Her brows creased as she went into the kitchen. She turned off the cooker where a kettle hissed.
Julia went into the sitting room. Putting on the TV, she slumped into a chair.
When the TV came on, she watched a replay of Gossip girls. As she watched, she dazzled into sleep.
It must have been less than an hour later when she heard a sound come from the front door.
She hadn’t been expecting anybody. Anyone who knew her would know she should be at her workplace by this time.
So, who was this person?
Tiptoeing, Julia went towards the glass window and peeped out. She saw, away from her driveway and out close to the curbs, a white van with a graffiti design.
She didn’t know anybody who would have such a van.
Or, was it, Coleman, trying to give her adventure, a signature way of saying he’d finally come around?
Even though that prospect would excite her, even though it would set the butterflies in her tummy singing Michael Jackson’s thriller, she doubted it would be him.
So, she tiptoed back towards her phone. She dialed his number. She seethed as she thought about the chances that Coleman could see the call but purposefully ignoring it.
A key entered the lock.
No. Not a key. No one but she had keys to her house. Someone was breaking in, someone who knew she would be indoors.
Frantically, she dialed Coleman’s number again. Again, it rang without an answer.
Then, she quickly drafted a message. HELP. SOMEONE’S BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE AND I’M INSIDE. 12th SALFORD END.
Julia ran towards her bedroom just as the front door gave way. She didn’t turn to see who it was. She got into her room and bolted the door.
A few seconds later, someone was standing outside.
“Come on out. I don’t want to harm you but I will if you don’t cooperate.”
Julia froze on hearing the voice. With the husky voice not ringing any bells, she realized danger lurked.
She wished it would just be a thief. She hated to think someone wanted her dead.
She couldn’t bring herself to get up and pull back the bolt.
“Okay, I’ve given you enough time. On the count of three, I will break down this door and you won’t like what would happen next.”
Julia pulled into her closet, her heart pounding in her chest.
“One... Two...” he delayed with the third count.
Julia considered throwing herself out the window. However, being on the second floor, she doubted she’d be able to walk after that.
“Three.”
No sooner had he said the number than the door came crashing down. Julia’s scream rent the air as the monster approached the closet.

8

Although Coleman had clarified that he wanted nothing with Julia, he wondered if he hadn’t been too harsh. Julia might not be as beautiful and well-sculpted as Rachel, but she looked more polished, more suited for the life he wanted to lead.
While Rachel had wanted to have the spotlight centered on her forehead at all times, Julia preferred the quiet life of the middle-class families.
Coleman looked himself in the mirror as he combed his hair. A lot of knotted hair came off with the comb.
“What the...?”
He brushed his hand through the hair again and more strands came off.
Although he didn’t major in any of the sciences, Coleman knew enough to know that loss of hair was equivalent to balding. He wanted none of that. Although Hamilton had been almost entirely bald when he left unceremoniously, Coleman had taken precautions not to allow the same thing to happen to him. Adding an input into his memory pad on his phone, he decided he would stop by to get some gel or whatever would be recommended, on his way from Bennett’s.
This supposed best friend to his dad had invited him over. No matter how Coleman tried to swing him off the invitation, Bennett had been firm. He said he wanted to keep true to the friendship he’d shared with Hamilton.
So, that was how Bennett had written his entry into Coleman’s list of things to do that morning.
Bruno sauntered into the room, his tail wagging in his wake.
“Good morning to you, too,” Coleman said, bending down to rub the dog’s head.
The dog had quickly adapted to having only Coleman in the house. Unlike what Coleman thought, the dog hadn’t been difficult. So far, he’d behaved very well, even opening his underside for Coleman to tickle him, sometimes.
Today, however, his eyes looked gloomy.
“What’s the problem?” Coleman asked, half attending to the door, and half checking on the bedside clock.
It was 9:40. He’d agreed to be at Bennett’s at 10 am. He stood up and hurriedly wore his socks. Coleman hoped traffic would be good to him.
If the way was clear, he could make it in good time. However, within the past few days, it looked like California had imported more car owners from outside.
“Wait, you can’t be hungry again, Bruno?”
The dog looked up to Coleman with those massive soggy eyes.
“Okay. You win,” Coleman said, heading for the kitchen where he kept the supplies. He got the pack he’d just opened that morning and ensured that Bruno’s saucer was full.
The dog took some bites but quickly returned to follow Coleman out of the house.
As Coleman wanted to enter the car, he caught sight of the door looking straight at him. Coleman paused at the door, wondering what the dog was trying to communicate.
The dog walked down the porch and came to stand beside Coleman, rubbing its coat on Coleman’s grey slacks.
Coleman realized that he might spoil the dog by giving it too much attention. Many of his former colleagues in the army kept their dogs in cages all the time. He’d thought it too cruel and had been releasing the dog anytime he was at home. Coleman decided he would not release the dog again until he was sure he’d come off his high horses.
Coleman smiled as he thought of the word.
“High horses for a dog? Man, you can do better.”
He laughed at himself as he ushered the dog back into its cage and locked it.
Jogging back to his car, Coleman opened the door and got in. Without wasting time to check if everything was okay, he dug the key into the ignition. A few seconds later, he was speeding off into the road.
When Coleman got into the main road, he was glad the traffic wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be.
He fired down into the road, only to remember seven minutes later that he’d forgotten his gun.
“Jeez!” Coleman screamed. One glance at his wristwatch told him there was no time to get back. He had barely five minutes left. So, he sighed and kept going.
He was two minutes late when he arrived at Bennett’s residence. Bennett was waiting at the front porch reading the day’s papers.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Coleman said immediately he was out.
“Nothing much. Just two minutes late.”
“Oh!” Coleman said, hanging onto the word. “You were watching the time?”
Mr. Bennett shifted from his left foot to the right. “Yeah. I was. I wanted to see if you’d be like your father.”
Coleman said nothing further.
“Look, I’m sorry I mentioned his name. I know how this must hurt. Hamilton was as much a friend to me as he was your father.”
Coleman allowed the man to lead him inside.
The inside of the house was a stark opposite of what he expected giving the lack of attractiveness outside.
Bennett hadn’t bothered for any elaborate decoration outside the house. However, everything was stylish from the very doormat.
The living room echoed class with lavishly carpeted floors and exuded a cavernous appeal. Colorful chandeliers hung from the ceilings of the very spacious hall.
Bennett ushered Coleman into a seat. The chair seemed to hug him the moment he sat on it. Coleman could only wonder how his father had kept a friend as wealthy as this Mr. Bennett.
“I know you must wonder why your father never invited me over when you were around. The truth? I wasn’t always available. Being the face of the company’s marketing department, I need to do a lot of traveling. He talked about you every time. It’s a shame he isn’t here to see us meet.”
Coleman nodded.
A lady with a body-hugging black pencil skirt overlaid with a white camisole came in carrying a tray.
Coleman was surprised because he hadn’t seen Bennett order anything.
It was a bottle of champagne with two wine glasses.
She smiled when she placed the tray on a table between him and Mr. Bennett.
She turned to go but Bennett held her back. “This is Caroline. She’s my angel. The love of my life.”
The lady blushed, putting one hand to her chest and the other for Coleman to shake. Coleman shook her hand and told her how pleased he was to meet them. Caroline told Coleman she was sorry for his loss. She said he should feel at home with them.
When Caroline left, Bennett spoke. “She grew up in the same neighborhood as your dad. So, it left her dejected when the news of his demise came.”
Coleman nodded; bowing his head to look into the glass of wine Mr. Bennett had poured as he spoke. He contemplated telling the man what he thought about the murder. However, he hadn’t seen the man’s true intention yet. For all Coleman knew, Bennett could be a member of the gang that had done the killing.
“What are you thinking about, son?” Bennett asked.
“Oh! It’s nothing at all,” Coleman said, raising the glass to his mouth.
Bennett ran a finger around the neck of his glass. “You know, Hamilton was the last person I’d thought would die of a heart attack. He’d always looked so healthy, even healthier than me.”
“He’d always done exercises to keep fit.”
“See, I know what I’m saying. People die by the strangest ways these days.”
Coleman hesitated. He didn’t like that Bennett would think his best friend died of a heart attack.
It wasn’t true.
Julia’s call came in then. Coleman ignored it and silenced the phone. He asked his host a question. “Did you see the autopsy report?”
Mr. Bennett put down the glass. “Yes. I did. His heart gave way because of unexpected pressure. Maybe he’d heard or seen something that shocked him.”
Coleman dangled from one butt cheek to the other. He drew closer to the man. “I don’t think my father died from a natural cause”
“What do you mean?” Bennett asked, looking puzzled.
“I saw the body. I saw the marks. They strangled him with, most probably, a thin metal wire.”
“You can’t be serious!” Mr. Bennett said, drawing closer to Coleman.
“I’m serious. Dead serious.”
“Well, then. That’s such a pity.”
The man took another swig of his drink. “So, how’s your relationship going?”
Coleman hissed. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want to do?”
“No. I don’t expect you to do anything. If you think this was a murder case, involving the police would be the first thing to do.”
“The police could be in the payroll of the guys who did this.”
Bennett laid back. “That’s true.”
“I want to know who did it and why.”
Bennett’s eyes contracted. “You want to pursue the case?”
Coleman nodded.
“That’s a dangerous game, boy.”
“Fits me,” Coleman said, smiling.
“Okay. I’ve promised to take care of you like my son. You can always call me if you need my help.”
Again, Coleman nodded.
Julia called three more times. Coleman didn’t respond, making a mental note to call her when he got home.
He stayed for a while watching the replay of a football game, where Chelsea got slaughtered by Manchester United in the Premier league, before taking his leave.

7

Declan Shawcross cupped his right hand over his eyes like a soldier offering salutations. He was, in reality, shielding his eyes from the rays of the marooning sun. Having spent most of the day indoors, his legs were wobbly and he staggered under the weight of the trash bags.
Shawcross hissed. He would do anything to get away from the house, getting his hands dirty with work. However, the boss had advised that he took some weeks off.
Any other man would welcome a holiday. Not Shawcross. Those other men had good wives with whom to spend their holidays. Rosalie was unlike most wives.
Shawcross had made many mistakes in his life. Marrying Rosalie was on top of the list, right where the margin should be. She was the genesis to the revelation of his troubles.
Or maybe not the revelation. Not now.
Another occurrence had shuffled the list. Shawcross had done the abominable and now he had to hide, not just from the police, but from himself.
Ever since that morning when his hands had done the damage, he’d not had a sound sleep.
In every dream, Hamilton came to torture him. Despite his many attempts to plead with the man that he’d just been the hand that did the work and not the mastermind, Hamilton wouldn’t listen. Twice, the man had tried to strangle him making him jump out of bed and holding his throat much to the distaste of Rosalie.
Any other scenario, Shawcross would be glad to have a reason to piss Rosalie off. This situation, however, was different.
He was dead meat. At least, today’s dream pointed to that fact.
Shawcross witnessed, in the dream, Hamilton digging a grave and he, supervising it as the bigger man dug. Then, Shawcross jumped in and asked Hamilton to cover him with sand.
As if the dream wasn’t spooky enough, Rosalie had woken him that Melanie was digging through the front yard and had made a deep trench already.
Although Shawcross didn’t believe in fairytales and folklores from African origin bordering on voodoo, he couldn’t help thinking Hamilton was controlling the dog’s mind somehow.
At the office, Jackson, a man as black as coal tar, had said dogs digging holes in front of one’s house was an omen that death was near.
Shawcross had never given much attention to Jackson, a migrant from Nigeria. However, he was thinking there could be an element of truth in what the guy had been postulating.
Would Hamilton be roaming the earth searching for a way to cause him harm?
Shawcross brushed off the thoughts as he walked towards the road where the movable waste bin waited.
Hamilton had always been a delightful old man. No way would he be anything but as anodyne as he’d been alive.
Shawcross took three steps off the porch before he noticed the vibrations from his pocket. In that moment of confusion, he thought a bomb ticked, somehow planted on his body while he was unguarded. Quickly, he threw the bags and began scrambling for his pocket. He hissed when he discovered it was his phone.
He’d changed his notification. He didn’t want the phone ringing anymore whenever he had a message. With Rosalie always snooping around with her pointed nostrils, she could read one of his messages, either Facebook or WhatsApp, and know that he kept a side relationship.
She had insisted on registering one of her thumbs among the options to unlock the phone. Coleman couldn’t disagree with a calm Rosalie. How much more when she’d been fuming when he’d made the foolish mistake; telling her he had a female friend who was coming over to see him.
With a quick scan of his fingerprints, Shawcross opened the phone. It was a text message.
THEY KNOW YOU DID IT.
That was the singular line of the message. Yet, the meaning sent a thousand shock waves skittering across his lengthy frame.
Abandoning the trash bags, Shawcross went back into the house. He passed Rosalie who laid spread on their sofa watching a replay of her favorite gossip show.
He ignored her questions and went straight for the bedroom and locked the door.
Removing the indigo Persian rug from the floor, he the secret floor safe and brought out the gun.
It was a Smith and Wesson brand with a silencer, the same one he’d used to do the job. He got enough bullets to fill two magazines and dropped them on the bed.
He drew his Gucci travel bag from under the bed and piled in some clothes.
Rosalie came banging on the door.
“Open up, Shaw. Why would you lock the door? What’s going on? Why didn’t you empty the trash? Is this the example you want to set for our boy? How do you think he’d react when he comes from school to meet the front yard like that?”
Shawcross greeted his teeth. He didn’t want to answer her. He couldn’t afford to bandy words with her. She’d always win. Plus, he needed to get away as soon as he could. So, he let her drum on the door and talk and threaten as he continued packing the things he needed.
Shawcross had enough money. They’d paid him well for the hit against his former colleague. The money had been too good to look away from. However, the aftermath had left him plagued. The money was as complete as when they first paid it. Not a dime spent.
But, who knew about it and how? Had his people snitched?
Only he, the manager and the chairman knew the plan. He’d been careful to cover his steps.
And who were they?
Were they people he should be afraid of?
Shawcross heaved the bag from the bed. Rosalie has stopped knocking. She probably noticed that he was in no mood for her drama.
With the emergency cash he’d put in the safe with the gun, Shawcross would fly out of town immediately. Or, he could wait until he was sure he was safe to travel out. However, his house was the least safe place to be.
Taking the back door, Shawcross slipped away from the house, out into the car, and drove off just in time to see Rosalie come running down the porch and hurling profanities at him.

6
CHARLES' KITCHEN was bursting with activities. Coleman didn't realize that many people now preferred having dinner outside their houses. They found a table toward the rear of the restaurant.
Although Coleman wasn't in the mood to act romantic, he let Julia have her seat first, drawing out the chair for her.
When they were seated, a waiter sauntered over with high heels.
“Hello, welcome to Charles’ Kitchen. What can I offer you?”
Coleman looked at Julia. Her eyes widened. "What's that?"
“Place your order first.”
A smile returned to her face. “Okay. I'll have grilled cheese with diet coke.”
The waitress wrote what she'd ordered and arched her ears towards Coleman.
“Cheeseburger with diet coke.”
“Be ready in a jiffy,” the waitress said, hurrying away.
“I don't understand the point of hiding your diet from me. We both know that's not what you would eat were you alone.”
“How's that your business, miss? If I want my life private, is that your business?”
Some occupants from the nearby table turned to look at Coleman. He noticed Julia's cheek flush.
“You don't have to be so hard,” she said, extending a hand to touch Coleman. The ex-military personnel tucked his hands away.
“No. You don't get to do that. You still haven't told me why you've been following me.”
Julia withdrew her hands to her laps. Coleman's face tightened. If she would pull out a gun, he'd be ready for her.
"I told you. I was awestruck the moment you walked in. Forgive me for acting like a child. I don't normally do this. It's just... I've always wanted to be with someone from the army. I wanted to know how it feels. I want to hear you tell the stories and all."
Coleman folded his hands into his armpit." You could have all that easily. It's not like this city's short of military personnel."
Julia sighed.” Why are you being so uptight?”
Coleman leaned back into his chair. Luckily, the waitress came back at that moment and dropped their deposited their orders on the table carefully.
Coleman took the liberty of the distraction to weigh his opinions. If he told her about his father, it wouldn't do much harm since the people who'd done their job already knew about it. However, if he told her that the reason he wanted the handkerchief checked was for links with the murderer, she could sabotage the plan.
The waitress took leave to attend to other customers.
Coleman stared at Julia as she downed a glass of the coke after dropping some ice cubes in it.
“Why do you work at Richard's Forensics?”
Julia raised her index finger, waving it at his face. “You don't get to do that. I asked a question first. Reply me before I reply you. That's how it works in the real world. You do know that. Yeah?”
Coleman stared at her for some seconds. Then, he broke into a smile. “You're one tough nut. Isn't it?”
Julia nodded. “That's what people tell me. So?”
“My girlfriend dumped me days ago.”
He hadn't thought to go that angle but the words dropped from his mouth like hot potatoes.
All of the stored up emotions were suddenly bubbling at the surface.
Julia's face was literally drained of colors. She reached out to touch his hand. This time, he didn't pull away. "I'm sorry. Damn! That's got to hurt."
“You don't know the half of it, I tell you. She was like... the missing part of me. I don't know what happened. One day we're talking over the phone all excited about the time we were going to spend together in Malibu, the next, she was giving me the heart-crushing news.”
“That lady deserves to go to hell. She deserves even worse than that. How could she do that to someone like you? Did you tell you why?”
Coleman took a sip from his drink. “Ridiculous reason. She said she can't be with a man who's got so much blood in his hands.”
“What?” Julia sounded genuinely baffled. “She didn't know you were in the force before going in?”
Coleman raised both hands so she could see the inward part of his palms.
"And who doesn't have blood on their hands? We spite our friends and those we call family. We fail to offer our support to the ones who need them the most and instead prefer to create a show by putting a camera when we go to give money to people who can do without it. There's hardly anyone who doesn't have blood on their hands. Many ladies today have multiple abortions all year long. Doesn't that amount to having blood on your hands?"
Coleman sighed. “She just wanted to leave. The excuse came after. Not before.”
“Her loss then,” Julia murmured.
“What?” Coleman asked, not hearing what she'd said.
“Nothing. I was just speaking out my thoughts.
A wave of silence followed. Coleman watched with mixed reactions, the different occupants of the diner. Different emotions flowed from table to table. On the left, a small family of a man, probably in his sixties with silver crusted balding hair, his wife, a rather round and plump female with a dimple when a smiled, and their son, a nine or ten-year-old who was busy rolling up noodles in his fork and trying to score some serious points by eating them without any strand dropping.
“What is your mission?” Coleman asked.
Julia was taken aback by the question. She hadn't been expecting it.
When she spoke, her voice was broken. “Do I look so unconvincing? Why can't you believe me?”
Her eyes were teary. Coleman made to reach over and help wipe her eyes but he advised himself against it.
“Women come in different shades,” his father used to say.
“Not every tear reveals emotion or true intentions.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a provoking question.”
“It's fine. I understand your standpoint. However, in a bid to prove my innocence to you, I'm going to help you.”
“Help me? How?”
“I'll help fast track the process to get your forensic results ready as soon as possible.”
Coleman would jump and hug her if he weren't already wearing a controlled performance, Ai winning one. “Alright. That would go very far. However, I still don't trust you enough. My eyes will be on you.”
“As dangerous as that sounds, I think I like the idea.”
Coleman turned away to watch a kid who'd come running past their table. He used the opportunity to hide his delightful grin from Julia.

5

Family’s Keep grocery store had been serving the Alviso neighborhood for years. Although not that only one, it had served the few residents who inhabited the place for well over a hundred years. It had become a family business, passing down from generation to generation. People respected the store because it held memories that the newer ones didn’t have. What was more was the fact that the store had upgraded frequently over the years. Many of the newer ones couldn’t outdo the Family keep despite the years she had seen.
The store had a large parking space. Today, the flow of traffic in and out of the store was less than Coleman had expected. He liked that he wouldn’t have to spend too much time inside.
He needed to restock with milk and some flour. Baking was Coleman’s best pastime.
When Coleman finished packing his trolley with toiletries, pasties, Pringles, and other groceries including canned dog food and treats, he rolled the trolley towards the counter.
Again, this was a female.
Coleman wondered when the world had changed, when the policy for only female salesperson had been enacted.
Sighing, he watched with knitted brows as the lady took stock of what he’d gotten.
After paying with his card, Coleman took the bags and headed for his car.
As he was about to open it, a sense of foreboding watched over him.
Coleman turned around to see someone shut the door to the very shop he’d just come from.
He paused. He had seen no one come when he pulled open the door. Whoever it was, the person had been inside and not out.
Coleman opened his door and dumped the items on the back seat. He waited inside the car for anyone that could come outside when they thought he was going away.
Nobody came out. Nobody suspicious, that is.
After waiting for ten minutes, Coleman turned the ignition and drove out of the parking lot.
At home again, Coleman couldn’t get himself to do anything worthwhile. Now and then, he would burst into a fit of anger and would throw things. The toaster now needed replacing.
His life was a mess. Now, before he’d even get closer to finding the truth, he’d have to wait two weeks.
What if the person had taken his marked ass out of the state?
Everything would become difficult.
Ten minutes inside the kitchen, he hadn’t decided what he would make. He didn’t even have an appetite for food.
Bruno walked into the kitchen. Coleman bent to pat its head. The dog obliged, allowing Coleman to scratch behind its ears.
When Coleman looked down, he saw stains.
He looked at the dog’s snout to see a cream-like smear.
“Damn, Bruno. What’s that?”
Coleman bent to smell the dog’s snout. He pulled back when he perceived the repulsive odor.
“No, Bruno. That was wrong.”

The dog had been to the trash behind the house. Coleman took some wipes and cleaned up the dog’s nose. When he got outside to throw it in the trash, it surprised him to see the mess.
Three full bags and one upturned one. Flies were gathering.
Coleman sighed and got back into the kitchen to put on his gloves. They were technically his now that he owned the house. He snapped them on and went out to move the bags into his car.
The large trash cans were just a little further than his house. Yet, Coleman decided he’d just use the opportunity to buy some gas.
The truck, a Ford product belonged to Hamilton. Coleman tried hard not to recall the memories he had of the truck.
He sniffed back the tears that threatened to roll down.
The air grew cooler as he turned on the air conditioner. He turned on the radio to listen to music that would take his thoughts captive.
A light blues played, a classic from the 80s. Coleman drove slowly towards the gas station wondering why the present generation preferred faster songs and crazy beats.
He didn’t come to any conclusion before turning into the station. Two cars were ahead of his.
Coleman waited. Dunkley Charles’s station had been his and his dad’s favorite. Their price was friendly, and the owner had been friends with Hamilton.
Also, they had a small eatery back of the pump station. Coleman fancied he could grab a bite since he was in no mood to cook.
His turn came, and when Mr. Stalin saw him, the old man’s brow creased.
“I’m so sorry, Coleman. I heard the news.”
Coleman put a hand on his forehead, blocking his eyes. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”
“So sorry. Accept my sympathy. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
Coleman nodded slightly, afraid that if he spoke, his words might not end in a complete sentence.
He made to pay for the gas but Pa Stalin brushed it aside.
“On the house,” he said.
Coleman murmured his thanks.
He drove away towards the parking space reserved for customers of the restaurant. The smell of baked burgers and cheese hit his nose. His stomach rumbled. He put a hand to the door when he caught sight of the lady smiling at him.
It was her - the girl at Richard’s Forensics.
She had sunglasses.
Coleman took her by the hand towards the side of the building.
He released her when he was sure no one would be watching.
“What do you want?”
“Sorry,” she said, trying to feign ignorance.
“Don’t you dare,” Coleman said, pointing his index finger at her face and closing in on her. “It was you at the grocery store. I knew it was you. Why are you following me? Who sent you?”
She raised her hands, trying to back away from the wall.
“I’ll beat you crazy if you don’t start talking,” Coleman said.
“Alright. I’ll talk,” she said. She brushed her dress and straightened her hair. “It’s true I’ve been following you.”
Coleman drew closer.
“No one sent me. I... I like you. That’s why. From the moment you walked into the forensic lab, I was in awe.”
Coleman couldn’t say a word.
Julia blushed. “I like guys in the military.”
Coleman’s eyes widened. “How would you know that..?”
“Relax, Coleman. It’s not brain science. Anyone can spot someone in the military. Not everyone goes around with a physique like that.”
Coleman looked down at his hands. He was speechless.
“Look, I know you wanted to grab some food. Why don’t we eat together?”
Coleman’s shoulder slumped. “Okay. You win.”
“Against a soldier? That’s a rare win.”
Coleman smiled as he led the way. Before they pushed open the door to the diner, he said. “Should I find you’re a spy beyond all the sweet talk and flatteries, I won’t lose a breath before taking you down. Just keep that at the back of your mind.”

4

Coleman had thought to take the dog along but worried that it wouldn't give him time to think as he drove. So, he'd let the dog into its miniature house, leaving him some treats with which to keep busy and a blue ball to play with.
The closest forensic lab was a twenty-minute drive. Coleman had no issue driving that far. This morning, he was feeling pumped up. The serendipity of the dog's discovery had him believing nature was working fine him. Thus, he could see things working for him. Hopefully, the lab would find fingerprints.
Bingo!
He'd strike immediately he found the culprit. He could already see the gun going off and the idiot dropping dead. Good riddance.
He'd worried the lab wouldn't be open so early. However, when he'd called, the lady who'd answered had said they were already two hours into their day.
Coleman hoped they didn't deal with too many cases. He wanted the results as soon as she could manage. Delay was one thing he never liked. He wondered if a cash gift would hasten things.
Traffic was heavier this morning. Motorists acted like brutes, not allowing him entrance when he saw an opening. He hated to wait in traffic but he took it coolly, deciding nature would want things to go this way.
“Look at you, Coleman. Since when did you become a believer in the paranormal?” he asked his reflection in the mirror.
Coleman had stopped attending church when his aunt Elizabeth had passed on. She alone had the patience for his troubles. She was the panacea for his obstinacy. Not once when she was alive had he missed a church service. However, as soon as she'd passed on, Coleman had bid the church goodbye.
Here he, more than a decade later, believed in a force behind nature.
Some situations could give you some total paradigm shift.
Coleman managed a weak smile as the traffic opened up again.
He got to the forensic lab thirty minutes after he left the house. Located in a complex where there were several store outlets, the lab was a small one. Coleman had expected something bigger. The size discouraged him as he thought they might have too many jobs to handle his own faster. And he wasn't exaggerating to think they might not have the privilege to access the nation's database.
He shoved his thoughts when he opened the door and saw that inside was very different.
The walls were painted white that sparkled with a clear reflection. On the walls were several electronic charts. He was wrong. They could handle what he needed.
“Hello, sir,” he heard, the voice of a lady who would excel as a lead vocalist in any choir.
He turned around to see a blonde. She adorned a plastic smile as she beckoned on him.
Coleman didn't return her smile as walked up briskly to her.
He wanted to cut off all the petty talks these receptionists could make when they saw you had time for it.
He was here for business.
“My name’s Julia. Welcome to Richard’s Forensics. How can we help you?”
Coleman dropped the bag containing the handkerchief on the counter. “I want a check done on this item. I want to know who owns it.”
The lady flashed her smile at him again before proceeding to take the bag.
“We’d need to do some documentation first. Can you please fill this form,” she said, drawing out a typed paper from a drawer in her side of the counter.
Coleman took the form and the pen she’d given.
The form contained a long list of questions. Coleman skimmed to the end where he was to crest his signature. There were no less than fifty columns to fill.
“Please, is there any way we could make this process faster?” Coleman asked, brandishing a smile to his own.
The lady looked at him for an awkward to seconds. Then, she spoke. “I’m not sure I would understand what you mean.”
Coleman let the air out of his mouth. “Okay. How long does the process take?”
“A week. Two weeks top.”
Terror flashed across his eyes. “What? I can’t wait that long.”
“It’s put procedure, sir. We’ve got a lot of cases on our hands right now. Exercise patience.”
Coleman stamped a foot on the ground. “I can’t wait that long. I will...”
He noticed the way she was looking at him. If he didn’t knock better, he’d say she was making a pass at him.
Rachel’s face flashed across his mind. He pulled out from the vision immediately and hurried towards a seat in the waiting area.
He did not turn to see the lady’s reaction at his utter refusal to her advancement. And he didn’t care.
After Rachel, he would be careful how he allowed ladies into his life. It’s not like he would die if he distracted date again. After all, his father had lived for over two decades since his wife passes away.
He didn’t die then. Coleman wouldn’t.
He needed to put his head down and focus on the case. No distraction was welcome.
He was a weakling when he came to women. Somehow, they always knew how to bring him to his knees. Who knows what demon the next one could be? He was better off alone.
Brushing through the list which included questions on his personality, his reason for finding out the owner of the fingerprints, if there was government or any of her agencies involved in the case, and if the prints could go to the authorities if it matched one of their profile cases.
Coleman agreed to everything. When he submitted the list back to the lady, she smiled at him.
“That was quick.”
Coleman didn’t look her straight in her eyes. “Yes. I wish you guys would be as fast.”
“We try our best.” She leaned in. “There’s a premium service option. It’s only available to our best clients but I could put in your job of you’d like it.”
Coleman had to look her in the eye. She locked his gaze with hers.
“No,” Coleman said, snapping out. “I... I’ll wait.”
“No problems,” the lady said, tucking Coleman’s form into a big stack on the table. “I trust your number’s here. We’ll call you when it’s ready. Enjoy your life.”
Although there hadn’t been an audible tinge of sarcasm in her voice, Coleman knew what she was trying to do.
He didn’t take the bait though. Walking towards the exit, he pushed open the door and walked into the waiting wrath of the California sun.

3

Coleman realized he hadn't fed Bruno for two days. He'd paid very little attention to the dog all this time. It wasn't fair. The dog didn't deserve to grieve and starve with him.
All the while he'd seen the dog's eyes, he'd thought like him, the dog was missing Hamilton. However, when Coleman opened the door and met the dog lying on its side with only his eyes acknowledging his presence, he realized his mistake.
Quickly, Coleman went into the house and went for the pack of dog biscuits.
Bruno was a Labrador. He'd been with them for a very long time. He'd joined their family when Coleman was six. For such a creature, he'd seen too much grief. Bruno had been there when Agnes died of Gastric cancer. He'd watched as her body went pale. Coleman sometimes wondered if the dog could remember those times as he could. He wondered if the dog had the memories that followed the death of a loved one.
Or was it just grief that passed when a new caregiver came into the picture?
Coleman emptied the biscuit into the dog's dish. He watched as Bruno got up lazily towards him.
Coleman pitied the dog. He'd never had a mate as Hamilton had never cowered to Coleman's many pleads for Bruno to get a mate.
Coleman thought it would be an injustice to let the dog go out without having the pleasures of mating a female. Just as it would be an injustice to let Hamilton's killer go scot-free. The least he could get was jail time. Coleman didn't want jail time. He would put the bullet himself. He would gun down the madman who'd taken his father out like he was common chicken.
No. Jail time would be too merciful.
Back in the military, Coleman had a reputation. His mates nicked him 'One Bullet'. That was because he never wasted time to bring down an enemy. With one bullet, he'd ended many lives. With one bullet each, he'd scored significant victories for his infantry. And with one bullet, he'd take out his father's killer.
One bullet. Straight to the cranium.
After feeding the dog an extravagant ration, Coleman took a chair and sat outside watching the dog come alive. First, he started with easy steps. Then, it jumped around, running after imaginary objects and stopping to see if Coleman would come.
He wouldn't. He was too busy planning his next action with his mind.
Four hours later, he still hadn't decided what he would do about Bennett's call. The man had sounded worried. Because he hadn't seen him face to face, Coleman couldn't tell if he was pretending or being real.
When Coleman met with the coroner, he'd listened as the man explained the nitty-gritty of heart attacks. Coleman would believe if he didn't know a thing or two about killing.
He wasn't smart, whoever had done the hit. Any other person would have missed it. Not Coleman. He saw the lines just above the Adam apple on Hamilton's corpse.
Coleman had once witnessed something similar. The unfortunate victim had been an infiltrator who wouldn't cower to interrogation. Not wanting to draw blood, the officer had used a string, less than a millimeter thick. With enough pressure, any man's windpipe would give in.
However, they'd hidden the mark with a bit of makeup, just enough to cover up their actions. Coleman's duty had been to stand guard, watching the door.
The dead rat who'd done the job had to be an amateur, one that would follow the same route soon.
Coleman released his hand. He'd clench it as he thought about the meeting with the coroner. He thought to go back to the man and ask him questions. He'd decided against doing that because he knew he'd put the man in trouble by so doing. Whoever had set up the coroner lie would have eyes on him and would want to ensure compliance.
They could have eyes around.
No. Instead, he would find another opening.
Coleman watched the dog again. He was now lying down, panting as he faced Coleman like something was exciting about this human's face.
The dog was clean and devoid of lice. Hamilton was deserving of praise for how he'd taken care of the dog. Coleman doubted he'd be able to do the same. He couldn't even keep a small cubicle clean and orderly. In contrast, Hamilton had a thing for neatness. Coleman found all his clothes pressed and arranged like the old man had been expecting an inspection. White sleeves came before black. Red followed. Then, blue. This attention to detail followed through to his shorts and slacks. Even his socks and handkerchiefs were arranged by their color.
Only the books were scattered.
That meant he must have been at the table before he met his end.
If Coleman reasoned better, if he hadn't been struck with an anxiety attack, he would have instructed the police when they called that the murder scene should be untouched. They'd wiped everywhere clean before he'd returned.
If the murderer had been stupid to leave clues, they were gone before Coleman arrived.
Still, he was going to find the truth. He would bring justice for Hamilton even if it cost him his life.
Part of him was liking the new resolve. Having a course to keep him busy was good. It would give him less time to worry about Rachel.
Rachel was number two on the list. Unless she's was somehow involved in this case.
Otherwise, he'd finished the murderer off before going for her. She'd blown out the flame in his life. Why shouldn't he do the same to her?
The dog took off again. Coleman wondered if dogs had fast ingestion. Had he gotten all that strength from the food he'd eaten just moments ago?
Coleman never realized Bruno had too much energy.
The dog went towards the end of the fence. He came bandying back with something in its snout.
Coleman stood when he saw it. He walked away from the balcony and headed towards the dog.
Bruno stood, looking straight into Coleman's eyes. He beckoned on the dog to come forward towards him. Either the dog didn't understand or he didn't want to oblige.
Coleman beckoned again. The dog ignored.
Then, Coleman took a step towards him. Immediately, then dog took off, running like a ghost pursued.
Coleman took the place of the imaginary ghost, pursuing the dog around his parked car and into the lawn. At last, Coleman stopped to catch his breath. The dog stopped before coming back.
Coleman patted his head before retrieving the handkerchief.
It was covered in mud and dog spittle. Yet, that wasn't what bothered Coleman.
The handkerchief was pink.
Pink had been Hamilton's least favorite color.

2

When morning came, Coleman was ready. The first point of call was his father’s room.
Although the memories would awaken with every picture, every shirt reminding him of the one he’d lost, Coleman knew without an iota of doubt that the room would provide the first evidence he needed.
And he didn’t have to look too far.
Upon entering the room, it jumped at him, like a white ball in a sea of reds.
The books.
Hamilton had an aversion for books. He’d once told Coleman that if the only job left in the world took do was to teach, he’d die of starvation. And he’d meant it.
However, books now littered the room, on the table, chair, dresser, and even the closet.
If Hamilton did this many studies, it was for a good reason.
Coleman thought back to the many times he’d wanted to speak with his father during the last few days before he went to be with Rachel. The older man had ignored his call which was very much unlike the man Coleman knew.
Something had been eating him up. Now, it was Coleman’s responsibility to find out what I was.
Coleman switched on the bedside lamp to have a better look at the book on the bedside cupboard. It was a book about decoding mysteries. Coleman couldn’t understand what his dad would want to decode. He worked in a shoe factory that paid him well. What mystery was he trying to find?
Coleman delved into the book, looking first at the content. Nothing there made any sense. Coleman wondered how his father had gone through the books when he couldn’t even go through a normal picture book filed with exciting images.
The man had to have struck something serious. Something he shouldn’t know.
What could it be?
Coleman regretted having not asked too much about his father’s company. The few times they’d talked on the phone while he was in the military, it had all about his work, the fight they were having. His assignments. He’d never once thought to ask history father how the company was going.
Selfish bastard.
Now, he would have to pay by going through the arduous task of discovering much about the company.
Who would he talk to?
A lone ranger, Coleman never cared for friends. Friends brought too much trouble with them and Coleman liked to live a life devoid of eccentricities. If the world could leave him alone with so much cash, he would buy up an island far away in the Caribbean and live the rest of his life in isolation like a monk.
Coleman walked towards his father’s table. He’d never once seen a book on it. Now, there was barely space to put his large hands.
He used his forearm to push them aside.
Become an undercover detective in five days.
That title caught his attention before the others.
“What fuckery?”

Had Hamilton discovered a secret agency if some sort?
That he would need to investigate something without coming to his son who’d be in the best position to help troubled Coleman.
Why had he wanted to do it alone?
Coleman turned towards the small trash can in the room. It was the type that worked with a pedal at the foot. Coleman got up from the chair and headed towards it. He flipped I open and saw tons of crumpled paper inside.
Hamilton had crumpled some papers so well they couldn’t be redeemed. However, he opened one up after a careful try.
It was some time map.
Factory takes break 11:00
Workers rest and refresh for 30 minutes
Manager leaves the premise by 11:40
Trident...
"Trident does what?" Coleman asked
Gosh. Coleman had never seen worse handwriting than his father’s. He had to rewire his brain circuit repeatedly to bring up certain letters and register them as the letters his father had been trying to write.
Yet, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t understand the next words Hamilton had been trying to write.
Who was Trident?
What was important about him?
It was the only name his father had written rough. It was illegible. Also, around the name were several dots. Coleman imagined his father poking on the name, no doubt in thoughts.
That man would have a pivotal role to play. Coleman was sure of that. He just needed to know who he was.
Now, how would that happen?
Coleman looked around. He’d seen the card before. The electronic card required for entry into RAYMOND FOOTWEAR.
His dad had usually kept it on the table. Now, it wasn’t there.
Who he’d taken it?
Before the burial, Coleman had never entered this room. He’d been afraid to face the many memories they would come flooding down his mind.
Someone had taken advantage of that.
Had used his negligence to have access to the room. And Coleman wouldn’t know if they had accessed the room because he didn’t know how his dad had left it.
All of this was because he was Rachel. She’d had caused everything.
Coleman sat down on the chair again. A new strain I thought was forming. He’d never associated Rachel with any of this before, not in this way.
What if she was an accomplice? What I’d she’d been doing planted all along on him to get to his father?
No. That wasn’t it. He and Rachel had been together for three years. Had they involved her, he would have sniffed it out of her. Rachel wasn’t that smart.
Maybe it was a few weeks ago. Or right before the breakup. Maybe, they’d waylaid her, had threatened her with deathly or something. It was possible. Rachel could have loved him but not so much as her life. Otherwise, how could she have gone from ‘madly in love’ to ‘I no longer want you’ within a few days?
She was in the middle.
“Damn!” Coleman said, his hand cupping on his head.
He dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out his phone.
Her number was no longer there. In the heat of anger, he’d deleted it.
It had been a new number, one he’d bought for her and had privately registered. So, there was no way to get to her.
Facebook.
She was a sucker for the social media platform. Coleman could bet it was on Facebook she’d met her new catch.
Yes. Catch. That was how he saw her. She was a hoe. Just two days after the breakup, he’d seen her story, a picture with a bald-headed idiot. Who knows? She could have been playing the game behind his back, all those times he’d been away on assignments.
Bitch.
“I’ll get her,” Coleman muttered with gritted teeth. First, he needed to play it cool.
She was online.
He sent her a message.
“Hi, Rachel.”
She didn’t reply even though he could see she’d read it.
Coleman waited. Three minutes past and she hadn’t replied. He sent another one.
“I know I’m not supposed to message you. However, it’s something important and I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Call me. Will you?”
Coleman waited.
When another five minutes past, he got up angrily and made to throw the phone against the wall. However, the phone began ringing.
Quickly, he pressed his thumb against the finger sensor.
However, it was a male voice.
“Hello, is that Coleman?”
Coleman hesitated.
“Hello. Are you there?”
Coleman sighed and answered. “You’re speaking with Coleman. Who are you?”
“I’m Bennett Woods. I was friends with your dad.”
Coleman hesitated again.
“You don’t know me? Didn’t your father ever mention my name?”
Coleman’s reply was cold. “No.”
“Look, I’m sorry for having to mention his name. I know you must still feel all the pains seeing as he only just died. I just wanted to reach out to you. I want you to know I’ll be here for you if you need anything. You can always talk to me. This is my number.”
“Okay,” Coleman said.
The phone went dead and Coleman dropped to the chair again.
How would he know when he’d never spent quality time with his father?
Bowing his head on the table.
He cried aloud as he’d never done since back when was a child when his mother died.

1

Coleman John Hamilton drove his Chevrolet down the road. At this time of the day, traffic was very slow. So he didn’t have to think about the other drivers and all that he was hindering them from getting to their destination. Thoughts of recent happenings completely took over his mind.
Coleman was once a very happy man. Straight out of the military, he’d met the love of his life and it’s seemed things were off to the right place. Their promised land.
Little did he know that Rachel had news for him.
He’d loved Rachel and thought she did the same too. He’d wanted to propose when he’d set the meeting with her. However, she spilled her guts first. She’d revealed that she was going away. Coleman couldn’t tell where things went wrong. As much as he could remember, they’d been on the right track.
Like a gun barrel pointed to the throat and blasted away, Coleman felt wasted. He hadn’t been able to deal with it. Here he was, three days after, still unable to stop himself from thinking about her. The worst thing was that she hadn’t come up with a good excuse. She said she couldn’t be with a man who had so much blood on his hands.
That might seem like a credible excuse. However, when he’d asked her once, three years prior, she said she liked him because he was bold and could look danger in the face and not flinch.
Doesn’t looking darkness in the face mean you’d also have to slap her?
And, no. He didn’t just feminize danger. He’d merely been reechoing his father’s words.
Rachel just wanted to go. Case closed.
She broke his heart and left without giving him a chance.
Coleman thought he’d been a fool. They’d deceived him too easily. For someone who’d just come out of the military, he ought to have seen it. He shouldn’t have been so easily deceived.
“Damn, I’m a fool,” Coleman said, banging the steering.
He’d even taken Rachel to see his father, and his father had liked her.
No.
The old man hadn’t. Not totally. After she left, he’d pulled Coleman, taking him under a big bear stronghold, and made him sit on the sofa.
Then, he’d spoken heartily, telling Coleman what he liked about the new girl. And what he didn’t like very much.
Yet, Coleman had so blinded by the fluttery butterflies of love that was the first sign of every relationship ready to hit the walls.
How could he have forgotten that his father had said Rachel looked like someone who could dig for gold just for the fun of it?
“Damn you, old man,” Coleman said, banging the steering again, drawing concerned looks from cars driving by.
Why hadn’t the old man just said it as one word? Maybe he would have taken notice more if he’d just said it that way?
Now, the tears were streaming down.
Hamilton had been right. Too right.
He pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. There, he sobbed uncontrollably. If only he’d seen the signs. Maybe he wouldn’t be so foolish.
Coleman wiped his teary eyes with the back of his hand and looked up towards the front mirror. His eyes looked excruciatingly reddened.
“You will fix this,” he told the guy in the mirror.
In the military, they had taught him to always go back to the beginning to trace the problem from its roots.
Yes. It was from the three-day vacation. Everything had gone south from that one event.
It was from those three days, maybe the third that they took away the one person he cared for the most.
To Mr. Hamilton, his son just needed to take three days off to clear his head and to strategize for his future. For Coleman however, it was to be the weekend that would change his life forever.
He’d wanted to propose to Rachel.
Little did he know that fate would blow everything away from within his reach.
With that opening, the bastards had taken his father away.
They wouldn’t have gotten the chance. They wouldn’t.
No one would dare attempt murder in the presence of the US most crazily skilled personnel.
They’d planned it well.
Maybe they even had the house taped. Surely, that had to be how they’d known he was leaving town.
Or was Rachel the mole?
No. She couldn’t. She was too chicken-hearted, the very trait that had piqued his attention.
“Fool,” he whispered into the mirror. “That’s why you will fix this. Your mistake. Your cleanup.”
Coleman turned on the ignition and turned back into the road. A ten minutes journey became an easy five. No, four with some change to spare. He’d wiggled through traffic like a crack head high on methamphetamine. Yet, he’d known his way. Maybe he could become the new Transporter in town, but that would have to wait until he put paid to this one.
He would sleep first. Then, when he was awake, he’d begin what he hoped would be the short journey towards discovering the truth in finding justice for his old man.
He would avenge Pa Hamilton. By God, he would.
Finally, he arrived home. Climbing the stairs, he headed straight upstairs. The moment his head hit the pillow, he lost consciousness. As fast as when overdosed with a full dart of tranquilizer.
His dream was at first peaceful. However, within fifteen minutes, the images blurred out.
A bloodied one came up instead.
The man who was no longer his father appeared with bloodstains all over his shirt. Coleman watched in horror like a late-night zombie film was in.
The dream toppled his senses, had him believing the old man was still alive.
“Dad. Is that you?”
Then, he looked down to see his father’s hand stained with blood.
“Did you cut yourself?” he asked.
Hamilton didn’t say a word. Coleman saw the answer for himself—a bullet hole.
He rushed to his father but the old man stopped him with a raised hand. “It’s too, Coleman.” He gasped for breath. “The bullet cut through my lungs.”
“How would you know that, dad?” Coleman asked.
“The doctor said it,” the man replied.
Coleman turned around today see a doctor that wasn’t there before. He, too, had blood on his hands. Dark circles stood beneath his eyes, deep sadness dulling his features.
Hamilton dropped to his knees and Coleman turned back to face him. “Take care, Coleman. You must avenge. Please promise me.”
Coleman dropped to his knees. “Dad, don’t go. Please.”
Hamilton held his hands. “Promise me, son.”
“I promise, dad. Please...”
His body went limp, giving up the ghost. Coleman shook his body repeatedly, but that was the last of him.
He was shaking all over when he woke up. Coleman careened out of bed, heading straight for the cabinet in the bathroom. There, he took a shot of Diazepam.
He backed off to the wall as his breathing slowly steadied.
He shut his eyes, willing the memories to go. Yet, they wouldn’t.
Coleman sighed, disposed of the syringe and went to make himself some marmalade.
He knew what he had to do. He would begin now but it wasn’t daylight yet.
The iron was still hot. He would strike; cut it to pieces before it had the chance to cool off.

12


There was so much information from just the few pages she had translated. It turned out that each combination of words and letters had meant to replace a particular letter in the alphabet. She wondered how her dad had come up with such a brilliant idea. But, the words she read weren't pleasant to her eyes.
She could sense the fear from the pages. Her dad had been afraid that something was wrong and was coming to take him. He talked about the Volvex triangle. She wondered what it must have been.
“Volvex isn't what I first thought it was. My soul grieves for the thing I once saw as my salvation has become my impending doom. Darkness lines the sacred edges and its clippers wait, to cleave my wings should I try to fly. I can't stop and I can't get out. I'm too far gone.”
Tasmine wondered who she could ask for more clarification. She hadn't exactly been open to Mr. Dumebi and so she wasn't expecting help from that direction. Mr. Harold? This would be tough.
She had also found a necklace which had a locket shaped like a star, in the trinket. It looked familiar. She must have seen it before. She took it and decided she would be on the lookout for anyone who had a similar necklace.
Monday came, and it was her first day of work in this new place. She had gone to the boutique and had bought some lovely clothes with the wardrobe allowance they had given her. She hadn't brought in most of her clothes from the States, having no thoughts she would need them.
Tasmine arrived work early. A skinny looking lady greeted her, the full lips she kept pouting highlighted with a tinge of pink. She did her hair in a fashion that made her features sharp. She had a smile on. It was the type that being a secretary required. Tasmine couldn't tell if the smile was genuine or something that she had to put on every time a customer came up.
“Good morning miss…” Tasmine greeted, stalling because she didn’t know the lady’s name. She however had a smile of her own.
“Miss Venus.”
“That's a very good name.”
She noticed the flush in the lady's cheek. “I will show you to your office immediately.”
She led Tasmine up the stairs. Hers was the first office on the second floor. From up there, she could see the parking lot.
“I will be downstairs should you want anything,” Venus said as she turned to go.
“Oh. One more thing,” the lady turned to face her.
“I need to know Mr. Dumebi's office.”
“It's the last one,” Venus pointed down the same floor they stood. She wondered if it was a coincidence that they should see each other. He might have kept her here so he could watch over her every move. As general manager, he was head of her department -- sales. She would have to find a way to deal with him if he came poking his nose now and then.
She excused the secretary and got inside her office. Modestly fashioned, the office came with good leather seats cover covered with rich black upholstery for visitors and hers was a grey beauty with a moveable arm rest. She gathered her stuff and arranged them on the table. It wasn't long before she heard the phone ring. It was the secretary notifying her of the briefing with Mr. Dumebi. They were to gather at the mustering point.
Tasmine quickly tidied herself before heading down the stairs. She needed to look her best in front of her new colleagues. She made her way to the mustering point where she saw the workers gathering. She joined them in waiting feeling a little nervous. In a few minutes, Mr. Dumebi came in with Curtis following behind him.