₦airaland Forum

Update 6

II

Officer John Balewa woke up earlier than usual this morning. This was a special day for him. He had been waiting for this day since the moment he signed himself up into the police force. It had been a very long journey indeed. And today, he agreed that he deserved the promotion that was waiting for him even though he knew it was long overdue. A lot of his colleagues with whom he joined the police force at the same time had climbed far up the ladder, even though he knew that he had done more than any of them could ever do in their entire lives – but that was going to change today. He had set out a goal for himself and had achieved it. Now it was time for him to take what he truly deserved. This promotion was not just a rise from one rank to the other; it wasn’t just an additional star on his lapel. No, it was more than that – he was climbing way up, close to the top. Deep down within himself, he knew his position was at the very top of the ladder, but there was no reason considering what might never be; no one was going to make him the Inspector General of Police, not even the assistant. He was experienced enough to know that such prestigious positions were set aside for politicking; and Basket would be damned if he allowed himself become a political puppet, or mascot, as the case might be. At this level, he was okay taking the position of his deceased father in law, and being the chief of police of five states of the country.

He stood in front of the mirror and watched himself as he put on his new police uniform. This one was a different one from the one he had been wearing for many year; its colour and textures were different from that with which he had been pursuing both Peter Black and Maria. Sadness clouded his face as he thought about Maria. It was such a shame that the girl had to die with her child. A part of him felt guilty for what had happened but he managed to shrug it off. Even though his conscience might be blaming him, Basket refused to accept that any of that was his fault. He wasn’t the person who pulled the trigger that claimed her life, was he? Of course it wasn’t; it was the notorious Roberto Bonifacio – a man Basket had sworn to bring down. When he was just an unranked police officer, the man had simply slipped away from him – Roberto had proved to be too powerful for someone of his status to bring down. But everything was going to change as soon as he got his promotion.

Basket was going to dedicate everything in his resources to bring down the crazy Italian; he would be responsible for sending the madman to the gallows. Perhaps, just perhaps, when he finally brought down Roberto, his conscience would cease from judging him. He smoothened the creases on his new uniform, picked up his cufflinks and wore them. He sprayed a little perfume then put on his new pair of shoes. Rhoda Balewa, his wife, had gifted him a new pair of socks. After completing his dressing, he returned to the mirror in the bedroom to take a final look at himself. He finally agreed that he looked respectable enough, almost regal. He was just a young man below thirty and he was going to become such an important figure in the police force. People like him were supposed to be nervous but Basket was not someone who got scared easily. He had no doubt whatsoever that he was going to carry out his duties perfectly, even though no one of his group had ever attained that professional height.

He smiled proudly at himself when it dawned on him that he was a record holder in the police force. Perhaps someday he would climb up to become the IG, but for now, it was the least position he desired. He was fine with this current promotion. If his mind was not changed, if he didn’t suddenly become overly ambitious, he wouldn’t have any problem retiring in this position. He might have to retire early if he wasn’t going to become an Inspector General, a position which was very hard to achieve. Besides, he knew attaining that height would pose a serious challenge. Would anyone give him that position if they knew his past? Certainly not. Indeed, it was by luck that he gained this one. Had Peter Black presented any evidence in the courtroom on the day of the trial, his career would have ended right there, but there was no evidence to support his claim.

Coming to think of it, a part of him wondered if Peter had intentionally let it go. Would Peter have been successful had he been passionate about exposing him? Did he deliberately allow the matter to rest? Trying to know what was going through Peter Black’s head was as touch as lifting a rock with the power of the mind. Something told him that if Peter really wanted to bring him down, he would provide the court with an evidence, and he had no doubt in his mind that Peter had such evidence in his disposal. Basket tried to imagine what that evidence could be but he couldn’t place his mind on any in particular, but he was sure that at least one piece of evidence existed. They had lived with each other for years, surely, Peter had something.

What evidence could be acceptable in a courtroom, he wondered. A photograph. His heart skipped a beat when he remembered. Peter Black most definitely had a picture of them! He could still remember vividly that they took a picture together when they were both in Dennis Grammar School; it was the day of the Inter-House Sports Competition. They had taken the picture just before the events started and everything erupted into chaos. Basket had torn off his own copy of the picture when he was leaving Black that afternoon, but he knew Peter had his own copy, and he surely still got it. If Peter could remember that they had switched their copies of Things Fall Apart, then surely, he had the picture kept somewhere. If that picture surfaced, his career would automatically end, even now that he was soon going to be promoted, he knew that all it would take was the picture to surface and that would be the end of him.

For the first time in many years, Basket found himself at the mercy of Peter Black. His career hung on the shoulders of the same thief he had locked up. He dreaded the worst-case scenario – if that picture surfaced, he might not only face humiliation and be forced to resign, he might even stand trial. He had always been considered a morally outstanding police officer; the existence of that picture might destroy him. But that was not even the worst; he would not be the only one who would suffer – the Balewa name would be scorned, it would be tainted. His wife, his two babies, they would all face the shame for the rest of their lives – and he, Officer John Balewa – might end of sharing the same cell with Peter Black. He shuddered at the thought. Sweat broke out of his forehead. He was very uneasy. He had come after his old friend with everything he got; he had dedicated a lot to make sure Peter ended up in prison. He had not considered that Peter had something in his possession that could destroy him too.

The feeling of guilt suddenly overwhelmed him. It occurred to him now that he might actually be the terrible person. Peter had taken everything he had offered without bothering to hurt him in return. All it could take him was to present that picture; he might even strike a deal with investigators to make his sentence a light one. Surely, every lawyer, every police, would want to see the evidence that would prove that the morally upright Officer John Balewa was once a thief too.

That kind of news would set the media houses on fire, it would blow things out of proportion, it would give a new meaning to the word ‘morality’. But Peter didn’t do that. he kept the truth to himself and allowed himself be led to prison. But Basket had even done more, he had landed a resounding blow; he was determined to totally destroy Peter and he had stayed true to his promise. He had informed the governor of the prison where Peter was kept that Black might decide to break out of prison. He had told the man to tighten security in the prison and also keep careful eyes on him. He had gone further by threatening the man.

“If Peter Black breaks out of jail, I’ll make sure even you ends up in jail,” he had threatened the man. He didn’t like what he did but he deemed it necessary. He didn’t want to consider a world where Peter Black would roam free again. He had hurt Peter in every way possible but Peter never fought back. Besides the situation between Peter and Rhoda, Basket could not remember when Peter had ever hurt him, but he had hurt his old friend in more ways than one. He thought he had been doing all this for revenge, he thought he did everything to prove to Peter that he was also smart, but it occurred to him that he wasn’t smart at all. Peter had always been one step ahead of him, but he only allowed him to win for the sake of his family. If he went to jail, it was not only Basket who would suffer, his family would too. Who would take care of Rhoda, or the babies, or even his mother?

Basket realised that one of the things that might have held Peter back from exposing him was because he was a descendant of Old Man Balewa. Peter wouldn’t allow the grandson of his old friend go to jail on his account. Peter must have thought about everything from every angle, from every perspective, and then decided that it was okay if he went to jail alone. He didn’t have to implicate the man who put him there.
Bsket’s legs suddenly wobbled under him; he would have collapsed to the floor had he not quickly grabbed the edge of the bed to steady himself.

“Are you all right?” Rhoda asked, looking concerned.

“I–I’m fine,” he replied, his voice was low.

“You’re sweating,” she said rising from the bed and placing a hand on his forehead. “Oh my God! You’re burning up. Let me call the family doctor.”

“Don’t call anyone,” he said firmly, “I’m all right.”

“But you’re burning up. You may be having fever,” she said concerned, “Let me–”

“I said I’m fine!” he snapped at her.

Rhoda stared at him for a moment and returned to the bed. He reached into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief with which he dabbed his face. He tried to keep his mind off what had just occurred to him. Today was his day; he didn’t need this kind of thought right now. What should occupy his mind at the moment of the feeling of accomplishment, and what he was still going to accomplish later on. the situation of Peter Black should be the last thing he should be thinking about. After all, Peter had chosen to go the path he trod.

Even with the reassuring thought he allowed into his head, Basket still felt uneasy as he stepped out of the house.

Update 7

***

He drove in his late father-in-law’s car to the venue of the event. He intentionally left his own car at home and used Mr Gold. Since the tragic face-off of that day the man lost his life, the car had not been used. Basket knew very well that the car would start developing faults if it wasn’t used for a long time. He decided to drive it today as a way of honouring the deceased man’s memory; besides, he would be occupying the man’s position anyway, he felt that it was perfect driving the man’s vehicle to the venue of the promotion.

He was highly impressed when he got there. It was as if the whole town had come to witness him become the next Chief of Police. The location chosen was a large field that young men of the community usually used whenever they had a football match. The crowd was massive and Basket began to wonder if there was something else going on besides the promotion.

Then it dawned on him. He had been responsible for the incarceration of the popular Peter Black, and that had made him a lot popular too. The crowds that had gathered here had not come to see him get promoted, not really; they had come to see him – the man who put Peter Black in prison.

When he stepped out of the car, Basket did not know whether to be proud of himself or be worried. Did these people love him for what he did? Did they loathe him? He became suddenly annoyed; it seemed like Peter was there everywhere he turned. He knew the thief was in prison – where he belonged, of course – but he still felt like the convicted stood on his shoulder and followed him everywhere he went. Almost everything he saw, touched, heard or felt reminded him of Peter Black. He began to wonder if he was beginning to lose his mind. He had dedicated so much in bringing Peter down but it didn’t feel victorious afterward, what he felt was the guilt he couldn’t seem able to shake off.

People at the high table stood up and began to clap as soon as he stepped out of the car. John Balewa carried a false smile as he approached them. He could recognise a lot of those sitting in this elevated position. Hanging around were some of his colleagues at work, including subordinates, then there were also some police officers from other jurisdictions. Basket looked around searching for Officer Abbah but the man didn’t seem to be there. Basket shrugged; he had not really expected the young officer to be there anyway. They had both left off on a very confrontational note; Basket understood the angle the police officer was coming from, in fact he almost agreed with his argument, but Abbah didn’t seem to get his point. He knew Peter Black better than Officer Abbah would ever and he had a good reason for doing what he did; he felt it very necessary to be done. He had expected Abbah to understand but he didn’t; the young man seemed to be brain-washed; whoever reformatted Abbah’s brain, Basket could only guess. He would sit him down and they both would have a long talk; they would clear the slates and start all over again. He knew Abbah was a reasonable police officer; in fact, he was the most reasonable officer in the station – surely, he would come around.

Basket noticed a lot of dignitaries at the table. The first person he noticed was the newly-elected local government chairman, then some other influential people; even the deputy governor of the state made an appearance. Although Basket was highly impressed that these people had graced the ceremony with their presence, he was also suspicious. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t need to come here – they had no business attending this event – except they wanted his good grace. Basket suspected they wanted to put him in their pockets; someone they could boss around, someone who would gladly look away whenever they carried out their criminal ventures, someone they could easily grease his palm and keep his mouth zipped – they were hoping to make a puppet of him. If that was their intentions, Basket thought, then they were gravely mistaken. None of them could buy him out. He would carry out his duties diligently, and if anyone was found culpable in any crime, he would not hesitate to arrest them. He didn’t owe any one of them anything. He attained this position all on his own; he didn’t step on anyone’s shoulder to get to the top, so he owed nobody any allegiance.

He suddenly looked around sharply, staring critically at the high table and searching for Roberto Bonifacio. Something told him the Italian might decide to make an appearance just to mock him, or try to buy him off. Basket’s smile transformed into a frown as he scanned everyone among the members of the high table. If he spotted Roberto there, he was ready to return to his car and drive away furiously. They could shove their promotions up their collective sphincters. He would not disgrace himself by sitting under the same canopy with that notorious criminal. When he was certain that Bonifacio was not among the people, the smile returned to his face.

He climbed up the podium and joined the men giving him standing ovation. He was shaking their hands one after the other, and they were congratulating him in return and patting him on the shoulder. At the east side of the field, Basket could see the radio and television crews hurdled together around their companies’ trucks. Basket knew their presence meant only one thing, there was going to be a series of interviews after the event. He smiled, he was ready to tell them whatever they wanted to hear.

Then his heart split into two.

What if they asked about the photograph? He felt he was being unnecessarily paranoid and quickly shook the thought off his mind. As far as he was concerned, no one knew about the photograph. If anybody knew, Peter Black might not be in jail by now. He sat down comfortably in the chair already provided for him and forced a wry smile. He wasn’t feeling comfortable; on a day like this, a lot of things could go wrong, especially in this part of the world – people around here thrived on negativity. The mass enjoyed sad news than good ones; they could give anything to see anyone but themselves fall from grace to grass. Bad news makes better headlines, he had read somewhere before.

The Assistant Police Commissioner rose to his feet, holding a microphone to his mouth, on his other hand was a book that contained the programme of the day. He gave a dry cough and began:

“We have all gathered here today to celebrate the rise of an exemplary man; a man who stands out among his peers. Officer John Balewa, popularly known as OJB, has shown tremendous dedication in his work, and he has succeeded in riding the state of numerous hardened criminals. Because of Officer John Balewa, a lot of us can now sleep peacefully in our homes, because the name alone strikes fear in the heart of any criminal that might want to strike.

“So, today, we have all come together to reward this outstanding police officer accordingly. If I should go on praising his great services to this community, this state and this nation as a whole, I am afraid we might not leave these grounds today. In summary, it is indeed not an exaggeration when I tell you that there’s no police officer quite like Officer John Balewa, and this community is lucky to have someone like him watching over it, this nation is indeed grateful for his great works. There’s no way the country can pay him pack for all he has done, we can only try.

“It is with great sense of privilege to stand before you all and declare Officer John Balewa the Chief of Police of this jurisdiction.”

A thunderous applause rented the air; even Basket himself was impressed, for it was not only the people at the high table clapping this time around, even the crowd below celebrated with him. His joy knew no bounds; this showed that the masses supported the fact that he put Peter Black behind bars. Maybe he wasn’t such a terrible person after all.

It took a while before the applause finally died down. The Assistant Police Commissioner waited until everything calmed down before continuing his speech.

“Not only that,” he spoke further, “The federal government has decided to reward him with a little bonus of five million naira.”

There was a peal of surprise among the audience. A lot of them almost could not believe what they had just heard. Five million naira was a fortune, they all knew. Some of them began to look at Basket with eyes filled with envy; they wished they were Officer John Balewa right now.

As soon as the man mentioned the statement, two police officers appeared carrying something that looked like a chalkboard, and when they turned it for the people’s view, it was a cheque, a big cheque that contained the amount of money and the name of the beneficiary. Another round of applause rented the air. A photographer appeared and took shots of Balewa carrying the huge cheque, then news agents began to move in, taking their own shots too and rolling their cameras to capture the event.

“From henceforth, no one is to refer to him as OJB but CJB. I’m sure you all know what that mean,” he said smiling, “Chief John Balewa.” The man brought out something that looked like a medal and wore it around Basket’s neck. They shook hands and take a few photographs.

After the speech, young policemen started marching around in honour of Basket; they made a few turns and shot their guns in the air. The crowd clapped. Basket smiled; if the situation was different, the crowd would have fled for their lives on hearing the gunshots, but this time they were clapping happily.

At the end of everything, people started coming forward to shake Basket’s hand.

“Congratulations, Chief,” a middle-aged man said, patted him in the shoulder and left.

“Congratulations, CJB,” another man, this one elderly; Basket recognised him as a retired police officer.

“Thank you, sir,” he responded.

“Continue doing your good job, son,” the man continued, “We need more people like you to wipe the country clean of criminals.”

“I’ll always try my best, sir.”

“Your best is what this nation wants, and the people will always be grateful,” the man finally said and disappeared.

Other respectable personalities came to congratulate him and Basket responded to them all. He was smiling broadly. For the first time that day, Basket forgot about his initial worries that had followed him from home. He forgot about the thought of Maria or of Peter. This was his moment and he was enjoying it. He had just been gifted five million naira and his salary has increased massively. Besides that, the government had also provided him with a new apartment and a brand new car. They would be moving into a newer and more beautiful life while Peter Black would continue rotting in prison.

Life was good.

A man in a black hood stepped forward from the crowd and suddenly grabbed Basket’s hands. John Balewa was shocked, and before he could respond to the brief assault, the stranger jerked the hand up and down in a shake and said, “Congratulation, Officer John Balewa.”

Basket could not see the face of the person clearly because the sun reflected through his eyes, impeding his vision. And before he could get a clear image, the stranger said six words before disappearing into the crowd.

“The Black Followers send their regards.”

When Basket checked his hand, he was holding a photograph.

“Oh my God!” He was looking at the photograph.

gloryon:
Mr Larrysun, please can you let us buy the complete book if it's available?

Bukolaberry:
thanks for the update, oh no not basket again was actually hoping it's Maria or Yinka, why would basket send him money after all the troubles and denial in court room, well that's his thoughts, oga Larry don't make it basket I hate him with passion right now infact I don't expect them to reconcile again, make basket dey him dey.

jadeliyi:
eleyi por keh , larrysun this is wonderful

YeSJacky:
Mr Larry, when will the full book be available?

Rick9:
Wahala wear agbada.

Peter should do and leave this damned jail.

.

IgweBUIKE1:
the story is getting boring, cos of the snail pace of update

Update 8

***

For the rest of that day, Basket’s mind was not at rest. He had been greatly uneasy since the moment he received the picture from the strange man. Although he didn’t get a clear image of the man’s face, something about him and the way he spoke had put a great deal of fear in him. For some reasons, he believed the person could easily have killed him right there if he wanted. Perhaps that was his original intention; but he had decided to let him live for now – the picture he had received had indeed confirmed his fear. His hands had been shaking uncontrollably since the moment that picture was given to him.

The first thing that came to Basket’s mind when he received the photograph was that he was being handed the picture of himself and Peter Black, the same picture he had been so afraid to surface. He had thought his worst fear had finally come to light, that Peter Black was now finally ready to let the world know about their association over a decade ago. He had thought a lot of things within the few seconds of being given the photograph. He had had no doubt in his mind that Peter had decided to wait till this day just to humiliate him; he had wanted him to be at the peak of his career and then finally bring him down. Surely, the world would not take the news that he was once a thief with levity; it would be a huge scandal, and a lot of lives would be negatively affected. It would be a nightmare, a terrible, terrible nightmare that he would not be able to wake up from.
But to his shock, it was a totally different photograph he received; it was something he had never expected whatsoever, and it was worse than the picture he feared. Even though this picture might have no negative impact on his career, it still posed a great danger on his wellbeing. The fact that the person had handed him this picture showed that he might in grave danger himself.

As soon as he got home from the occasion, Basket locked himself in his study and brought out the picture. He had not checked it again since the moment he received it. He had kept it in his pocket and had left it there, afraid to bring it out again. Something terrible had been done, and it had been done in the name of Peter Black, which was what actually heightened his fear.

He stared at the photograph and grimaced. He was staring at the picture of the notorious Roberto Bonifacio; he was dead no doubt, his face was bloody and there was a bullet hole in his forehead. Someone had shot the man dead and he could bet all his life’s savings that it was the hooded stranger that did it. The person had claimed to be a member of a group – The Black Followers. He had never heard the name before, but he was sure it had everything to do with Peter Black, the name ‘Black’ had given off the identity. Someone had killed Roberto Bonifacio in the name of Peter Black. Although this didn’t make any sense to him, it was still the only plausible explanation, even though the Peter Black he knew would never take anyone’s life, or order the killing of another person. He might be a notorious thief but he never had any violent bone in his body. The Peter he knew had never taken anything with violence; he used his brain most of the time. At the moment that they were together, he, Basket, was always the brute, but he always followed Peter’s lead. There was never a moment when they had beaten up a victim just to get their money or property. Peter Black would not subscribe to that. Having all these experience first-hand, it was hard for Basket to imagine that Peter was capable of ordering the killing of another person, especially with the fact that the said Peter was rotting away in a federal prison – but that was the only explanation.

Perhaps the Peter Black he knew was long dead; perhaps ten years was enough to change someone from being kind-hearted to become cold-blooded. As a matter of fact, coming to think deeply about it, it wasn’t so hard to imagine anyway if he decided to put aside his sentiment. Peter Black was the only person who had a motive for killing Roberto Bonifacio. Of course there were a thousand other people who might have an axe to grind with the notorious Italian but recent situations suggested that Peter Black was the most likely suspect. Evidently, Peter didn’t carry out the operation directly, but he had something to do with it.

Roberto had been responsible for the death of Maria; he had shot the poor girl. He had not only caused her death, he had also caused the death of Peter’s unborn child. Of course, any man could go ballistic because of that. He knew he would probably do the same thing if he was in Peter’s shoes. As a matter of fact, he also had his scores to settle with the man, although he planned to bring the man to justice, not kill him this way, not like a dog.

But why had the stranger come to him? Basket wondered. Why had the person shown him the picture? Of all days, why had the stranger decided to choose that occasion to hand him the picture? Everything meant only one thing – Peter Black was trying to pass him a message. He was telling him that even though he was in jail he still had influence in the outside world. And if he was capable of ending the life of someone as powerful as Roberto Bonifacio, then he was capable of doing anything – including hurting him.

It was a message and he had just received it loud and clear. He had crossed the line by putting Peter Black in jail, and Peter was ready to retaliate. Between the two old friends, it seemed like the battle line had been drawn.

Basket knew the next thing he had to do; early the following morning, he would visit Peter Black in prison – he would have to look his worst enemy in the face; he wanted to see the face of the killer named Peter Black.

***

The news about Officer John Balewa’s promotion reached Peter Black’s ears in prison. When he heard the news, the convicted thief chuckled and clapped his hands.

“I’m happy for him,” he said and concentrated on his daily labouring job. He had been tasked with the job of cutting the prison grasses; the same grasses that were being cut for years by many prisoners before him, and they never seemed to dwindle. Because of the money he had been given, prison had been a little bit bearable for him. If he could stay out of trouble, he might be fine, until the money ran out. Usually, they were fed only once daily, and that was often in the late evening. Apart from the fact that the food was always a poorly made watery beans without the necessary sauce and ingredients, it was also always too little. The prisoners were treated worse than animals; and some more notorious criminals in the prisons lived more comfortably than the weaker one by cheating them out of their portions. This did not always sit well in Peter Black. One thing he never condoned was the strong preying on the weak and vulnerable; but he knew enough not to interfere here.

At around 5pm, the meal was served as usual. Peter had only tasted the beans once and had decided he would not eat it again as long as he had money with him. With his money, he could eat good food like the guards and wardens. But today, Peter decided to join the queue of inmates who had lined up with their bowls for their portions.

As soon as everyone had been served, the inmates went to their individual corners to wolf down their meals, especially the weaker prisoners who knew that the brutes would come for their food as soon as they had finished theirs. But there was always at least one victim of oppression, and that was why Peter had joined the queue. There was a scrawny boy whose food had been taken from him; he was one of the new intakes; he had come in a few weeks after Peter’s arrival. Peter watched as the bigger men took the boy’s food and disappeared. The victim was crying in a corner when Peter approached him.

“Why are you crying?” he asked the albino even though he knew what had just happened.

“My pood!” the albino answered.

Peter became sorrier when he realised that the boy had trouble with his sibilant. This was no place for someone like him. The monsters in the prison would make his life a hell. The only thing Black knew he could do was offer him his portion; he had no intention of eating it anyway.

“Here, take my food,” he offered.

The boy looked up and his eyes registered gratitude. “Tank oo,” he said and began to wolf down the terrible meal.

Peter knew he would not be able to protect the boy from the strong men, but he would always give the boy his share of the food anytime the men came. Peter Black had no idea how dangerous the albino was, and how dangerous he would prove to be. Black would soon find out eventually.

Another new batch of prisoners had just been brought to the prison, two dozen of them. Peter noticed that there was usually a huge influx of new inmates to the prison and only few were released. The prison had become too crowded. A cell that was originally meant to accommodate not more than four inmates now had over a dozen people. Comfort was not a luxury for the prisoners; each night, they lay on one another like puppies whenever it was time to sleep; and it got worse every month as more prisoners joined them to share the very little resources available for them.

But Peter Black must consider himself fortunate. He was put in a cell he shared with only one inmate. It was regarded as the VIP section. In the prison, Peter had learnt that only the poor suffered. If you had your money, you would live a life of luxury even in jail. He had learnt that a lot of convicted politicians and generally rich people never served their sentences in the common manner as the rest of the inmates. They were given executive cell blocks where everything they needed was provided. These special people, after paying their dues in prison by greasing a few palms, had access to everything they wanted. In their cells were radios, televisions, even VCRs. Prostitutes were smuggled into the prisons for these men to have good times with. These people remained in prison but still ruled the affair of life in the outside world. They basically lacked nothing. They slept in soft beds and wore clean uniforms. You would never see them doing any manual labour. They were the dons of the prison; they could talk rudely to the wardens and the guards because they considered themselves the elites. You would never see them lining up with bowls to collect the pathetic food the prison served. They would never associate themselves with the common prisoners. Even though they were inmates, they had their own kingdoms in prison, and they ruled these kingdoms as they wanted. They were the executive prisoners.
The VIP section was the lowest rung in the ladder of privilege. This section only had limited access. The wardens or guards never answered to them, they were no different from the other inmates except that they could sleep comfortably in their cells because it wasn’t crowded. The VIP section of the prison was only a one-time payment to gain access, and the price was usually steep. Peter had been placed in this section on the third day of his arrival in prison.

“Someone has paid for this,” Warden Kareem had told him again.

“Who?” Peter had asked.

And yet again, the warden refused to divulge. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. What you need to know is that you won’t be sharing a cell with a dozen other inmates. You will have only one cellmate.”

Peter frowned and asked, “Is it Officer John Balewa that’s doing this?”

Kareem shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. If I tell you, this privilege will be stripped from you. Is that what you want? Please, stop questioning me and take what I’m offering you. Other prisoners would cut off their arms to have these privileges I’ve been offering you on a platter of gold.”

“Okay, okay, I will stop questioning you,” he replied and continued, “At least can I know who my cellmate is?”

Warden Kareem hesitated, then he said, “He calls himself Kalu.”

adeola777:
Thanks so much for the double dose of update. You are the man.

Doubra12:
These Black followers sef,where did they even come from?any way thanks for the update Larry

dankinalo:
Pls can you write Abt how the black follower was form, who create it n how do they know so much abt black n basket is like they where watching them wen there were teenager.

doctorexcel:
Thanks for the double updates larrysun. Double blessings and opeke fall on you