₦airaland Forum

PROLOGUE



Barrister Joe Stanley gulped down the half glass of expensive.whiskey hurriedly at the mini bar, a small oasis of luxury in a mansion where every corner spoke of wealth beyond his own means. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling the heat of the alcohol burn down his throat. He needed it before the brothers joined him—this meeting was bound to be tense.

There was something about Barrister Joe: short, dark, and flabby, he had a round head perched atop a double chin, and a bald crown that encircled a sprinkle of gray and white hair like a halo. His expensive dark suit, a tailored Marks & Spencer, fit snugly over his rounded form, and his black suede shoes gleamed under the dim lights. Despite his polished appearance, he was a man whose plain demeanor and sagging jowls often betrayed an air of boredom.

"Alright, Joe, let's have it," came the deep, husky voice of Philip Sam, the older of the two brothers. The words cut through the silence like a knife.

Philip stood at five feet six, a well-built figure dressed in a crisp white shirt and navy-blue trousers. He was dark, with piercing eyes underlined by sharp, thin eyebrows. His face was all angles—straight nose, firm jawline, and lips drawn in a thin, determined line. Philip exuded an aura of command, his presence that of a man used to being obeyed without question. He was the managing director of Elisson Travels and Resort, and PayFund Switch Limited, two brands with a reputation that spanned the African continent.

Beside him stood Patrick Sam, his younger brother, who bore a striking resemblance to Philip but with softer edges. Patrick, too, was tall and athletic, with the same dark complexion and strong build. But where Philip was a commanding force, Patrick was the laid-back, free-spirited sibling. He was a disc jockey and pro basketballer, a young man who had lived most of his life abroad, far removed from the family business.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife as they all took their seats around the mahogany table. Barrister Joe could feel the weight of the moment bearing down on him. He cleared his throat, preparing to deliver the words that would change everything.

He began with the same well-rehearsed speech he gave at every will reading, but this time, he stumbled over the words, knowing what was to come. This was not just another will; it was one that could potentially drive a wedge between the deceased and the two brothers. He hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it would do the opposite—bring them closer together. But as he looked at their impassive faces, he doubted it.

He pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment, cleared his throat again, and began to read:

"The Last Will and Testament of Chief Peterson Sam Douglas:

To my sons, Philip Sam and Patrick Sam, I leave my vast empire, comprising Elisson Travels and Resort, and PayFund Switch Limited. However, my bequests come with a sacred condition, one that honors a debt of gratitude and justice.

During my time in prison, a fellow inmate, known only as 'Innocent,' saved my life and became a symbol of hope in a place of darkness. I have never forgotten his selfless act, and now, I entrust you, my sons, with the task of finding him or his family.

You must identify Innocent and present him or his heirs with a token of my appreciation: 15 million. This act of kindness must be fulfilled before you can fully inherit my wealth.

Philip, my senior son, shall inherit the majority of my assets, including Elisson Travels and Resort. Patrick, my junior son, shall receive an outright financial settlement of 250 million.

However, let it be clear: the division of my properties, both domestic and international, shall be contingent upon the successful completion of this task. If Innocent or his family cannot be found, or if this condition is not met, my wealth shall remain in trust, a testament to the enduring power of gratitude and redemption.

May my sons honor my legacy, uphold justice, and never forget the debt I owe to Innocent, a friend and a true hero."

The room fell silent. The brothers exchanged glances—Philip's expression was a mix of disbelief and controlled anger, while Patrick seemed more curious than anything.

"Wait, I don't get this. Are you telling me, Mr Peterson made a change to his will just days before he passed away?" Philip's voice was calm, but the edge of irritation was unmistakable.

"Well, yeah... I mean, yes, sir," Joe replied, shifting nervously. "He asked for this man to be included in his will.

He talked a lot about the man with the nurses and doctors on his deathbed. It was really sad... None of you were present at the time; he would have told you too. Funny how lying on a deathbed seems to bring a lot of memories to the surface." There was a slight hint of reproach in Joe’s voice, though he kept it subdued.

Patrick leaned forward, frowning. "Who is this Innocent? Where and how do we find him? He must have done a lot more than save the old man's neck."

Joe sighed, running a hand over his bald head. "You see, Innocent is no stranger to your dad. After your father's unjust sentence back in 2013, I used to visit him there. Of course, there was still a retrial, and your father, who stuck to his innocence literally and figuratively , never gave up hope. He introduced me to the man—called him his dear friend. Nice-looking guy with a very unusual voice.


Well, after two years, you know how your father was almost killed in the cell? It was this man who rescued your father, defended him against three other prisoners. In the end—"

"Let's not get carried away with name-calling, Call him, Mr. Peterson not Dad, not father! " Philip interjected, his tone firm.

"Sorry. Mr. Peterson was transferred, and then the houseboy was eventually apprehended, and he confessed to the killing, which acquitted your father," Joe continued, noticing the dull frown etched on both boys' faces.

Even after nine years, the brothers had never truly believed their father was innocent of their mother's murder. And now, even in death, they couldn't let go of that doubt.

"So, we need to find this prisoner. Okay, I can handle that," Philip said, though he seemed to be brooding over something as he spoke.

Patrick, who had been quietly contemplating the task, suddenly chimed in, "Why don't I worry over that? The basketball season is on hiatus, and I'm still recovering from my torn ACL. It should be interesting, and it shouldn't be hard to locate him. You look like you've got a lot on your plate, so why not let me take this on?"

Philip seemed to relax slightly, relieved by the offer. "You sure can handle it? This is not abroad you know,"

"Sure, nothing to it. Give or take, a day or two, should be easy," Patrick replied with a shrug.

"Then it's settled. I'll help in whatever capacity I can—" Philip cut Barrister Joe, off.

"I think you’ve helped quite a lot already, barrister. Do see yourself out as soon as you're done."

Joe’s face tightened at Philip's curt dismissal, but he managed a tight smile. "As you wish, sir."

As he gathered his papers, Joe couldn't help but think how different things could have been if the brothers weren't so arrogant and dismissive. There was much more he could have told them—like the fact that "Innocent" wasn't the real name of the man they were searching for. But he decided to let them figure that out for themselves.

After all, they were the ones set to inherit millions. Let them sweat a little, he mused as he took his leave.

SYNOPSIS : In the heart of Lagos, a city's cry for justice is ignited by the bloody trail of the Machete Man

—a vigilante whose brutal quest for retribution sparks a nationwide movement for change.

As the truth behind his murders unravels, it ignites the Machete Movement, a wave of protests that forces a corrupt system to confront its darkest secrets.

This is the story of the man who inspired a global revolution and the city that was forever changed by it.

COMING SOON COPYRIGHT RESERVED ©2024

Hello Everyone, thanks for the build up anticipation, I do write with physical materials I. E pen and paper and then make rewrites on digital, where I edit and rewrite. Chapter One will premiere sometime this week, you won't b disappointed that's one thing, I can assure you. Thank you for your anticipation.

Copyright © 2024 Henry Inketh

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

"Serial Killer 9"
Henry Inketh
2024

SERIAL KILLER 9 SK9 PROLOGUE



On a desolate July night, the streets of Adoh-Ketu, Lagos Mainland, lay shrouded in an unsettling stillness. The perpetual hum of commuters had long dissipated, leaving only a few stragglers to navigate the darkness. Among them was a woman, her goods carefully piled within a large plastic bowl, walking briskly alongside her seven-year-old son, who trailed behind. She had traversed this path countless times, especially when running late, and familiarity had bred a sense of comfort.

As she walked, her mind wandered to the day's events and the exhaustion that came with them. The path, though dimly lit and lonely, wound its way behind fenced buildings and uncompleted structures, stretching over a mile or two before revealing the first of three exits. The cold wind whipped through the cracks and openings of the surrounding buildings, casting eerie silhouettes on the ground.

Suddenly, the boy spoke up, "Mama, there is—" but she silenced him with a gentle yet cautious tone, "Quiet, we'll be home soon." The increasing chatter from the opening ahead reassured her, and she quickened her pace, promising the boy a treat, "What did I tell you? Let's stop and get some beans cake for the night. Wouldn't you like that?"

She stopped. Something felt off, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was as if she was alone, utterly alone.

Little did she know, her son had just become the third victim of a meticulously planned series of serial killings, one that would shake the very foundations of the bustling metropolis. It would be four days before she discovered the horrifying truth.

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BUS CONDUCTORS FIGHT : THAT AGBERO BOY



The sun was high pitched up in the heavenly body - The sky. Unforgiving and relentless it was, such that sparked fears of a heat meltdown.

Ogocha Bus park somewhere in the busy metropolis stand defiant with activities and none was to be blamed or cautioned, it was either work or starve for most loitering the bus station.

Hawkers willing to contend with the busses in motion for a chance of their wares raking in some money, the oldies by the junction, diligently and patiently waiting for their customers, practicing their best manners with cheap gossips sprinkled over it.

The road workers were no exception and if hot sunny and dry weather was a thing to worry about, then their insatiable taste for sachet alcohol and concoctions fit for a last meal if a prisoner was on a death row, would have been questioned.

"Ilakwe, Oseni, Osheri!!!" barked Agu, a young, lean bald tattooed local with more veins popping from his head than was normal for someone his age. His costume was a cheap, torn, dirty, lifeless green singlet on a khaki camouflaged short.
In one hand was his signature rusted chain that begged earnestly retirement and in the other was a cigarette.

Agu was everything but unreliable, his manners sharpened by the streets over the years, He made the most of all the bus conductors and was widely respected and recognized by many including the road officers.

"Ila-Ose-Oshe!!!" he bawled, his voice rougher and tougher by the minute.

"Agu, Agu, what are you doing here, that new boy over there has loaded three trips already, what are you still doing?" The driver barked sharply.

His manners startled Agu for a moment, who had long played blind to his recent challenger, Jegede.

"Jega, again abhi?" He voiced angrily. He leaped off the bus and gave his best frown as he stormed through the traffic of bodies.

"Jega here, ila-Oshe-Ose, fine boy like mad come here, fine gal like mad come here!!" From afar, he could hear and see the wonders of this irrelevant pesky brat who had become increasingly a thorn on his flesh.

"Today, we will know who is who here!" Agu muttered in his lowest tone as H e reached a good enough parking spot and signaled his bus driver to take the spot.

That minute could have frozen hell for all it meant.

Both boys began a shouting spree so violently and loudly that they began to repel rather than attract more passengers and for the next half an hour, this was the ordeal and if any intending passenger decided to take one of the bus.

They were coerced, battered, shoved, pulled, pushed and roughed up.

It would be like this until an elderly woman walked into the set up.

She was dragged by birth contest in an invincible tug of war that was to last forever. Each pulled with strength and determination. Their pleas for the woman to join their respective busses felt more like a death threat as she begged for mercy to be set free.

"Madam, I say nah here or nowhere," one of them declared.

"Mama, nah here or heaven, choose one!" the other declared.

Her tears and pleas began to draw more people who wondered if they wanted the passenger or her hands.

It was Jegede 's bus driver who resulted to hopelessness first.

"I nor want again, watin you dey do self, I Don go leave you here," The driver pulled the reverse and quickly drove out.

Agu was about to nail the coffin with a flurry of mocks and teases before his too, disappeared into the traffic.

Somewhere in the higher plains inconceivable by man, a gong had been sounded and the town crier had called for blood - blood on the streets.

Agu walked brazenly to Jega, a hand held up, pointing at the challenger who met his aggressor half way.

You had better remove that carrot finger from my face before I nod you one. Jega threatened, his form very intimidating at best.

Agu took in his challenger, Jega was rather sturdy and muscular, he was ugly and with a distinctive torn ear. He had a nose ring and tattoos that lined up his neck and bare chest, no doubt, he was a fighter but so was he.

"Shey you don dey craze," Agu blasted sarcastically as the fight club crowd began to soar, the weather was perfect for one, even the traffic officials seemed excited at the prospects of this fight.

Some went further to begin betting and shell up support for their favorites.

" Kpah!!!" the thunderous slap must have forced an old woman and her wares into a nearby gutter prompting quick rescue.

Agu's slap wasn't well received, Jega stumbled back, his cheek, hard pinked by the print but Agu didn't expect the comeback.
Jega moved like a crazy bull almost immediately, his left fist burned the distance with deadly accuracy. and power.

Agu took the hit and staggered back, his cheek bone burned from the after effect of the hit.

Jega rushed forward, his right fist tightened and ready for delivery but Agu side stepped him, dropping a blow below the neck level of his attacker as they separated for a moment.

There was no doubt, the rumors were true, Jega was not an easy prey.

"Shey you Wan fight abhi, I go injure you today," Agu boasted defiantly.

Again he wondered the trigger of Jega, who came at him out of nowhere. He rushed out of the way like a matador but the deal was signed, Jega caught him, all the same.

Delivery a poweful fist to his right shoulder, that almost sent Agu to the ground.

Agu, leaped back, clearly, he would be beaten to pulp and he would have to give up the bus station as his zone but this he will do with bravery and courage.

He came at Jega, hands akimbo and delivered a flurry of one sided punches that Jega dodged professionally, he bidded his time and attempted a grab at Agu who leaped away.

His challenger followed exposing his upper chest and face, thank God for the bare body that faced him. Agu delivered one power loaded punch to the chest and moved away quickly.

Jega turned around and stopped as the punch's effect began to set in. He winced and spat something and gathered momentum quickly.

Like a steam roller, he plunged at Agu and ended up empty, he made a return and got blind sided by a kick to the head, thankfully it was not as powerful as he had imagined but this was surprising, the dwarf could use his legs it seemed.

Jega rolled back up and for the first time, he refused to run straight at Agu.

"oyah nah, come nah!" Agu urged as his fans cheered him on.

Jega approached cautiously, Agu rushed at him, perhaps it was the confidence that had suddenly grew out of nowhere, a self conscious belief that he could put up fight but something crazy enough to be applauded that made him do that. To Jega, who had been in more fight than necessary in his life, he knew that was a stupid move.

Jega delivered a soul crushing, spine breaking, heart stopping blow to jaw of Agu.

It was goodbye Saturday, goodbye to a properly functioning jaw and certainly goodbye to Ogocha bus stop for Agu.

He went face first to the ground without any further resistance.

THE FIGHT WAS OVER