By Sarah Oyedo
“I say shoot am now!”
The air in the room crackled of static tension. Every drawn breath could be heard as it exited the lungs and went back in. As the scenes from his short life flashed before his eyes, Morgan tried to say his last prayers but the words evaporated, too frightened to take form.
“This na the guy wey the level tell us” he said again this time in hush “see say he look you as we enter” he gestured wildly with his arm piece, dread ricocheting in his ill-concealed eyes.
“Bros I swear I never see you before for my life!” Morgan cried from the floor “I swear for my papa grave. Abeg bros” his father was very much alive thus had no grave but these men didn’t know that. He was about to die and was grasping for the tiniest string of salvation.
“No be you I see which day come smoke with Scoopy for 3rd street?” the first guy snarled, applying more pressure on the boot he rested on Morgan’s neck.
“Who be Scoopy?” he gritted incredulously “I no know any Scoopy bros abeg. I never go 3rd street since I move come this area. My chairman abeg.”
Let’s take it back a bit…
Four days ago, he and his Friend Efe aka Scoopy met up at the street called 3rd to smoke with some of the latter’s friends. The Sk was said to be of the best quality and Scoopy revealed these guys got it for a discounted rate and was willing to share. Albeit he wasn’t totally certain then, he had faint suspicion his friend of sorts was involved in some cult related activities as he seemed to hang with some unsavory characters and sometimes spoke in a curious code language.
Yet he hung around him, for Scoopy was quite the character. He was humorous in a coarse manner, popular among the ladies and always had a good stash of weed. However, the guys they met at the rendezvous spot; a small shed constructed of bamboo sticks with raffia carpet for roof seemed non too friendly. Waves of ill-concealed distrust rolled off their backs as they each watched him guardedly.
Scoopy attempted at small talk but it did not take as his companion was too great an elephant in their midst. Taking a drag of the blunt Scoopy handed him Morgan lowered himself to the creaky bench and waited for the exquisite cannabis to hit and calm his jumpy nerves. 20 long minutes passed of awkward silence. The SK wasn’t as good as it was rumored because he felt nothing and he was running out of nerves to fray so he made to leave. Then he sensed eyes boring holes into the tops of his freshly shaved head from behind. Half-turning, he briefly caught the features of a youngish male, heavily bearded and sporting a puckered scar on the top right of his tobacco blackened lips. Morgan quickly averted his eyes as he discerned this person did not care to be looked at and stood. Scoopy, high as the futa-jalon, sauntered out after him querying his leaving. He reassured him it was nothing, told him to go back and departed intuitively opting for a different route home. Now these men have so flagrantly mentioned Scoopy’s name and he knew he was done for.
“Who dis geh be to you?” the one afraid he’s been made queried, pointing at Avura cowering by the
door of the kitchen. Morgan’s heart did a double somersault.
“She be my sister”
“Your sister abi? If you no tell me the truth now I go shoot her,” he stated matter-of-factly. A wretched sob escaped Avura’s lips and cold hands gripped Morgan’s innards.
“My girlfriend” he whispered tentatively.
“You say wetin?” he removed his legs from Morgan’s head and signaled his colleague to bring her.
“She be my girlfriend,” he repeated horror painting his voice. The second man grabbed Avura by the scruff of her neck, deposited her ungraciously on the bed and was now running a hand atop her exposed slender thighs.
“Your gehfren abi?” his accuser grinned madly. The second man suddenly reached out and squeezed Avura’s left breast. She cried out in agony and jerked her legs kicking the thief in the shins. He yelled, left a resounding slap on her cheek and banged her head in the wall, all in quick succession.
“Leave her!” his leader thundered and the man retreated from Avura’s broken form tending his bruised part. Morgan’s head swelled to twice its size every inch filling up with volcanic rage so much his hands trembled. Nudging him with the butt of his gun, the leader instructed him in clipped tones to join his girlfriend on the bed.
“If you wish to keep your lives then I have one request from you” he said in plain English, rubbing his hands together in glee “una go do for us wetin una dey do behind closed doors” their collective gasp of shock and incomprehension bounced off the walls. Then Avura, clutching her swollen head, began to weep.
“You no hear wetin he talk?” the second man reiterated engaging his weapon, “he say make una begin run matters! Oya start to kiss her. Now!” he pointed his weapon at them. Morgan bound his arms around her in fevered compliance and tried to kiss her. He couldn’t find her lips and instead tasted salty sweat and snot smeared all over her face. She was melting and he hadn’t the strength to mold her together. The leader snarled behind him to get on with it else he would pay with his life.
“No use me play I no get time to waste!” he leaned closer and bumped them together “in fact give your boyfriend blowjob,” he pointed at the sniveling girl, “now!” Avura dropped and swiftly unzipped Morgan’s trousers and soon the sound of sucking filled the room. The witnesses watched the show leeringly with expressions of perverse pleasure on their faces. Few seconds after, they noticed something was amiss. The second man was the first to speak
“Wetin dey happen?” he asked Morgan “You no like wetin she dey do?”
“No sir I like am” he replied tremulously “My penis no just gree rise.”
“Why? Bring Vaseline!”
“We no get vaseline sah.”
“Oya bring groundnut oil come. Ororo. Fast!” Avura scrambled off to the kitchen to fetch the oil. On returning, the bottle slipped from her unsteady hands and fell, spilling its content over the tiled floor.
“See these idiots!” the leader exclaimed. The averted his legs from the spreading oil, signaled for his second to pack up their stolen phones, laptops and money they’d abandoned in a heap when they suspected he might have recognized them. Next he hefted Morgan from the bed, dumped him on the ground and removed the bandanna he used in concealing half his face. Morgan sucked in air. It was the guy from the bamboo shed with raffia carpet for roof; the guy with heavy beard and puckered scar on the top right of his lips. Only this time, the beard was gone.
“Look me very well” he said leaning in on Morgan until their noses were straining to kiss “if you ever tell anybody anything we talk for this room. If you talk to police, I go find you wherever you dey and I go kill you.”Hhe sprang up, motioned his colleague to leave and blocked the door with his body.
“Collect this one as warning” the deafening of sound of exploding bullet rented the air.
From where I was hiding in my bathroom I heard the gun shot from the room next door and I knew I was going to be next. In mindless fright I thought to myself; where was the damn police? Their office station was only two streets away. Also, where was the local vigilante that we were mandated to pay a monthly tribute to for “maintenance” of their rusty hunter rifles? Weren’t they supposed to be protecting us? Won’t no one come to our aid?
Read also: #Unforgettable – The Invasion (Ep 1)
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