Boys On Rampage: A Novel

5

DEDICATION

To the memory of my paternal grandfather, Azinaibeya Sammie Ekwueme Okeke (1898-1954)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The author Ugo Okeke was born in Nsukka – the host community town of the famous University of Nigeria, Nsukka - by his Anambra State parents. He grew up in the commercial city of Onitsha where he attended his secondary education at the missionary Dennis Memorial Grammar School, and attended the unique University of Port Harcourt from where he graduated in English Studies. He loves photography and travelling aside his passion for writing – a hobby he developed since his teenage years. His second work of art Prisoner Of Love, a collection of short stories is expected to come out soon. Currently he lives and works in Lagos.

CHAPTER 1

The bright shining sun princely sitting on the horizon made it clear that a new day had dawned. The good and the bad, everyone was hurriedly going to the direction of where they usually get their source of livelihood in the prevailing hard-biting economic situation.

It looked as if the sun was out to beat lives out of the empty-stomached individuals in their groups. On the road to the Central Police Station, only God knows, different manner of persons, their secrets hidden under their sunburned furrowed faces were moving in their cars and on motor cycles, while the rest were on foot. This number of individuals walking the street comprised of secondary school students, primary school pupils, office men and women and of course the ever money-conscious traders in this active commercial city of Ajita.

At the Central Police Station, police officers were walking from one end of the long corridor to the other. Some of them on their wool pullovers were greeting each other and taking permissions, signing their names in the register before going out to their various assigned duty-posts within the districts of the city. Whereas, plain clothed police officers and a handful of civilians who are working on different matters were either sitting or walking behind some senior police officers, reverentially.

Just like any other person, the Central Police Station Divisional Police officer, Benson Di walked briskly into his not so poorly furnished office around quarter past seven in the morning. He immediately observed that the air-conditioner had not cooled the entire spacious office he had come to accept as his own presidential villa office. Ever since he was transferred to the Central Police Station in the city with the single biggest market in the country, which had known no peace from the facts he had read, the city had been made an uninhabitable and unsafe place by various sinister interest groups and individuals. There are such dark alleys, corners and suburb districts of the city that no one who loved his life would walk once it is 7 p.m. There are miscreants he kept seeing as mere little boys owing to his regard for them as school dropouts who though unscrupulous in their animalistic tendencies would not prove hard nuts to crack. But crack them he and his men had been finding difficult for close to three months he took over from the former DPO. He knew quite well that any one of them with the ability to shoot instantly from a far range and hit his unlucky victim either in the head or on the chest could not be regarded as a non-starter in the devious act of criminality and murder. These unbecoming cruel offences as with the case he has at hand proved a huge challenge in the face of many non-believers in his approach to crime. But Benson had made up his mind to arrest the trend before it gets out of hand.

As for the crime victims, only those who are lucky could run away alive in bloodied wounds they received from sharp edges of rusted daggers pushed into any soft and delicate part of their body. At first, he regarded all these facts he had read from the available reports as nonsense and useless to warrant setting up an investigative team to look into this new band of gangsters that are yet to be traced.

It was not until his very life was threatened early one morning, as he was getting ready for work by one hired assassin in his house at the Inland District did he accept there was a job to do. The clincher was the sudden murder of his two night patrolmen, which forced him into accepting his ignominious defeat, and consequently, looked into the report again.

The report was already on his table as he earlier had instructed his secretary to do. He went through the voluminous papers his juniors had gotten through inexpensive investigations. His oversized spectacle was hanging loose on the bridge of his nose and was trying to fall off.

At exactly 8.00 a.m., Kendo, one of the trusted confidants Benson the DPO had always relied on, reported to work. He was a six-footer broad-shouldered detective. The one who with his sound talent in news hunting; both good and bad sorts had afforded the station to possess in their hands a lot of enviable knowledge of events that occur in any part of the city. Kendo’s good record in the force had a stinking stain, and that stain was women. These women to the disgust of his wife were mostly prostitutes. He could not do without them despite the big fact that he has a wife at home. The wife had lost count of the number of times she had been infected before she threw through the window the principle of blind marital trust and stuck to the use of condom.

The only gain he had always effortlessly achieved from especially, those irresistibly beautiful prostitutes was that after satisfying the sexiest ones among them, he would bring up a wheeling gossip and thence get to the root of most suspicious foul-plays making round. His wife had furiously fought with him to bring about a change in his traditional unfaithfulness but in each case, they ended up destroying most furniture and electronic gadgets they could not replace again in their lifetime as civil servants.

Inside the twenty-something year old secretary’s office, which was equally regarded as the reception, he smiled the secretary’s way; an ugly girl with an unusual knowledge about facts and numbers and quote as if her brain was a computer software. Having got a Bachelor’s degree in Criminology from a reputable University in the United States of America, she knew all one could think of in the area of operations and crime fighting. She doubled as a confidant to the Chief mostly in handling genuine explosive secrets Benson would not divulge to any other police officer in the station. She could fight, drive and shoot her gun too. Few months ago, Kendo had selfishly disapproved of this ugly dump. He knew as he was looking at her, being absolutely unknown, she could be up to some mischief that would see to his fall. This he had discovered from her disposition towards him. It was far from friendly. More like a convulsive attempt to swallow a bitter pill.

The picture of the day he questioned the DPO and his immediate senior concerning this ugly duck sitting on a chair punching her heavy thick fingers on the typewriting machine which was producing coordinated noises appeared before him.

Sir, but how can you continue to make use of that girl’s brains, it’s improper or do you not see she could endanger the very nature of our work?

The polite answer was genuine.

In this line of our calling, I sincerely do not work with pretty faces but brains. I know what you are driving at.

Kendo could not push further his mountain of reasons against the State’s educated Ethel. One thing that had continued to puzzle him was why such a well-trained girl should just choose to work with the Nigeria Police force. It had been understood that Benson accepted her as she was. Benson it was who got her into the force. Kendo was discouraged and defeated.

In his close to four decades of existence on earth, Kendo was to both his superiors and subordinates the crime buster and godfather of crime fighting. Despite the fact that it was left for him a notch to become a police divisional officer, his love for adventurous crime watch proper and investigation burns any obstructing object on his path. The bad eggs operating on the Inland District feared him for his efficient management and approach in tracking down their hideouts. They equally knew his approach is crude whenever he was desperate to crack a crime. And above all, they knew he could blast one’s skull open without batting an eyelid. After all, in case the victim appear an innocent citizen from a powerful family, justice would be passed in his favour and the case treated for being a case of accidental discharge. Laws are decreed to suppress certain people hence uniformed force men and women perpetuate extra-judicial killings against unarmed and innocent citizens. All these made him a force to reckon with and a law unto himself, and when praised, his hands deformed and became filthy.

The only stumbling block now was Ethel. She had always asked such questions no other person would have asked and queried his sources of information and approach to crime fighting. From their DPO, he had since realized she was an untouchable. She might be his junior in the force, but in Chief Benson’s kingdom, what she says goes. And since then, he had been trying his best to make her like him. And now when he walked into her office and greeted Ethel and smiling her way, he knew his charms would never fly with Ethel. Nobody in his right sense could dare play it rough with his superior’s pets. This he had learnt in his nineteen years as a commissioned police officer.

How are you my dearest Ethel? He greeted, sounding very important in his scintillating lover-like voice.

Yeah! Fine! He’s waiting for you. She answered without looking up from the typewriter.

Kendo could not help but flash an angry face like a silly teenage boy at the door. What has he got to do about it? There would be no sense in delaying since he had been asked to go in. Refusing the gesture would endanger and batter the already worsened relationship. He clenched his fists, tightened his teeth and threw his head sideways. One day I’ll get her to her knees and she’ll beg for the worst. All days are for the thief but a day shall be for the owner in which he’d strike without fear at Missus High and Mighty. The case of the kite and the little chicken it has become then. Is it? He rummaged in his mind, raising his eyebrows.

He entered the office and the crisp cold breeze oozing from Benson’s haven’s air-conditioner conditioned his sun beaten face. He then felt his body temperature getting down to normal as soon as he was settled in an armchair.

Good morning Chief. He saluted.

At ease! Sit down Ken. Benson cleared his voice and began. Ken you know exactly well the disturbing crime rate in this city, the state of lives and property in it. From the fact known to me I must not be afraid to ask you now whether all these acid attacks on the citizens actually took place in this area under my charge or not.

Which of them Sir? Kendo asked.

Those unscrupulous young boys you stated here as gangsters,’ Benson patted the bulky file in front of him on his desk. ‘I mean, why we are yet to get cracking on them as to erasing from our file such menace and threat. They represent a constant threat to the security situation in the entire state if we did not nib it in the bud and make sure such gangsterism does not spread to other parts of the state.

They’re not for a child’s play and I’ve got the news of the worst to come. Kendo had said almost in a glee.

What exactly?

Boys-oh-yeah rage of anger and wild demonstration Sir. Ken coolly gushed that it sent cold shivers down the marrows and spines of Benson.

That stupid and highly dreaded demonstration by unpatriotic ghetto fowls that allow them unbridled freedom to brigandage and looting in the face of breakdown of law?’ He stood up. But... are you sure it’s not one of those fabrications and fallacies the idiots are about to rattle us with? Benson charged.

No. I do not share such idea with you Sir. It is for real.

No problem then. I believe your intelligence report is good to start with. He stopped and continued more hesitantly. This okuru thing is among the promises I made to the Commissioner few weeks ago. It is a promise that must be honoured. He bitterly revealed. Look Ken, Benson called Ken’s attention and went back to his seat having been standing since what was being discussed was beginning to grate his nerves. If you actually understood what I’m driving at, you cannot be my handyman for nothing you know? We must maintain principles and fight these rats.

Kendo’s eyes were already bulging out of their sockets. His face shone in happiness. Even his most superior could call him by such name. That was too far charitable.

Why can’t I help you?’ He asked rhetorically. ‘I have already taken it up to work on if only you’ll... 

Of course, it’s granted. You should start immediately from all the abject hotels, beer parlours and less used streets to dig in on your reports here, you know? This is a serious business I’ve put to your care. It’s not a thing any mother should toy with with her children. The 504 Patrol car Area 2 crime section has been assigned into your care for the job. It’s a pleasure, I wish you success.

They exchanged handshakes after which Kendo saluted his boss.

All right Sir, I’ll pursue this with all my strength.

I trust. Benson had quipped.

Kendo saluted again and strolled out of the office a happy new man. While closing the door, he eyed Ethel and said, One day both of us will be assigned to a fire-cracking assignment.  All to nothing, he grinned.

That’s the 504’s key. Good luck.  She said and handed him the key, which he accepted and quickly walked out of the room with a feeling of rejection but all the same, not defeated.

Inside the yard, he sought and got the permission to take with him two plain clothed police officers. At the landing, he picked them and brought the engine to life and headed towards the Recreational Centre, though where he was heading to remain a sealed secret to his subordinates with him.

––––––––

In a room upstairs, Shaba Boss was anxiously trying to fix herself into the latest straight sleeveless mini tight-fitting gown with its spaghetti hands well cut to cover her bulging breasts. This fashion statement brought out all her lines and contours.

Her real name was Amaka but she got herself this alias Shaba due to her fashion sense in emulating the fashion styles of a Jamaican band songstress, Shaba. Today, she was the Boss of a thriving business at the two-storied Prosti Hotels.

At 28 years Shaba Boss had come to realize painstakingly that some folly minded persons filled every corner of this wild wide world and no one was doing enough to help take care of the needs of seekers of sexual diets and varieties. Having been humbled by economic hardships in the borrowed clothes of unemployment for over six years after her graduation from the Polytechnic, she had given herself up to the oldest profession ever known to mankind. What else, she had several girls under her powers fixed in all the twenty-two rooms of the hotel who on daily basis make enough money that could feed a small army contingent. Her sound knowledge of the business and education was always her guiding light. She was always at alert and knew what the game of safety means as per the dangerous nature of her calling. Should a guy pride himself a superman to play the ball and dare to go as free as a free post mail, she would not stop from applying her knowledge of martial artistry to deal the fellow a life killer blow. It is usually as good as a squeeze of life out of the mouth. She vividly knew how hard she had suffered and how she had reached to this enviable height, thus, being addressed as the Boss hence, Shaba Boss.  She could go down memory lane and remember the dolorous stroke that had broken the camel’s band.

Two years ago, she was fortunate to have won the hotel owner’s love. It was a standing rule decreed by the owner himself that he should not tempt any other girl to assuage his sexual fantasies except their boss and that boss was Tipsy Boss, the former Boss. His fly was Tipsy Boss’s exclusive preserve and gold mine.

So on that unusual day, Shaba Boss having come down from Lagos where she had fruitlessly searched for job in some well-established and not-so-well-established business firms, was in no mood of encouraging Jack’s curiosity in her. She came down from Lagos when she realized she had never wanted to be employed in a private sector field of labour. When she was at the Polytechnic, everything was obtained through indiscriminate sexual services between the lecturers and the students. She had thought that in the outside world sex would not be the priority in getting what one wanted. It was very sad when she realized that except where nepotism has its roots, even at the Federal civil service, State and privately established firms and industries; the employer and the people at the helm of management are out for what they stand to gain from you. Women would have to offer their forbidden beauties else; they stand to forfeit the job offer, whereas, men except on merit, would be demanded to offer some kickbacks.  The women’s own was placed under severe and silly obligations. It was nonsensical and Shaba could not see why she’d be asked to render most inhumanly her vitals so that she could be given a poor salary at the end of each passing month. Out of several job offers that came her way, she was only able to accept the offer that offered her no prospects for career development and exposed her to sexual abuses for a stipend. Instead, she did the wise thing by accepting the offer of a course mate and secured her place in the world of proclivity and professionalism. That way, as she had thought, she’d end up with a good livelihood coming from her possessing chain of shops around the city if she’d be able to get the capital for such venture. This was the alternative left her by the government.

After two years on the profession, she had remained poor and fed on what the body market offered her with no chain of shops to show for her struggles. She had been unemployed for more than five years, everywhere she went, they would openly make it known to her that her ordinary national certificate in Business Administration is worthless if only she’d accept the office assistant offer and a willing tool in satisfying their sexual desires.  That time, she was not as beautiful as she is presently. She had acquired some beauty tips that have brought her all her heart’s desires. These days, creams and all sorts of imported toning lotions filled the markets. Her fashion sense had appreciated tremendously. And she had decided to make most good use of modern beauty products.

Wearing a face that looked like a shit scattered with a catapult; she came back a frustrated girl from Lagos. Within two weeks of her stay, she got the best of all jobs from Tipsy Boss when the latter met her at the wedding party of their Polytechnic course mate right at the Tourist village.

Two days after resuming at Prosti Hotels, Shaba was given the rotational privilege to serve the hotel owner in his lair. It was the standard practice that Jack would have to check out every new girl in his hotel to find out for the sake of his teaming patrons who deserve their patronage without having to ask for a bite on the apple afterwards. Huge temptation it had always been for Jack, but he had always insisted on maintaining standard that is good for business.

Jack was seated round a table in the balcony drinking beers in the company of his fair weather friends. They were six, seated and chatting noisily. Tipsy Boss was also in their midst cracking jokes and heartily throwing her head in lively spirits in spite of her cruel secrets. Her glistering greasy hair has a pink rose in it, and her bleached face was laced with brown powder to deceive and capture any of the mug guys among those present for her change