Mr. Okey Igballa, despite his tight schedules still makes out time for God. According to him, God is the source of everything and as a result, He (God) deserves our time and reverence. Every Thursday evening, by 5:00pm, he must go to Our Lady of Fatima Catholic Church, Independence Layout for evening mass. This is a routine he doesn’t break.
As he drove out of the church that fateful evening and headed to his three-bedroom apartment at the extreme of Achi street, Independence layout, he did not know that he was being followed. From the rear view mirror, he spotted a car behind him about 50 meters.
The car surfaced again after the Cathedral Church of the good shepherd, but he didn’t suspect anything. The car, a plain white 504 Peugeot drove closer to his gray coloured Volkswagen Passat. Just immediately after Nicon building, the 504 double-crossed him and the two cars screeched to a halt. Just like a flash, two black hooded men jumped out of the car, each brandishing a pistol. They pointed the pistols at him.
“Any movement now, you’re a dead man.” One of the men roared.
The road was very solitary. There was no car, no vehicle, no human, except Mr. Igballa and these sons of a bitch. They choose a very good time and location for this their heinous and nefarious operation.
“Get his bag.” One of the men who has been acting as the leader commanded as he opened the driver’s door and dragged the huge barrister out of his car like a half filled jute bag. Mr. Igballa sprawled, closed his eyes and faced the ground. “Please, don’t kill me.” He pleaded.
“Shut up, your mother fucker”, was the reply he got from his plea.
There was silence. For Mr. Igballa, those few minutes had seemed like a thousand years. He remembered his wife and their three months baby; Chidiomimi. What would be the fate of that innocent girl if these men should kill him? He prayed silently that God will save him from this situation. They can take his car or anything they needed but spare his life.
“Jump back into this fucking car.” He didn’t know which of the men that said it, however, he did as he was commanded. One of the men kicked his butt and it pained him like hell. If this is all that these men need from him, he will remain eternally grateful to God.
“Let’s get out of this place.” The one that has been acting as the leader hollered.
“Make we finish this man before we go nah.” The other man said.
“Oh gosh! Let’s get out of this fucking place man. This is taking much of my fucking time.” The acting leader shouted.
They jumped into their car. The car whirred.
Mr. Igballa in his stupor-like position muttered some prayers to his God. It’s almost over. They might spare him.
“Kpow! Kpow!” That was all. Two bullets. One in his head and the other at his chest.
As they were driving out, the one that shot Mr. Igballa emptied the remaining bullets at the Volkswagen Passat gas tank. From the rear view mirror as they sped down towards Drug house, they saw smoke and flame soaring high. That’s a very cool and perfect operation, they thought. They exited through the end of Nza street and joined the Enugu-Portharcort expressway.
“This fucking papers got to be delivered as soon as possible,” the acting leader said “or the whole thing becomes a mess and you know the implication.”
“We loose our pay.” The second man said as he kept his grip steady on the steering.
“And maybe our lives too.” The leader said. “This assignment is a very serious one guy.”
The driver didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes straight on the road and his hands firm on the steering. He looked at the rearview mirror.
“Accelerate man. Nobody is coming. It’s a very clean deal.”
“If we had involved these other boys,” the driver said “they would have fucked the whole thing up.”
“Or even expose it later.” The other one completed.
“It is very good we did it ourselves, at least, we have less to worry. We can keep it completely sealed with only two of us.”
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Early on Friday morning, before the news of the death of Mr. Okey Igballa rented the air, Mr. Angus Aremo got to his office. He photocopied some materials even before the secretary or any other person came to work. He delivered the originals where he was asked to keep them at the MD’s office.
Mr. Lee Mclloyd didn’t know that his assistant has the key to his office.
It was unseemingly dull that friday morning. As if even nature was angry for the assassination of Mr. Igballa, it rained cats and dogs that morning. Many houses lost their roofs and many trees lost their branches and unleashed their anger on nearby houses.
Mr. Lee Mclloyd got to his office at the premises of BURAC oil by twenty minutes after eleven. The death of his lawyer shattered him completely. From rumours, it was fire, but there was more to that fire. There were openings at the gas tank which suggested that it was not just ordinary fire outbreak. Besides, if it was just ordinary fire outbreak, the barrister could have escaped. But he burned beyond recognition. His big King James Bible didn’t burn completely, but there was no trace of his bag. Something must be behind this. Mr. Mclloyd could not put the thread into the needle. What is his fate with the mysterious death of his lawyer? He was totally confused.