Nigeria's leading story blog. Gun, Killer, blood began to ooze out, London, England, Television Station and News Agency, foreign media such as CNN,
The killer climbed the stairs quickly. On the first floor, he walked along the hallway listening at every door. He pressed his ear against each door and listened for any sign of commotion. He walked briskly yet carefully as he sought to cover as much ground as possible. Soon, he was on the second floor. He continued the same routine until he reached the third floor. Isabell’s heart was pounding so hard that she thought her heart was going to jump out of her mouth any moment. Jariye remained calmed and collected. He had sent a text to Madubene to inform him where they were. Madubene was driving frantically to the location.
“I don’t know yet. We have to let him make the first move. For now, he has no clue where we are, so that is great,” Jariye answered in a whisper.
“You could have shot him when he was down there.”
“There were too many people around him. I could have hit an innocent person.”
“I am so afraid. How do you manage to remain so calm?”
“I don’t know. We have to find a way out of here or take him out. Just remain quiet.”
They heard a noise a short distance away. Their assailant had become impatient. He was now entering each apartment, yanking people onto the hallway and questioning them at gunpoint.
It is only a matter before the occupants of this apartment point at us,” Isabell remarked.
Jariye did not answer. He crept back into the apartment and told the occupants to move into ne room. “I will not harm you,” he promised in a low controlled tone. “The man out there is dangerous. If you stay in this room, you will be safe. Don’t come out until I tell you to, okay?”
They nodded fearfully. The man, his wife and two children walked into their spare bedroom and locked the door tightly. The man’s hands shook as he locked the door. Jariye told Isabell to remain on the balcony.
“If things get out of hand, jump and run for your life. I will try my best to take him out. Do not come back into the apartment no matter what happens,” he warned her.
“Are you going to be okay? I can’t leave without you,” she said.
“I will be fine. Just do as I said.”
Jariye returned to the shabby living room. The paint on the walls was peeling off and the curtains on the windows were old and rumpled with numerous holes and stains. He made sure to stand to the right of the door, far removed from possible line of fire through the main door to the apartment. He held his gun in place, ready to shoot. Soon, he heard footsteps down the hallway. Then, there was a gentle knock on the door at first, which was followed by a loud bang. The hired killer had grown too impatient. He stepped back and shot the door open. The loud banging noise sent Isabell’s heart into her mouth. She stood by the wall away from the door shaking like a tree swaying under the force of a gusty wind. Jariye waited patiently and calmly. The killer did not step inside immediately. After shooting at the lock and hinges, he kicked hard on the door sending it falling inwards.
The room was dark. Jariye had removed the light bulb earlier. The killer shot randomly around the room first. Then, he listened. When his ears did not pick up any sound, he stuck his hand in and shot to the right and then to the left. After about thirty seconds, he crept into the apartment on his knees. The occupants of the apartment nearly died of fear. The man had a hand over his son’s mouth while his wife closed their daughter’s mouth, clutching her preciously. They too made sure to stand away from the door. Isabell was shaking even more. She latched onto the wall biting her lower lip with her hands to her side as they quivered feverishly.
The killer looked around carefully as he crept from one corner to the other. Now, Jariye can see him. He fired a shot at him. He hit him in the torso. The killer dropped on his belly and blood began to ooze out. Just when Jariye thought he was dead, he rose to get a closer look. In a desperate attempt to fight back, the killer aimed quickly at Jariye and squeezed the trigger. He had aimed at his chest, but his hand shook as searing pains swept through him. Bullets spewed from the barrel of his gun, flying with rocket speed at Jariye. He made and attempt to duck, but one bullet caught him in the shoulder. He dropped to his knees and fired one more shots at the killer. The killer dropped cold on the floor. Jariye felt a gush of blood down his body. Suddenly, he felt woozy. His knees gave way and he dropped to the ground, landing on his head.
Michael Ibukunle got off the train at Upton Park in East London. He and his wife and three children had relocated comfortably to East London with the millions they raked in from his deals with Peter Iningo and Alex Uwadighibe. He walked casually to his favorite meat stall at Upton Pak Market; a popular African/Asian Market in East London.
“My good friend, what do you want today?” Asked Abdul, a butcher.
“Good to see you Abdul. I want my usual,” Ibukunle replied.
“I know what you like, my friend,” Abdul enthused with a warm smile.
He went on to cut Ibukunle a sizeable chunk of ‘Shaki’ (cow intestine) and ‘Pomo’ (cow skin). Ibukunle had thought he would miss those delicacies when he left home for London. He handed Abdul a wad of notes. He counted it quickly and shoved it into his pocket.
“I gave you some extra my friend!” He said boisterously.
“That is why I always come back to you, Abdul,” Ibukunle replied.
He left with a gleeful smile whistling gently as he walked southwards along Selsdon Road. A short distance from the market, he took a right turn onto Walton Road, and then another right turn, a short while later, onto Credon Road. He could see the house he and his wife had bought months earlier. He was pleased with his hard bargaining with Uwadighibe and Iningo. We have now put all our troubles behind us, he thought as he slotted his key into the keyhole. He squeezed to the right and pulled on the door which flung open. As soon as he began to walk in, three men jumped from the road onto his property. They pushed him briskly into the house and locked the door behind them. Before he could react, a hand came over his mouth and slammed it firmly shut. Fear crept into his eyes, but he fought hard. The three of them were too powerful for him. Soon, he was on the ground and one was holding a gun at him. “Your wife and children are already cooperating upstairs. If you try anything silly, I will blow your brains onto the ground and wipe them too,” the one holding a gun said.
He looked around the best he could from his position. The other two had guns that hung dangerously on their waists. The thought of his wife and children dying instilled further fear into him. The pleasant thought of devouring a plate of pepper soup in which Shaki and Pomo tumbled over each other quickly vanished from his now tormented mind. He nodded to indicate that he was willing to cooperate with them. They took him upstairs where two other men watched his wife and children in the living room. His heart sank into his stomach the moment he saw his wife and children gagged and tied up. Fear walked boldly in the corridors of their eyes. Mr. Ibukunle sat down. He looked around as he wondered if there might be a miraculous escape route out of their situation. Their captors were heavily built men whose muscles sang loud choruses with every movement of their bodies. Some of them were white and some were black. They all had an English accent. The two who had been upstairs with his family covered their faces with a mask. The fact that the other three did not, scared the life out of Mr. Ibukunle. They are going to kill us all, he concluded.
“How many people did you sell the videos to?” The tall richly dark one with a forest of beards on his face asked.
“What are you talking about?” Ibukunle asked.
The man walked closer to him and without warning, slammed him in the mouth with the handle of his gun. Blood slowly oozed out of his mouth as he clutched his face. His wife and children cried painfully. With their mouths gagged, their cries were completely muffled.
“If you mess around with me, I will shoot you in front of your children,” he warned him.
“I…I sold it to…to…to Chief Uwadighibe and Mr. Peter Iningo,” he answered.
He was dazed from the strike earlier, but he strove to stay calm.
“So there is no other person in possession of the videos?”
“Actually, my brother, Damian and my sister, Lola have a copy each. They have made copies that they left their best friends. If they fail to hear from me in a week, they have instructions to send copies of the videos to Agudugba Televison Service, Katakata Television Station and News Agency of Agudugba. I encouraged them to send copies to foreign media such as CNN as well in the event that I am killed, or any of my family is killed.”
“You have to call them now, and tell them to destroy the videos.”
“I can’t. They have them locked away in separate places. Besides, the moment I say that to them, they’d know that something is wrong. They will do the opposite. We talked about this already.”
“He is lying,” one of the men said to their leader.
“What if he is telling the truth?” The leader of the group asked him in return.
“I don’t believe him,” the man answered.
“Me neither,” another of the abductors added.
“It is true!” Ibukunle insisted.
“I need the addresses of your brother and sister,” the leader ordered.
“I don’t believe you after all,” he said to Ibukunle.
“You gain nothing from killing my family and I. If you do go ahead and kill us, I promise you, the whole world will hear about Mrs. Iningo and governor Mabali.”
“I don’t know who those are. I have a job to do, so my men and I’ll go ahead and do it. Take the children and the woman to the basement and shoot them,” he ordered his men.
Corletta Ibukunle began to very profusely as did her children. The men dragged them to the basement as ordered.
“You have one last chance to save your life. Where are the spare copies of the videos?”
“What difference does it make? You are going to shoot us anyway. Why would I give you something that would fight and speak for me and my family from our graves?”
“So you are prepared to die for the videos? Is that how much you value your family”
“You know we have seen you face and those of your two other men. You would not want us identifying you to the police. I know how all that works. You came here prepared to kill us. You were told to get the videos if there are any…and kill us anyway. I don’t want to see my children and wife, die but I know you are ready to do so. Go ahead and shoot me. I will fight even from my grave!!!!”
He shot him three times in the chest without warning. Ibukunle fell backwards. His neck tilted as he gave up the ghost, thick blood dripping heavily from his mouth.
LINK TO EPISODE 18: http://www.moofyme.com/2016/06/dirty-politics-episode-18.html
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