Direction - S01 E14

Story 3 years ago

Direction - S01 E14

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 14

Final episode

Direction Kontinyus…

… The event was covered by four newspaper companies.
Without a knock, Ezekiel opened the door and walked into the office. He closed the door and moved closer to his boss.
‘Josh Alli still lives…’
‘Huh?’ Chief Mike asked, alarmed, ‘didn’t we agree on finishing him?’

‘He’s invalid now and should be for the rest of his miserable life.’
‘Really? How did you do it?’
Ezekiel had proceeded with the details: How they had, dressed in police uniforms and flagged down Josh Alli’s car in the middle of nowhere. They had accused him of going over the speed limit and hadn’t allowed him any opportunity to protest as they dragged him out and pushed him into their own car. They had seized his phone when he attempted making a call; his target had been the State Traffic Management Unit. A fine chop at his occiput sent him into a blackout, a condition he remained until their arrival at the location where Ezekiel awaited them. The boys had expected Ezekiel to order Josh Alli’s execution, but he had, on second thoughts, asked them to rework his bones. The process was slow and excruciating, but at the end, Josh Alli emerged as intelligent as an imbecile.

Chief Mike got goosebumps listening to Ezekiel’s account. The young man made it sound like an every day occurence, like he had done it several times in the past, and he was tempted to ask.

‘Good job,’ he said instead, ‘but we cannot rest on our oars. Only four days more…And hope you left no clues?’

‘Those boys are professionals; even Josh Alli’s car is clean.’
‘Perfect!’ Chief Mike opened his suitcase, lying on the desk and took out a bundle of cash from it. This, he threw at Ezekiel. ‘That’s for the boys. Give them a break until 4PM. Get the others on standby.

Ezekiel pocketed the cash, nodded and took his leave.
Chief Mike released short breaths to steady himself; the rate of his heartbeats had risen in the course of Ezekiel’s narrative. He noticed his hand was shaking too, those boys were really terrible.

But he felt a kind of excitement – the excitement of living above the law. The Police could continue with their endless threats, but it didn’t stop him from plotting the next victim of his overwhelming urge – the desire to take a life.

His quarrel with Florence the previous night came on his mind; he felt he should have done more than a slap. It could have been a punch or even a kick on her fat behind. He doubted if she would have felt that – the fats would sure have absorbed the pain. But she had to realize her true place in his home: That her dad had been responsible for setting up his business when his own parents were killed in a ghastly motor accident was no excuse for her thinking she could run his life for him. That she had vouched for him when her dad doubted his industry didn’t mean she should become his master, enjoying all he worked for while sleeping and eating at home. And her sneers…he could kill her for those sneers, yes he could. What wife would sneer while her husband spoke of his aspirations? And now, the election was only four days away; he really could kill her.
He could kill her. Could he really say Florence was a Governor’s wife material? With those bulbous fatty layers, did she in any way appear like a state’s First Lady? Did her experience with the Ladies of Hope in any way equate with the expectations of a Governor’s wife? He could kill her and get a slimmer, prettier and younger lady – yes he could kill her.
He would arrange it to appear like an accident – the kids would understand. He would shed tears and make a statement on how supportive she was of his cause and how wicked Mother Nature was to deprive her of the fruits of her labour just when she was about to start reaping them…he laughed out loud and hard.

* **

Governor Paul Igbobia was seated in his office. Opposite him were Chief Umeh and Architect Salau. While Chief Umeh appeared at ease, Architect Salau – small, fair and round faced and timid smiles, didn’t look too comfortable. Governor Paul thought Dr Magareth Ikpehia would have made a better running mate than the architect, but kept that thought to himself. It was too late, anyway.

‘Your Excellency, I think we have run a very effective campaign, sir; what is left is for the people to choose aright,’ Chief Umeh said; his voice was deep and well groomed.

‘Those two weeks really helped us, and the documentaries went a long way too,’ Governor Paul replied. His eyes caught those of Architect Salau, who turned away immediately.
‘We hope the people bought our message. The only problem is the sudden increase in violence; we never had it this bad.’

‘And the police haven’t been able to do much,’ the Governor lamented. ‘We have tried all to get them mobilized, but nothing appears working.’
‘It means they are dealing with professionals. It is difficult catching pros anywhere in the world.’

‘Unlike those dudes sent by that local chief in our party. They would have done better joining the local boys eager to pick a fight after every rally.’

‘Those useless clowns! But for them I might have considered commissioning a hit-sqad too.’
‘I almost shed tears seeing Josh Alli yesterday, the man has been rendered invalid; his only use to his wife and children till his death would be his pension.’
‘I think it will be in place to have a policy for such political casualties?’

‘And get those papers whining?’ Governor Igbobia let out a chuckle. ‘We can always render assistance to such without making noise and we can then limit it to those of our party.’
‘Yes, I was forgetting that, Your Excellency.’

‘Tomorrow, I will want the best for the last; we must show them that we can match promise for promise, oratory for oratory and money for money. We must win this election.’

Chief Umeh hoped the Governor was proven right. He still harboured fears on his chances at the polls. The initial storm of the C.A had been greatly unnerving.

‘But most of those promises being peddled by Chief Mike can’t be achieved in ten years!’
Governor Igbobia smiled. ‘Still make them – that’s what the people like to hear.’ His eyes caught those of Architect Salau again, and like before the man quickly looked away. ‘Don’t you think so, Architect?’ He shot at him. The man hadn’t said a word since they initially exchanged greetings.
‘Yes, Your Excellency,’ he replied, coughing slightly to clear his chocked voice. Then he smiled shyly.

Governor Igbobia shook his head in regret; Dr Magareth Ikpehia would really have made a better candidate.
**************************************
Chief Mike felt some anger as he mounted the rostrum. An attack, the previous day, intended to be carried out on Architect Salau had failed. Not only had it failed, but two of his boys were caught in the process by the police. Architect Salau and his boss had left the Governor’s office together; but while he had immediately proceeded home, Chief Umeh had decided to see the Commissioner for Transport who was within the premises.
A policeman was attached to Architect Salau, but unknown to him, security teams organized by the Governor escorted both him and Chief Umeh to wherever they went within the state. The Governor had thought that the gang busy wrecking havoc on D.A members and facilities was likely to target one of them soon. This had turned out true, for Chief Mike’s boys who had patiently awaited his exit from the Governor’s office for over an hour started trailing him. The security team behind suspected the sinister motive of occupants of the car between them and Architect Salau’s car. The driver was obviously attempting to get to him, but the rush of the evening traffic wasn’t making things easy for them. It was only a matter of time before Architect Salau’s car would enter the grounds of the posh estate where he lived. Once there, the traffic would almost be non-existent and the men would be able to strike.

They had to be proactive and upped their speed too. Just as the architect’s car slowed down at the gate to the estate, they came behind the car carrying Chief Mike’s boys. They were right in their assumptions for, while others appeared unarmed, the fourth guy, seated at the back seat was carressing a battle-axe on his lap. The boys were about to overtake Architect Salau’s car, when they were cut off by that of the security team. They would have reacted differently, but were too surprised to. The two who tried to raise weapons were immediately shot dead, prompting the remaining two to instantly surrender. The operation was smooth and before Architect Salau realized what was happening, the two boys had been handcuffed and led into camouflaged security van.

Though Ezekiel had advised him to be calm, Chief Mike couldn’t help feeling the boys would soon be forced into spilling the beans.

‘They won’t dare it,’ Ezekiel had affirmed, they are under oath never to.

‘Even under the threat of death?’

‘Even in death!’
Chief Mike eyed Mrs Janet Olatunde, standing a few metres away on the podium; the plans to finish her off were still on – if only those boys didn’t talk. His wife’s too…she was seated beside his now empty chair on the podium. He surveyed the chanting crowd, some waving the party banners. There was the group of students, furiously gyrating, oblivious of whatever was going on on the podium, there was the group of market women in their customized wrappers and blouses, making shrieking sounds at whatever was said; he doubted if they understood half of what was said from the rostrum. There was the green vested group in white fez caps bearing his portrait at the far end, blowing vuvuzelas. He wondered how those close to them could hear what was being said. There were the many other groups, most distinguished by their gaily coloured, customized vests.

‘My people,’ he said, breaking the tradition of using the party’s acronyms for once, and the response was rapturous. His eyes quickly went through the writing pad already set on the rostrum for him. ‘I come before you today not as a happy man. I come before you today not as a satisfied man; I come before you today as a broken man. You may wonder why – especially when you take into consideration my position on the social stratification ladder, but that privilege is also my curse…’ He could feel his wife’s sneer where he stood. It burned through him, scalding his conscience, but he shook it off. ‘Many have spoken before me, and I won’t like to bore you, repeating what has already been said.

‘But, one thing I ask for is this: give me the opportunity to lead you in the new direction…’ He was interrupted by rapturous cheers again. ‘I said my privilege is my curse; it is my curse to eat three square meals while my people can’t eat one, it my curse to be secure while my people live in insecurity, it is my curse to be able to afford my needs while my people can’t even get gainful jobs, it is my curse to live in a good house while my people live under the bridge…it is this desire to break my curse that has led me to offer myself for service…’ Once again the cheers and vuvuzelas came on. ‘I have wept in the private, and I won’t like to weep in the public…’ He dapped his eyes with a handkerchief. ‘I lay down my abundance, intelligence and will that our dear state may move in the New Direction! Thank you.’ He shot up his right fists and so did the crowd as the cheers, shrieks, drums, trumpets and vuvuzelas came on.

His eyes caught a group of policemen move into the rally ground and his heart skipped a beat. He managed to maintain his composure until he got to his seat, into which he sank heavily. Florence pursed her lips and looked away, he didn’t care.

Professor Imonikhe went on stage next. He was still trying to calm the crowd when Chief Mike was startled back to reality by Ezekiel’s touch. He had suspected the worst.
‘What is it? Did you see those policemen?’ He whispered raspily.

‘Yes, sir. I knew you might be worried by their sudden appearance and got onto them. They are only making routine security patrols.’
Chief Mike’s sigh was audible. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said pressing Ezekiel’s hand and relaxed as the young man went back to his position on the fringes of the podium.
‘Hope I did well,’ Chief Mike asked Florence.
‘You know the answer,’ she replied; ‘you saw the people’s reaction.’
‘Hmmm,’ Chief turned to watch Professor Imonikhe on the rostrum.

…
…’Hmmm,’ Chief turned to watch Professor Imonikhe on the rostrum.
**************************************
They were in his expansive sitting room, Chief Mike and some party supporters; Ezekiel and the boys were there too. It was three hours after the elections. The widescreen wall television was on while music blared from the strategically placed woofers. The Electoral Commission had slated the the announcement of the polling results for 8P.M. and it was ten minutes to eight. Florence was inside the bedroom, watching the television there. She couldn’t stand the uncultured manners of the men in the sitting room.

The whole place smelt of alcohol. Some had been drinking since their return from the polling booth. Chief Mike, his eyes reddened and a appearing a bit dazed moved from chair to chair, a glass of beer in his right hand. He clinked glasses with a few of them, acknowleding their hails with a nod and loud, guttural laughter. Some images came on the screen, images of burnt structures, cars and those of some interviewed victims. Ezekiel smiled metally; the boys had been responsible for most of the carnage, even Josh Alli’s car came on the screen. It was a report on the violence that had preceded the governorship elections, a report he cared not about.
He watched his boss with amusement, the man was obviously drunk. The good thing was that, aside himself, every other person was tipsy. Otherwise, he would have found some of the things Chief Mike was saying very embarrassing. They weren’t words one would expect of a Governor, not words one would expect of a respectable person.
‘My Governor, my Governor!’ One of the men said. He clinked glasses with Chief Mike, who smiled.

‘Yes, I will change everything, I will ensure the good life for all.’
‘The Governor!’ Another hailed.
‘I will chop and you will chop, and we all will chop! You see this house? I will build a bigger one, a better one befitting of my status.’
‘His Excellency!’ Yet another hailed.

‘That is me! What is delaying these clowns from making the announcement?’
Chief Mike’s confidence was on solid ground; preliminary reports had greatly favoured the C.A. It had prompted even the party chairman, Sir Maigida, to phone him earlier, congratulating him in advance. This had prompted him to order for crates of drinks for some supporters from his unit, who had been involved in the massive mobilization of voters for him. These ones had opted to remain with him until the announcements were made. Previously, his wife would have frowned at the rowdy state of things in the sitting room, she would have complained about his drinking; but not anymore. She was gradually getting to know her place in the scheme of things, but it was unfortunate she still had to die.
The clock struck three minutes to eight and Florence adjusted on the bed and increased the volume of the television. While a part of her wanted her husband to win, another part was indifferent. She had no qualms with his losing anyways. He was getting on an ego which needed some pruning. Maybe a loss was going to provide that.
The logo of the Electoral Commission came on the television screen; all sounds ceased, both from the television and the sitting room where they hadn’t been listening to the television reports. The logo slid off the screen to reveal the state Electoral Commissioner, a professor of Criminology who had been reassigned to that role only the previous week. The man, Professor Ohibenemma, looked up from the computer tab on the desk before him – hidden behind the many tagged microphones belonging to various media groups – and briefly introduced himself and the Resident Commissioners in charge of the Local Government Electoral Commissions in the state. He thanked them all for a work well done, thanked the police for providing adequate security in the course of the polling and thanked the National Electoral Chairman for finding him worthy of such an important role. It wasn’t what many wished to hear. In their minds and with their eyes, they willed him on, hoping he would skip the whole ceremonial nonsense. It wasn’t so for, patiently, he went through it all.
Chief Mike, who had since taken a seat, was now much better sobered than before. He could feel his heart thumping harder as the results from the different Local Government Areas were read. Ezekiel was busy writing the figures in a jotter. The C.A had polled almost seventy percent of the votes in Mrs Olatunde’s Local Government Area, but hadn’t been so dominating in any other. Infact they lost woefully in the Capital, with the D.A carting away about seventy five percent of votes. This, Ezekiel attributed to the documentaries which had changed the opinion of many concerning the integrity of those at the party’s helm of affairs. The other Local Governments, except Chief Umeh’s, were close with either party taking it. In Chief Umeh’s, it was another big loss with the D.A hitting them about sixty seven to thirty three. Things no longer appeared as rosy as they had previously appeared.
They waited with bated breath as the figures were totalled. Professor Ohibenemma slowly read out the figures of the total votes cast, invalid votes and valid votes…and then the winner.

“I hereby declare Chief Umeh as winner having polled a total of…”

Chief Mike collapsed in a swoon, prompting fearful cries from some of the men in the room. Ezekiel was beside him in a snap, giving directives as he attempted to revive his boss.
Florence heard the cries faintly from the bedroom, but she thought the men were only expressing surprise at the result.

The same minute that Professor Ohibenemma was calling on the party agents to sign the result sheet was the same minute some officers from the State Security Service were knocking on Chief Mike’s gate. With them, in handcuffs, was one of the boys who had attempted to attack Architect Salau. That same minute, some policemen were at the entrance to Mrs Olatunde’s house, wondering why no one was answering their knocks. They would find her some minutes later, unconsciously sprawled on a sofa, an empty syringe beside her. The television was on.

THE END…