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Sleeping With Yesterday (Episode 32)

Posted by on September 23, 2016.

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As the voice booms again, “I said kick am open!” the pounding on the gate comes to an end. Abdul uses this opportunity to pull the object from the roof. He gets down from the toilet seat, dust covering his shirt. Whatever he has in his hand is wrapped in nylon. He blows the dust off, coughs as some enter his nose and unties the nylon, revealing a rifle.
With the gun he enters his main room, throws it on the bed and heads for his drawer. He collects the coins there, loosens his belt and pours them inside his pant. He moves his hip severally to ensure that everything is in place. He puts his trousers back on, and buckles his belt, pouting as the coldness of the coins crawls under his scrotum.
Gbim! A leg comes against the gate. From the sound of it it is a leg wearing something that protects it from the shock of the collision, something like a large shoe. The sound throws Abdul into a slight fit as he picks up the gun and looks it over.

It looks ready.
He is ready. He walks slowly to the door, applying every detail that he can remember from the security academy in Minna where he was trained four years ago. His gun is pointed ready at the door. When he gets to the door, he turns the door handle with care, creating a little space between the door and the wall through which he can look outside at the gate. The padlock on the gate looks wearied from the pounding and kicking that has been going on. It looks ready to snap open and allow whatever group that are out there entry into the house.

From where he stands Abdul can see the long shadows of the persons standing outside. The setting sun casts their shadows into the compound, through the space between the gate and the floor. From their shadows Abdul can see that they have something on their heads, probably a mask that they are putting on to avoid recognition. They also have guns with them, long things held up to their sides in readiness.
“Oga,” one of the voices outside says, “dis gate no gree open o.”
“Wetin?” another male voice answers him, probably the one in charge. “We no dey return Minna if we no enter dis house. Will you kick it down and stop complaining? Jibril, help him!”
Abdul slowly steps into the compound, taking caution so that his footsteps do not rise into the air. He walks to the main house and looks at the door. He is alarmed seeing that Dayo had left without locking the door.
Gbim! Gbim! The ones trying to pound the gate open are not letting up.
Abdul gathers his spirit. “Who be dat?!” he screams. He shouts it again, going close to the wall that joins the compound to the other house, trying his best to make sure that the neighbors hear.
“Tor. So you dey there since as wey dey ask who dey house, kwoo?” This is the voice that sounds like the one in charge.
“I wan know who una be!” Abdul’s hands are sweaty. “See. I carry gun here o. And I ready to scatter.”
“Na who we dey follow talk?”
“Na me be security for here.”
There is a split silence. “We from Minna come, Mister Man. Open this gate. We dey find your madam.” The same voice that sounds like the one in charge.
“And I dey ask who una be?”
“Police. We be police.”
Abdul keeps quiet. He sees a hand go up above the height of the gate, holding an identity card, supposedly for him to see. The voice comes again. “We be police. Open this gate make we do wetin we come for.”
Abdul puts his hand in his pocket and runs over to the gate. He pushes the gate forward to put it in the right frame for unlocking, then he inserts the key in the padlock and brings it out. It is a man outside who throws the gate open.
Once the first person enters – their caps on their heads, their guns pointed at him or at nothingness in the compound – he pushes Abdul to the wall, forcing him to let go of the gun he has in his hand, wriggling handcuffs onto his wrists. The man in charge – shining black in complexion, a stick in his lips, dark sunshades covering his eyes – steps in casually. He looks at Abdul and the rifle on the floor, then he waves his pistol to the others. They spread into the house like the wind.
Outside, Abdul can hear them pushing down things, breaking things. They go upstairs, kicking doors open, throwing windows open. From the window to the former playhouse on the top floor one of the policemen brings out his head and addresses the one in charge, “Nobody here, sah! We have searched, sah!”
The one in charge turns to Abdul and asks, “Where is that killer of a woman and her husband?”
“Who?” Abdul asks.
“Your madam and her husband!” the one pressing him to the wall barks.
“Okay. I no know. I no know o. I just open gate for…” Abdul stops talking because just now he feels the nozzle of a pistol hard on his head.
Over the pounding of his heart he hears the man in charge. “Mister Man, na Abacha regime be dis, and I go wan know: Na who born that man wey go come dey ask queshon because we shoot one gateman for Bida? So you better talk true now, or I go finish you.”

To Be Continue By 4pm

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3 Responses

  1. finish am their

    by anomalous on Sep 23, 2016 at 11:27 am

  2. Shuuoo!! If dem kill am without info from am,wetin dem gain

    by Vicky on Sep 23, 2016 at 12:00 pm

  3. abeg Abdul dey innocent o

    by nnajiofor on Sep 23, 2016 at 5:47 pm

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