The Wife ESCAPED!

Standing outside Donatus’ compound in the quiet dawn, Timmy felt like he was in a graveyard. Everything was still and calm compared to the bustle and hustle that would by now be on full gear in the major roads. It was still quite a dark grey dawn, but Lagos never closed for business, so there was no question of its opening early or late.

Having been standing here for over five minutes, Timmy wondered whether he would ever find a motorcycle. Perhaps this was not where he ought to wait? He left his boxes and strolled away from the compound towards the main road.

From what he could see, there were no signs of commercial motorcycles on the street, so he might have to get one from the road. But what was that? A small bus was leaving another part of the street not more than a stone-throw from Timmy’s position and was heading straight for the road.

“Hey cabbie,” Timmy hailed and realized his mistake immediately, “or little bus or whatever,” he added with a shrug.

The conductor, on hearing him, had signaled for the driver to stop the vehicle and it eventually rolled to a stop before it could climb onto the main road. Timmy put both hands in his pockets and watched, expecting them to come over to him. But instead, the conductor was beckoning for him to come and quickly too, judging by the speed of his beckoning hand. Reluctantly, he strolled over to them. One side of the bus had its door pulled open and the conductor jumped down.

“Where, where, where?”, he asked hurriedly as Timmy approached.

“Well, I got stuff I need to pick up… just right over there and then we…”

“Wole, wole. Enter, enter.”

He was rushed into the bus and the conductor swiftly jumped in after him, pulling the door close.

“Fire down,” he said to the driver and the bus fired down onto the road at full speed.

“Hey, hey, that’s the wrong way. You gotta…”

But Timmy was not given the chance to complete the statement. Out of the shadows, a sinister-looking young man appeared, armed with an equally sinister-looking knife.

“Shhhh,” he shushed with his forefinger to his lips while his other hand brandished the knife menancingly. “Alaye, just behave yourself. Abi you wan die?”

Timmy’s eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth was open. He was staring at a human-like apparition whose face he could hardly see except for the white teeth and red eyes. The creature jerked his chin sharply, clearly a signal meant for someone, but before Timmy could look back to find out who was behind him, the conductor threw a cloth around his mouth and began to gag him tightly. Now, Timmy realized he was in big trouble. He straightened his legs and lifted his hands to pull off the gag, but that shiny demon of a knife was brought close to his face again.

“I say make you respect yourself. You no dey hear English?”

So Timmy had no choice but to relax while he was being gagged. After that, his hands were next. They were grabbed roughly from behind and tightly bound while the knife remained very close to his right eye.

His heart was beating at an abnormal rate and his breathing mirrored his fear. The vehicle maintained its speed with no sign of stopping. What on earth did they want with him and where were they taking him to?

Next, they went through his pockets and confiscated everything they could find, including his phone, transport fare and pocket comb.

“Why we no go back make we just carry the load wey him want us to carry before?”, the conductor suggested after he had finished emptying their victim’s pockets.

“Which useless load be that? Na load we come carry or na person we come carry?”, the driver retorted angrily.

“But expensive things and even money fit dey inside na.”

“Expensive things, my boot! Na longa-throat go kill you.”

“Abeg stop all this talk. Make we dey go where we dey go,” the knife-welding one intervened and the other two went silent.

*****

Chief sighed as his wife helped him take his seat on the couch.

“Sorry. Ndo,” Rebecca said as she still held on to his arm. “Are you comfortable?”

With an angry hiss, her husband jerked his arm away from her. She sighed, went over to the adjacent couch and slumped down on it.

“How’re you feeling, Papa?”, the visiting Dora asked as she strolled into the sitting room from the kitchen.

“How’s it your business how I’m feeling?”, Chief retorted. “You think I’m easy to kill? Sorry to disappoint all of you, but the God that made me is not a Made in China God.”

“You have started again,” Rebecca moaned. “For Christ’s sake, nobody wanted to kill you! It was just a accident… I mean, a mistake.”

“I want to warn all of you,” he went ahead, ignoring her. “I will soon get a licensed gun, so if you try to endanger my life in any way, you are on your own. Don’t say I did not warn you.”

Both women sighed and shook their heads in exasperation. Just then, Tracy walked in. She had come home the previous day to spend the holidays with her family and unlike her sister, was not very much fazed by what had recently happened to her father.

“Papa, you have a call,” she said, holding out his phone to him. “I heard it ringing on the dining room table,” she added by way of explanation.

He took it from her and stared at the screen.

“Dona,” he murmured as he tapped ‘Answer’ and put the phone to his ear.

“Hello Dona, how are you? How is Lagos?”, he said into the phone. (A slight pause as he listened to the reply) “No, he’s not here. Why do you ask?” (Another pause as he listened with more seriousness) “Eh?”, he exclaimed, sitting up immediately and attracting the attention of the women.

They watched in mild anxiety as he listened to whatever his friend was telling him on the phone.

“N… no… no problem,” he said after a little while. “I.. I’ll… We’ll get him back. Just do what you can do. Th… thank you.”

“Chief, what is it?”, the now very anxious Rebecca asked, sitting at the edge of her seat as her husband disconnected the call with shaking hands.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“Timothy. They say he’s missing.”

“Eh? My son! Missing? Ah no o! Call him back, Chief. Te… tell him to find my son! Timothy cannot be missing. My only son? It’s impossible.”

She had already taken off her headgear and was sitting in a disheveled state on the floor, thrashing and wringing her hands.

“Call him back o, Chief,” she cried. “Call him back now. Tell them to find my son! He’s my only son. I…”

“Woman, calm down! Stop behaving like a child!”, Chief scolded, but it was clear that he himself was far from calm. His voice and his hands were shaking. He held the phone, trying to make a call, but he seemed unable to find the number.

“Call the Lagos Commissioner of Police,” he instructed the less concerned Tracy and handed the phone to her.

As she searched for the contact, he sat in silence, tapping his shaking forefinger on his shaking lips. Dora, who herself was not very far from being in tears, was beside her mother, doing her best to console her.

“It’s ringing,” Tracy said, handing the phone back to her very eager father. Then she sat down and watched them all as if they were actors in a reality TV show. Frankly, she wasn’t very sad that the only valuable child of her parents was missing.