Last oda: Chapter 1 contd. . .

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No he saw them! One was climbing down a small tree close to the footpath while the other hastily disappeared into the footpath. The men moved like ghosts, with utmost care not to alarm their target. There was that grim expression on their faces, which frightened the commercial cyclist. He was certain they had seen him, but probably their concern was somewhere else.

The men were dressed in black; one in a black T-shirt and jeans and the other in a black shirt and chinos, with black berets pulled over their left ears. In their possession were dangerous-looking guns. The men were deadly, and the Akawoke man knew it.

He had no doubt, who the two men were after. Quickly, he fixed the plug. He stood, the good part of him told him to warn the stupid boy. He could have conveniently done that and gotten away but when he remembered what the boy had just done to him, his anger intensified.

“Let him go rot in hell where he belonged!” he mumbled as he climbed on his bike. Quickly he started the bike and rode off.

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The men were convinced that the Akawoke man would not alert their target about the impending danger, considering what had transpired between them. They saw what happened and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Going after this PC man, was not in their plan as he had not been their primary target. They had been detailed to hit a different PC man. All the same, they decided to deal with him since he was also on the “slaughter-list.” The two men were from the Blood Brothers Confraternity, which was recently introduced into the University of Calabar. They had been lying low, but they now want to make an impact in the school. At least people would know they had arrived.

The Pirates gave them the opportunity a few days back in a beer joint and as luck would have it, they had played into their hands and would feel the heat first. The whole school will definitely hear about it and that would make their presence felt in the campus.

Luck was on their side otherwise, how else would they describe the opportunity presented to them to knock out two top-ranking PC men within thirty minutes? They were sure they would be through with this new target within a couple of minutes, and would then wait for their main target.

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Fear is the greatest enemy of man. It destroys a man gradually as Akpan Nsikak, a.k.a Gomorrah would attest to. He was seized with fear. His courage was failing him, and he quickened his step. The urge to run was so much on him but he managed, just managed, to restrain himself as he would have easily given himself out. His heart was beating harder. He was now sweating profusely, even though the weather was not that hot. Dipping his hand into his pant pocket, he fished out a white handkerchief to wipe his face.

Then he heard a noise that made his heart leap. It had come from the back! He looked back quickly and side-ways, he could see nothing.

“Oh dear me!” he cursed his imagination. “Damn you, Great Gomorrah!

You are becoming a coward,” he cautioned himself.

He was now at the middle of the footpath. The strange feeling returned. Lifting his shirt, he pulled out the Beretta from his waistband. He stared at the gun as if he was weighing it. The look on his face was a mixed expression of fear and reassurance. At least he has some groundnuts in the gun. If the worst comes, he could shoot his way through. He had done it before.

The sound of the motorbike moving away momentarily disturbed his thought. He smiled inwardly. Not paying Akawoke men was one of his habits, that is, whenever circumstances warranted. To him, it was one of the fringe benefits, and immunity that System Men enjoyed. If a . . .

Another sound jolted him. This time, he knew he was not mistaken. His sixth sense was sending series of danger signals. He released the pistol’s safety catch, ready to pull the trigger. Then, he slowly turned. Nothing was behind him. He was now very tense, convinced that somebody was lurking around and whoever it was, wasn’t a friend. He cursed again, the meandering nature of the path. If he could only have a glimpse of his tormentor!

He hurried to the next bend and dashed into the bush, squatting. If only he had his Luger, he thought furiously. He had been in danger many times in the past and had managed to escape alive. Thanks to his Luger, which had taken out five men and critically injured more than ten. He had been a member of the Pirates Confraternity right from his first year. Two days earlier, there had been a clash between his friends and two other men, who they later found out were members of the Blood Brothers Confraternity, popularly called Black Beret or 2–2 men. He had been in the joint drinking when the 2–2 men arrogantly came in. There was this thing about them, which pissed him off. But he managed to control himself. The two men had ordered beer and started drinking. A few minutes later, he saw his men and invited them to his table. He had some cash to burn. It was while the PC men were coming toward Gomorrah that they mistakenly overturned the table on which the drinks of the 2–2 men were placed. The shirt of one of the PC men had hooked on the edge of the table, and in the process of unhooking it, the table had overturned. The drinks went tumbling down.

The BB men were infuriated.

“O’boy! Wetin dey do you sef?” one of them growled in pidgin English. “See what you have just done to the drinks.”

“Sorry, guy. But you know it was an accident,” one of the PC men had said.

“What do you mean by that? You are only sorry? Go and replace the

drinks before I blow your heads up.”

“Blow whose heads?” one of the PC men inquired in anger. There was obvious show of surprise on his face. He had actually wanted to replace the drink but the guy’s arrogance annoyed him. The way he said it was insulting. After all they are PC men, and they hated insults and challenges. Considering the source – nincompoops who probably were recently blended into one of the ‘left–over’ fraternities parading the campus—it was hurting to the ego of the PC man.

“My friend, you better watch your tongue,” he warned, having decided not to replace the drinks, damning the consequences. By this time, other patrons of the joint had turned their attention on them. The PC men walked towards Akpan and were blocked halfway by the other guys. “Hey! You got just three seconds to replace the drinks, or . . . ”

The PC men, catching the hanging threat, paused. “Or what?” one of them snarled back. A beer bottle crashed on the PC man’s head, stopping him in his tracks. The speed at which the bottle crashed surprised even Gomorrah, as he had been observing the melodrama. He was becoming uncomfortable with the development. Already there was blood on one of his men’s head. Within minutes, the bar was chaotic. More bottles were now flying in

the air. The broken bottles flew in the air like bomb shrapnel. Other students in the bar started finding their way out of the joint. The PC men, including Gomorrah fought back. Minutes later, the clash stopped, leaving injuries and bruised ego. The two families knew that the battle line had just been drawn.