Chapter 11
1048 Words
chapter 11
The room was awkwardly still. Susan turned to Shola, "leave? We endured the traffic, cut through every corners and turning of this slum while trekking, just to meet you and you tell us to leave?" She said poking his chest.
Shola did not flinch, he stared into her eyes, "none of my business," he said, "he should have told you it is already a failed mission."
Mike helped John to sit on the couch's arm. He then walked to meet Shola, looking helpless and pitiful, "please we need your help," he said while Jones snickered, "he has learnt his lesson now." Mike's words melted Shola's heart.
Shola shut the door and took a sit on the couch.
"What are you here for?" Shola asked finishing the left over beer on his table. He had just two plastic chairs and a couch in his sitting room. Mike took his seat, and Susan on the other. While John sat beside Shola on the couch, and Jones stranded.
"I need your help," John said, sniffing his bleeding nose. He looked at Shola.
"Baby already said that," Shola said looking at John with disgust.
"Abby is dead," John said raising a brow.
"I am aware of that," Shola said stuffing his mouth with fish a rat ate, "I am also aware that you guys are losing your jobs once the FBI takes over." He continued chewing loudly, irritating Susan.
He saw the shocked look on their faces when he mentioned his awareness of the FBI takeover.
"I have my sources." He licked his fingers.
"Point of correction, they are losing their jobs," Jones said, referring to Susan and John, with a scoff.
"Why are you here?" Shola asked, sticking his hand into his couch looking for something to chew on. John gave him a bar of chocolate from his pocket. He knew Shola loved chocolates, he brought one without the knowledge of those following him.
"I had to or..."
"You lose your job," Shola said cutting Jones. He walked to the door, then locked it from behind, "isn't it?" He said patting Jones on his cheek, as he closed the windows and draw the curtain.
"Or keep up with Nate," Jones said clenching his teeth with rage in between.
"Follow me," Shola said, snatching the chocolate bar from John's hand, "I still don't forgive you yet." John smiled as they followed him to the room. Never in their wildest imagination would they expect to meet the bedroom as a total contrast of what the sitting room is. It was barely twelve feets in length and width. The room had a single bulb serving as the only source of illumination without a window and a standing fan that was positioned beside the computer's table. Pictures of Shola and John covered the wall. It was a museum of old memories of John and Shola in their younger days at the police academy. Shola took his seat to switch on his computer, he saw John stare at a particular picture they took the day they graduated from the academy. Tears trickled down John's carved in cheeks.
"You remember that?" Shola said, starting up his system, and gobbling up the bar of chocolate.
"Yeah, you look so much slimmer then," John said wiping his tears.
"And hot," Susan purred.
"Thank you," Shola said, ravaging the chocolate bar.
Susan, Mike and Jones observed the room in awe. Neatly arranged books in a bookshelf by the wall, smelling of beautiful lemon flavored air freshener.
"This place is dope," Jones said, rubbing his hands on the play station set, beside the bookshelf.
"Don't break anything," Shola said, focused on his computer screen. Mike stood beside him watching him produce the tappity-tap-tap sound on his computer's keyboard.
"How long have you known each other?" Susan inquired curiously, taking a look the books on the shelf.
"Pretty long," John said still facing the picture.
"Since secondary school," Shola answered. He picked a stick of cigarette from his pencil stand.
John was surprised to see Shola smoke, "dude when did you start smoking?" John asked, knowing how much he detests the smell of cigar.
"When was the last time you saw me?" Shola said blowing a ring of cigar smoke at John. Susan felt pity for John, so did Mike, but Jones was still checking out Shola's play station game collections.
"You guys might want to have a look at this," Shola called their attention, displaying picture of Stella partying a few days ago.
"How did you get these?" Susan asked bending over beside Shola.
"We live in the modern world and so does your killer," Shola said as he coughed blowing another ring of cigar smok, "how can I help you people?" He added.
"Actually we..."
"I wasn't talking to you," Shola retorted, cutting John off.
There was a moment of eye traveling in the room. Shola didn't care about John's feelings, neither does he care about what they think of him. To him, it is retribution, for John's betrayal.
John stood silent, taking a sit on one of the three plastic chairs in the room.
"We need your help with the PG," Susan answered with a sigh.
"What! That s**t is allowed?" Shola asked, taking his hands off the keyboard, and positioned his chair towards Susan.
"It's not actually allowed in the Bureau, but we have no choice."
"And down a suspect," Jones chipped in.
Shola rubbed his forehead, then sniffed, "playing the Psychology Game is risky " he said exhaling loud and slow. "Old G aware of it?"
Susan looked at John, puzzled.
"He meant Captain Ali," John said with his legs crossed.
"Oh.. no. He is not aware," Susan replied.
"Neither is his stooge," Jones said with a mocking smile on his face. He referred to Nate as Captain Ali's stooge.
Shola rose from his seat, looking them all in the eye one after the other, "okay," he said, addressing them, "if you want to work with me, there are rules you must follow," he sauntered behind John's chair, 'and those rules are tailored according to my wishes," he said emphatically, leaning on John's chair.
"Rule number 1: introduce yourselves and by that I don't mean the names you were given in the Bureau," he noted.
- Writer
