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Lost Angels

By: Ikay



Author's Note

This story although fictional is loosely based on actual events. Some readers may find some of the scenes depicted in this story disturbing.

PROLOGUE

Magdalene Hostel, Kebby Creek, Delta State, Nigeria

July 7, 2002, Friday 23:09

I pulled the car into the vast parking lot that belonged to Magdalene Hostel. Previously this morning I had hired the car from Plymouth Motoring Services, which was the only car hiring company in Kebby Creek. This means that any smart Alec trying to trace the car would end up at the company. The name I put down would probably mean nothing and even it did I was safe. 

There were hardly any lights coming from the rooms facing the car park. This wasn't surprising since most of the inmates had gone for the mid-semester break and wouldn't be back until a week later. The only female students who hung around during this period were either fellowship people, prostitutes or just plain broke. The girl I came to see fell into the middle category.

I checked the glove compartment to see if the bottle was still there. It was. Of course it was, I made sure I put it there this morning. That's the problem with me, I always check, double check and triple check even when I know that everything had already been checked. I am always terrified that something will go wrong. 

In the back seat is a knife set fixed into a metal brief case. It has a dozen different knives, each of them razor sharp with heavy black handles. I had bought it also this morning at a shopping mall in Kebby Central. It had been quite costly- 37, 000 Niara. But it was worth it. I had tested the blade of the biggest of them (specifically for hacking meat) by giving a slight nick on my thumb. The rush of pain and the squirt of blood gave me a thrill of pleasure. But it would be nothing compared to the pleasure I would receive tonight.

The double doors of the hostel were only half open when I went through it. The hallway was pitch black except for the light that emitted from the porter's office. He looked up quickly but lost interest immediately he saw me. I ascended the staircase in a quick trot. The corridors stank badly like the corridors of all female hostels, especially now the cleaners were off duty. I reached Room 329 and knocked on the dirty green door that was plastered all over with religious stickers.

"Who is that?" shouted a voice harshly from within.

Ever since the mid semester break started, girls had been reluctant to open their doors to strangers. There had been isolated cases of rape and robbery and they were getting scared.

I told her my name. I could sense her hesitation but I heard feet shuffle to the door after a loud squeak from protesting springs told me she was getting up from bed. 

I noticed her surprise when she opened the door and saw me. Obviously Ejiro wasn't expecting me.

 "What are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously.

"I have something for you" I answered cryptically. I pushed past her into the room. I noticed her roommates were not around. Not that it would have mattered anyway.

"What do you have for me?" she asked suspiciously, "And who says I need anything?"

I sat on her bed and contemplated her thoughtfully. She was wearing a translucent peach coloured nightdress that made her look delicious. I smiled at her. She flinched.

"What do you want?" she demanded still standing near the door, "It's late. I want to sleep."

"There will be enough sleep for you in the grave. Sit down. I want to talk to you."

Ejiro sat on an unmade bed furthest from me like she was sitting on a keg of gunpowder. She made a point of avoiding eye contact. That wasn't strange. People found it difficult to look me straight in the eye.

"There's a white man that came in from Holland this afternoon", I noticed her stiffen to attention. In this part of the world the two words white man translated to two others- foreign currency, " He needs some entertainment this night so he met me in Sandy's Bar and asked me to fix it up for him."

"I see. So how much is he ready to pay?"

"Oh, that's between you and him. He has however already given me my commission."

I raised my hand to stroke the back of my head, showing off the gold watch dangling on my wrist. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head.

"So when does he want me?"

"Now."

"Let me get dressed."

"Don't worry you'll do fine in that." I said quickly.

Ejiro's eyes widened.

"In this!" she exclaimed, touching the light fabric defensively, "I'm practically naked under this."

"Exactly." I smiled sweetly at her and she cringed "Now hurry up I have a car waiting outside."

The Marshes, Kebby Creek

July 8, 2002, Saturday 03:30

The sky was as black the depths of Sheol when Inspector Musa arrived at the Marshes in his official blue Peugeot 504 station wagon. Thunder growled in the distance. It was going to rain. Drops of it were already streaking across the windscreen. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 03:30. According to William Shakespeare, at this hour only the Wolf and the Murderer were about. There were no Wolves in Kebby Creek but the occasional killer was not a far-fetched phenomenon. Grabbing his torch and umbrella he sighed and got out of the car.

He trudged through the mud to where he could see some flashlights bobbing in the distance. He met three uniformed men and Tony Ani, the police photographer. Near them a white sheet covered something on the ground. All except Tony looked visibly shaken in the glow of his torchlight. 

"What happened here?" he demanded his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach like a torpedoed ship.

"Another one" Tony said shortly, "Number four. It's under the sheet."

It, thought Musa with dread. This didn't sound good. Not good at all.

Taking one end of the sheet he tentatively raised it up. What he saw made him recoil violently

It took time to verify it was a human body much less female. The corpse was drenched in blood. Not less than fifty stab wounds were visible on the tortured flesh. The breasts had been cut off, other sensitive parts hideously mutilated. The face had been bashed to pulp. The eyes had been goughed out leaving only gaping black sockets. Whoever it had been had been literally hacked to pieces. Musa struggled to control the bile that rose in his throat. He had never seen anything so horrible in his life.

"My God" he whispered.

Someone said Amen.

Tony Ani, came up to him. His young face was alight with interest.

"I don't know about you, Sir, but this is the worst I've seen so far."

He was holding his camera like a newborn baby. Musa was certain he must have taken a lot of gruesome pictures.

"Tony" he said finally, "You just spoke my mind. What the hell is all this?"

His answer was not encouraging.

"A psychopath is on the loose."

"That's nonsense. Serial killers don't exist in Nigeria."

"Who says? There's always a first time for everything."

"Tony, you've been watching to many western movies. Be realistic."

"Okay, okay."

The two detectives moved slowly away from the uniformed officers.

"Did you boys find anything?" Musa asked cryptically.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Any identification?"

"Not a chance. The victim's clothes were not even left behind. The killer for some reason does not want the victims identified."

"Why do you like referring to the perpetrator in a singular sense? Why not plural?"

"Serial killers normally act on their own."

"Tony, for goodness sake!" 

"Hey, but check it yourself. Why should a ritual killer take the pains to completely distort his victims features? Normally after collecting the parts he wants he'll just bolt, right? It doesn't make any sense at all."

"Nothing seems to make sense any more Tony. Just tell those boys to keep looking."

He glanced disapprovingly at the turbulent night sky. It was certainly going to rain.

"There is something else you should know too" Tony said softly, "These men are spooked. They think this is the work of some kind of bogeyman. They even think the marshland is haunted."

Musa cast them a disparaging look.

"The problem with us Africans is that we are too superstitious" he said in disgust, "Tell them to keep looking or they won't go home."

"Sure, Sir." He moved away. Inspector Musa shook his head and half-heartedly swept his torch over the muck around him. The DPO was going to love this.

Barrister Clark's Residence, London, England

September 3, 2000, Tuesday 16:26 

Caesar Clark looked thoughtfully at the face of the pool of tea in his mug. 

"So, Dad do you feel lonely?" he asked casually.

Edward Clark looked up from his own brew and stared pensively at his son. Looking rather miniature in his huge, white wooly sweater, he looked like a wizened old professor with his gray flecked hair and glasses.

"Of course I am, Edmund" he answered a bit defensively, "London isn't exactly a place of warmth."

Caesar glanced at the icy rain lashing ruthlessly against the double-glazed windows and he had to agree.

"Why don't you get yourself a woman, dad? Before you freeze to death."

Barrister Clark's small spectacles nearly fell into his cup of tea.

"Edwin! I'm surprised at you. I'm not even officially divorced from your Mom yet."

"So what, Dad? You two are separated. She lives in Nigeria while you're here in England. Who's going to care? Anyway she doesn't seem to mind sleeping around back home."

"Edmund, don't talk about your mother like that. We are different people. She can do what she wants."

"Do you know your problem, Dad? You are too nice. You are incapable of saying a bad thing about anyone."

"That's not a good thing?"

"You should express your feelings. It helps get things off your chest."

"I do express my feelings. Sorry to disappoint you if they're not harsh."

Caesar sighed exasperatedly.

"You talk as if you are still in love with her."

"I am still in love with her."

"Oh, great. Do you think she loves you in return?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself, Edmund? She's your Mom. She'll tell you the truth."

Caesar groaned in finality and frowned again at his mug.

Caesar Clark and Cassandra Okafor did not share the conventional mother-son relationship. She had once worked for the Nigerian Embassy in London and that was when she met Edward Clark, a young British lawyer working in the city. A romance had blossomed between them and they had married. Unfortunately her pregnancy had been troublesome and nearly fatal and the baby could only be removed by Caesarian operation. Hence Cassandra nick named him Caesar which Edward felt was done out of spite and later on in life so did her son think as well. 

Caesar's mother was extremely beautiful, she had everything a man could want from a woman -a golden complexion, long rich dark hair, an angelic face and the body of a goddess. That beauty was double edged. 

Even though it opened doors for her it also turned out to be her albatross. She was in hot demand, both by whites and blacks and she was continuously pestered. Like any dyed in the wool Nigerian she used this to her advantage and naturally she was wild at heart. 

However poor Edward was not, he was uptight and aloof like his British counter parts and could not take the pressure any more so eventually one cold, wet, autumn morning he sat her down and called it quits. Cassandra decided to go back to Nigeria and insisted she take Caesar along with her. Edward was not in any mood for messy divorce proceedings and child custody cases so he let her do as she wished but not without her promising that his son could visit him from time to time. 

Growing up for Caesar wasn't easy. Even though he had his mother's beauty, he had his father's pride and many a time he could not understand his mother's excesses. She jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend, most of the time as stepstools for her political ambition. She decided never to marry again and never to have any other children so Caesar remained her only child. 

He refused to follow his mom's political footsteps and normally took solace in reading and writing and very soon ended up an investigative reporter for Newsday. As usual his reports were always vehemently against the Federal Government and the so-called elite of the society which he hated with a passion. Later he switched to his dad's name so he couldn't be linked to his mom.

"Well, Dad, I'll be off" he announced as he tentatively placed the mug down on the side stool, "I have an assignment to carry out."

"Alright. Take care, Son."

"I will."

"What's this assignment about anyway?"

"Oh, nothing. Just to interview some demented old clown who should have been shot years ago."

"Edwin!"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. My language is becoming too colorful, right? Give me a break, Pa, I'm not like you."

"You should try to emulate me" scolded the Barrister.

"Nah. Life will be too boring. Anyway haven't you heard that children are usually the opposite of their parents?"

"To my chagrin unfortunately."

"Your problem not mine. At least I'm sure my own kids will be well behaved.'

"Speaking of kids, do you have a steady girlfriend?"

"Don't start now, Dad. I'm off." He got up to leave.

"I hope this assignment of yours isn't dangerous?" his Dad asked concerned.

"I almost wish it was. Only then will it be worth the ticket. Bye."

He had no idea that in less than a day he would eat those words.

Dawson's Close, Manchester City, England

September 3, 2000, Tuesday 18:43

The black taxi stopped him by a sign that said Dawson's close ending his journey from London. He glared at the mop of barley-blond hair with the black taxi cap pressed unsuccessfully over it. 

"Why are you stopping? " he demanded " I'm going to the last house on Dawson's close."

The taxi driver shrugged. 

" Restricted Area, " he replied "Private vehicles only."

Caesar didn't think that was true but he didn't push it. He paid the amount on the meter and hauling out his overnight bag started down the close.

Caesar Clark was not pleasantly surprised by the assignment bestowed upon him. To be more precise he was mildly enraged. He had been given the task of interviewing Peter Marquis one of the big party bigwigs of Nigerian Politics, international business man and notorious philanderer. He was vacationing in his "English Retreat" just one of the numerous villas he had on different corners of the globe. News Day had been seeking an interview from this "Echelon" of high society for months now and at last he graciously granted them an interview. Caesar failed to see why they should give a hoot about what he felt was a glorified rogue and more importantly why they should send him to do the interview.

"Because," the Editor told him cheekily as he stood complaining in her office, "You're a junior reporter here".

"But I'm in the crime section," complained Caesar, "Not in society people."

The Editor was not impressed by this clarification. She sneered at him. 

"There is no crime story of significance for you to investigate. Anyway you should be happy you're going to England. Now run along." Caesar had left the office seething with suppressed fury and suspecting that the Editor was secretly in love with Peter Marquis. He wondered how he could go through with it without the celebrity politician seeing the hate lurking in his eyes. 

As he walked along the quiet street he glanced at the houses he passed on either side of the road. Each was a red brick affair all looking exactly alike. Like all the houses had been built exactly the same time. They had the same size of front yard space with the green grass mowed perfectly well. Trees lined the close but the green foliage had been replaced by a golden blaze of brown as the summer had almost entirely faded to autumn. Brown leaves billowed around his feet as the cold gusts of wind tugged at his trench coat. Caesar yanked up his collar and sighed. England. 

Peter Marquis' house ended the close, lying between the two sides like it was the head quarters. Caesar was surprised and slightly envious that a black man, a Nigerian for that matter, could acquire a place of such taste in Britain. He had lived in London for most of his childhood and he knew the whites there were rather xenophobic if not particularly racist. Times were changing he supposed and it was common place for rich Nigerians to buy houses in Britain possibly to the chagrin of the more conservative locals. Those Nigerians still roasting at home loved to hear stories of those lucky people and extolled them. Caesar on the other hand did not see reason for glorifying looters of the father land's treasury and if he had his way would like nothing better than to see all of them taken to an island, lined up and shot. As for Peter Marquis he would love to shoot him personally.

Caesar opened the little gate which squeaked in protest and walked up the tiled walkway to the door. There was even an old-fashioned doorknocker -- a ring through a gargoyle's mouth. Caesar resisted the temptation and used the doorbell instead. The door opened exactly ten seconds later. His carefully prepared deadpan expression evaporated instantly.

A young white lady stood before him, her hand still on the knob, a semi -- polite quizzical expression on her face. She would have been gaunt if not for the extra flesh in the right places and the olive -- green wool sweater she wore accentuated those areas. Her hair was long and a straw blonde and it flopped untidily over her shoulders. Her washed out blue jeans clung to her long legs like a second skin. Her face was rather long, nose beak like with thin pressed lips underneath. But what arrested him were her eyes. They weren't blue but an arctic gray and they were as flat and as lifeless as the Dead Sea. For some reason a cold shiver crawled up his spine. 

"Yes?" she asked laconically. She studied him the way you would study a strange insect that had just crawled out from under a rock. 

"I'm looking for Peter Marquis" he said a bit uncertainly, "I'm Caesar Clark, a reporter from News Day, a paper based in Nigeria. We were to have an interview this afternoon here in his residence."

A strange look crossed her face which Caesar could not decipher and her eyes glittered for a fraction of a second. 

"I' m very sorry" she said apologetically and smiled a ghost of a smile," Mr. Marquis has gone."

"Gone?"

"He traveled actually. Europe. Says he will be there for the rest of the year."

Caesar's mouth fell agape in bewilderment. "Oh. When did he leave?"

"Last night."

"I must admit this is strange news. Especially since be promised us he would have the interview today."

She shrugged.

"Stranger things have happened."

"And you are…?"

"Mel. His girlfriend. Now if you'd excuse me I have something on the fire."

"But ..er.." He found himself speaking to the gargoyle door knob.as the door was shut in his face. Caesar raised an eyebrow. It was true that English hospitality was as warm as the weather. He shrugged to himself and turning round started up the close A furtive glance backward and he saw Mel staring at him from an upstairs window. The curtain flickered and the face was gone. Bemused, Caesar continued to walk on. Suddenly he was aware of someone trying to get his attention.

She was at the door of one of the houses, beckoning to him with her hand. Caesar knew he was the only one on the street so he didn't try to point at himself. He walked up to where she stood.

She was a tall stately brunette and well endowed. She wore a bathrobe that had little success in containing her voluptuous figure. Her hair was cut short and covered her head like a skullcap. Huge candid eyes stared at him over a rather big nose and full red lips. She looked friendly and eager to please. She was a total contrast to the other lady he had just met. 


Lost Angels Ch. 02



Author's Note: The following chapter in this story is entirely the product of this author's imagination. The views of the characters do not necessarily represent the views of the author or any other person. Be warned that sensitive readers will find some scenes extremely offensive.

*

The beginning of the end for Peter Marquis started in the home of Fidelis Oputa, a young, filthy rich, bachelor con-man who unfortunately was spending a very cold, wet, Valentine's Day and inevitably the rest of eternity at the bottom of an old, unused water cistern several miles away from his posh pad in Manchester City. His place however was far from unoccupied as a rather contented Mel (real name: Shirley Thatcher) relaxed on his soft leather sofa and leafed through a copy of Ovation (a Nigerian high society magazine) with mild disinterest. That was when she first saw a feature on the renegade politician and decided then and there that he would be her next point of call. She would stay in Fidelis' home till she got bored while she made some future plans. Tracking him down would amuse her and so would stalking her prey before she moved in for the kill. My, she thought to herself, she was really beginning to enjoy this.

***

Even though Peter Marquis' eyes were fixed steadfastly on the T.V screen, his mind was somewhere else. The talk show hostess was easy on the eye even though she was middle aged and getting to the heavy side but she still didn't register. This would seem odd since Peter never failed to appraise a fine specimen of the opposite gender but for some reason he didn't notice her. He had a deep sense of foreboding that hung over him like a dark cloud and it wouldn't go away.

He felt that someone or something was coming for him and he didn't know what it was. Did the Nigerian government intend to kidnap him and bring him home for trial like the botched Umaru Dikko kidnap plot that they hatched with the Israeli commandos? Or were his enemies sending hired assassins to kill him? But what worried him the most was that he might not live long enough to tell Caesar why he arranged to have only him sent to him for the mysterious interview. He had something shocking to tell him. Something that would change their lives forever. 

His morbid train of thought suddenly derailed as he noticed that his feet were getting cold. He glanced down at his naked feet. They even looked cold. He was slightly puzzled. He took great pains to keep the central heating in perfect condition. Why were his feet and now his hands getting chilled? There must be draft somewhere.

He got up and gratefully stuck his feet into a pair of fur slippers then headed out of the living room. He quickly found the source of the draft: the kitchen window was open. He frowned. Why the hell was it open? He very rarely opened it and when he did it was during the hottest weeks of summer. Cursing to himself he pulled it shut and was about to turn away when a hand shot out from behind his head and covered his nose with a damp cloth. A sharp intake of breath was saturated with the unmistakable smell of chloroform before darkness fell. 

Mel stood over the inert body, staring at it with detached curiosity. Then she smiled to herself and tossed the cloth into a bin she spied near the sink. She left the kitchen and strolled into the living room. She gazed at the T.V set for a few seconds then left the room to head for the staircase. She spent a casual ten minutes checking out the house before returning to the kitchen. Peter was still unconscious.

Mel went over to the freezer and opened it. It was practically empty. She wondered in disgust whether it was in the kitchen for cosmetic reasons. Well, she was certainly going to help him fill it. 

She picked him up bodily like a sack of potatoes and dropped him in the freezer. She slammed the lid shut and locked it after him. Looking around she noticed that cooking tools were almost none existent so that meant she would have to go out and shop for them. A few people might see her but it wouldn't matter. Not yet anyway. After all they knew the man was a playboy and certainly not prejudiced to a piece of white ass. Well he wasn't going to get her ass or any other in anytime soon.

She rummaged about till she see discovered a packet of corn flakes and some milk. She sat at the kitchen table and conjured herself a quick meal. As she ate she thought up a shopping list: A butcher's knife, a saw, black plastic bags and a bottle of disinfectant. Oh, and a butcher's apron.

***

Caesar slowly surfaced from the vortex of darkness in which he had been engulfed. The first sensation to assail his senses was a pungent abattoir smell, which churned his stomach. What followed was the realization that he had been bound to a chair and gagged. The awareness of his present predicament instantly cleared the red mist that fogged his brain. 

Uh-oh, he thought pensively, now he was in real trouble.

He was sitting in the kitchen and the first thing he noticed was that most of the furniture had been pushed back to create more room. He also discovered that he was not alone. Mel stood behind the kitchen table, which had also been cleared, busily arranging some black cellophane bags she had placed on top of it. She was still dressed in her previous attire but had a familiar looking colorful apron over it. Suddenly Caesar remembered what the apron reminded him of: butchers. His fears were confirmed when he spied a wicked set of kitchen knives on a rack nearby. Uh-oh...

Mel noticed he was awake and smiled at him. She actually looked beautiful. However her eyes were as lifeless as two pieces of glass. "Evening, Drearie" She said warmly, "How sweet of you to drop in. I won't be long. Just let me fix these up. I'm sure you're in the mood for some cutting edge entertainment." She giggled. "Let me entertain you" she sang the familiar Robbie Williams song.

God, he thought horrified. She was enjoying herself. He struggled frenziedly.

"Untie me, you Witch!" he wanted to yell at her but all he managed were some incoherent mumbling.

"What's the matter?" asked Mel, "Hungry? Don't Worry. Supper's coming right up." She opened one of the bags and emptied its contents on the table. What he saw nearly made him faint.

A human head lay on the table, its hideously goggling eyes staring blankly at him. He recognized the face even with all its distorted features frozen in death. It was Peter Marquis.

"I'm sorry but it seems your country man just lost his head" she said sweetly.

"I know why you're here", she continued, "That nigger loving bitch talked to you, didn't she? I watched you two from my window."

As she talked she went to the rack and picked out an immense butcher's knife. Caesar's blood ran cold. She went back to the table and raised the knife.

"Watch this" she said smiling happily and winked at him. He shuddered.

Placing the head on a wooden slab, she raised up the butcher's knife and brought it down with tremendous force on top of the skull. There was a loud sickening crack as the skull split open like a pumpkin, blood and white particles of brain matter splashed everywhere. Something cold and wet went splat on the side of his face and slowly trickled down his cheek. He shuddered violently.

Mel flicked out a long, pink tongue and absent-mindedly licked the goo of the blade of the knife like it was tomato ketchup. Caesar thought he was going to retch.

"Care for some?" she asked in a friendly voice, "There's enough for everyone."

She brought a chair up and sat down facing him. She eyed him with mild disinterest.

"Let me tell you a little story, Darling" she started slowly, "Since you are not going anywhere soon then I guess you will be free to listen. I had a sister once who was the sweetest thing in the world. The problem was that she was a nigger lover too. So much so that she married a monkey who came here all the way from Africa. Imagine a pure white girl like my sister marrying an ape? I couldn't have it and I refused to speak to her again. Then guess what happened next. This ape saddles her with a half breed, takes all her hard earned money and goes back to Africa. Janet is heartbroken. Then, unbelievably, she commits suicide... over a bloody golliwog."

There was no hint of emotion in her eyes as she spoke. She might have been talking about the weather. Caesar wanted to extend his heartfelt condolences but the gag was impeding communication.

"So now I am on a crusade to wipe out you black monkeys living on our sacred land and desecrating our women. I'm going to send you all to Hell where you belong."

Caesar had met racists in his time but this one took the cake. He began to struggle again.

"Will you stop wriggling?" she asked annoyed, "Are you not enjoying my company?"

She got up and went to the table. She soon returned with the big butcher's knife. He watched apprehensively as she took the seat again.

"Now that we've exchanged the customary pleasantries I would now like to get to the point." She playfully prodded him in the chest with the narrow end of the blade. He felt a jab of pain in response, "Now decide for me: Castration or circumcision? Oh, you are circumcised already? Then I guess it will have to be Castration then."

She reached out a hand to his fly. Caesar tried to pull away but understandably he was a little tied up at the moment. Mel's delicate surgeon-like fingers slowly pulled his zipper down. She reached inside and after groping around pulled out his cock. Caesar was mortified to find that he was having an erection. Was he finding his present predicament erotic in some morbid perverse way?

"My, my" she cooed, as her cold fish eyes appraised his stiffening organ, "You really are a big boy aren't you, my nigger?"

Caesar watched helplessly as she gently stroked his shaft from tip to base.

"Really, really big" she continued in a detached voice, "I bet that whore really loved this abomination ripping up her white pussy, huh?"

Caesar thought he was going to faint. In all his life he had never dreamed that one day he would be sitting bound and gagged in a kitchen while a racist serial killer wanked him off. No nightmare was this screwed up.

She tentatively cupped his balls and juggled them in his hand.

"Holy shit, darling, you've got monkey nuts!" she exclaimed "What do you niggers eat to get balls this size? I could play snooker with these!"

Caesar had had about enough. He wished this crazy white woman would stop talking trash and just get it over with and kill him.

Suddenly the shrill whine of police sirens broke the dead silence of the night. She paused.

"I don't believe this" she said to herself. She stared thoughtfully at him.

"You lucky bugger, I'm not going to rush this moment. See you around."

Standing up once again, she unhurriedly removed the apron and tossed it aside. Then she stuck the knife in her belt and headed for the kitchen window. Before Caesar could blink she was gone like she never existed.

The relief that swarmed over him was so potent, it left him in shock and he was only dimly aware of police officers prompted by an agitated Holly coming to his rescue.

Kebbi Creek Divisional Police Headquarters, Kebby Creek, Nigeria July 10, 2002, Thursday, 09:43 

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Yes, sit down, Musa."

Inspector Musa settled into the chair facing the DPO. The DPO looked half gorilla, half man and considering he was in a foul mood looked even more ferocious than normal.

"So, Musa, what have you come up with?" he growled.

"Nothing, Sir."

The DPO's bloodshot eyes narrowed into tiny red slits.

"Excuse me?" he hissed nastily, "Could you repeat that again."

"Nothing... Sir."

"Nothing, huh? Listen very carefully, Musa because I'm not sure you understand the implications of what you're saying. If this killer is not caught soon all hell will break loose. Those bastard youth organizations are already screaming for blood and the expatriate oil workers are nagging me for protection, so don't sit there and tell me you have nothing!" "I'm sorry, Sir but I can't lie about this. We have no clues to lead us on, the killer didn't leave any. We don't even know whether it's just one person or a group that is responsible. I'm afraid we are at a dead end."

"We? Correction, Musa, you are at a dead end. You, Tony and any other clown on this case. You have till Tuesday next week to get me some results otherwise I will have all your heads on my desk by noon that day. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now get out of my office."

Musa got out. He met Tony lounging in the corridor.

"Did he eat you up?" the young man asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Almost literally."

"What did he say?"

"We have till Tuesday to find the killer or dot, dot, dot."

"Oh dear. I bet all those white oil workers paying him to look after their interests must have started a fire under his gross fanny."

"Ssh, for goodness sake. The walls have ears and tongues as well."

"Well I hope they have a sense of humor as well. This so called killer has made a laughing stock of us."

Newsday Newspapers, Ikoyi, Lagos, Nigeria July 10, 2002, Thursday, 10:12

"What the hell is this?" Maryam Williams demanded waving some papers in the air like she was directing incoming aircraft. 

Caesar Clark standing at attention with his hands behind back raised an eyebrow. 

"My report," he said laconically. 

"I know it's your report "The heavy woman continued seething like an over worked steam engine, "Who else would write this crap? How do you expect me to believe all this nonsense?"

"What's so far fetched about an honorable senator involved in female trafficking? I have all my facts on the ground, and my sources are reliable. There's even evidence to prove it."

"Do you have an idea, what Senator Kuti will do if your report goes to press? He will sue us to the earth!"

"Let him try it. Once this report is made public The Senate will have no choice but to have him removed. We don't need female traffickers in such honorable positions of power."

"Caesar, I know how much you hate the Nigerian political scene so don't give me that moral duty crap. I don't know if you remember which country you are working in right now but you must know that this is Nigeria and this kind of trash doesn't work here. Get another report on something else before I do something drastic about you" 

"Such as?" Caesar asked quietly. Dangerously. 

"Hey" Maryam said hastily, softening her tone "Your mother wanted you to work here, remember? You are a good reporter, your adventure in England last year practically made you a celebrity but I can't have you dragging her name in the mud."

"Because she's an honorable Minister of Transport and part and parcel of the people I hate so much? Because she and Senator Kuti sleep together?"

"Caesar, that is enough! Another word from you and are out on the street."

"Sorry, Madam but I get the last word."

He put his hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it on the table. Maryam glared at it like it was a spider that just fell from the ceiling.

"In case you are wondering what that is it happens to be my resignation letter. I've been carrying it all year waiting for this very moment. Thanks for the opportunity."

He turned and walked out of the office leaving the woman startled and confused. He found every one in the staff room staring at him with mouths agape. Ignoring them completely he picked up his case and left the office.

Caesar's Apartment, Lekki, Lagos July 10, 2002, Thursday, 22:46

Caesar went straight back to his Lekki apartment to cool off after a marathon drinking` spree with his fellows. His place was well furnished with exquisite furniture and state of the art electronic equipment most of which Mummy Dearest had paid for. She normally ranted and raved that she would cut off his financial supply and leave him to hustle on his own but he knew and she knew she was only kidding herself. Cutting off the River Niger from the Bight of Bonny would be much easier for her to do. 

Caesar brought out a bottle of whisky from his well-stocked bar and proceeded to drink himself to stupor. Later he drifted off into a dreamless sleep which was suddenly interrupted by the telephone on his bedside table that jangled rudely into his ear. Half asleep he picked up the receiver and absent-mindedly glanced at the clock on the wall. A quarter to four in the morning! He was suddenly wide-awake. 

"Hello?" He asked suspiciously "Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Mr. Clark?" asked a voice at the other end. He didn't recognize it. 

"Yes, that's me now who are you?"

"Don't worry about who I am. My name is of no importance to you. It is what I have that I think you will find interesting." The voice sounded strange, detached and without gender. Caesar felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"What do you mean?" He asked carefully.

"Have you heard of the Kebby Creek killings?"

"I've been getting sketchy reports but it all seems very hush-hush. It hasn't even appeared on the National Network News yet." 

"It is very hush-hush. Very big names in the oil industry and the federal Government involved. The victims are all prostitutes."

The caller was right. He was interested. 

"You don't say."

"I even have evidence. Photographs, tape recordings and all. If you want them you must come to Kebby Creek yourself to collect them, $3,000 is your fee. Bring it along." 

"Do you thank I' m mad?"

"Once you arrive in Kebby Creek tomorrow meet me at Sandy's Bar by eight. Alone. Everyone in town knows the place so you can't miss it.

"You must think I'm very stupid, don't you and anyway why pick me?"

"I've read your work and I'm impressed. You are very anti-government and this case is tailor made for you. You can be rest assured it will be the story of a life time."

"But..."

"Goodbye, Mr. Clark. Nice talking to you."

"I've just..." The line went dead "... resigned."



Lost Angels Ch. 03



Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in bringing out this chapter. It's longer than usual. Any editing error's are my fault.

*

Sandy's Bar, Kebbi Creek

July 11, 2002, Friday, 19:37

Thick fumes of nicotine assailed Caesar's nostrils as he walked through the beaded curtain into the dimly lit bar room. His eyes automatically scanned the people present. Most of them he sensed were regular drinkers with a sprinkling of the once- in- a- whiles. They all looked well to do and he suspected a lot of them were oil workers, men from the rig drinking off the stress of work. 

He noticed that they all looked curiously at him when he came in. He knew they were having difficulty placing him. Even though he had clean cut good looks and a neat and tidy appearance, he didn't appear to be a banker. That complex bankers have that they must be immaculately dressed and polished at all times was absent in him. 

He didn't appear to be an oil worker either. He didn't have the rugged looks of the men on the rig and he looked too young and carefree to be one of the corporate staff. His well pressed sky blue shirt, matching denim trousers and black ankle length boots were worn carelessly in the manner of a man who does not know the worth of what he is wearing. Even the way he slung his bag over his shoulder was juvenile. Caesar ignored their stares and went straight to the bar. 

Two young ladies were perched on high stools, sipping brandy. They wore black evening gowns that were slashed to the hips and the V in front dipped dangerously to the navel. Their cosmetic beauty could not hide the hard look in their eyes. Pros, thought Caesar. He blanked them and hopped on a stool to face the barman who seemed surprised at his action.

"A dead bottle of stout, please", he said pleasantly, wondering why the barman was wearing dark glasses in such gloom. He spied a nametag on the breast pocket of the white shirt: Ani L. Assem.

"Coming up." 

As the barman went to collect his drink he noticed that the two bimbos were watching him intently. He turned in his stool to back them.

His drink arrived and pulling a fat wallet from his back pocket, extracted two hundred Niara notes and passed it to the barman who's eyes nearly fell out of the sockets.

"Keep the change." He said breezily.

There was a grateful mumble of gratitude and Caesar waited for the bottle to be opened and took a swig. The bitter black liquid was delicious. He was suddenly aware of a presence behind him and the scent of a costly perfume engulfed him. 

"Hi, there" greeted a saccharine coated voice, "Can you buy me a drink?"

Caesar turned slowly to face her. One of the bimbos stood near him. She had a bold expression on her face.

"Sure, but why not?" he said smoothly, "Drinks are on the house. Anything you like."

"Anything?"

"Anything. You and your friend." 

The two ladies immediately beckoned to the bar man and he watched amused as they ordered a bottle of Remy Martins. They gushed their thanks, flashing their eyes seductively at him as they did so.

"The pleasure is entirely all mine." He said blithely.

He turned away from them and concentrated on his bottle of stout.

He glanced at his watch. 19:37. There was still time. 20:00 was the appointed hour. He hoped he had not come all the way to Kebby Creek on a wild goose chase. He did not want to imagine how much of an idiot he would look if that happened. Not that he wouldn't say he didn't have it coming.

He did not have a pleasant trip. Finding Kebby Creek, some obscure town in Delta State was more difficult than he imagined and he was behind the wheel of his Benz for more hours than he wanted. When he finally rolled into town he was pissed, tired and hungry. He checked into the most expensive Hotel in the town and had dinner at a restaurant in the building. He then grabbed forty winks at his hotel suite and later on set out to find Sandy's Bar. The mysterious caller was right again, the bar was easy to find. The first pedestrian he asked gave him specific directions that were perfect.

Now it was a quarter to Nine and Caesar was beginning to feel a bit daft. Supposing the whole thing was a wild goose chase, a nasty practical joke to make him look stupid. Maybe someone in the office was behind it. Not many people liked him there.

A lot of them may derive some joy in making a fool of him. Or worse, supposing it was a set up. The conspirators would see him walk in with a bag and assume it was the N80, 000 and decide to wait until he decided to leave the bar then strike. Maybe shoot him point blank and collect the cash, which were in fact some excellent counterfeits. If that was the case then he must have been a complete nutty fruit cake to get caught in that kind of trap especially in a town that he didn't know. This train of thought made him angry, confused and nervous and he didn't fancy any of these emotions. 

At about a quarter to ten two men walked though the curtain and he recognized the taller one immediately. Alex Uzezi was an old time school buddy, whom he had not seen for some years now though they had been maintaining verbal contact. He was a tall reedy fellow with a pair of spectacles perched precariously on his beak like nose. He watched as the men chose a vacant table and made themselves comfortable. He made up his mind quickly. He would reacquaint himself with his old friend and his companion and leave the bar with them. Any would be assailants wouldn't dare attack him in such company. 

Picking up his drink and bag he sauntered over to where Alex and his friend were sipping their beers. They looked up sharply when they noticed him in front of their table. 

"Hello, Alex" 

"Well, Well, look what the wind blew in. Caesar!"

Caesar winced. Alex had not forgotten the old name.

He got up to give his old friend a manly hug.

"Tony meet my friend, Caesar 'Caesar' Clark."

The two men shook hands and all sat down to resume drinking. 

"Why do they call you Caesar?" asked Tony curiously. He looked young and nerdish, though he didn't wear glasses. 

"It's my real name" Caesar said quickly but he was too late Alex had already taken the cue.

"Well no one really knows." Alex began mischievously, picking up the tone of a snotty British history narrator," legend has it that he came into this sinful world though a Caesarian operation." 

"Alex!"

"Others say that after his first date with a girl his friends, including my humble self, demanded a feed back. His reply was this: I came, I saw, I conquered." 

Tony roared with laughter while Caesar glared evilly at Alex but he wasn't finished yet:.

" But I prefer it backwards: I conquered, I saw, I came."

Tony nearly fell of his seat laughing while Caesar adopted a long-suffering expression on his face.

"Do you want to know how Alex ruined his eyesight?" Caesar asked Tony breaking into his Cheshire Cat grin.

"No he doesn't " said Alex hastily.

"Oh yes I do. Go on."

"From pornographic movies. At a tender age he would sneak out at night to watch them on video or whenever his old folks are out. TV radiation ruined his eyesight. I begged him to stop watching all that filth but he wouldn't listen. The poor fellow is as blind as a bat." 

"That's not true " Alex protested "I can see very well.

"Only when you see a female. Alex has a Ph.D. in female anatomy."

"You don't mention?" Tony said surprised.

"Don't pay any attention to what he is saying, Tony. Anyway, Caesar I'm now happily engaged to a very sweet girl so don't think I'm in the same boat with you."

"You! Engaged? I'm not sure if you've ever even had a girlfriend before. How did you manage? Through an advert?"

"No, just by my level. I'm a top man in Shell here. Girls are fighting over me."

"You don't say!" Caesar exclaimed sarcastically, "The poor girl must be struggling to keep a hold on you."

"She doesn't need to do that. I love her". Caesar nearly choked on his stout. "Could you repeat that again? I think my ears are malfunctioning."

"You heard me the first time."

"Tony are you responsible for this" Caesar asked accusingly, turning to the young man who was grinning from ear to ear. He raised his hands in protest.

"It wasn't me."

"Alex listen" said Caesar earnestly, "You are not in love. You might be in lust or even in lunacy but definitely not in love."

"Because you are incapable of love doesn't mean others aren't."

"I was in love before. The bitch broke my heart like a cheap china plate."

"That was a long time ago. You were all wishy-washy back then. Ever since she left you've turned into cube of ice."

"It safer that way."

"That's what you use to kid yourself. You know anyone who believes in love will find it. Anyway it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

"Who's been wishy-washy now?"

"Tony, do you believe in love?" Alex asked his friend.

"No, but I believe in lust."

They all laughed.

"Lets drink to that? Suggested Caesar "Here's to lust."

They all clinked their glasses together. 

Three hours passed unnoticed as they drank liquor, ate pepper soup, discussed females and exchanged expensive jokes. Later on the waitress came to their table and Alex insisted he would pay for everything.

She was tipped heavily and Caesar still gave her some extra notes. She beamed happily at him before waddling away to another table.

"I think she likes you" remarked Alex.

"You mean that fat, smelly hippo with knockers like melons?"

"The way you like them, eh?"

"Yeah."

They laughed again. 

"Let me take you to my place, Caesar" Alex said with a yawn, "I want to show off my fiancée."

Alex's Residence

02:12 

"Honey I'm home " Alex called out cheerfully when he and Caesar had entered into the well furnished bungalow, "Where are you?"

"Coming, Darling" said a voice floating from somewhere in the building, "I'm in the bathroom"

"Hurry up honey and come here I want you to meet a very old friend of mine."

"Okay, Darling. Coming, coming."

"Why are you hurrying her?" asked Caesar dryly "She said she's coming in the bathroom."

"You watch your tongue when she's around."

"Was it something I said?'

She came out wearing a pink bathrobe. Even Caesar at his most cynical had to suppress a gasp when he saw her.

She was quite tall, almost his height and on the heavy side. Her physique did not affect her figure, which was ample in all the right placers. The colour of her exposed flesh was a golden honey. The hair was a dark chestnut and Caesar could see the richness even through the shower cap she wore. The eyes were huge with a puppy tenderness that made you yearn for her. He nose was rather pert but her lips were full and lush. She exuded a kind of susceptibility that was both arousing and endearing. She made you want to take good care of her and spend all your hard earned cash doing it. Caesar winced. No wonder Alex was in love. He didn't stand a chance.

She was watching him the way a buyer would size up a price bull. Her intense gaze made him fell uncomfortable and that infuriated him. He felt no female could make him feel that way.

"Isabelle I want you to meet Caesar."

"Caesar?" she asked, an amused smile playing on her lips. 

"Yes Caesar" Alex said, avoiding the warning look shot at him from his friend. "His mom liked Roman History or something."

"I see."

She took his hand. It was soft and warm and he did not miss the playful stroke at the centre of his palm from her middle finger. A message. Goodness, he hadn't stayed three seconds in her presence and he was already being put into temptation. Eve!

"Very nice to meet you ma'am."

"Please call me Belle."

"Okay, Belle. Alex has told me so much about in you in the little while we were together tonight."

"He did? Nothing bad I hope?"

"He tried. He didn't succeed."

She laughed. A deep husky laugh that set his nerves tingling.

Alex had told him to check out of his hotel and stay with them while he was in town. He had thought it was a good way of saving Mummy Dearest's money now he wasn't sure it was such a good idea. 

Caesar believed in loyalty and the last thing he wanted was to be sniffing around his friend's fiancée. He might hold his own but Belle might not and then it would be the case of poor Joseph the Dreamer in the Bible that had the officer's wife come on to him like a fly to honey. Oh, well. A little tension in the air never did any one any harm.

Alex told her to fix them some drinks and he took Caesar to his living room where he smugly switched on the big screen T.V and the D.V.D player.

"You're not doing badly are you?" remarked Caesar dryly. 

Alex shrugged and smiled like a stuffed cat. 

She came back with some brandy on ice and passed them round. She said she had to go prepare dinner so she drifted off in the direction of the kitchen. Caesar wished she would put on something more decent than the bathrobe and he firmly avoided glancing at her swaying hips because he knew Alex was watching him with keen interest.

"So how is she?" he asked eagerly, peering at his friend though his spectacles. Caesar gave a wan smile.

"Like I said before -- you are not doing very badly."

"Don't worry. A few more years of hard work and you'll be just like me."

Caesar looked at him in amazement.

"Your tongue is your personal property, Alex use it as you like."

"Which brings me to an important question what is your occupation?"

"I was a reporter"

"Was?"

" Yep. I resigned yesterday."

"You don't mean it. Which paper?"

"News Day."

"Aah. You fell out with the Editor. She's a cheeky bitch, eh."

" No. It wasn't for gender discriminating reasons. I just got tired of the whole charade."

"What whole charade?"

"She determining what I wrote that could be published and all that crap. She didn't except my last report so I tossed my resignation letter on her lap and staged a walk out."

" So what are you going to do now?"

" I don't know. Maybe go freelance or something."

"But your mom will always help you out."

"Forget her, please."

" Okay, Okay. So what are you doing in this town? Don't tell me you were just passing by and decided to drop by and see me. To get to this place is not exactly a pleasure trip. 

" I heard though the grapevine that something spooky is going on here. But it's still basically a mystery. I came around to see what's up and to see whether it might be my first freelance story." He did not add the mysterious phone call and the so called information he was supposed to receive. Or the counterfeit notes in his bag.

" Well you heard right. There is something very serious afoot in this town right now. Someone is killing young women in a very brutal fashion and dumping them in the marshes." 

"Brutal fashion? Can you be more specific?"

"Multiple stabbing, parts missing, eyes and tits gone and other more gory details."

"Gawd."

"Yep. Four victims so far. One every week."

"Any idea who might be responsible?"

"Nope. No one knows. The police say they might be ritual killers, but Tony and the locals don't think so."

"Tony?"

"You remember the guy who was with me at the bar. He thinks it's a serial killer."

Caesar laughed.

" Serial killer? Come on that's a western phenomenon. We Africans do kill but it's usually over land, money, political or ethnic reasons. Not for the hell of it." Believe it or not, Tony thinks that's the poker. He's obsessed about such things."

Caesar waved his hand in impatient dismissal.

"What about the locals?"

" That's a bit more complicated. Let me tell you a story about this town. 

"Kebby creek is not really a town but a conurbation of settlements built up by the various oil companies operating here. The existing villages were urbanized to cater for the oil workers who live very far from home. Kebbi Creek is very near a huge expanse of marsh that lies to the east of the town. There is oil at the centre of the marsh land, a lot of it and that is where the oil rigs are located. The only access across those marshes to the rigs is by hovercraft.

These oil workers are normally transferred from Warri, Port Harcourt and Lagos and since the area is extremely humid and hot, they prefer not to come with their families so most of them live alone in here. 

"Now the locals make a living for those workers by setting up small scale businesses like small restaurants, shops and other services. But of course they never make one tenth of what the least of these workers earn.

"However the most lucrative business for those locals is prostitution which of course is strictly for the ladies. Kebbi creek has some of the most beautiful women in the country. Most of them are dare complexioned, slim and shapely and quite pretty facially but most importantly harbour no inhibitions whatsoever. 

"Oil workers after returning from the rig usually want to let of steam. Since their wives and children are not around they are as free as birds. They spend a lot of money on these "call girls" as we call them, some times even up to N20, 000 a night. These girls earn more than their counter parts can hope to get in a year and sometimes they even hit the jackpot by becoming a mistress or even a wife. Then if they score a white man their cash flow is unlimited. 

"Inevitably the local males are not happy with the situation. They feel their girls are shunning them now because they don 't have the dough to maintain their expensive lifestyle. Their hatred towards the oil workers is increasing everyday.

"Then these killings started. The locals are blaming the oil workers saying that some of them are now so power drunk they now rape and kill their women. The oil workers are denying this but they don't want to listen. They've been looking for something to use against us for a long times. These victims have been mutilated beyond recognition and not a single one has been positively identified. The police have been trying to cover things up and are not helping any reporters who come on the scene. That might make your case difficult."

"That's putting it mildly."

"However I know how I might help. Tony keeps photos of his work at his home. Most times he tries to make me look at them but I'm not a fan of such graphic material. Maybe I'll take you to him. I'II tell him you've a mystery writer or something and he'd probably become your best friend. I'll bet he would show you the photos for fun."

"Great. I would love to see them."

"I was afraid you'll say that. By the way why didn't you take up mystery writing?'

"You don't think I'll be able to scratch the likes of Agatha Christie or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, do you?"

"But you loved reading their books back in the day. You used to be very good at predicting who the perpetrator of the crime was long before the story ended.'

"That was a long time ago. Right now I'm just a frustrated reporter who just lost his job."

Jobo Bus Stop, Kebby Creek

July 12, Saturday, 06:30

There she was, standing at the bus stop, like she always did by 6:30 a.m. I had watched her for so long that I knew her daily routine by heart. I decided that Julie would join Ejiro in Hell where they belonged.

She was stunning as usual. Tall, willowy with a killer figure any man or woman would die for. I pulled the Honda up to her. The suspicious look in her eyes evaporated when she saw me at the wheel.

"Well, well," she said in surprise, "I didn't know you had a car."

"Well, I didn't plan to be poor forever. Need a lift?"

"Of course." 

She opened the passenger door and flopped exhaustedly on the seat.

"Are you tired?" I asked as I put the car in motion.

"Yeah."

"Let's go jiving then. I know a very cool place where we can have fun. Just for all times sake."

"Hah, Sweetheart, I've cooled down oh!"




Lost Angels Ch. 03



"You Julie? Cooled down? When we reach the joint I'm talking about repeat that statement again."

She giggled deliciously. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw her pick up the perfume bottle on top of the dashboard.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A new product. Like to try it out?"

"Sure."

She sprayed a shot on her palm and held it to her nose. The next second she slumped forward and her head hit the dashboard with a resounding bang.

I smiled. I'm going to have another great time tonight.

Tony's Residence

July 12, Saturday,10:42

Alex took Caesar to see Tony. He lived in a run down part of the town in a shoddy two room flat. He was very pleased to see them and even happier to hear that Caesar was a script writer rehearsing ideas for a Jack the Ripper like home movie. 

"So you would like to see the photo's?" asked Tony eagerly.

"That wouldn't be a bad idea" Caesar said casually.

"Hold on for a minute, let me fetch them".

He disappeared behind a filthy curtain that covered the door to the bedroom. 

Alex winked at him.

"Told you it will work."

Caesar smiled and told him to shut up. Tony returned promptly, holding a brown manila envelope plus a plate of apples.

He presented the envelope to Caesar like it contained the Beria Papers.

"Witness evil at it's purest" he said dramatically. Caesar eyed him thoughtfully.

"You don't get off on these, do you?" he asked suspicously.

Alex chortled then joined him on the settee. Caesar opened the envelope and pulled out the glossy prints. They both peered at the pictures and grimaced. They were horrible all right. 

They showed the remains of the four victims from every conceivable angle. Caesar stared grimly at the prints trying to pick out every sick detail.

Tony had studiously labelled each of the photos and there wer about six different close up shots from different angles of each of the victims. He would label them in this way:

Shot 1, Victim 1; Shot 2, Victim 1; Shot 3, Victim 1; Shot 3, Victim1; Shot 1, Victim 2 and so on.

One thing was apparent from the photos: the wounds escalated with each victim

Victim 1 was stabbed a few times though parts were missing. Victim 2 had double the number of stab wounds and it continued in this way to Victim 6. They were fifty stab wounds on that victim. All the victims had essential parts missing.

"Well it seems the wounds increase with each victim," he commented.

"Yes" agreed Tony.

"What do you guys think?"

"The other cops thinks it's the work of ritual killers."

"Why should the victims be stabbed so many times if it's just the parts that the killer or killers are after?"

"My own view exactly."

"You think it's a serial killer, right?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because the killings look pointless. Why kill young women like that? It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe someone wants to disrupt the security of this town" suggested Alex.

"Then why not kill someone important?" asked Tony stubbornly, "Why women?"

Alex shrugged helplessly.

"There's also something else" Tony continued, his tone increasing in gravity, "Now this is all confidential information and I'm just disclosing it because Alex here is my close pal. Those victims weren't just stabbed and cut up. They were raped."

"Raped?" echoed both Caesar and Alex.

"Yeah. Sperm was found on all the victims after a doctor did an autopsy on the bodies."

"So," Caesar said heavily, "These women were stabbed, cut up and raped."

"Yep."

"This is becoming sicker every minute" complained Alex.

"You guys must be dealing with a very very sick person" Caesar commented to Tony.

"Now do you believe me when I say this is the work of a serial killer?"

"Yes," agreed Caesar, "No ritual killer rapes his victims."

"You guys are calling this sick?" asked Tony smiling, "I haven't told you the sick part yet. Those women were raped after they were killed.

"What?" the two friends chorused again.

"The doctor reported that rigor mortis had actually set in before they were violated."

"Oh God" moaned Alex, "I don't think I want to hear anymore of this."

Then it must be a serial killer" said Caesar with finality, "This is utterly diabolical."

"Thanks for finally coming over to my side. You are enlightened enough to know the truth. Why shouldn't it be a psychopath? We copy so many things from the westerners it shouldn't come as a surprise if one of our own decides to emulate Jack the Ripper."

"Unless it's one of the foreign workers that are behind the killings" suggested Caesar dryly

"That's possible too" agreed Tony, "But I don't think so."

"So there is no clue that can lead to the killer?" asked Caesar urgently.

"Not even a footprint. The killer is smart. He covers his tracks completely.""Hasn't any of the victims been identified?"

"Nope. Facial features were mutilated beyond recognition. All the bodies were found naked so even their clothes couldn't be used. This guy thought of everything."

"What about Missing Persons?"

"Nothing. None of them were women."

"So these victims have no friends and relations or what?"

"I can't understand it. Maybe the killer researches into his victim's background like a real serial killer."

"So these are cases of premeditated cold blooded murder?"

"Yeah. I like that too." He laughed and chomped down on an apple. Caesar wondered how he could be in possession of such gore and still maintain a healthy appetite.

"There's got to be an explanation for all this " Caesar said his face screwed up in thought. Alex gave him an amused look.

"Shh," He said to Tony, "Sherlock Holmes is thinking."

Tony chuckled and continued to nibble at his apple. 

"Aren't you guys still interested?" he asked raising the plate of apples" There's plenty for everyone"

"Are there crocodiles in the marshes?" asked Caesar suddenly.

"Excuse me?" asked Alex in surprise.

" A few" replied Tony. "Why?"

"How come the killer only dumps the bodies near the marshes but not actually inside them. He doesn't want the body to sink and disappear and he probably doesn't want a crocodile making a meal of the bodies."

"So? " asked Alex curiously.

"So that means the killer wants the body found but at the same tine doesn't want it recognized by mutilating it."

Tony was watching him with interest. "So what are you trying to say?" 

" I don't know. Too many things don't make sense. There's something else here. All the stab wounds are not of the same size."

"What?" asked Tony incredulously.

"Some of the wounds look bigger than others. Like they were made with different sizes of some sharp weapon."

"You looked hard enough at those things to notice that?" groaned Alex in disbelief. 

"Is the killer carrying a set of knives or is it a group with different sizes of weapons?" suggested Tony.

"Your guess is as good as mine. How is it that he always manages to pick a victim even though by now every girl is Kebby Creek must be watching over their shoulder. I suspect the victims might know the killer."

" Know him?" asked Tony surprised.

"Yes" said Caesar, "And trust him. That's why he can pick up his victim so easily".

" What makes you think he picks them up easily?" demanded Tony.

" Because there are no reports of a scuffle, right? If the victims are prostitutes then maybe the killer is a regular patron."

"We are not sure if they are pros." Tony pointed out, "Why do you like hinting that?"

Caesar bit his lip. He'd better be careful with the young cop. He was razor sharp.

" Just a hunch. But let's say they are. He could lure them with money and some empty promises just to get their trust." 

" Even if you're right how can the police track him down? Every oil worker in the town uses the services of the call girls."

" Except me!" objected Alex, " At least not since I met Isabelle". 

Caesar eyed him malevolently 

" So you say."

" Find a girl and settle down, Caesar, it might do you some good."

" Even if I do I don't think she'll come from a town like this. How would I know I'm not married to a mermaid?"

" Why should you care? Mermaids are pretty aren't they? And at least you'd be sure of plenty of sea food." He guffawed loudly.

" Let's keep focused on the case" Tony interjected. 

"The same advice goes to you, Tony" continued Alex changing target, " you are more interested in dead girls than in living ones" 

"At least the former don't talk back at you" said Tony evilly.

"My goodness! " exclaimed Alex, "I'm in the midst of misogynists,"

" I'm not" Caesar objected " I just don't have the patience for them."

"Neither do I, " agreed Tony cheerfully "I just don't like them."

"Are you batty?" asked Alex suspiciously. 

" No look at it this way. You may not like going to the loo but you have to do it, right? I treat women basically the same way."

" Oh my God."

" Maybe we should go back to the topic at hand, " said Caesar hastily " I don't think delegates at the Beijing conference will find our discussion amusing. How far have the police gone with cracking the case?"

"To put it bluntly we're f---. The D.P.O. is screaming for results and he promised us hell and brimstone if we don't give it to him. The oil workers are harassing him and so are the locals. The tension in the air can only be cut with a chain saw."

" Not good. Not good at all."

" Not good? It's worse. If my own theory of there being a serial killer is right then this means the killings will go on and on and on.. Which means this town is a keg of gunpowder with a very short fuse."

Suddenly a beeping sound came from his pocket. His mobile phone was ringing. He hauled it out and answered the call. Caesar and Alex witnessed his crestfallen expression. He put the phone away.

"There's been another murder. A body was found around the same spot. Same wounds except this time the chick's head was cut off."

The Marshes

09.06

There was a huge crowd at the crime scene when the trio got there and the Police were having a hard time controlling them. Tony went off to do his work with a promise to give them an update and Alex and Caesar joined the crowd.

Then Caesar spotted her. He did not know why only her should suddenly capture his attention from the rest of the crowd. She just popped into his vision and for some reason he could not get his eyes off her.

She was tall and judging from what her slip dress suggested, extremely muscular. Her skin was ebony black and gleamed with sweat. She was slim with taut features right down to her legs that looked powerfully built. Her face was rather long but oval, her nose a bit big and her black lips were drawn tight. But the most interesting features were her eyes. The whites were slightly amber, the pupils as black as midnight. They reminded him of those that belonged to a leopard he had once seen at Bristol Zoo. They were cold, wild and utterly ferocious. Automatically a shiver ran up his spine and he knew he had to meet this girl. 

It took him some moments to weave though the crowd but finally he found himself standing next to her. Up close she looked even more imposing, like he was standing next to a panther. 

She had not noticed him. Her eyes were fixed on the scene of the crime.

"Terrible isn't it?" he asked casually.

"What?" she asked startled, turning sharply towards his direction. The full glare of the eyes hit him and for a brief second he was unsettled. There was definitely something unholy about those eyes.

"I mean the murder," he said uncertainly, "what the hell is this town turning into?" "Oh", she said laconically and turned back to the scene.

She didn't look at him again and he began to feel a little foolish but he wasn't done yet.

"I wonder who could be behind all this?" he asked, hoping his question wasn't rhetoric. 

She turned slowly again to face him. For a full three seconds she stared at him and once again he felt that shiver go up his spine.

"Do you really want to know who's responsible? She asked softly. Her eyes never left his and they were giving him goose pimples.

"Er.... Yes."

"They are. They are responsible for their own doom. Now God has sent his Angel after them and there is no escape."

Caesar looked at her in astonishment. 

"Excuse me?" he asked totally confused.

She smiled. A cold, wintry smile that chilled him to the bone. Then she turned and walked off hurriedly into the crowd. 

"Hey" he called out urgently, "Wait a second. "

But she was gone.

Sandy's Bar

09:45

Later on in the afternoon Caesar decided to go to Sandy's Bar. Alex said he had some things to do at the office and had to leave him to his own devices. He met the barman polishing glasses. At such an hour no one else was around.

"You work here throughout the day?" Caesar asked pleasantly as he boarded a high stool.

"Throughout the day till Sunday" came the gruff reply. Even at such an hour the dark glasses were on.

"There's a myth that if you want to know what goes on in a town you know nothing about look for a successful bartender and he will enlighten you."

"Do I take it that you want some information from me?"

"That's the general idea."

"What do you want to know about?"

"What do you know about the Kebby Creek killings?"

Caesar saw the barman's facial features freeze over like the Antarctic.

"Sorry, I don't know anything about that." The tone was icy.

"There must be something you know no matter how little it is."

"What are you, a reporter?"

"Yeah."

"Can I see some I.D please?"

Caesar flashed his News Day I.D.

"Satisfied?"

"Nice newspaper but unfortunately I can't help you."

"You don't know anything about the victims?" 

"No."

"Were they prostitutes?"

"I said I don't know."

"No organized prostitution racket?"

"I think you've gone too far this time", the barman said in a warning tone, "I think it's time for you to leave."

"Don't get so hyped up" cajoled Caesar. He leaned forward with conspiracy in his eyes, 

"There's a lot of money involved in this."

"How much?" the barman asked suspiciously.

"N80, 000"

"Just for information?" 

"You won't believe how important this is."

"Well, I don't know..." The tone was uncertain.

Caesar fished out a white card from his breast pocket.

"If you have anything to offer you can get me at that number."

"Alright then."

"See you around."

Caesar hopped off the stool, nodded curtly at the bartender and walked swiftly out of the bar.

Back in Alex's place Caesar lay on the bed in the guest room submerged in thought. Normally every night before he went to sleep, immediately he closed his eyes, his mind would automatically go over the day's events, playing them out like scenes from a movie.

He remembered the day he had thrown his resignation later in the face of the editor and strolled majestically out of the office. He had enjoyed it alright but had it been wise? Such actions would make him unpopular and to be perfectly honest with himself, he didn't want to be a maverick. He never enjoyed making a scene but once he was over the edge he went all out to cause a commotion not caring who got burnt in the process. Of course later on he would regret his actions. 

Then there was this matter of a mysterious late night call which he should have paid absolutely no attention to and because of which he had traveled a very long distance for information that didn't even exist. Obviously it must have been a plot by fraudsters to take his money as he left the bar. Or was it? Maybe they had changed their minds when he had exited the bar with Alex and Tony.

But supposing the call was genuine? Then why didn't the caller show up? Why pick him of all the reporters in Nigeria for that kind of scam? The matter confounded him utterly.

What a coincidence that he should meet Alex in that bar that very night. They hadn't seen in years. Isabelle. For some reason he didn't trust her. He liked her but he didn't trust her. It worried him that he wasn't sure he could even trust himself. Isabelle was the ideal temptress, able to make you do things you didn't want to do with just a flicker of her long lashes. He prided himself that he could resist any daughter of Eve but right now he wasn't sure of himself.

He didn't know what his plans were. Maybe spend a few days with Alex while he decided what to do next. He could even try his hand at some business... 

Edwin's melancholy train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a high pitch scream, which caused an outbreak of goose pimples on his skin. He sat up quickly, his heart hammering loudly against his chest. What the hell was that?

His first thought went to Isabelle. He wondered what had made her scream like that. It was too bloodcurdling to be a rat. Maybe armed robbers had broken in and they were now molesting her. He did not find that suggestion amusing. 

He dived out of his bed and went straight to his bag. Unzipping it, he dipped his hand to the hidden compartment that held the cash and his Browinng 9mm automatic pistol. Puling out the latter, he made sure it was loaded and snapped back the safety catch. Then pulling a robe over his nakedness he gently opened the door and slipped into the corridor which was swamped in darkness. 

He knew the couple's room was to the left. As he threaded barefoot across the soft rug he wondered what Alex was doing. He had not heard a sound from his friend. Had something happened to him? Maybe the locals were already attacking. There was probably a mob outside now getting ready to burn the bungalow down. 

He wasn't a stranger to such a crisis. He had lived in Warri once and such happenings occurred at the drop of a coin. He remembered sitting alone in his room listening to the exchange of gunfire between ethnic forces sounding as if they were sitting on his roof top. He swore to himself that if the couple was in danger he would empty the automatic defending them. 

Their bedroom door was ajar. He stood still for a moment slightly confused then the scream came again almost making him drop the gun. Pushing the door open he rushed in, brandishing the Browning menacingly. Immediately he regretted his action.

Isabelle and Alex were sitting on the bed both without a stitch on. Alex was holding Isabelle from behind trying to calm her down. He was talking soothingly into her ear. There was a demented terrified look in Isabelle' s eyes.

"Sorry, Edwin" Alex apologized sheepishly, "Isabelle is having a fit. It's quite normal. It's just that.... " Suddenly he noticed the gun in Caesar's hands and his eyes nearly fell out of his head. 

"What the blazes is that?" he demanded.

"A gun. "

" What's it doing under my roof?"

" What do you think?" asked Caesar, suddenly annoyed, "I found it in my wallet. I thought hoodlums were doing a number on Belle here so I thought it might come in handy."

" Get out."

"Good night, Alex. Sweet dreams, Belle." 

She didn't answer. She was staring at him like he wasn't even there.

He went back to his room feeling like a complete idiot. But it wasn't really the embarrassment that bothered him. It wasn't because he had seen his friend's wife in her birthday suit that bothered him. What bothered him was what he saw on the under side of her left breast.

A tattoo. The tattoo of a Black Widow Spider.

St. Peter's Catholic Church, Kebby Creek

July 13, Sunday, 11:39

It was a damp Sunday morning and Caesar had asked where the local catholic parish was. Alex had given him directions and since it was nearby he decided to stroll there. The mass was interesting and he found the officiating priest amusing.

The last blessing was given and the crowd trooped out of the church premises. Suddenly Caesar saw her again. The strange woman at the murder scene who had spoken to him in riddles. 




Lost Angels Ch. 03



She was dressed entirely on black and the attire made her look even more ungodly than the last time he saw her. He homed in on her like a tomahawk missile locked on target.

" Hi again" he said cheerfully.

She jolted violently and gave him a startled look.

"Do I know you?" she asked, staring at him suspiciously. Once again he shivered deliciously under her stare.

"Yes. At that shocking murder scene yesterday."

"What murder scene? I was never at any murder scene." She continued to walk. Caesar smiled insufferably. She was going to be difficult. No problem. He liked difficult girls. 

"Could you help explain what you told me that day?"

"What I told you? Sorry I've never seen you before in my life."

"You asked me whether I wanted to know who was responsible for the killings. I said yes, then you told me that God had sent his angel after them.

" I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you saying you didn't tell me anything?"

"I'm saying I have no idea who you are and this is a cheap method of starting a conversation with a girl."

Caesar sighed. Okay if she wanted to play the game that way then no problem.

"Yes you're right. How did you know? I just want to talk to you."

" Why?"

"Because you look strange. "

"Strange? How do I look strange?"

Caesar grinned privately to himself. He had played his trump card. Hint at a girl that there was something odd about her and she would not let you go till you told her what.

"Did I say anything?" asked Caesar innocently," Maybe I was trying to make conversation." 

" Tell me how I look strange."

" That might cost you."

" What will it cost me?"

" A plate of Sunday rice, cooked by you in your place."

" In other words you want to know my home."

"How did you deduce that? You must be very bright this morning. I'm hungry. I want home cooked rice. Only then will I tell you how you look strange."

" Okay. You win "

" First of all tell me your name."

" My name is Vera."

"Nice name. You can call me Caesar."

Vera's Residence

12:01

Caesar was a bit surprised to find that she lived in a very comfortable two room flat in a respectable part of the town.

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable` while I get you something to eat?"

"Sure."

Caesar chose an easy chair and reclined into it. He spied a paperback on a side stool nearby. He picked it up.

The title was "Passion in the summer" and the cover showed a hunk of a man in a steamy embrace with a sultry lady. Both were on a beach with the barest of bikinis on. Caesar sneered; he turned it to look at the back. 

Yep. The story was the same. Miss Blah Blah hated Mr. Blah Blah because he was so arrogant and wanted to take over her business or something. Unfortunately (or fortunately) Miss Blah Blah could not resist Mr. Blah Blah and inevitably ends up in the sack with him. Can a story become more daft?

Vera came back into the room and saw him sneering at the book.

"You don't like the book?" she asked as she put a stool in front of him, "that happens to be my favorite."

"Well it's just that romance novels are so full of stereotyped characters?"

"What do you mean?" she asked polishing the stool with a cloth.

"Without opening the book I can describe to the letter the couples first kiss."

She grinned deliciously as she straightened up. "Go ahead. "

Caesar put on a sour expression and started off. 

"...... she brought up her hands against his chest to push him away but instead her hands climbed to the back of his neck to stroke the curly hair that fell almost to the collar. His lips were hard and demanding and even though she resisted at first, she suddenly felt herself give in to his pressure and her lips opened submissively to allow him in. Their tongues seemed to be fighting for breath and she felt herself buckle at the knees. The soft scent of his after shave assailed her nostrils..."

Vera began to laugh. Caesar shook his head.

"See what I mean?"

"You're very funny."

"I'm not funny. That makes me sound like a court jester." 

"Sorry. So what do you read, Caesar? I know boys don't touch books."

" I do read. I like crime thrillers a lot."

"Really? Why so?"

" I don't know. I guess all those evil intentions harboring the human mind waiting to explode really gets me going. And the fact that the actual culprit might be the one you would never have thought could commit such a dastardly deed."

She gazed at him strangely.

"You should avoid such books or one day it will manifest for you in real life." 

"I've always ran into those kind of people in real life. They may not be murderers or felons but what they are capable of doing you can never match to their faces. A face is like the surface of a pool. It will never tell you how deep it is. But I have a way of gauging that depth."

"Really?" she asked with interest, "How?" 

"The eyes. If I am to quote a saying: ' the truth is in their eyes and their eyes don't lie'. So I believe that no matter how someone can hide true emotions in their facial expression, the eyes will always show the truth about that person."

"So what do my eyes tell you?"

"Remember I said there was something strange about you? There it is, your eyes." Immediately she sat next to him and faced him squarely.

"Well, what about them?"

" A lot of people are afraid of you, aren't they?"

"Yes. How did you know that?"

"Many find it hard to look you straight in the eye."

"Why?"

"Because your eyes are strange."

"What is strange about my eyes?"

" It conflicts with your personality"

" Conflicts with my personality? Please explain."

"You seem a reticent person. Introvert even but yet your eyes don't say that."

"So what do my eyes say? "

"Do you like cats?"

Vera stared at him in disbelief.

"What has that got to do with my eyes."

"Just say yes or no." 

"Yes."

"Many people hate them bit I feel it's out fear because many don't understand it especially in our country. I remember my auntie could hold any creature in her hands even the slimiest insects but she couldn't touch a cat. Only I could in my entire household. They are very smart creatures, very proud and they are born killers. It would go out in the bush and slaughter a pigeon and come back to the house acting like it can't hurt a fly. Only it's eyes can tell you what it's capable of doing and I know many can't stand their eyes."

"So I have Cat's Eyes?"

"Exactly."

" I really don't know whether to take it as a compliment or not."

"From me it is. Cat's intrigue me that's why I like them. You intrigue me and that's why I like you."

She smiled and at last her eyes smiled with her.

"You know something, Caesar? I think you are the strangest man I've ever met."

"That makes our feelings mutual then."

"May be. But I think it's time I brought you your rice. It's time to complete my end of the bargain." 

The meal was excellent and Caesar told her so. She smiled her thanks. After clearing the stool she brought a photo album for him to browse through.

She sat next to him as he opened the album. She explained the people in each picture as he scanned them one by one. Most of them were high school pictures and photos of her in her youth. He picked out one, which had a set of girls standing together in a line, all wearing dormitory uniforms.

"Which school is this anyway?"

"Blessed Mother Girls High School, Kebby Creek. It's for orphans."

"You're an orphan?"

"I never even knew my parents. We... I was found in an abandoned building."

"I see" he said awkwardly.

As he casually scanned each of the faces he suddenly stopped in disbelief. 

There was a pretty fair complexioned girl among them who unquestionably was the best looking in the photo.

" You know this girl? " he asked, pointing at the face.

" Yes she was one of my school friends. Every one in that picture was my close friend." 

He wondered why she referred to them in past tense but he didn't bother asking why.

" What's her name?" he asked.

" Isabelle. She still lives in this town. I think she's engaged to some oil worker."

Caesar again got that spooky feeling. 

" You know her?" she asked. 

" Not really. Just see her around."

" Hmm. I see."

Caesar's mobile phone began to burr in his pocket. He yanked it out and switched it on.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Clark?"

"Speaking."

"It's me Ani. The bartender."

"What's up?"

"I think I have what you want. Meet me at the bar in thirty minutes time. Bring the money with you." The line cut.

Caesar thoughtfully returned the phone to his pocket. Vera was gazing at him enquiringly.

"That's Ani, a bartender working in Sandy's bar. He has something for me."

"Ani Assem? I know him. I've met him only a few times, though. Helps me do some errands."

"Speaking of errands what do you do exactly?"

"I'm a hair dresser. I have my own salon not far from here."

"Good for you." 

"And what do you do, Caesar?"

"I chase girls with Cat's Eyes."

Sandy's Bar

13:11

Caesar pushed his way through the beaded curtain and looked around. There was no one around. He glanced at the bar and found it empty. Shrugging to himself he chose the table directly under the fan which was in full throttle. An empty bottle of beer and some spent cigarettes littered the table. He eyed them distastefully and wondered where the waitress was. He dropped the bag he was carrying on the floor and sat down to wait.

After leaving Vera's place with a promise to her of a repeat visit he dashed back to Alex's place to collect the counterfeit money. However his nose sniffed trouble in the air.

A full hour passed and Ani did not show up. Caesar felt it was uncanny that the bar was open yet no one was around. He decided it was time to go. As he bent to pick the bag he heard a rustle of beads. He straightened up to see a man come through the curtain into the bar. He was built along the same lines as a battle ship and barely fitted through the door. Caesar was still admiring his structure when six others followed suit, each of them of astronomical proportions. Uh-oh, he thought.

The pack of gorillas walked purposely towards his direction and each grabbed a nearby seat as they came. Turning the backs of the seats to face him they straddled the chairs. They enclosed him in a perfect semi-circle. Caesar felt like a cornered rat.

The first one to enter and also the ugliest of the bunch, which is no mean feat, appeared to be the leader. He began to speak.

"So you are a reporter, huh?"

"What makes you think so?"

"Because you smell like one." 

Caesar wanted to tell him that he smelled of half a kilo of weed but changed his mind.

"Must be the shirt. I borrowed it from a journalist."

"I don't like reporters. They never mind their own business."

"Well I'm sure your business isn't worth minding."

"Talking of business what's in your bag?"

"Talking of business, it's my business but if you must know they are personal effects."

"Give it to me."

"Get it yourself.'

The man picked up the bag and unzipping it quickly emptied it on the table. The wads spilled over the place. All the men whistled.

"Now this is a lot of money" commented the leader, "you want to buy the bar with it?"

"I don't think it's worth that much."

The man took a sheaf of notes and began to scrutinize it. Suddenly he stiffened. 

"Hold on! These are fake!"

"You're pretty fast" said Caesar admiringly, "Most would take days to find out."

A roar of outrage echoed among the men.

"So you think you're smart, eh?" growled the leader.

"Normally no but considering I'm surrounded by apes then I guess the one eyed man is king in the land of the blind."

"That's it, Punk. Take him!"

The next few seconds dragged into slow motion. While they had been chatting, Caesar's fingers had been caressing the neck of the empty bottle on the table. As the men made to get up he grabbed the neck purposefully and in one deft movement flicked the bottle towards the spinning rotors of the ceiling fan. Simultaneously he ducked down, trying to cover as much of his head and neck with his arms. 

The impact was thunderous. The bottle hit the whizzing blades at top speed and exploded like a bomb, disintegrating into a deluge of lethal pieces of flying glass. He was aware of multiple screams around him as the glass sliced mercilessly into any exposed flesh it could find. 

He shoved the table violently forward and heard it connect rewardingly with bone. Someone screamed again. Without further ado he bolted for the door. Someone made a blind rush at him. Caesar knew he was blind because blood was running from his eyes. Caesar kicked him viciously in the groin and his would be assailant went down like a felled tree.

Hurdling over writhing, agonized bodies he flew threw the curtain with a clatter of bouncing beads. Before anyone else could realize what was happening he was gone leaving only bleeding bodies and shattered glass in his wake.

Alex's Residence

15:28

After Caesar's encounter with the thugs in Sandy's Bar he decided he had had enough excitement for one afternoon and went straight back to Alex's bungalow. His old friend wasn't around but his fiancée was preparing lunch in her ultra modern kitchen. She offered him chicken and rice and he wolfed it down despite the meal he had had in Vera's place. Anyway the afternoon's episode had made him hungry again. After his lunch he proceeded to chat her up.

" So you are feeling much better now?" Caesar asked casually

" Yes, thank you" replied Isabelle smiling. 

" I hope you forgive me for barging in like that."

There's problem. Truth is I don't even remember you coming in that night."

Caesar frowned inwardly. Girls never seemed to remember anything these days. First Vera had denied meeting him before now this.

" Would you like some tea?" she asked. 

"Thank you. That will be nice. "

She set about making the tea while Caesar watched her discreetly. She looked very inviting. He wished the Tempter, who was sitting on his shoulder, would go away. She handed him the steaming cup. As he took it, their fingers brushed. He was aware of the transfer of electricity. Damn! He thought. She took a seat near him and began to sip her own cup of tea.

" So where did you do your schooling." He asked conversationally.

" Blessed Mother Girls High School."

" Hmm. That reminds me. I met a lady who went to the same school. Her name is Vera."

He was surprised to see a look of fear enter her eyes and disappear quickly. 

" I see" she answered carefully, "what about her?" 

" There was a photo of all these girls in her album. You were among them." 

" Really? I'm sure I have a copy somewhere in my room."

" Are the two of you still friends?"

" No."

Hmm. Maybe that's why Vera had spoken of her in the past sense. 

" I see. Why not? Or is it a personal question"

" It is but I'll tell you anyway. Vera killed her twin sister Venus."

" What?"

" She was a twin. I don't know whether she told you that. Vera is a very evil person and so was her late twin sister. Then they had a heavy disagreement and one night Vera tricked Venus into escorting her to some remote part of the marsh and she murdered her there. The body was eaten by crocodiles before anyone else could get to her. Not a trace of her was found."

"Mary Mother of God."

" Ever since then I and other school friends of her tended to avoid her. I hear she is a prostitute now."

" Oh dear." Though that wasn't what Vera told him. Apparently.

" Let me give you some advice. Run as far away from her as you possibly can. 

You have no idea what she is capable of. Her heart is as black as her skin complexion. Haven't you seen her eyes?"

" Remarkable ain't they? "

"They are the eyes of an underworld creature. Personally I don't think she's human. She must be either some reincarnated demon or a mermaid."

" These are serious allegations you are making don't .you think?"

" It's the truth. Stay away from her or you will only have yourself to blame."

" I'll be sure to take your advice."

" Good."

" Er... one more thing. Last night I mistakenly saw a tattoo on your... chest. What is that?"

" High school madness. Nothing else."

" It doesn't mean anything?"

" No." 

"Alright then."

Tony's Residence

19:33

Later that evening Caesar went to see Tony at his end. He found the young officer immersed in his photos. He reported to him what had happened in Sandy's Bar.

"So thugs actually tried to kill you in the bar?" Tony asked incredulously.

"I think that was the general idea" Caesar said dryly, "Though maybe they just wanted money. But I'll bet it all had something to do with the killings."

"Hmm. The plot gets thicker," remarked Tony, "But what does Ani have to do with anything? He's just a bartender."

"I have no idea. This whole scenario is becoming more and more complicated with each passing minute."

"You and I should go to the bar and see him. I'd like to wring some answers from him."

"Good idea but I'll bet my left bullock that he won't be around."

Sandy's Bar

19:48

Caesar was right. When they got to the bar he was nowhere in sight. However the waitress gave them his contact address. Caesar suspiciously asked her where she had been all afternoon and she told him that Ani had told her to take a break.

Undisclosed Address, Kebby Creek

20: 10

Ani's contact address was a run down block of flats that had been uninhabited for years. No other dweller within a kilometer radius had ever heard of him.

"I don't believe this" announced a bemused Tony.

"I couldn't agree more" replied a sardonic Caesar, "I'd like to take a look at the murder scene myself later on in the evening. Will that be alright?"

"I suppose so," he replied reluctantly, "But if any cop nabs you don't even mention my name."

"Trust me."

The Marshes

22:09

Taking a torch and his Browning he drove out to the spot in the dead of the night when he least expected anybody else nosing about. When he arrived at the spot it looked like he was at the end of the world. To the east were miles and miles of marshland right to the horizon. He could hardly see anything in the pitch-blackness even with his torch at full beam.

He meticulously began to comb the area, after making a perimeter around the spot in question. After an hour of splurging through mud he came up with nothing. He increased the perimeter and continued to look. Still nothing but just mud and more mud.

He had practically given up hope when he caught a glint of metal in the halo of the beam. Moving closer, he saw it was a can. He drew out a hanky and used it to pick it up. It was a perfume can. He sighed in disgust and was about to toss it over his shoulder when he stopped his pivoting arm.

A perfume can? What it doing so far out have in the marsh? Of course someone must have thrown it away because it felt empty but still he had learnt never to overlook any thing no matter insignificant while investigating a story. He shook it absent-mindedly and squeezed a shot into his palm. He sniffed it.

Suddenly he felt his mind explode like a helium bomb and he found himself flat in the mud with stars twinkling in his eyes which they didn't belong to the night sky. He lay stunned for a while and later managed to drag himself to his feet.

Goodness! He thought, what the hell was that? He went over to where he dropped the perfume can and picked it up. He stared at it in honor. Something really potent was in this can.

When he thought he had finally pulled himself together again he began to search around at random. Thirty minutes later he spied yet another metallic object almost submerged in the mud. He went to fetch it. 

Bingo, thought Caesar triumphantly. It was a knife and it was blood stained. It was small in size with a heavy black handle. The blade was as sharp as hell. Caesar smiled broadly. What a find!




Lost Angels Ch. 04



Chapter 04: Revelations

Author's Note: Sorry it took so long to get the final chapter out. Thanks for your comments, I really appreciate them and I would love to know what you think of the ending.

*

Tony's Residence

03:52

Caesar felt like a cornered rat. He knew there was no chance of drawing his gun on time. 

"Tony." He said jovially, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I hope I am not interrupting an intimate moment here" Tony said grinning, waving the gun playfully.

"You were and that's unfair. You're right, Venus is cute. By the way where's her sister?"

"Cooling off in the bedroom. Venus, find something else to put on."

She got up and after giving Caesar a murderous glare stalked off.

"I don't think she approves of your rough manner," Tony continued pleasantly as he sat on a chair opposite Caesar. The Luger was rock steady, pointing at his heart. 

"She was becoming stubborn" Caesar said with a sigh, "Her sister's much easier to handle. Do you mind putting that thing away? It makes me nervous."

"Sorry, can't be helped." 

"Mind if I smoked?"

"Go ahead but easy now."

Caesar put his hand inside his jacket pocket; fumbled around and brought out a packet of Benson & Hedges. Fishing out a stick he lit it with a lighter which he also produced.

"Want one?" He asked, offering the packet to Tony. 

"No thanks. Cancer kills faster than guns, don't you think?"

"Nah. Thanks for enlightening me though."

"I guess you must be expecting an explanation."

Caesar raised his hands and grinned. 

"Brother, you must be the master of the understatement."

So Tony told him while Caesar listened with growing horror.

"Venus would pretend she was Vera or Ani and pick each of the girls with a different story every time. They feared and trusted her and did whatever she said. That's why it was so easy. So Caesar you were right. The victims did know the killer. She drugged them with chloroform and took them to the marshes then sliced them up there. She cut off their breasts so that the tattoos wouldn't identify them and bashed them up as well. But we knew Vera would suspect that her friends were being murdered anyway. Isabelle was let off the hook since she was the one that told me to try and save Venus. She was never in any real danger. Venus thought she was small fry anyway. But Vera was marked for death. She would be the final victim and suffer the most violent murder of all the sisters.

"I acted as the clean up man. I covered up any tracks she left and screwed the corpses to make it certain that the cops thought that killer was a man. So Alex didn't know how right he was when he said I preferred dead girls. Ever screwed a stiff before, Caesar?" 

He was talking derisively, his eyes dilating.

"You're a sick bastard" said Caesar horrified.

"But you were wrong, Caesar and I was right. I am the serial killer. I organized their murders. You thought it wasn't possible but here is your psychopath in the flesh. And I really did enjoy taking those pictures. Those photos really gave me pleasure."

Caesar released a barrage of curses at him.

"Yeah yeah. Thanks. Now get up."

Caesar got up slowly. His mind was working furiously.

"Turn around."

He obeyed. A bullet in the back? His body automatically braced itself for the shock of the blow.

Nope, not a bullet but the gun butt crashing down on his skull. 

Darkness fell.

ISABELLA'S STORY

The sun sank slowly into the distant horizon bathing the serene landscape in a brilliant reddish orange hue. As Isabelle trudged uncertainly up the rough, pebbled road towards the picturesque blocks of classrooms that spread out before her, she felt that old deep dread creep yet again into her heart. These old white washed buildings always greeted her every morning as she came up this same road every day. They heralded a start to a bad day at school.

She moved slowly through the vast compound and made her way to a smaller block of classrooms that looked newer than the rest, it had been donated a few years earlier by some traditional ruler of a town in Delta State Town. The desks and seats were newer, the glass louvers were still in place and the black board still looked black. Isabelle had a psychological belief that the new building would enhance her swotting. The classroom she chose was not swept but tidy. She sat at a desk at the front and placed her oil lamp and books on the polished wooden surface. She glared apprehensively at the textbooks. Physics chemistry. Maths, she hated those three subjects with the same intensity that she hated unwanted pregnancies. Academics had always scared the life out of her especially science subjects. Biology she could even tolerate but the other three drove her up a wall. 

Physics sounded okay until it went into equations, Chemistry was like Yiddish to her and the overall king pin -- Maths... well their mutual hatred for each other was unequaled.

Inevitably since she had a sour relationship with the numbers racket it transferred also to the people that propagated it.

Math teachers. Isabelle could not remember one Maths Teacher she did not hate with a passion. Mr Enuku and his long, scrawny neck, Madam Omatseye with her immense buttocks and Miss Pepe, a bloody bitch in full bloom with her thick goggles and jeering, raspy voice.

Each of these devils she could feed half a kilo of strychnine and sit back, relax and watch with pleasure as they puked their insides out.

She could not however waste precious time having homicidal fantasies so she opened the first of her textbooks and buried her head into it.

Two hours later the sun had long since been swallowed in the distant marshland and darkness covered the school compound like a blanket. The only illumination was the oil lamp, which had burnt bravely since but would soon be out of oil. Isabelle would soon have to call it a day. She sat up and stretched luxuriously, her young hillocks jutting out impressively behind the cheap fabric of her dormitory blouse. As she glanced through the window nearest to her she thought she saw a brief flash of a tiny red light. It was gone so quickly she decided she must have imagined it. Anyway it made her decide to rush back to the dormitory. She was suddenly feeling very alone.

As she hurried out of the classroom she saw two figures standing near by. Instant terror seized her. Ritual killers were common in these parts and there had been cases of a few students who disappeared and were never seen again or even worse were found not in one piece. The fact that she might join the statistic petrified her.

"Who's that?" demanded one of the shadowy figures. They were smoking. That explained the red light she had seen. It was a female voice that had called out to her. That reduced her fears only by an iota.

"It's me, Isabelle" she replied nervously, "I am in SSII."

"Aah. Belle. I know you" said the other figure.

As they walked into the light of her lamp she recognized them immediately.

The Twins. Two notorious sisters from SSIII that were as intelligent as rocket scientists and as black as midnight. However it was their eyes that were their most notable feature. Glassy huge things that were as cold as the Antarctic and as empty as the Dead Sea. Eyes that could kill. Isabelle doubted they even blinked. There was not one student, even members of staff who did not fear the Twins. They could do and undo.

"What are you doing all alone out here at this time of the night, Darling" one of them asked, "Do you want to get yourself killed?"

"I...I was reading for.. for a test," she stammered. 

"You should read in your room," suggested the other. "A lot of bad things happen to little girls like you at this hour especially if you are found alone here."

"I know. I'm sorry. Let me be on my way."

"We can't do that." One of them said as they inched closer to her, 

"You could get hurt and that will remain on my conscience forever. And I like keeping my conscience clean. Don't we like keeping our consciences clean, Vera?"

"Of course, Venus of course."

They were at either side of her sizing her up, their unholy eyes bored into her soul. Isabelle started shaking. Sweat ran freely down her face and her uniform was already drenched, her knees felt like buckling. She had never been so scared in her life.

There was a rumour that the twins had once killed a male teacher. He had always been a pain in the neck for everyone, even the other teachers. He was a misogynist and enjoyed flogging the daylights out of the students at the slightest provocation. He chose to lean on the Twins after they came late to assembly on a particular day and gave them hell ever since. One day he just vanished into thin air. A week later his head was found under a tree. A lot people put two and two together but there was no concrete proof. Now here they were, breathing down her neck.

"Say you're very beautiful" commented Venus. "She should be the prettiest girl in SSII." 

"I envy her a lot" added Vera,

"What if some bad man sees her as she is going back and takes advantage of her? Probably beat her up and make her un-pretty?"

"That will be too bad."

Isabelle did not say a word. She felt this whole experience was unreal. Like it was some kind of nightmare

"You know what darling?" said Venus smiling like a shark "we will walk you home."

"Yes" agreed Venus "So no one messes with your pretty face. Is it okay with you?"

"It's okay with me. Thank you."

She thought she was going to faint.

In the end they did just what they said they would do: walk her home. They escorted her to her room, joked with her while her roommates stared at them with awe and left after telling her to have sweet dreams. She did not have sweet dreams. She had nightmares.

***

Fate had decided that Isabelle's chance meeting with the Twins would not end that night. Instead it blossomed into an unlikely friendship. Suddenly Isabelle's status charged. She noticed that people's attitude towards her had changed from teasing to a healthy respect. Nobody messed around with the chubby, shy, pretty girl in SSII. She had become untouchable.

She gained from the Twins in every aspect. They coached her in her academic work and she performed excellently in tests and exams. They taught her how to walk and talk like a big girl. They taught her things that her mother, whoever she was, would never teach her. They treated her like a sister. Isabelle began to enjoy a new kind of life. A life where you finally found yourself accepted in a family. A family of your very own in a school for orphans, it was something she thought she would never have.

One day Venus (Isabelle could never tell the difference between them but they wore different hairstyles to help identification) pulled her aside and told her that they were going to have a midnight party with some friends. 

"All SSIII girls, honey," she drooled, "You are the only SSII girl invited so don't let us down. I'II come to pick you up anyway."

"Okay, Venus. Anything you say." 

"That's my girl."

Isabelle did not know exactly what she expected. May be a small groove involving Blessed mother girls and St. Peters Boys, the male equivalent of their school. Probably held in some classroom with a stereo blasting out some taped disco music. She was not prepared for what she met.

The party was held in Hotel Excelis, the costliest hotel in Kebbi Creek. The Twins had provided her and six other girls with black, short, strapless dresses and had given them some weird concoction to drink. Isabelle was to find out later that it was a potent cocktail of gin, stout, orange juice and marijuana. For the rest of the day she was as high as the noonday sun. 

The girls assembled in an exquisitely furnished hotel suite, which looked like paradise to Isabelle. Cigarettes were passed round and the Twins informed them they were to wait. Isabelle wondered what was going on. A faint idea was struggling for attention in the back of her mind but she refused to give it audience. The whole situation looked so unreal and she couldn't believe she was involved in it. 

Later some men arrived at the suite. It was with some shock that she realized they were oil workers. My God, she moaned to herself, what had she got herself into?

The party started and the men, most of they young, moved around choosing their partners with leers permanently fastened to their faces. Isabelle cringed as she saw the way they grabbed and dragged the girls around, then she spied one of the men zeroing on her like a torpedo from an enemy submarine. Now I've had it, she thought with finality.

The man was a tall, reedy fellow with a pair of glasses perched precariously on his beak like nose with a cruel, Caucasian-like line of a mouth slashed underneath.

His small but intelligent eyes were studying her curiously as he approached and Isabelle watched him with apprehension.

"Hi" he said in a friendly voice. At least he didn't grab me, she thought, "Like to dance?"

"Yes," she croaked uncertainly "Sure" 

Some highlife music was filtering from hidden speakers and any space available in the suite was occupied by dancing couples. Mr Four Eyes gently led her by the wrist to a vacant spot and faced her. She started to dance awkwardly while he followed suit with mild amusement playing on his lips.

"So," Four Eyes started, clearing his throat, "What's your name?"

"Isabelle."

"Mmm. Isabelle. That's a pretty name but I guess people tell you that all the time. Can I call you Belle?"

"Yes, you can."

"So Belle, what are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" she asked surprised at the question, "I'm here for the party," 

"But you are not really part of this crowd are you?" He waved his hand at the other couples, "I don't think you belong here."

"How do you know that?" she asked irritably.

"Because you look different."

"How do I look different? "she demanded 

"You look like a nice girl."

"Nice girl? What makes the other girls not nice?"

"It's like diamonds and pearls" the man said smoothly as he danced, "Diamonds are rough with sharp edges that can cut very easily and they are extremely hard. Pearls are smooth and round. Yet both are very expensive to get. So you are a pearl."

"I see," she said smiling she looked round at the other men who were practically manhandling the other girls. "I suppose I can safely say the same for you."

He laughed. Isabelle noticed for the first time that he was actually good looking.

The rest of the night was spent dancing, drinking and smoking. Before they left for the dormitory the man slipped a card into her hand.

"Call me." He said softly, "Anytime." 

Later on Isabelle peeked at it when nobody else was looking.

He worked for the Shell Petroleum Development Company and he was engineer. His name was Alex Uzezi.

***

Isabelle still did not have any reason to worry about her relationship with the Twins until two weeks later when things took a dramatic turn. As usual it was Venus who met her and told her of yet another clandestine adventure they were to embark on: a midnight picnic near the creek.

Isabelle was instantly horrified.

"But what if something happens to us out there?" she moaned to the older girl.

"We'll be fine" Venus replied smiling devilishly, "It's going to be fun. Ooh... picnic in the dark." 

The Twins word was law and Isabelle obeyed.

That night they scaled the school wall as usual and made their way to a deserted primary school compound. The place was the spookiest place Isabelle had ever seen in her life. 

A big fire was lit and food was spread out on a blanket. Venus passed a drink round and Isabelle discovered to her chagrin that it was the same drink that had been served at the party. Then suddenly every thing went wild. 

They danced round a fire to the beating of some drums they brought along then they began to attack each other. Isabelle found herself flat on the ground with two girls slapping the living daylights out of her, both oblivious to her screams of agony. Then Venus brought out a knife and went round, slashing at random. Isabelle was shocked not by the pain as the blade sliced the tender skin of her arm but the sheer demonic savagery that burned in Venus eyes as she performed the act.

The dripping blood from all the girls was collected in a bowl and passed round for all to drink. Then the dancing resumed. The Twins then ordered them all to strip their clothes off and Isabelle watched in helpless horror as they began to rape each other. 

By the time she got back the dormitory Isabelle was a psychological wreck. She was very sick for the next two weeks.

A month later the twins took the girls to a strange man who, with lecherous precision, designed tattoos on the underside of their left breasts; the tattoo was that of a black widow spider. The Messalina Cult was born.

There was a guy who linked the girls up with jobs. These 'jobs' were normally parties or one-night affairs with oil workers or anyone who had the money to pay for their services. He was a nice chap, liked to joke with the girls and helped them out with any problems they had. What made him even more invaluable to the girls was that he was a cop. They called him Tony. He and Isabelle eventually became close friends.

He organized a partnership between him and the Messalina cult. He would link them up with clients and they would pay him commission. The partnership worked fine for both parties involved and it was a successful venture. Before Isabelle knew what was happening she had become a member of the most powerful prostitution ring in Kebby Creek and she earned more money than she could ever dream of.

The cult had their rules. All money and gifts from the business were brought and shared equally among the members. No boyfriends were allowed and that was why Isabelle was reluctantly avoiding Alex's invitations. The blood communion was ruthlessly observed. Venus insisted that it made sure they remained sisters. Isabelle was not complaining, she was having the time of her life and that shy little girl had turned into a woman. 

But it's when everything is going right then you know something si going to go wrong. After three months of smooth operation, Venus, the one who started it all, announced to the other members that she was leaving the cult. This announcement was upsetting especially as she was the one who decreed the final rule of Messalina: Death was the only way out of the cult.

:

A council of war was held in Venus' absence and the facts were laid bare. Venus had met a white man during one of her jobs. The man had fallen in love and had asked for her hand in Marriage. She had agreed. He was to take her back to Texas the following month. Vera was sick with rage (also, Isabelle suspected, jealousy) and informed the rest that Vera had to be punished according to her own law. Capital punishment, Isabelle thought, Vera was going to die. She had never bargained for this. So that was how the nightmare began.

Vera invited Venus over for a send off party so that the members could officially wish her well (after all, we are all sisters, she said emotionally). It was to be a midnight picnic like on the initiation night. Isabelle had expected Venus to be much smarter but she guessed Venus never imagined her twin sister to go against her and Vera always seemed the more layback twin. Indeed. 

That night was the worst night in Isabelle's life and the memories would remain with her to the grave. Once again the fire was lit and they danced themselves to a demonic frenzy. Then Vera brought out a dagger and the bloodletting began, only this time it was directed at Venus. 

Isabelle could not count how many times Venus was stabbed. She had sunk in her own knife too ("Even you, Brutus" she remembered crossed her mind at that moment") and she could distinctly remember the warm, sticky blood running down her fingers and her arm. Later they took her to the marsh and dumped her there. Isabelle knew she might never sleep again in her life and she made one desperate attempt to save her sanity. That night she sneaked out and made a call in a 24 -- hour call centre to Tony and told him what happened. He promised to go and rescue her. Two days later she phoned again and Tony told her that the crocodiles had taken Venus.




Lost Angels Ch. 04



***

Venus did not die. Probably the potency of the drink had kept her alive or the fact that the stab wounds were shallow and mostly superficial even though she had lost a lot of blood. Tony arrived at the marsh on time and had taken her to a private clinic, which had treated her immediately and had nursed her back to health.

What made Tony lie to Isabelle about Venus' fate were the things Venus was screaming in derision when he found her. She said she would "Kill Messalina." That statement intrigued him because he knew the girls had formed a cult of that name according to Isabelle's big mouth and he immediately caught on that Venus wanted to slay them all even in her pitiable state.

He was right. Venus told him on her hospital bed that she was consumed with hatred for her 'sisters' especially Vera who had organized the hit. Tony told her to relax. Revenge, he told her, was a dish best eaten cold.

Tony was a sick man. His disease was not the ordinary body devouring ailments or mind distorting dilemmas. His disease was acute pervasion. He was someone who believed that women should not be classed as human beings but among other lesser animals (afterall, he argued to himself, they only formed part of man's ribs according to the Holy Bible). He always fantasized about maltreating and murdering them and if he didn't do so he would not be able to sleep. These fantasies were his bread and butter and he could never actually convert those diabolical thoughts to reality.

Tony Ani did not have a rosy childhood. Most people didn't, even the successful ones, but Tony's childhood was in a class of its own. He was the last born in a family of six excluding his parents. He was the only boy and had come into the world long after his parents had given up hope of having a male child. But that didn't make them happy.

His dad, Simon Ani, worked as a driver for one of the big oil companies before he was laid off due to injuries sustained in a car crash involving the company car and another vehicle. Ever since then he never had a stable, gainful means of employment and constantly vented his frustration on his wife, Patty and his six kids.

Simon was very prone to slapping Patty about. Even though he was very skinny, he was as hard and as flexible as a rawhide whip and his flying fists could barely be followed with the naked eye. But his beatings did not quell Patty's constant nagging.

Patty in sharp contrast to her husband was short, squat and heavily built but had a high-pitched mosquito voice that did not go with her looks. When Simon was not whacking her she whacked the kids.

Tony's five sisters were all big, strong girls and since he was the last born and the only boy they constantly beat the living daylights out of him. Probably it was in retaliation for what their father did to their mother. There were many days when he hid under the bed to escape being killed.

The physical torture ended when his sisters grew up and left home but the psychological torture was far from over.

His dad's frustration seemed to have an inverse effect on his libido and he quenched his urge on his wife in the most barbaric way possible. The young Tony would watch through cracks on the wall of his parents' bedroom as Simon regularly subjected Patty to intense sodomy.

Simon would kneel her down and demand that she performed fellatio on him (no hands please!) and if she blundered he would use his belt on her. If he was in a lighter mood, he would order her to sleep on the floor.

Sometimes if she annoyed him in the morning he would first beat her silly then kneel her down (keep your hands in the air, Bitch!) and warned her not to move till he came back in the evening. When he finally came back he demanded for his pre-bedtime blowjob again otherwise she would remain kneeling for the rest of the night.

Finally one day Tony got wise like his sisters and fled his parent's home. He was just eleven years old.

Apart from being a policeman, organizing a prostitution ring gave him a sense of power. It made him feel important that they depended on him for their daily bread. He always fantasized about the girls, especially Isabelle and the Twins but he didn't have the courage to make any move. Now the opportunity had fallen into his lap and he couldn't believe his luck. He could now finally convert his fantasies to reality.

He took Venus into his home and informed her that the others thought she was dead. Now it would be good to change her identity. She suggested to him that she dress as a man. She was an excellent actress at school, always the best at school plays and when she acted male roles no one could tell the difference. So she meticulously transformed herself to a male by cutting her hair and using make-up facial hairs. She decided to wear dark shades because she could never hide her eyes.

Next she needed a job so that she could have something to occupy her while they planned her revenge. Tony met the management of Sandy's Bar and got her a job as the bartender. She needed a name so she called herself Ani L. Assem, which was Messalina spelt backwards so that she wouldn't forget it. 

The next move was dicey. Tony decided to introduce Ani as his assistant in the business and he set up a meeting with Messalina. It went unbelievably smoothly. No one recognized her even her own sister. Anyway they thought she was dead. When Tony asked them what had happen to Venus he was told by Vera that she had run off to America with a white man. He didn't press the point and he glanced quickly at Isabelle who was not looking herself. Poor bitch, he thought if they found out that she had told him what happened they would kill her. 

Tony told Venus to wait for one year until they had got used to her new identity.

"Then you can strike at will, " he said smiling.

Venus did not return the smile. She had long since forgotten how to. All that burned in her mind was hate.

Isabelle's life was falling apart. The school authorities had discovered that Messalina existed and promptly had them all expelled. Competition was increasing in the business and she was not so rich anymore. Venus' ghost was haunting her dreams every night. Then she remembered Alex. 

She at last came to see him and he took her into his arms like a lost love. After three weeks as lovers, she decided that she would leave the Messalina cult and start a new life with Alex. 

And that was what she did.

She shunned the rest of the members and moved on with him. They could not dare harm her since she was now living with an oil worker and oil workers were like gods in Kebby Creek. She did not have to worry too much. The Messalina cult disbanded soon after her defection.

***

A year is past and now I am ready to start my crusade. All those who tried to kill me that night would suffer dearly for their actions. As for Isabelle I might or might not let her live. Let her conscience punish her instead. But for you my sister I will make you suffer as I have suffered. Nothing can prevent the punishment that has been designed for you.

The first victim was Agnes. There was no particular reason why I chose her first. Maybe it's because I knew she would be the easiest to kill.

Agnes was a 'big' girl in the literary sense of the word. She had big tits, a big ass and a big mouth. She also had a crush on my sister and me. At first I didn't understand why she participated in the attack but I guess she felt if she had one then she didn't need the other .I knew Vera sometimes played dirty with her but I never had the time. Well I could start today. Time is on my side.

I phoned her at where she worked as a secretary in some chap's cheap office. She had got the job strictly by giving her boss quality time during a charade of an interview. Agnes was someone who didn't know what the word shame meant even when her perverted employer sodomized her with a select range of office implements.

So I booked a date with her for the evening and I drove to the venue on time to pick her up. She was wearing a tight dress that offset her lascivious figure to heart stopping effect.

"Where are we going?" she asked as I set off down the road.

"To where we all used to meet."

"Why there? You know we don't like going there ever since the incident."

"Trust me, Darling, where's your sense of adventure?"

She giggled nervously but I could see she was getting agitated. 

Eventually I parked the car at a remote spot near the marshland.

"For goodness sake" squealed Agnes, "What are we doing here? Let's leave this place!"

I turned to look at her. The look in my eyes froze her.

"Don't you know the sins of the past will always haunt us?" I said slowly, deliberately, "And most times they destroy our future."

Agnes didn't understand but her terror visibly increased.

"Vera, what's wrong with you? She wailed, "Why are you talking like this?"

"Agnes, Baby, why do you keep calling me Vera? Are you sure you are not mistaking me for someone else?"

The penny dropped. Agnes stared at me with a mixture of disbelief and horror on her face and her eyeballs rolled up to her forehead. She slumped untidily against the car seat. She had passed out clean. I stared at her with amusement. She was easier than I thought.

***

Isabelle's nightmares had started again. It got so bad that she would wake up screaming in the middle of the night scaring the socks of Alex. One night after a particularly bad nightmare she confessed everything to him.

"Please forgive me, Alex" she cried as tears rolled unabated down her cheeks, "It was the Devil in control then. I really am repentant now but I'm very scared. I feel the victims of these murders were my former 'sisters'."

"How can you be sure?" asked Alex calmly, "the victims are beyond recognition."

"I see them in my dreams. I can see each of them lying in the marsh in the same way Venus was. It must be them."

"Then who is responsible?"

"I don't know. I really don't know."

"How can I help?"

"I just want you to understand."

Alex sat back against the pillow and contemplated a while, his face screwed in thought.

"I think I know someone that can help us. The police are out of the question because they might just arrest you as a suspect if they have a slightest inclination that you are involved. I will have to call my friend Caesar."

"Caesar?" she asked surprised, "Who's that?"

"A very close friend of mine. We went through primary, Secondary and University education together."

"Is Caesar his real name?"

"Not really, but that's a long story."

"How can he help?"

"Let me tell you something about this guy. Caesar is a jaded young man with a difficult past. Throughout his life he was always had encounters with strange people. For example he found to his chagrin that his first girlfriend in Secondary school was a Satanist. 

"In university he had a long friendship with a senior lecturer who was his mentor only for him to discover that the old man was a child molester. Throughout his campus years he was stalked by members of the Complalanche confraternity. They wanted him to join them. He was tall, fine, intelligent and rich. His mom is a minister in this country. These were all the requirements the cult needed for someone to join them but he shunned them. Back then you couldn't say no to the Complalanche and live, but he outwitted them, right until he graduated. He is a reporter now and he is doing quite well. 

"You must have heard about the murder of Peter Marquis. He was the reporter who stumbled on the killer. Nowadays though he continuously steeps himself in controversy which has always been his way of life. He's been interested in solving crimes right from the tender age when we were reading 'Hardy Boys" and Nancy Drew. If there's anyone who can help you, he can."

"Are you just going to call him and tell him to come to Kebby Creek?"

"No I have a better idea. I will call him and act like I know something about the killings. I will tell him to come to town to receive information and arrange to run into him. Then everything will be fine." 

"Are you sure he will help?"

"Positive. Once I tell him the government is involved he'll come down here in a jiffy. He hates the government with a passion. I suspect it also has something to do with the frosty relationship he has with his mother."

Alex picked up the phone and, after dialing his old friend's number, stretched a handkerchief over the mouthpiece.

***

Undisclosed Location, Kebby Creek

04:24

Caesar painfully opened his eyes and groaned. His head was feeling like it had been given the mortar and pestle treatment. He suddenly aware that he was bound hand and foot and was stuffed inside a container. The stink of fuel and the trundle of rubber told him the container was in fact the boot of a car.

He heard a sound that made him jump. Someone winced behind him. He couldn't see who it was but he knew it was Vera. She was slightly on top of him, both of them lay in the boot like sacks of potatoes and they were now been driven to some unknown destination.

The final destination, he thought morbidly. No doubt about it they were going to be disposed of. 

He tried to struggle against his bonds. Nil. He was trussed up good and tight like a Christmas turkey ready to have its throat slit.

He stretched his fingers out and he touched Vera's own fingers. Her fingers moved. 

"Vera!" he whispered urgently, "Vera!"

She groaned in pain.

"Vera listen to me" he continued desperately, "We have to get out of here!"

"Caesar, is it you?" 

"Yes, it's me." 

"We're inside the boot of a car" she whispered in horror, "Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know" admitted Caesar, "And I don't think you will want to know."

"Oh God" she wailed pitifully, "They 're going to kill us!"

Her whining suddenly irritated Caesar.

"Shut up and listen" he said roughly, "Your fingers can reach the cord around my wrists. Try and untie them. Claw at them with your nails if you have to. Now!"

She winced her obedience and shifted towards him. Her long fingers found his wrists and they at once began to work on the rope. Soon she began to claw at them in a frenzied manner and Caesar gritted his teeth with pain as the nails scratched his skin, slicing into it with the smoothness of razors. He could feel blood trickling down his wrists into his palms.

Ten minutes later Caesar thought he felt the ropes slackening but suddenly he noticed that the car was slowing down.

"Shit!" he swore "We're stopping. Just keep calm."

The car came to a halt and Caesar heard doors opening and slamming. The lid of the boot was opened and a flashlight was aimed at their eyes. 

"Evening, boys and girls" Tony's voice said jovially, "We've reached the venue of the party. Sorry you two couldn't travel first class but I'm sure you'll understand."

Strong hands reached inside and Caesar felt himself being roughly hauled out. He was tossed carelessly on the soggy ground and soon Vera's body landed on top of him. The air was knocked completely out of him after both impacts and he lay there stunned.

When he got back his breath he looked around him. He expected them to end up at the marshes but instead he saw trees all around him.

"Where are we?" he asked curiously.

"An evil forest" said Tony "One of the many all over Delta State. People normally dump corpses of robbers, foreigners or outcasts here. Most locals think the place is cursed and haunted so they don't come here often. Come to think of it never."

"What are you going to do to us?" Caesar asked tensely.

"You guys are going to be buried out here" he said cheerfully, "No one will even find your bodies in a hundred years from now and by that time you two should be doing something useful, like forming part of this town's crude oil."

"And you think you'll get away with this?"

"Why shouldn't we? Of course we will. Venus here will go back to town and take the place of her sister. Everyone will think she's Vera anyway. Now shut up I have some digging to do."

He went to the back seat pulled out a shovel. He turned to Venus who had been watching the scene with mild interest.

"Venus" he said softly "Why don't you sit in the car. You might not want to see all this."

"I want to watch," she said coldly. Tony shrugged and went over to a spot and began to dig.

Vera who had been whimpering quietly to herself suddenly screamed out.

"Venus, please don't do this to me!" she begged. "You are my twin sister!"

The only reaction on Venus face was a slight smile.

"Is that so?" she said, an unholy gleam in her eye. "One year ago you didn't think that. Now all your treachery will be buried with you. Goodbye, my sister."

"Please don't" Vera wailed pitifully. Venus began to laugh maniacally. Caesar cringed. What the blazes had he got himself into?

The sound of digging was the only thing that could be heard in the forest. The forest seemed dead, devoid of life. No creature moved. Everything was still. 

Caesar tried to undo his bonds but he couldn't make himself so apparent. Venus was watching them unblinkingly. She looked like a cat out of Hell. 

Soon the shallow grave was finished and Tony threw down the shovel and came towards where they lay helplessly. One by one he picked each of them up bodily and tossed them into the pit. 

As Caesar lay choking on the soft earth, he felt dirt being piled on top of him. They were being buried alive!

Vera went into hysterics and continued to scream and scream.

"Scream all you want, sister," said Venus sweetly, "No one but us can hear you." 

Caesar struggled furiously with his bonds, the cords slackened and eventually he managed to wriggle his wrists free. By this time they were already half buried. He bent forward and yanked out the cords on his ankles. He managed to pull them off just as Tony noticed he was free. 

Tony snarled and raised the shovel as Caesar struggled to his feet. He was aiming to split his head open. Caesar reached out of the hole and grabbed Tony's ankles. He pulled viciously and Tony gave a yell as he was yanked into the hole. The shovel came with him.

Caesar lashed out and socked the young policeman on the jaw. The blow nearly felled him but Tony's fist came up on his chin and he keeled over and fell on top of Vera who was crying her heart out.

Tony picked up the shovel and raised it again. Venus ran to the edge of the pit to watch. 

The shovel came down hard and Caesar shot up a foot to deflect the blow, which would have flattened his face. He rolled over and got up and forming his fingers into a blade, stabbed Tony in the solar plexus. Tony gasped and doubled over. Caesar clasped his to fists together and raising his arms above his head, brought it down like a mallet on Tony's skull. Tony flattened out at the bottom of the pit. Caesar went over to him and pulled out the gun in his waist band. Venus saw his action and spun around and fled. 

Caesar climbed out of the pit and saw Vera heading towards the trees.

"Stop or I shoot!" he yelled at the retreating figure as he raised the gun. But he might have been talking to the trees. Venus had vanished. 

***

Kebby Creek Divisional Police Headquarters

July 15, Tuesday, 09:17

Inspector Musa was not feeling comfortable. He was about due to meet the DPO and fill him in on the latest findings on the case, which of course was non-existent. The D.P.O.'s deadline would expire this morning and he knew he was in big trouble. Where the hell was Tony anyway? Why was it always him that took the brunt?

An officer came up to him as he stood brooding and handed him a parcel. Some strange man had given it to him in front of the station, he said, and had told him to give it to Inspector Musa.

Musa cautiously unfolded the brown wrapping paper, his eyes bright with curiosity. Inside were an audiocassette tape and a note. It said:




Lost Angels Ch. 04



'This tape contains recordings of conversations between the man responsible for the Kebby Creek murders and a reporter. The former was unaware of the presence of the tape recorder because this reporter switched it on while pretending to look for a packet of cigarettes in his inner coat pocket. The tape recorder was still in operation even as an attempted murder on the reporter was being carried out. The culprit is now presently occupying the boot of a Honda Accord parked in the Police Station compound. A knife set will also be found in the boot and all the knives except for one missing are covered entirely by bloodstains. The missing knife can be found in the culprit's residence. It should also be known that the culprit has an accomplice that is still at large and is known to be probably mentally unstable and extremely dangerous. Please act accordingly. The reporter drove the car here this morning. Have a nice day.'

It was unsigned.

Inspector Musa shook his head in disbelief. Well at least he had something to show the DPO.

Alex's Residence

"So you are heading back to Lagos?" Alex asked his childhood friend while watching him pack his things.

"Yep" said Caesar, "I think I've outlived my usefulness here. I want to go back and put my life in order. Most importantly though I don't want to stick around and answer any copper's questions." 

"How did you know about Inspector Musa anyway?"

"His wife happens to be the principal of Blessed Mother Girls High School. She told me about him during our long chat."

"Oh." 

There was a brief moment of silence. 

"Anyway, when you finish come into the study for a drink, eh? We'll drink to your new freelance career."

Caesar smiled. 

"Sure."

Alex left and moments later Isabelle came in.

"Hi, Handsome," she asked tartly, "On your way?"

"I'm afraid so. Let me leave you two love birds to consummate in peace."

"Caesar, you are despicable." 

"So my Mom tells me all the time."

"You know something strange, Caesar? I'm going to miss you."

"Do you know something even stranger? The feeling is mutual."

She laughed huskily and edged closer to him. Caesar didn't bother to avoid her. It was just a warm embrace and a kiss, nothing French. But he could not deny the ripple of excitement he felt as her hard peaks stabbed deliciously at his chest.

"Look after Alex," he said a bit sadly, appalled at the way his heart was hammering against his chest, "He's a good boy."

"I know."

There was a brief interlude as they stared into each other's eyes and she gently unlatched her arms from around his neck.

"See you around, Caesar."

"You too, Belle."

She turned to leave then suddenly she stopped.

"Er...One more thing," she said uncertainly," Why didn't you tell Alex that you caught me and Tony kissing?"

Caesar smiled pleasantly. "I might be a randy old devil, Belle but I'm certainly not a snitch."

"I see." She smiled back. "Thanks anyway."

"The pleasure is all mine."

EPILOGUE

Vera's Residence

10:48

Caesar decided to drop in on Vera before he took off for Lagos. The door opened slowly to his rather pensive knock and she stood before him wearing a long nightdress that made no attempt to conceal anything.

"Hi," she greeted laconically and smiled rather coldly at him.

"Just came to say goodbye," he said a bit nervously, feeling an odd chill in his bones, "Can I come in?"

"Sure."

He followed her swaying hips into the place that he knew already too well and would probably remain in his memory for a long time.

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." She went off to the bedroom.

Caesar drifted absent-mindedly into the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water. As he entered the first thing that struck him was the immaculate cleanliness of the room. Then the strong smell of disinfectant. 

A feeling of Deja- vu washed over him. Where had he experienced such before? Ah yes. A year ago in Mel's kitchen. Mel the Butcherette, the racist psychopath that nearly castrated him. He shook his head and went back into the living room deciding he wasn't thirsty anymore.

She soon came back but by then Caesar just wanted to go. He was feeling cold and he couldn't understand it. She seemed surprised to find him still standing.

"On your way?" she asked softly.

"Yeah. I really have a long way to go. Come over here and kiss me goodbye."

She obeyed. She was nowhere as pretty as Isabelle was but hers was a more passionate encounter. Caesar released her with difficulty. He suddenly found himself tongue-tied. There was so much he wanted to say but he was speechless. She broke the ice instead.

"I saw something about you in an old paper," she said quietly, "It was about the murder of Peter Marquis. The paper said it was you who found the dismembered body and actually ran into the killer. What happened to her?"

"The British police are still hunting for her. She's wanted for fourteen murders of black bachelors in England."

"My goodness. You were lucky to get away alive."

"A miracle. Someone must like me up there."

"Yes." She smiled at him.

"Well I'll be off." He told her his address. "Visit me sometimes."

"I will." They kissed once again and Caesar left.

As he entered his car he could feel her eyes burning holes into his back.

***

I watched him enter his car and saw him give me a last glance before he drove off. I watched him till the Benz went round the corner. 

I felt a surge of fury course through my veins. If he had only stayed a little longer I could have dealt ruthlessly with him. Nobody humiliated me like that and got away with it. How dare he tear my blouse like that!

Hmm. Maybe I will drop in on him one day.

I closed the door.

Well, first things first. I had a whole new life ahead to plan.

FIN



Lost Angels



"Hi" she said,. "I saw you knocking at Peter's place. I don't want to seem nosy but are you his friend?"

Caesar smiled beatifically at her. 

"No., I'm a reporter from Nigeria, Caesar Clark's the name. His …er… girlfriend informed me that he had traveled abroad."

He was surprised to see a look of concern jump into her eyes. 

"Would you are for a cup of tea?" she asked earnestly, "I need to talk to you."

Well, well, thought Caesar this assignment was getting more interesting by the minute. 

"Sure, but why not?"

Her home was a comfortable place, ankle deep rug, earthenware fire place and soft feminine décor. She offered him a sofa and a cup of steaming tea which he accepted. The brew was excellent and he told her so and she shyly thanked him.

"So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" he asked as he took another tentative sip. The British and their tea, he thought, in America it was all about coffee and in Nigeria,,, well kola nuts. In his village anyway.

"Well ..er.." she seemed uncertain, not sure of what to say.

"You can be frank," he prompted, smiling encouragingly, "It's much easier that way."

She smiled back. Caesar found himself beginning to like this white woman as she sat on a couch nervously fiddling with the belt of her robe. He also felt something stirring deep inside him and he tried unsuccessfully to ignore it. 

"I know Peter you see". She began with more confidence. "Started off as a normal cordial neighbor thing but after a while we became close. Very close."

Caesar nodded in understanding. Why should he blame Peter? Who wouldn't want to be close to this woman, especially physically? 

"Well I must admit he's a bit of a playboy" she confessed, " women are always in out of his place." Caesar didn't think nodding again in understanding would be a good idea so he deadpanned instead. 

"But we continued as steady friends (or steady lovers, thought Caesar wryly) and we see each other regularly. Then one day about a week ago, he disappeared."

A week ago? Thought Caesar surprised. That was about the time their interview was granted. 

"Are you sure it's a week ago?" he asked, "The lady I met at his place told me he left yesterday for Europe."

"That's a lie" Once again Caesar saw the look of concern in her eyes. "He hasn't been seen since last week. Never saw him enter or leave his home for days now."

"But this lady insisted it was just yesterday. His girlfriend should be in a position to know, don't you think?"

"Girlfriend? What girlfriend? That girl you saw at the door I've never seen before in my entire life."

"But you told me that he was a play boy. She should be one of the various ladies that come to see him right?"

"You don't understand. I have never ever seen her before. All the others at least I know who they are. I've never seen this one with him before he vanished and she surfaces from nowhere. Its like he never lived there at all."

Caesar found all this interesting but he failed to see what it had to do with him. 

"Why don't you call the police?" he suggested. 

"I really can't. It might cause me some embarrassment if I happened to be wrong and you probably know that in this country people normally mind their own business."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to find out for me if he's okay."

Caesar raised his eyebrows.

"And how do you propose I do that?"

"Find out from the airport if he really did travel. Contact his relations back home. You're a Nigerian, aren't you? You know your people's ways."

"Listen you know this Peter better than I do. You'd probably know more about his movement than anybody else does. Friends confide more in each other than their families."

"Yes, yes. But please I'm begging you to just help me out. I would really be very grateful. I can't help thinking something has happened to Peter. Didn't you see that girl? She looks absolutely evil."

"Hmm. Yes she does," he said thoughtfully, "Okay do you know what I'II do? I'II sneak into the house at night and look around. If I see anything that points to foul play then I'II comeback and inform you. Then you can now call the police."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"Isn't that a bit over the board?"

"Telling a complete stranger to ask about a friend you're sure something has happened to when he might be in fact safe and sound in Europe right now isn't over the board?" 

She smiled. 

" Guess so." She gazed at him for a long time and he felt slightly disconcerted. 

"I knew you'll help me out," she said softly. 

"Why?" he asked quietly. 

"You just look so nice like a guy who won't turn down a damsel in distress."

"Who's in distress now? You or Peter?"

They both laughed. Caesar felt the atmosphere thicken with anticipation. He knew what was happening. He had a theory that said: "under certain harmonious conditions any woman whatsoever is susceptible to intimate physical interaction with whoever it is she's with at that moment even a complete stranger." He knew those harmonious conditions had set in: the easy laughter, the heat of the fire on a chilly day, the dim chandelier lights, the trust she had in him, the fact that they were all alone. 

"So "he said cheerily "I guest I will have to wait till night falls. What are we going to do till then?"

"Well…" she said uncertainly "We can…" Caesar placed his half finished cup on a side stool hear him and got up. He went over to the woman and reaching down caught hold of one end of her belt. She watched him expectantly. 

"Do you know that I haven't got your name yet."

"Holly."

Caesar smiled.

"Nice name. And I'm not just making conversation." he tugged at the belt. It loosened and the robe opened allowing her body to escape. She wasn't wearing anything else. He took her hands and pulled her to her feet. 

Peter is not a greedy man is he?"

"No he's not "she said smiling.

"Then he won't mind if I fill in for him for a while."

She smiled again. 

"No he won't."

"Alright then."

He released her hands and placed his own inside her robe. His hands filled up as he cupped her flesh. She gasped as he kneaded the hard knobs between finger and thumbs. He bent forward and took her mouth. The lips were soft, her breath hot and musky. His tongue darted in eagerly and molested hers, wreathing it to submission. He shoved himself against him and he felt an equal and opposite reaction from her body. She reached down and grabbed him through his trousers. He gave a deep groan. Damn it he thought, he wanted to stay in control. He pushed her roughly and she fell ungracefully on the couch. She looked at him in surprise.

He dropped on his knees and bending forward took one of the melons in his mouth. A moan escaped from her mouth as his tongue wrapped round the teat and slowly massaged it. Then he switched over to the other and meted out the same treatment. He stole a glance at her face. Her eyes were clamped shut, perspiration on her forehead, nostrils flared, her breath whistling through her teeth. He smiled wickedly. Now to get fully back in control.

His fingers traveled down south till it got to vee of her legs. It climbed the grizzly mound and one of his fingers sank into the sticky crevice. He grinned in satisfaction as she let out a helpless wail. In…out…, went the finger… in …out. He suddenly decided his tongue would do more justice to the task at hand and so spreading her legs apart, sent it to replace the finger. In … out….In…out. 

He distantly heard Holly whimpering. She had not yet given up the battle. Her fingers found his fly again and this time she pulled the zipper down pronto. She groped around before yanking him out. Caesar winced as the tables were turned and so did the position. She decided to redefine the definition of a blowie. Caesar found himself spiraling towards the edge at breakneck speed. Once he was over the edge there was only a bottomless pit to welcome him.

He gathered up all his reserve and pulled her off. Growling like an animal he gave her a suplex move he had watched wrestlers do on T.V and pinned her underneath. Finding her wide open he thrust in immediately for the kill. 

It was juicy, hot and intense. Heartbeats increased as the tempo accelerated till the pressure was almost too much to bear. In …..out…..In…out. Then they burst. Together. He roared and she screamed and both went over the edge into the blackness below. 

When Caesar woke up sunlight no longer came through the double glazing. The living room was submerged in darkness. He felt something warm under him and regular breathing sounds came to his ears. Holly still slept. He got slowly to his feet and moved away without disturbing her. He quickly dressed up again and after a moment's thought tore out a sheet from a pad in one of the pockets of his trench coat. He scribbled a note for Holly telling her that he had gone over to Peter's place to look around and that she should not even entertain the thought of coming there herself. He would be back soon. He cheekily slipped the note in her cleavage and let himself out of the house. 

The night was crisp and cold, the close looked empty. Rain clouds completely obliterated the moon and stars and he was thankful for that. He moved swiftly and silently towards the last house. Inevitably he began to think of the lunacy of the whole situation.

His Editor had sent him to conduct an interview and since Marquis wasn't around he should have taken the first plane back to Lagos. What the hell did he think he was doing? And all because of some Caucasian chick named Holly. She was sweet no doubt and fantastic in bed but the risks involved were grave. If he was seen by any of the neighbours or by that chick. Mel and they called the bobbies then they would come down on his black arse so hard he wouldn't know what hit him. A Nigerian caught breaking and entering possibly with the intention to rape and maim some poor white lady. Not good. Not good at all. With all these thoughts coming through his head he finally reached the gate of the house. 

Here's where the real danger begins, he thought. Without any further ado, he nimbly hurdled the gate. His shoes hardly made a sound but he was instantly alert. He looked up at the house. All the lights were off. All around was graveyard silence. Caesar cautiously crept round the building to the back. He saw the kitchen window. He came up to it and inspected it briefly. Not too hard to force, he thought but how much noise will it make? But he was already possessed by the fatalistic spirit of misadventure and he went straight ahead. 

The window squeaked open and he winced. He paused for an eternity, straining his ears for any sound. Nothing. He proceeded to lower himself into the kitchen.

The first thing he noticed was the strong smell of disinfectant. The room reeked dreadfully of it. He pulled out a pencil torch he had bought at the airport and snapped it on. A thin bean of white light ended at a huge halo on a wall. He swung the beam round, taking in everything he saw. Just kitchen ware but everything was immaculately clean. Almost too clean, he mused. But it was the smell that really irked him. He walked over to the door, opened it carefully, and passed through into the hallway, which was darker than a gorilla's butt hole.

The more and more he advanced the crazier he thought his mission was. By God what if Mel or whatever her name is woke up and nabbed him here? If the cops got him it would be Rodney king in England. 

The living room was plum and plush under the beam of his flashlight. He even saw a Benin mask on the wall. Caesar smiled. At least Peter was trying to maintain his culture in a foreign land. Maybe he would like him for that. 

Caesar wondered whether he should go upstairs. It would be complete madness. That girl was sure to wake up. That's if she is in the house anyway. The place was deathly still. He began to feel spooked. Then after a moment's hesitation he began to climb the stairs 

Thankfully they didn't squeak but it was a long slow journey to the next floor. The landing was as quiet as the rest of the house. Thee was a door near him. Very, very carefully he turned the handle and pushed. The door swung open slowly and soundlessly. 

It was the masters bedroom. It was empty. The huge king sized bed looked old and unused. There was general air of stillness that crept under his skin and gave him goose pimples. He moved inside.

Everything seemed intact. The closet had men's shirts and suits even a traditional dress. A drawer was full of underpants and singlets. He even saw an expensive range of shoes. There were some large suit cases, a briefcase and a travelling bag. Only then did he really start to get nervous. All this meant that Peter was still around and that he never went to Europe. But if that was the case then where the hell was he? The silence in the house seemed to be squashing him. At that point he decided to leave the house immediately 

The journey back to the kitchen was swift and silent. An icy draft was coming in through the open window. He took one last sweep round with the torch and the halo rested on a metal bin near the sink. He hesitated. He knew he should check the bin because that might give him some valuable information. Muttering a curse he went over to it, sprang the lid and bringing out a pencil from his pocket poked around inside. After a disgusting search through stale tea bags, rotting vegetables and empty smelly tins of baked beans and corned beef, he saw a damp piece of cloth. Hooking it with the pencil he raised it carefully to about half an inch from his nose. His eyes widened with shock. There was a dirty odor but the smell was unmistakable. My God, he thought. Chloroform. Suddenly he was aware of a shadow behind him. He turned quickly but it was too late. Something struck him across the head with the force of a sledgehammer. He toppled backwards into nothingness.