Jesse Ibru used to be a straight arrow, before the lawlessness and deadly silence, he wanted to be a Police officer, to serve and protect. So at the age of 14 he was enrolled at Command. The school toughened him, gave his mother a few scars to sulk about, and his father a son to be proud of.After his secondary school education, he applied and immediately began training to join the police force, but his need for adroitness pushed him beyond this, so he learnt mixed martial arts, overcame agliophobia, and spent his spare time reading every book on crime he could find. This put him on the fast track to detective, the youngest the country had ever seen. Yes things were all going smoothly for Jesse, that was until he took on his first case. He and his team had the suspects on surveillance for months. The influx of drugs into Lagos state was at an all time high, and word on the street was, the underground ring was run by a group of sophisticated dealers, known as the Party Train. So Jesse followed all leads, and it led him to the 7 friends sharing a duplex.They finally had some hard evidence on the peeps, so he lead the charge for their arrest, knowing full well this was the way to start, with a bang!, but as fate would have it, things didn't work out so well.
Pieces of shrapnel sat snug in his vest, sweat ran furiously down his face and leaped unto his hands which held on to his gun with the efficiency of a caterpillar clinging to a leaf. He switched his weight from one foot to the other, blending further into the ominous shadow the door cast.His breathing was almost inaudible, his bearing calm and graceful like a swan before capturing it's prey. His partners were littered around the house, lifeless with their guns mourning not to far from their corpses. By his count he concluded there were about three or four assailants left in the building.One was fatally wounded by a gunshot to his lower abdomen, two were competent but impulsive shooters, and the last, the one that kept him keen and calculating was a professional, no doubt he'd had some formal training, casually he'd taken about a dozen of Jesse's team out, and all shots fired in hopes of his demise had been as futile as trying to kill a fly with a tennis racket.But he wasn't immortal, and Jesse intended on using one of the 6 bullets he had left to prove it.So he waited, and seconds tirelessly turned to minutes, and minutes crawled laboriously into an hour, but he was patient.
A squeak. Converse against plywood. Someone was moving, slowly but surely.He propped his head, ready for anything.The target in the converse became less cautious, he kicked what sounded like a can out of his way and his steps came down against the wood with louder thuds.Jesse now knew his targets position, he would have to spin out at an angle of 45 degrees to hit the target, and that would leave him vulnerable for about four seconds before returning to the safety of the door. It seemed worth it, growing in confidence, his target began to taunt.
"Mr.man, you know say e don finish, we still plenty full ground, all your men don die, you're the lone survivor here, I respect that, I like survivors,but they don't pay you enough for this shit, so come out, drop your weapon, let's work together here."
Detective Jesse Ibru smiled, his target had made numerous mistakes, first was his voice had given away his height and thus a shot to the head could now be effectively made, second was his target considered him to be the everyday police man, fickle and needy as indicated by his use of pidgin.Third and most critical was he'd made a gross under estimation. Jude didn't need men, he needed three or four bullets, meaning he had two bullets to spare. He deftly spun into position, pulled the trigger, then spun back behind the door.The only proof he had that his target was hit was the plopping down of a body.The kill was like throwing a stone into a calm lake, so the place burst with activity. He could now hear two or three men moving about in the living room, this was his chance. He spun out of the door again and dived onto the wooden floor, the rays of sun that managed to permeate the thick curtains offered him enough light to see silhouettes, so as he did before, he pulled the trigger. One dropped.He had Two to go.
He rolled on the floor like a dog trying to get rid of flees, and bullets followed in his wake. He kept rolling till he was in the kitchen,once there he stood up, and shot the assailant brazen enough to dart through the door after him. He was left with one.It was no doubt the skilled assailant. Picking up his latest kills gun, Jesse made his way slowly out of the kitchen. Then fast as lightening in the dark sky a hand came out of nowhere and knocked the gun out of Jesse's grip!, same hand elbowed his jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor. Then came the rapid kicks to the side of his ribs and Jude could now feel the warm iron taste of blood on his tongue. At first he was was propped up on his hands, as if about to do press ups, but then the first few kicks weakened him, and he was lowered to his fore arms, the kicking continued and he was flat on his belly, beaten, he arched his neck to look upon the man who had beaten him, but the weight of unconsciousness was already creeping into his eyelids, so that all he could see before he was completely knocked out, was the ring on his assailants fist as it came down upon his head like a hammer on the final nail of a coffin.
Jesse didn't think he'd ever wake up, but he did.
There's something about lapses in consciousness. Its somewhat akin to drowning; those grueling minutes under the sheets of death when you look up at the blurry sun, and your certain and believe with all your heart, that what's above the surface is beautiful and perfect. That is what Jesse felt as colour and light streamed into his eyes. To his right was sited his Father and his Mother holding hands and on the brink of tears, to his left standing were his Superintendent and colleague.
"How are you feeling Jesee?" His superintendent asked on behalf of his whimpering parents.
"I'm fine sir." He said with a dry tongue.
"That's good. We have a lot to talk about, but first speak to your parents, we'll be outside."
The superintendent pressed a caring hand against Jesse's knee, and his colleague offered a nod, then he was alone with his parents.
"Son, are you alright?." His father asked leaving behind his wives trembling hands and moving to Jesse's side.
"Yes papa, I'm alright."
"You don't look alright." his mother said, plucking a tear from her eye with a handkerchief.
"Really, I'm fine..."
"We were worried sick son, your mother's been at the church everyday praying for you, so forgive us if we're gonna need the doctors evaluation before we believe your fine."
"Where's the doctor..?"
"His on his way....son?..." His mother inched her chair closer to his bed and grabbed his hand. "I think, you're in trouble..."
"Quiet woman!" his father snapped." the boy just woke up and your already nagging him.."
"Its some nonsense about ineffectiveness son, I've already spoken to Aswani, he'll take care of it, now rest."
"I can't t.....my squad...they'r...d..dead....he can't help...."
"Quiet son, we'll take care of it, I....I.... I won't let them do anything."