Working Cases - Episode 12

 

Black smoke billowed from the docks at four o’ clock in the morning. There were only a few people around at this time; fishermen bringing in their boats from the night trip and others setting out sail to catch the morning drift, a few sailors and hired hands stumbling drunkenly toward their ships sporting hangovers from the night before, men dressed in expensive thick coats clearly loathing the fact that they had to step out in the biting harmattan cold to clear their newly arrived cargo. Needless to say, nobody was particularly interested in noticing anybody else.
The tall dark man with a goatee and a scar across his left eye stood in a corner, his back resting on a large dull-brown crate . He scanned the port. He’d had good reason to be out in the cold and so early in the morning. No one even bothered to look at him twice. He still had a hoodie on, though. There was no use risking exposure by any means. It was hard to stay invisible. He wasn’t going to let a stray sideward glance spoil his plans.
He watched the captain of the ship—The Ocean’s Promise—stumble drunkenly into his cabin and sneered. The captain had an enormous appetite for women and drink, an appetite that was dangerous for a man in his line of work. The hooded man made his way carefully to the ship, hoping the captain was at least sober enough to give him what he needed

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. If he had his way, the irresponsible idiot would have been dead long ago. Such a person had no business being in charge of his ship, but Madame Olivia had a soft spot for the drunk and so he had to live.
That was what he hated most about his current condition. Too many people, like Madame Olivia, had more power over him than he would like, more power than he usually allowed. Dealing with the stupid brash new Detective Nicodemus Onojah had required him to take some extreme measures and he was depending on Madame Olivia and the rest of the families to keep his secret until he was able to deal with the detective once and for all. Knowledge was power, and Madame Olivia was bent on exerting as much power over him as she possibly could for the time being.
He smiled. When his plan was done, he would deal with all of them, show them that he ruled this city, not them, him. He could cause their entire careers and organizations to crumble with a word. Such was the power he held over them. The power Madame Olivia wanted so badly. The power she could never have. The power Nicodemus Onojah wanted to take from him. He couldn’t allow that now, could he?
He boarded the ship and knocked on the cabin door.
“Na who be that idiot? I say who be that?” the voice of the captain came from inside.
“It’s me, your boss, you insufferable bloke! Give me what I need and I’ll be out of your way soon enough.” The Boss spat.
Immediately, there was a shuffling of feet and a loud clanging noise of metalware hitting the floor. Moments later, a middle-aged man, round in the belly and possessing two rows of crooked teeth, hustled out the door. “Sorry, oga. I no know say na you oo.” He smiled and the way his face contorted reminded the Boss of rats.
“Keep your surprise for someone else. Where’s my package?” he was beginning to become more irritated.
“Oga, no worry. I get am for here!” He produced a small bundle wrapped in cloth from behind him and handed it to the Boss.
  He looked it over thoroughly and decided it had not been tampered with. “Good.” He turned to leave.
He had made it as far as the pier when he heard the captain call. “Oga, you no get something for me?”
He paused. The idiot was raising his voice. It was almost light. He could draw unwanted attention. “No,” he spoke in a harsh whisper, “you get paid enough.”
The miserable rat continued to spill his guts. “But, Oga, plenty people don dey ask question about you oo. Some of my farmer friends even don dey talk say them dey look for you.” He smiled and the sight of it was repulsive. “If you no dey give me something, I fit mistakenly talk your name.”
The bastard had the nerve. The Boss stood there watching him silently.
The captain began to get angry. “See! Oga Duncan, I no get time oo. You better produce something sharp shar–––”
The Boss was at his side before he could finish the sentence. With neck-breaking speed, he picked the fat man up like he was made of cardboard and smashed him into the deck. Screw Olivia! He grabbed a nearby harpoon and drove it through the captain’s skull.
He quickly made his way off the boat and off the docks. That captain was a fool and he didn’t care that he had killed Olivia’s pet drunk. She would have to deal with it. There must be no mention of Duncan Ajayi. To the entire world, that man was dead. The Boss had to remain a ghost. He couldn’t risk the little rat spilling his secret. He would deal with Olivia later. 
It wasn’t long now. Soon, very soon, he would be done. His work would be complete.