Esquadrão da Morte by Lulufa Vongtau

EPILOGUE AS PROLOGUE

……….Some have corruptly obscenely enriched themselves to the extent that several generations of their lineage cannot dent their ill-gotten fortunes. We will not allow you go scot free.  Our demands are few. We demand greater accountability from those who govern us. Our methods are deadly. We will assassinate one member of the house and one senator every week until the leadership reduces its allowances by ninety percent. We will monitor every state governor, politician, private sector chieftain and Minister and reward corruption with extra judicial death.  If you are called to serve, you are to serve the Nation, not yourself. We are highly trained, highly motivated and determined that this country will succeed.- Esquadrão da Morte

 

The policeman squinted into the distance. The heat from the expansive sand made the distant newly constructed block of buildings shimmer in the horizon.  He was uncomfortable in the heat. Sweat oozed out from under his beret and trickled down his face in rivers and disappearing into the over starched NPF uniform.  He did not wipe at his brow. His right hand was holding out an umbrella providing shade for a portly man chatting away at his cell phone.  He  himself was open to the sun. His left hand held very precariously a Kalashnikov AVM 7.62 mm assault rifle, the modernized version of the popular AK-47, while at the same time clutching several late model high end cell phones. The portly man was shouting at somebody at the other end of a late model Blackberry.

Wetin concern me for the matter? I am a businessman not a philanthropist. I am a capitalist not a socialist. If the school has to go, so be it, the expansion of the hotel carpark must go according to plan.  I’m warning you Kelechi, if by next week Monday that school is still there, you will lose your job. ” the man cut the connection and mumbled incomprehensibly under his breath for long moments as he attempted to make another call on the Blackberry. After several futile attempts he held it out to the policeman.

Stupid MTN, give me Etisalat, though na the same mama born all of them?”

Wordlessly, the policeman collected the Blackberry and placed another phone, this time a Samsung Galaxy in the man’s hands.

The call connected on the third try.

“Nna, Im at the Admiralty Park site and I am not happy…” he bellowed down the phone, turning to look back at the block of buildings. When he turned, the shade provided by the umbrella shifted. The policeman quickly adjusted his arm a microsecond before the portly man turned to glare at him.

“……..I have sunk over three billion in this, I expect that by now you would have convinced the Minister to relocate the park to another place? “

The figure in black battle dress uniform looked at the pair through the variable magnification telescopic scope on his extreme long range precision CheyTac M200 rifle. The Israelis who were guarding the portly man had done their job well. There were no elevated shot points as far as two thousand yards out from the portly man, but they hadn’t factored him into their permutations. In the whole world there were probably only ten mortals who could deliver a kill to a soft target from outside of the mythic 2300 meter range.

“India Hotel to Bravo Hotel. I have a clear shot. Do you copy?” he said seemingly to himself but actually into a throat mounted microphone and radio array.

“This is Bravo Hotel, India Hotel. You have a go.”

He squeezed the trigger softly.

¥

Mere moments after the Bugatti Veyron came to a stop at the façade of the Oriental Hotel, the doorman, who evidently knew who the car belonged to, reached out to the passenger door and opened it. The slim bespectacled man who came down, was dressed in a simple white kaftan and slippers. His face was pockmarked; evidence of some childhood battle with measles or chicken pox, and upon close examination, a diagonal tribal mark graced his right cheek. His only adornment was a solid gold Rolex on his right wrist and a humongous gold ring set with a massive opal on his wedding finger. Ignoring the envious stares from onlookers, he meandered his way into the hotel lobby and purposely navigated his way to a private lift marked ‘Presidential Suite Only.’

Three hours later, his hunger sated by the two young men, he emerged refreshed, a spring in his step as he entered the Bugatti Veyron and drove towards his house on Banana Island. It was two am in the only city in the world that never really slept.

As the powerful 16 cylinder, 8 liter supercar accelerated towards the toll gate and beyond, a dirty vagrant under the overhead bridge murmured into his throat mounted mic.

“Bravo Hotel, I have visual on the subject. Do you copy?” his voice was cold, emotionless, accent free.

“You have a go Mike Alpha.”

He squeezed the detonator softly.

¥

Seun Odukoba, leered at the naked, statuesque, smiling girl dancing azonto at the foot of his bed in the low light. Her outrageously big breasts were flying about dramatically and his eyes followed them like at a tennis match. Her eyes did not smile; they were glazed over as if she was high on some controlled substance. Odukoba licked his lips and still watching, applied soft pressure on the girl on the bed next to him, gently but firmly pushing the back of her head towards his pubis. With the other hand, his eyes still on the enormous breasts of the statuesque girl dancing, he reached over for a glass by the bedside, then changed his mind and grabbed the whole bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. He took a healthy swig. And another.  He pushed the girl close to him away and  spoke to the dancer.

“Come here…..” his voice was cultured upper English caste, but it was thick with desire. “Get on your knees.” The girl laughed, turning her back towards him and bending over provocatively, looking back at him invitingly  as her ample behind, curved into a shape that she knew was doing something to Odukoba ‘s system.

“Come do am oga…” her voice was thickly accented, light years from a British public school.

When he rose from the bed, his tumescence sticking out obscenely from under his enormous pot belly, the door to his left opened.

“I said I was not to be disturbed.” Odukoba said dismissively, concentrating on fitting protection as he positioned himself behind the girl holding on to her hips. Then something in her eyes, now tinged with a shadow of death made him look towards the door. It was a figure in battle dress fatigues. His head obscured by a black balaclava. In his hand was what Odukoba, who had had training with British Special Forces, knew to be a Glock 17 sidearm fitted with a muffler.

The man spoke softly as if to himself “Target acquired Bravo Hotel. Do you copy?”

“You have a go Kilo Papa.”

The man squeezed at the trigger thrice. Each one softly.

 

¥

Kunmi Lawanson had been the editor of the The Day for nine glorious and not so glorious years, but he had never seen anything like the neatly typewritten note he just got from a courier. He couldn’t make sense of it, but if the three deaths were really connected then, this was the biggest story in the whole of Africa. First Hyacinth Goka, powerful senate president and controversial businessman assassinated at the site of one of his numerous construction projects.  Then Sani Sami Sani, scion of one of the richest families in the country and Speaker, House of Reps. A bomb exploded under his exotic super sports car and finally Seun Odukoba, controversial super powerful elder statesman.  Odukoba was the only non serving politician of the three but was easily among the most powerful men in the country, assassinated while cavorting with two girls in a secluded guesthouse. Then there was this group “Vigilante” with a new, sophisticated and dangerous brand of extra judicial justice. He looked at the name again. Esquadrao da Morte. That was Spanish for death squad. They claimed to be responsible for the several killings of controversial figures in the country over the past few weeks. The country had virtually ground to a halt, but even notorious oil marketing cabal had voluntarily disbanded. People had begun to obey traffic rules, queue when there was need, shun bribery; the society had begun to regulate itself. This was strange indeed. But then again these were strange times.  He made the decision and picked up the red phone on his desk.

“Stop Press!”

 

THE END???



34 thoughts on “Esquadrão da Morte by Lulufa Vongtau” by Lulu (@Lulu)

  1. Very enjoyable, @Lulu, and very satisfying too. :)

    I like the detail that you went into in describing each assassination. The only complaint I have is that the story cannot end here!

    Oh, and “Esquadrão de Morte” is actually Portuguese, not Spanish.

    Well done.

    1. Now how did i miss that…thanks for the kind words and the ‘typo’ there…..The story dosent end here, I still thinking of where it should head to…a TV series? a comic book? a novel? I ll keep ya posted.

  2. I agree with @TolaO, it cannot end here. It must not end here.

    You are good.

    1. in the eternal words of D Banj…oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooshey.

  3. Great story. Thank God it isn’t the end. I hope it is an excerpt for a book. This is the type of story I have always wanted to write. A story of contemporary Africa. Our heroes past laid the foundation for what I call Conservative African literature. The world accepted it. It was a huge success and appealed to the world because it was a somewhat true potrayal of Africa at the moment. But times and seasons have changed and Africa has evolved. Why can’t our literature do same? The West would tell a “horror” story or movie, something that is only a fiction of their imagination. But in Africa, we “live” horror, figuratively or not. Talk about the witches and wizards,spiritualists, ghastly accidents, mans inhuman treatment of fellow man(a recent case in hand is the use of hot pressing iron by a husband on his own wife)! etc.. Why can’t we tell detective stories, legal thrillers, crime suspense, fantasies, gothics,science fictions! How much muse do we need that we can’t garner around us already? Kudos must be given to the like of Myne Whitman and Kiru Taye who have dared to delve into romance literature, a hitherto “foreign” area of writing. Bee Ifueze is another example;she tells fantasy stories. I want to see young and budding writers take a cue and tell their own fresh and daring stories! Readers need fresh breath in our literati world. They are willing to buy our books if only we are willing to tell the right stories. At the time the likes of JK Rowling and Stephen King were telling their own stories, publishers and readers must have thought them crazy or stupid,but today, we all know who had got it all wrong.By the way, why don’t we have African works that come in series? (I think Kiru Taye is already doing something like that). Cost of production is not an issue since we are in the e-book age!(although, i prefer reading from a paper back than staying glued to a screen all day!). Yours faithfully is challenging himself to tell that story ‘he has always wanted to’. Two works are down. One a gothic, the other a crime fiction. But poor me, they were written on notepads! The thought of typing them is really discouraging*****sad face****! At the moment, I write and publish mostly short story satires on my blog http://www.haroldwrites.wordpress.com…... Just like Lulu, i know i still have some work to do before i can be considered a writer! And also just like Lulu, am not discouraged! Life is one step at a time!

    1. a kindred soul…as C S Lewis once said…Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one…thanks for stopping by…I will re read this a couple of times….

  4. Great story. Thank God it isn’t the end. I hope it is an excerpt for a book. This is the type of story I have always wanted to write. A story of contemporary Africa. Our heroes past laid the foundation for what I call Conservative African literature. The world accepted it. It was a huge success and appealed to the world because it was a somewhat true potrayal of Africa at the moment. But times and seasons have changed and Africa has evolved. Why can’t our literature do same? The West would tell a “horror” story or movie, something that is only a fiction of their imagination. But in Africa, we “live” horror, figuratively or not. Talk about the witches and wizards,spiritualists, ghastly accidents, mans inhuman treatment of fellow man(a recent case in hand is the use of hot pressing iron by a husband on his own wife)! etc.. Why can’t we tell detective stories, legal thrillers, crime suspense, fantasies, gothics,science fictions! How much muse do we need that we can’t garner around us already? Kudos must be given to the like of Myne Whitman and Kiru Taye who have dared to delve into romance literature, a hitherto “foreign” area of writing. Bee Ifueze is another example;she tells fantasy stories. I want to see young and budding writers take a cue and tell their own fresh and daring stories! Readers need fresh breath in our literati world. They are willing to buy our books if only we are willing to tell the right stories. At the time the likes of JK Rowling and Stephen King were telling their own stories, publishers and readers must have thought them crazy or stupid,but today, we all know who had got it all wrong.By the way, why don’t we have African works that come in series? (I think Kiru Taye is already doing something like that). Cost of production is not an issue since we are in the e-book age!(although, i prefer reading from a paper back than staying glued to a screen all day!). Yours faithfully is challenging himself to tell that story ‘he has always wanted to’. Two works are down. One a gothic, the other a crime fiction. But poor me, they were written on notepads! The thought of typing them is really discouraging*****sad face****! At the moment, I write and publish mostly short story satires on my blog http://www.haroldwrites.wordpress.com. . …… Just like Lulu, i know i still have some work to do before i can be considered a writer! And also just like Lulu, am not discouraged! Life is one step at a time!

  5. Waoh! Something new and refreshing here. I’m liking this. Please, more!

    1. we aim to please sir, tank you and yes, working on new product..

      1. lulu.com – great piece of work you put there well done.

  6. Very intresting and I ditto in all sense of the word, harryble’s comments…his thoughts are so on point..

    Lulu…I love the way you linked the deaths together…this is the kind of stuff i like to read…Well done…$ß.

    1. thank you so very much for the kind words….

  7. I won’t say I’m impressed becos you’ve never disappointed.

    Very interesting.

    1. very interesting way of putting it, thanks ma’am

  8. Hmm… Now THIS is what I am talking about. Tired of being the only one who works in this genre here. U too much bro. Waiting for Ur next post.

    Oh, and do check out a story of mine here:

    http://www.naijastories.com/2011/12/blood-strain/

    U did good bro. Well done.

    1. i did check it out…to the very end

  9. I like,but I hope there is more ahead.

  10. I was totally drawn to this. This was nicely written, everything detailed, choreographed even. But then this kind of story doesn’t fare too well as a short story, so it would be nice to expand it into a novel, and be rest assured that I will look for it. Kudos!

    1. im feeling that word choreographed..giving me ideas, thanks mate

  11. Guy…!

    First of all…wetin I do you na?

    ‘Seun Odukoba’. Indeed!

    This story is… *searching Thesaurus*

    …BONKERS…

    Vewy Wellu Done!!!!

  12. Hahahahaha. @lulu, u do well joor. The death of seun odukoba. No b small tin.
    Enjoyed the lines, plot wasn’t too twisting, description was straight and clear.
    Gracias. U dey find seun trouble oo.

  13. Very well written. Well done!!!

  14. @lulu I fink ds is the second time I av encountered ur work…the first was that Touch of Spice entry….Scent of Waters….right?
    I need not say to much….But I will say this, u pay great attention to detail. Like I said to someone abt ur work, u r like an engineer building a skyscraper…starting right from the bottom!
    Not disappointed AT ALL!!!

    1. wow, tying an engineering metaphor to writing, thats neat. i likey and thanks for the kind words

  15. I’ll borrow a word from a friend, ‘With what last drop can a thirst be quenched?” I’m taking this again !

  16. We need that squad in Nigeria right about now. I like the way the three cases blended together. You’re good, there’s no disputing.

    More of this please…

  17. your story made me smile. smile at how the corrupt were brought to an abrupt end, plus whats next after the corrupt are all gone?would it be the turn of armed robbers, bribe takers etc? i like it!

  18. Enjoyable read as usual, Lulu. Need to add more to this to give it a fuller presentation. The newspaper angle at the end tried, but… Unless you intend it as a flash. Another thing: Those currupt and thieving Nigerians being killed may be sloppy, but are not stupid. If these killings have been going on for “weeks” now, I’m sure they would have taken precautions to eliminate or minimize the threat.

    I love the poetic intros you utilize in your stories.

  19. Let me confess the newspaper bit is whack! Good job! As for the precautions! I thought I addressed that in the issue of Israeli bodyguards? Thanks man, you’re always on point!

  20. Very very interesting. And the tie at the end just made the story wonderful. Seun-Odukoba’s part was coincidentally the most interesting part of the story and I felt the clarity of your detail and descriptions there more. No be small thing you do @Seun-Odukoya O…lol!

    I think most people avoid these kinds of stories because of the amount of research required. And you do a good job with the details man.

    Now let me shoot a technical critique:

    “Sweat oozed out from under his beret and trickled down his face in rivers and disappearing into the over starched NPF uniform.” I don’t think this is grammatically correct and the culprits are AND DISAPPEARING. Why not:

    “Sweat oozed out from under his beret and trickled down his face in rivers, disappearing into the over starched NPF uniform.” Or:

    “Sweat oozed out from under his beret, trickled down his face in rivers and disappeared into the over starched NPF uniform.” I also think that ‘over starched’ should be ‘over-starched’ since it is a compound word and and is used as an adjective.

    “…several late model high end cell phones.” HIGH END is a compound word so it should be written ‘High-end’.

    “Wordlessly, the policeman… .” I am only highlighting this because I have noticed you use adverbs quite frequently. Adverbs have a funny way of making you tell rather than show and for a writer of your calibre who goes to length in fleshing out scenes and characters, I think you can do more than just writing ‘wordlessly’ and instead show us how the action was carried out. ‘Without a word’, though a cliche, would have worked better, even though I know you can create something much more on point.

    “…variable magnification telescopic scope… .” I think you made a mistake here cos this description amounts to tautology. It should be either ‘variable magnification scope’ or ‘variable magnification telescopic sight’. A telescopic sight is a type of scope. Even if you saw it somewhere as such, crosscheck it: that source must have made a mistake.

    “It was two am in the only city….” Is ‘two am’ a mistake? Or it is stylistic? I don’t know myself if its ok to write two am instead of 2am or 2.00am. Would like to know.

    1. @chemokopi , wow, you did a good editors job on it. I like. Well, i like to think these babies are works in progress and most times i dont really pay as much attention as i would like. Very detailed impressive critique. Like you said, we still all learning, and its a journey not a destination. thanks again….maybe we shd do a sit down here in KD….

      1. Thanks man. And that KD thingy would sure be nice.

  21. Well done. Keep improving your art. There is no end to learning.

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