BEST SERVED HOT- THE SCAR

          BEST SERVED HOT- THE SCAR

About five minutes later, we arrived at Chief's house to a police van parked outside and several horrible spectacles running through my mind. We were denied entry and had to join the gathered crowd, which was already thick with rumors. The policemen soon emerged bearing a bundle, and the worst of my imaginations was confirmed.  

It was Patrick, wrapped in a curtain and pulled by the limbs and very much dead. The curtain was literally soaked with blood and dripping, and an errant part of my mind wondered at the enormous quantity of blood that was in the human body. Upon attempting to maneuver through the narrow entrance of the gate, the curtain slipped and our friend's body slipped out, showing three gruesome stab wounds on his lower back where his shirt rode up. 

The murmuring crowd fell silent as the officers, looking all bored as though they dealt with such every day, re-wrapped and bore the corpse to the back of their van, where they deposited it like a sack of rice. One was even complaining about the bloodstains and what a pain it was going to be to wash off. More officers soon emerged, leading a sobbing Sarah, Patrick's sister, in handcuffs. 

A bang went off in my head, deafening all pleas of common sense as I charged out of the crowd towards the girl, yelling her name. She turned around, saw me and her sobs intensified into incoherent wails as she struggled against her captors. Officers swarmed me, preventing from reaching her and growling for me to get brain, though whether they were recommending eBay or Jumia, I wasn't sure and didn't even care. 

"What happened?" I yelled. 

"He killed him," she screamed back, though I could hardly hear her, with her sobs and the tumult of the crowd that had chosen that exact moment to begin churning out fresh rumors. 

"Abeg," I beseeched the officers attempting to drag me back. "Make I sharply follow am talk."

One of them, eyes solid red like a cyborg's, eyed me with contempt. "Talk o gini, (wetin)? If I use my baton wipe you slap, make I see as you wan take talk."

"Abeg." At this point, my forebrain, with frantic collaboration from my mid and hind brain, was ordering me to get the hell out of there, but some masochistic force was keeping me rooted to the spot. The officer hissed and raised his baton, but at that moment salvation arose in the form of a ruckus as some opportunist seized the moment to relieve some amebo of their valuables. 

"Thief! Thief!" 

The officers' attention drifted away like that of a mayfly towards the new commotion and as they went to investigate, I seized the moment and ran towards the van where Sarah had already been stowed beside her brother's lifeless form and was sobbing freely.  "Sarah!" 

The girl turned and jumped towards me, but the cuff already attached to the seat stopped her short. "He killed him," she repeated, seizing my hand in a vise like grip. "I came to Chief behind Pat's back, to give him part of the money which I collected from my boyfriend, and Chief refused to let me go and he called Pat that I was with him, and Pat came to confront him to let me go and they fought and Pat was winning and Chief rushed at me with a knife, and Pat got between and he stabbed him." Her breath ran out finally, and the next words came out shakily. "The bastard killed him." 

Stupid girl! I wanted to scream. Why the hell would you come to Chief's alone? Everyone knew that the old man’s fetish was young nubile girls, and Sarah sometimes caused motorcycle accidents on the road just by walking; the girl was built like a brick shithouse (check google for the meaning, I don't have time to explain). Furthermore, she was the cause of all his recent problems. If not for her, he wouldn't have had to go borrow money, and now, he was dead because of her.  

I know, it was unfair and totally not her fault, but Patrick and I had been friends from our first year. Best of friends. We had our first clubbing together, our first alcohol, our first weed, among a lot of things. And while my head tried to reason with me, my heart was having none of it. Sarah must have seen my thoughts on my face, as she broke into fresh sobs. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have come here, but I just couldn't stand and watch as he came home with black eyes and bruises because of me." 

And being dead is better? My heart screamed. But wait, something wasn't adding up. It finally clicked. 

"Why are you the one in handcuffs? Why isn't Chief being arrested for murder?"

"The policemen are working for him," she wailed. "I heard him telling them to file this as a burglary against me and my brother, and the death as a result of self-defense." Okay I was dark in complexion, but I was pretty sure my face went pale. That piece of gutter shite; it wasn't enough that he had made my friend's life hell, now in death he was going to be treated like a criminal. But before I could answer, something smacked my arm, making it sting so badly. It was Officer Cyborg, making good on his promise with his baton. Mad as I was at the moment, I faced him with fists clenched, not caring that he had a lot of reinforcement nearby, armed with batons and ready to give my teeth a literal crash course to the ground. Dave was my second salvation, grabbing me by the arm and telling me to cool down as we skedaddled away from the scene, with Sarah screaming all the while not to leave her.  

And then my mind, in a bid to show me that its marbles were finally cracked and missing, came to a horrifying conclusion.

Chief was going to pay. 

Wait what? My brain asked. 

TO BE CONTINUED …………