Chapter 27: What does he know???

Iyke: When last did you speak with her?

Clint: At the restaurant

Iyke: Messages?

Clint: None for now

Iyke: What if she decides against getting rid of it?

Clint: I doubt, but I'm still disturbed.

Iyke: You need to follow her up.

Clint: You know she could be very hard to deal with. I want to give her time to think.

And probably respond.

I don't want her deciding against it just to get back at me.

Iyke: You need prayers bro

Clint: Only if God answers these kinds of prayers.

And who will do the praying?

I can't remember the last time I did.

He said, carefree.

Iyke: I will pray for you.

Clint: Hell no bro. You ain't gonna do that.

Getting repercussions for your sins added to mine is the last thing I need now.

Iyke: I will try anyway

Clint: No, don't.

Iyke: How about a drink tomorrow?

Clint: Thought Anna was around

Iyke: Leaving tomorrow morning for her show

Clint: Living up to her career, huh!

Iyke: Happy she's getting busy. I get to fight less often nowadays

Clint: More like more space for you

[Laughing emojis]

Iyke: She learnt about you and Tina.

Clint: How?

Iyke: From one of your numerous concubines, perhaps.

She asked me about it.

Clint: Haha! Funny [Eye roll emoji]

What does she know?

Iyke: She doesn't know all the details.

Wait, are you scared?

Clint: Why would I?

Iyke: Cos you're gonna get roasted

[Laughing emojis]

Clint: Now, I'm really scared

No jokes, what does she know?

Iyke: Nothing to be worried about

Clint: Have fun. Good night

Clint slipped back to his worries. His scheduled meeting with Engr. Adubasim made his heart leap. It would have been out of joy, should he reverse the hands of time.

He picked the headphone from the dining table and wore it. He increased the volume of the music to its peak, and for a moment, he got pulled out of his worries.

If He Had his way, he would called off this meeting. But no, he couldn't do just that. Ózó had topped the list of his major clients for years now.

Chioma dropped the intercom, "you can go in, sir."

His heart skipped once again. "Okay," he responded. He took some seconds to recollect his thoughts before pushing through the large transparent door, holding on to a catalogue and his phone.

He forced a smile and lowered his head in prostration. "Ózó, Good morning, Sir."

"Good morning, Clint. How are you?"

"I have been great, Sir. You look good coming from the break."

"What can I say? I'm thinking of doing it often. How is business?"

Clint sat before Ózó at the table, "it's been great." His hands became sweaty when he noticed the painting hanging over the book shelf behind Engr. Adubasim — a pregnant lady carrying a clay pot.

"There you go again with the paintings. It's a new addition. I got it last month before I travelled," Engr. Adubasim explained.

"It's exquisite, I must say. Your taste for artworks is great,"

Engr. Adubasim smiled dryly, "you love them, don't you?" He turned to take a look at the painting.

Ózó turned almost immediately, startling Clint. He sighed and sat up from his relaxed position. "The curator told me the motive behind the painting. It is a situation common in our society today. Do you mind if I tell you?"

Clint sighed. "You are overreacting," he told himself.

"Go on, sir," he added with a smile.

"I knew you'll be interested to know." Engr. Adubasim relaxed into his seat again. "According to the curator, the woman that inspired the art work was her mother. The pot on her head signified the burden she bore as a young single mother. Being abandoned by the father of the child, she had to bear the burden of raising the child herself." He paused for a breath, "are you with me?" He asked.

Clint nodded.

"I understand that you feel for the lady. But the world is cruel, especially our society today."

The air conditioners saved him from sweating. His fingers rolled into fists. He mustered courage for a glance at the middle aged man before him. He was obviously taunting him. What does he know?

"Are you alright?"

"Very well, sir."

"I'm sorry for disturbing you with my story. Let's get down to business," he suggested, much to Clint's relief.

Air rushed through his once sweaty palms as he unfolded them.

"Are you sure you are alright?"

"I am, sir."

"What were you able to come up with?"

Clint went for the catalogue on the desk, trying his best to remain calm. He handed over the book to him.

"They are quite impressive," he commended

"I'm happy that you are impressed, sir."

"That's fine," he dropped the book on the desk, "I will get back to you then."

"Okay, Sir." He stood to go.

"Clinton!"

Clint's eyes widened in surprise; he called his name in full. "Sir!"

"Do you have anything to say?"

His heart did a marathon. At this point, he knew he should be saying something, but he held his act together.

"No, Sir. Ózó."

"Well, I have a few things to say."

Clint noticed a change in his countenance. He saw that fiery look Tina wore the day they ended things. It wasn't a good sign for him. At that point, it occurred to him. His earlier deductions were right. He wasn't oblivious of the recent events. How much did Tina tell him?

Just then, Pete thought it right to enter the office. Must he meet Pete any time he visited the plaza? The look on his face screamed of, "impending murder!". His eyes bore danger. A once welcoming business premises suddenly became hostile.

The deep baritone voice of Engr. Adubasim called him back to reality. Pete had left like he was never there.

"Like I said, I have something to say."

Clint kept mute.

"What is the relationship between you and my daughter?"

His hands went back to its fisted form again, sending his palms back to its wet state. The air conditioner might be able to save him from sweating, but it did little in handling his temperature.

"We were friends, sir," he answered.

"Okay." He leaned closer placing his hands in the desk.

"We, kind of, were into a relationship recently, but it didn't work out."

"Tell me about it."

"I walked out."

"Anything else?"

Clint thought of the best way to explain his situation with

Tina to him, but ideas eluded him.

Engr. Adubasim nodded vaguely. "I believe by now she must have told you. Hasn't she?"

He remained silent.

"I can see my guess is right. What are your plans?"

Ideas on how to respond to his question eluded him. He speechlessly looked at the man before him. There was no subtle way to tell this man what he had in mind.

"You see, young man, when I bought this piece of art from the gallery out of sympathy, I never expected a situation like this." He added the catalogue to a pile of papers on the table. "I don't know what you have in mind, young man. But I know you don't want to make an enemy of me. You can go." He dismissed him.

Clint: Has It gotten to that? The point of reporting me to your Dad. You couldn't even tell me you were going to keep the child.

Clint furiously typed the message and sent it to Tina. Unfortunately for him, he had been blocked.

He boiled within him. She couldn't possibly be trying to hold him down with pregnancy. He drummed his finger nails continuously against the steering. He regretted his recklessness. Had it not been for it, he wouldn't be stuck with a disabled lady who had anger issues and her father threatening him.

He roughly reversed his car out of the lot, nearly hitting a woman and someone's side mirror on his way out. He barely paid attention to the traffic before driving into the road, getting a rebuttal from two angry drivers, who honked in retaliation.

Iyke: Done With the meeting with your father in-law to be?

Clint was in his office when Iyke's message came in. Clint read the WhatsApp message hesitantly.

Clint: Not funny.

He replied him and dropped the phone. He relaxed into his seat, and continued pondering on his encounter with Ózó. Thoughts and memories flashed through his mind, and it didn't take time before his earlier feeling of anger turned to pain. It pained him how things went sour so fast.

His phone rang and disturbed his thought. After checking the caller, he reluctantly picked the call.

"Hello! Big, bro!" An excited feminine voice said over the phone.

"Julia, how are you?" He said hoarsely

"I'm fine, Big bro. How are you?"

"i'm fine as well."

"How is business? Kamso, Iyke, Ken, Anna?"

"Business is great, likewise Iyke and Ken. You can call Kamso and Anna. I thought you had their numbers?"

"That's true. But you could have simply answered me," she chided.

"Julia, tell me why you called. I'm not in the mood for that," Clint blurted with displeasure.

"So, I can't just call my only brother and ask how he's doing?" She kicked.

"I'm doing just fine. Now you know, bye!"

"Wait nah… Clint! Don't end the call yet."

"What is it you want?"

"Senior bro eeh . . ."

"Yes? Talk, Julia."

"Calm down nah. There is this car I want to buy."

"So?"

"I have saved up for it, but my savings aren't enough for it."

"What happened to the one you have?"

"It's faulty. I can't do a week without visiting the workshop right now."

"Ask your sisters for help."

"Is that it? None of you want to help me, abi?" She whined behind the phone, "even you, big bro. No problem."

"I will see what I can do."

"It's remaining . . ."

"Send it in. I won't guarantee you of giving you all."

He ended the call and went back to his misery without letting her say a thank you.

"My Ma...n!" Ken hailed him.

"Hey, Ken! Manchester looks good on you. Mehn, see you, all fresh and beefy!"

"You don't look bad ahswear. You guys are milking this town as usual."

Iyke slumped into the seat while Ken and Clint caught up.

"How long have you been here?" Iyke asked.

"A couple of hours ago."

"You should have taken your calls. You got us worried," Ken chipped in, taking a seat beside him.

"I'm here . . ." He pressed his hands against his pocket and searched the table with his eyes, "My phones."

"What happened to them?" Ken asked.

"I can't . . . They are in the car," he realized, "hey, Nelson! Send someone over here," Clint called out.

"How long have you been drinking?" Iyke studied Clint, unimpressed.

"When I came here. Relax, bro. I'm beginning to think you are my Dad."

"You are getting this wrong, Clint. You can't drink your way through this," Iyke said to him.

"Ain't planning to, or maybe I can," Clint replied sharply.

"Bro, you need to come up with solution. Drinking won't help," Ken chipped in.

Clint peered at Ken. "Sounds so easy, huh!" He retorted.

"At least, it's not me this time," Ken muttered weakly, offended by Clint's clap back.

"Guys!" Iyke interrupted. "Clint, Ken is right"

Two waitress walked to a stop before them. She dropped a bottle of Blue Label and two Coca Cola bottles. The other dropped an ice bucket and two glass cups.

"We are here to drink, right?" Clint said stubbornly, shutting off the conversation about him.

"Sure!" Iyke opened the drink on the table and poured some whisky for himself, diluting it with the Cola. It took seconds for them to move on. They laughed and giggled on their wins and woes, catching up with themselves and old times.

By the time they were done, Clint was dead drunk and couldn't stand on his own. Iyke and Ken flagged him by each side, his hands resting on their shoulder, theirs at his back. They helped him up and out of the lounge, while they struggled to hold their ground and maintain their path. They cracked and laughed at their jokes.

Outside the lounge, Clint suddenly halted. "Uhmm, Iyke. Did you pray last night?"

"Damn! I guess my prayers were answered the wrong way."

"What did you pray for, you dullard?"

"I think I mentioned something about his best will for you."

"Darn it! I bet He got angry," Ken chirped in, "a prodigal son praying for a prodigal son pro max."

"I was totally misunderstood," Iyke defended as they continued staggering forward.

"You should have been specific, that's the least you could have done," Clint yelled, hitting Iyke on his clavicle.

"Ahwww!" Iyke groaned, "I was only trying to help," he whined.

"I warned you."

"What if I pray, will he reverse it?" Ken suggested.

"No!" Clint and Iyke chorused in uniform.

"He will triple it!" Clint hinted.

They hailed a taxi.

"He's already angry," Iyke whispered.

"Hey, my car is in there. Let's use it." Clint suddenly remembered.

"I don't want to die," Ken said.

"Me too," Iyke agreed.

"Who wants to kill you?" Clint asked.

"We are getting a taxi," Iyke said, "I will come for mine tomorrow."