Who The Fvck Is She?

The only source of light came from a window which was partially covered with a curtain that looked like it had not been washed for decades. 

The floor was littered with pieces of paper escaping from the stacks inside the bag.  A voice at one extreme of the room drew my attention. I looked towards the direction but could not see a face, the voice was that of someone answering a call. I listened hard to make out the conversation, but I couldn’t. all I could pick up was “yes”, “ok”, “now”, “no” and other short words and phrases. 

The call ended and the guy receiving the call walked out from the covers of the bags. I returned to my position, trying to pretend to be unconscious.  

“Stand up!” he commanded like he was aware I was peeping at him earlier. I gradually opened my eyes and fixed my gaze on the figure before me. it was the unmistakable face of the guy I had seen monitoring me both at the stadium and at the swimming pool. 

Whoever it was that abducted me got it all planned and perfectly executed. I sat on the bench and he got a seat and sat opposite me. he stood up almost immediately like he had forgotten something. He went towards the back of the storage room and disappeared. 

I wondered what he went to do. I tried freeing my hands but they were perfectly banded. This was not a hasty job as I realized. It had a professional touch. He returned with a loaf of bread and a bottle of pepsi and dropped them on my feet. He lighted a stick of cigarette as he sat on the seat opposite mine.  

I took a closer look at him. He was well dressed, had a nice shave and looked decent. He neatly folded his long sleeve shirt to rest at his elbows and his well knotted tie was sagging on his neck. He drew the cigarette and puffed its smoke on my face, exhaled deeply on the process. Then he relaxed fully on the chair. 

“The food is for you.” He said, pointing at the bread and soft drink. I smiled at him. For some strange reason, I was relaxed and had a little confidence. 

“This thing is not food.” I said. He looked up to me surprised, like he couldn’t believe I had the guts to utter such words. Then he leaned over to me and said. 

‘What do you want to eat then?” I looked around the room like I was searching for the food inside the room. “Take me to a nice restaurant and I will make an order.” I said with a smile on my face. He nodded his head like he just unraveled a mystery. 

“What is your name?” he asked. “Bill Washington.” I replied. He smiled and removed his wrist watch, refolding his sleeves which had started covering his arms once more. 

“you said your name is what.” “Washington Bil... . .” The thunderous slap that landed on my face sent me spiraling backwards and I fell off the bench. My teeth must have broken my chic where the slap landed as blood started coming out from my mouth. 

“Sit down!” he commanded with a thunderous voice. I sat up, moved towards the bench without looking at his face and sat down. “What is your name!” he asked emphatically. 

“Eddie Murphy.” I replied, moving backwards in reflex as I anticipated another slap. But none came. Instead, he laughed at me. “I like that guy, the nutty professor was my favorite.” He said and I looked up in dismay, surprised at the way he was discussing Murphy’s movies amidst the slap he just gave me. 

“Why don’t you want to eat your food?” he asked and I didn’t respond. He took the bread in one arm and lifted the pepsi bottle with another hand. I watched as he helped himself with the bread and pepsi, drawing his cigarette and pouring the smoke on my face afterwards. 

“This is the definition of balanced diet.” He said to me.  I stared at him as he gulped the pepsi. He looked at me and asked if what he was saying was wrong. “I know what they taught you at school, balanced diet as being the food with all the vitamins and mineral.” He said. 

“Did you do sciences at school?” he asked and I nodded. “A balanced diet contains all the three states of matter; solid,” he said lifting the bread up, “liquid,” he said advancing the pepsi bottle forward, “and gas.” He said motioning at the burning stick of cigarette. I smiled at his analogy. 

When he saw me smiling, he took the last gulp from the bottle of pepsi, discarded the bread and shifted his seat closer to me. “Where do you work?” he asked. 

“mortuary attendant at Federal medical centre. . .” The next hit was at my nose. I saw the arms landing steadily towards me and I ducked, it managed to graze through my nose as tiny drops of blood gushed out. 

“Do you know I can kill you here and no one will ever know your way about?” he asked but I didn’t border answering him. He stood up, went to his suit which was hanging on the wall and brought out a gun; a pistol. He advanced forward and returned to the seat. 

I took a quick glance at the pistol, it wasn’t a local made pistol. I had seen so many locally made guns as the town I schooled in prided themselves as the best blacksmith in the country, and they produced all sorts of local guns. I can easily identify a local gun when I see one as they are common on the streets of Awka.  

What the man holding me hostage held in his hand was nothing close to a local gun. It was a brand new hand held revolver with stainless steel. My heart skipped a bit when he pointed the nozzle of the gun in the direction of my heart, resting it exactly a few centimeters from my left nipple. 

“Boom!” he exclaimed, raising the nozzle up. Then he moved it to my forehead,  “Boom!” he said, repeating the same thing. It was obvious the guy was a pro and not a quack, neither was he a tout. He was a trained professional in whatever he is doing. 

His phone rang and he stood up to answer the call. As usual, there was nothing I could make out of his talk. It was the usual “yes,” “no”, “ok.”

 I let my mind drift away from the call and try to focus on the possible circumstance leading to my kidnap. Why was a professional sent after me? Was this a mistake? Who did I infuriate so much that a well trained professional had been sent to kidnap me.  

There was just one person I could think of, one that I knew I had wronged, and who had the resources to carry out such a plot. The guy stood beside me, holding his phone on his hand, like he was expecting another call. 

My mind did a little calculation and i summarized that I knew who my abductor was. The etisalat manager. But all the assumptions were to be faulted; for when the phone of the guy standing beside me rang for the second time, he handed the phone to me. “She wants to speak with you.” 

“Who the fvck is she!” I exclaimed but the sight of those huge forceps that cracked my chic advancing towards me made me take the phone and listened to the voice on the other line. “Hello?” It was unmistakable. . . It was clear and loud. . . It was the voice of Ms Enoh. . .

Hearing her voice at the other end of the line, I got alarmed. “What the fvck is going on!” I screamed on the phone. I looked up to see the man glancing at me like he was getting ready to squeeze the life out of me should I throw any more insult. 

“listen to me. . .” said the voice over the phone. “There is no time, just do as they say. . .” 

“what do you mean! What the fvck is happening?” I screamed again but the man snatched the phone from me at once. I still overheard Ms Enoh saying some words but they remained inaudible as the man ended the call. Now what! 

The call did not answer my question as to who abducted me, rather, it created more questions in my heart. I was now certain that the etisalat manager had nothing to do with it. Or does he?  

Is it possible I was abducted and she was contacted for a ‘payback’ so that she could drop a ransom?  Did that guy hanging at my hotel last night see us both together? Did he follow us to the suya spot? Many questions was rushing through my mind. My thought was distracted when the phone rang again. 

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