Set-up

-PART TWO-

…

-THE NIGHT BEFORE PENDELTON'S BODY FOUND-

-FLASHBACK-

"Do you fear death?"

The detective was a gangly man in his nineteen-year-old age. He wore a two-piece suit complete with a tie, all black. He was a pair of dark shades short of James Bond. He held a fountain pen, notepad on the table. He sat directly opposite him, staring at him blankly. Long flowing hair, emerald sort eyes that slightly slanted with brown irises. His rich black eyebrows arched a bit. A smile was plastered on his face; he didn't spare him the luxury of looking scared.

"Do you like my balls, detective?" referring to his sexuality and eagerness, "I can tell, you haven't taken your eyes off them since you came in!" he burst into a hysterical laughter, making the metal chair screech as it moved on the tiled floor. The man frowned. He folded his arms and shook his head.

"Darn you, Andrew!" He stood up and paced. "I know you think this some sort of game, but you are going to die if you didn't spill the truth, you know that?"

he laughed again, then looked up to him, his smile unwavering, "Dear detective, there's no need to get angry. You and I very well know I'll leave this place soon. No need to fuss."

"how can you be so sure?" the man clenched its fist as he tries to make his patience even longer.

The madman kept his hands on the desk, fingers drumming a rhythm only he understood. The detective stopped directly beside him. He was a bit light skinned with small lips that exposed rows of white teeth when he smiled. Whoever this forty-three-year-old man worked for was powerful.

Too powerful to contend with.

Keeping him in maximum security was their best bet. He had managed to wriggle out of many police cells in the past.

"Andrew, if that's even your name, I want to know who you work for," he placed his hand on the table in front of him, coming deathly close that their foreheads almost met. He smelled like a blend of alcohol and olive.

He smiled again. "Let me tell you something more interesting," he made to scratch his neck but his metal restraints wouldn't let him.

"How it all began."

…

Having trust issues wasn't easy at all, paranoid and hallucinations are with me since I was a little baby boy. I was being sell to a drug addict couple by my parents, I enjoyed staying with them until a year later when her addict husband decided to make me an object of sexual gratification. He'd come into my room when his wife was away and do things to me. Terrible things that no twenty-year-old boy should ever experience. He'd threaten to kill me if I spoke a word.

Scarred, I'm fucking Scared.

There was no one to turn to so I stayed. It became a routine for us. Whenever the loud bang came, I'd simply open the door, undo my dress and lay on my back, depending on how he wanted it. My screams were always muffled with his hand over my mouth. He'd go on and on until my body broke. Until I'd lay sprawled, motionless on the floor as the wetness of his seed seeped out with blood clearing its path. One time when they're away for grocery, my system rejoices because I can rest my hole for a moment yet a loud banging echoed all throughout the house. The robbers had their fun with me.

Each man taking a go at me.

Four of them.

Four monsters from Hades.

I didn't scream.

My body wasn't mine anymore.

They took everything.

I passed out before the last man could finish.

I'd woken on a hospital bed with plastic tubes filling my body with fluid here and there. My arms were red where the men had held me. I stayed at the hospital for weeks. No one came for me.

I had no one.

Left the hospital when I was strong enough, careful to avoid the nurses and the other orderlies. I roamed the streets for a while, learning to survive.

To steal.

I chanced upon Madame Ross Foster and we became friends after I'd tried to pick her pocket. Apparently the French British lady knew more than her appearance portrayed. She ran a brothel and she'd taken me in. But you know most of these already, of course.

It's your life's work.

Foster said she saw potential in me. She didn't let me to "dance for the men either women" till I was legal. That's just another way of saying I didn't start sex work till I turned twenty-one. For one year before my 21st birthday, I was sent off to live with her lover whom everyone calls the flesher. In a year I trained under his watchful eyes.

He was a brutal man.

He taught me everything from martial arts to gunnery to chemistry. He was said to have trained in Bahrain. I returned to Madame Foster, the scared little boy I was when we first met long gone. I stayed in the brothel for one more month, earning my keep with my body. Madame sent me off again to Switzerland. Her half-brother ran an underworld hitman academy. I was transformed into an otherworldly creature. I came back here, Madame Foster's most prized asset. You know all this intel would be useless to you.

Madame de Foster doesn't exist anymore.

She'd sold me off to the so-called Supremo. I do not know who that is. We'd never met. My missions were usually communicated to me in ways I choose not to reveal.

Do you know about 1948? I was there.

Lion's Lodge… I was there.

I spotted him in the crowd. The large speakers vibrated as loud music filled the air. The crowd was wild, people swaying, arms flailing in the air to the rhythm of the music. The man was dancing. For an old man, he could bust some moves. His dance partner was bent over in front of him, waist twirling as he rubbed his abundant posterior on the man's bulge. He grabbed on and humped, screaming something.

I walked over to them.

"Mister! Mister!" I'd called out.

That didn't make him apprehensive, he was popular in the club, always buying drinks for anyone who cared. He turned around. I smiled at him, "why fine man like you, do with this cheap slut with every man for here don?"

The other hooker was visibly angry, "You say what? You crazy?" The man laughed.

He said, "you look so fine aren't you?" even though he hadn't met me before. He walked over to me, releasing his hold on the other man's waist.

"Mister!" the said slut made to grab his hand. He slapped it away. He withdrew some naira sort of notes from his pocket and squeezed them into her hand,

The cheque!

"Oya take and go. Go play with your boys." The prostitute took the money; Mister wasn't a man to be trifled with.

She left angrily, hissing at me. "asshole!"

he came closer, licking his lips, "wanna make fun?" His thirst for a man's turgid melons was legendary. We danced for a while with him touching me here and there with his calloused hands. He smelled of cigarettes and strong vodka. The way he staggered showed he'd had more than enough to drink. The music was still on when we left for his hotel room. His guards were by the door. I'd spotted them in the club earlier. They searched me, big hands groping everywhere. They took no chances with their leader. Mister was part of the crime syndicate that had come to be known as the "Bloody Cap" by the locals. It was an organized crime gang like the Yakuzas, KKK and sort off gangsters. They did the dirty work of the top notch politicians. Everything from money laundering to kidnap to brutal murders.

name it.

On the surface, they ran an rice mill business that has served as their face for years. Mister was one of the Triad, the supreme leaders of the Bloody Cap.

Again, old news to you.

You've done your homework obviously.

It was one of the luxury suites of Norte el Dina mite Hotel. The usual high grade furniture; two sofas sat at the center, facing each other. A glass table stood in between them. A mahogany wardrobe stood resplendent in one corner. The bed was afar off, masked behind drapes with gold embroidery. The room was brightly lit, cool air billowing from the air conditioner that was tucked in a corner.

Mister half dragged me to the bed, alcohol fueling his sexual desire. He rolled out of his clothes, hands already working my body. He undid my clothes in a flurry of hand movements. He grabbed on to me, suckling on my nipples. I let him, grabbing his head and guiding him on as he sucked greedily. He lay on the bed, guiding me unto him. They say poison is a man's weapon. Well, sometimes "they" say the truth. I didn't ride him for too long before he became limp, the Botulinum toxin taking hold.

Dark plan isn't it?

He'd sucked more, I climbed off him, putting on my dress hastily. There were no cameras in the hotel but I wouldn't risk the two brutes outside being suspicious. I went over to the air-vent. I had checked the blueprint of the hotel some days ago. Apparently the ventilation system connected all the rooms. It didn't take much effort to pull out the covering. I squeezed into the opening. I was on all fours, there wasn't much room. My shoulders hugged the metal walls as I made my escape. I'd memorized the routes. The one I took would lead to the maintenance room, by that time of the night, it would be empty.

I saw the rotor blades that marked the point I wanted.

They weren't moving.

I moved past them to the metal lid. I pushed it, it wouldn't budge. It must've been screwed on from the other side. I pushed my legs forward, lowering my back, a very difficult maneuver in such a cramped space. I reared up and kicked. The sound-proof shafts absorbed the noise. The wedge shoe I had on amplified my effort. The metal popped open. I heard the screws clink to the floor below. I looked into the room. Empty. I crept out, leg first this time and landed on the ground, lighter than a feather. I made to leave when the door creaked open. Someone walked and closed the door. There wasn't time to hide. Came face to face with a man in patched overalls with splotches of assorted paint. He was saying something when I got to him with lightning speed. I gave him a kick that took the air from his lungs. A jab to his throat. The assaults came in quick successions.

It was over in seconds.

He hit the floor with a dull thud. I walked over him and out the door. The maintenance room was close to the elevator. I took the elevator down to the reception area. Thankfully there wasn't anyone in sight save for the fair skinned receptionist with bad hair do. She gave me a toothy smile and I smiled back.

Idiot.

"saw a detective on the news the next morning, narrating what he thought was the course of events. "

"No, no my dear detective. He didn't die from food poisoning by a rival gang." The Supremo was helping detectives get rid of those murderous scums who had no regard for humanity.

As you well know, the other members of their trouble freak show were eliminated too.

Cyanide.

Antifreeze.

What do you think happened to the General?

We lay on the bed, exhausted. Two laps of the merry-go-round wouldn't satiate the man.

We gave and gave.

Ever the one to take, he took it all. Ravishing three women as though battling his enemies in the South East. I made sure to be at the peak of the action, of course.

I'd always been his favorite.

The other girls were just there to spice up the occasion. They were fast asleep but the General lay wide awake, hands trailing hair down to my backside. He was lost in thought. The General had taken power from town forty-seven years ago.

"Remember that case?"

He'd resolved to rule longer than his predecessor.

A mirthless tyrant.

A mad man.

Always apprehensive of his other generals. Always fearing a coup. He'd order the deaths of anyone within his ranks at the slightest provocation. To him, to be feared was better than to be loved.

"You didn't enjoy it?" I asked in a whisper. He slowly drifted back to reality. He stroked my neck and caressed my face.

"Of course I did, my love," he said, forcing a smile. The dim light illuminated his face, exposing columns of tribal marks that ran down his cheeks. The General was a handsome man. Well set eyes, small cute lips and puffy cheeks. Shame all these would go to waste.

"I'm just bothered about the matters of state," he said, eyes locking with mine.

"How about some midnight snack?" I went over to the table. I brought out some peeled-peaches and cut them up. I knew he was watching. My hands were still visible. I moved a little to the side, masked by a cough and a slight shift, completely obscuring his line of sight. I brought the peaches in a plate and we ate. Maybe if he wasn't distracted that night, he'd have noticed.

I ate only every third piece.

About three hours later, I and the other girls were sent away, to return to the General when next he needed amusement. Unfortunately, he wouldn't get that chance. The news came some days later. The General was dead.

Cardiac arrest.

There was no autopsy. If there was an autopsy, they would've discovered 500mg of Arsenic trichloride in his blood.

I wasn't called Andrew the Ivy for nothing.

I helped rid the country of a tyrant.

Everyone wanted him dead.

I merely did the dirty job.

…

After the psychotic man tell his backstory a contagious laugh released.

"I merely did the dirty job" as the crazy man repeat what he said. "Dirty job… like the great Knight-drain Pendelton Chase… sadly, that kid never experienced to killed isn't it?"

The man in black widened his eyes "You didn't believe that Knight killed Copper?" he curiously asked

As before the man open his mouth and answer, he laughs louder and louder "Nah. I didn't believe, that kid was being framed-up by supremo" he giggles like a five-year-old girl saw his crush.

"who's your Supremo?"

A silly laugh that can cause the floor screeched,

The detective's phone buzzed. He took it out and all the blood drained from his face. He looked up to Andrew and he smiled.

He was glued to the ground.

His hands were shaking as he went through the message on his phone.

Knight-drain Pendelton was found dead

The detective seems furious on what he read, as he walks away to the hall, the psychotic lead was laughing as if he knows what's happening.

"The great Lock Lopez"

-END OF FLASHBACK-

…