Revenge Billionaire

CHAPTER ONE

The Beginning

Opula walked out of the bathroom naked and turned to the mirror on the wall to behold herself in flesh and blood. She had survived by chance and thanked her stars for not been ripped apart by the billionaire and his loyalists. She pulled the drawer and pulled out a pistol, which she laid on the table. As she beheld her nakedness in the mirror she vowed to go after the billionaire and recover all; whatever it would cost her, she would track him down like a hawk after the chick. She dimmed her eyes and the past events came as flash back;

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Flashback

The pair of sneakers tiptoed catishly into the dark corridor and clung at the edge of the wall when he heard a shuffling walker. His heart pounded effortlessly, suffering from the fear that churned his stomach – he farted with the grace of a newborn baby and stuck ratly to the wall. Farting was the only chimney through which he could efface the fear of a domesticated thief who stole his father's gratuity. Clasping the sack of five million naira to his narrow chest, and looking out for the shuffling walker, a shrill voice crossed his mind – the contradicting voice common among thieves: "Do you want to kill that retired police officer? But he saw you through school. You can go right in and drop his gratuity."

No, Monkeys' software is a damn, fabulous project I can't let go. It is going to be a breakthrough for me. Do you understand? He said in his head. He took a quick peep into the dark exit before gazing considerately at the door to his father's room for the very last time. The former voice hounded more audibly now and he protested thoughtfully;

Did I kill him? Or was it not sleeping pills that I added to his tea? The voice gave way, and then he peeped again before chucking his toe farther into the staircase.

He barely could catch his hasting breath when he arrived downstairs. The chilling wind of November swept across his face and he became conscious of the balls of perspiration on his brow and nose. The last rain just pelted the night before and harmattan was home coming. With the air of peril hanging around him and wobbly eyeballs combing impatiently for taxi, he made into the scarcely lit street, staring fearfully backward as his feet swallowed the distance in front. His movement gathered desperation and it had the force of forward ever, which pushed him along residents with the clattering of generator sets and hoarse woof, woof, woof of dogs. His hands were still clasped around the sack on his chest as he made every effort to ignore the itches of suspicion all over his body. He was on Trans-Ekulu now; the same Trans-Ekulu where two men were robbed of their salary at twilight; where the mutilated body of a busty woman was found. Sweat trickled down his face as he wondered about the street on which he stood and then he held the sack tighter, nagging back at the loneliness of the street with his sideways stare. His plans were working out; drugging his father with overdose of sleeping pills at 8:00PM, giving the space of thirty minutes for reaction, stealing his gratuity at 8:30PM, settling in the bus at 8:45PM. In the moonlight, he stole a glance at his watch and it was 9:00PM and he had put that in his risk plan; getting taxi at night on Trans-Ekulu was an expected risk, and it was worse off waiting all alone.

An owl howled overhead and then he kept watch, straining his eyes at the two figures prancing from the street opposite. He started walking gently and switched faster now. A dried tongue rolled in his mouth and he searched for saliva to swallow down his pounding heart as of a woman in labour.

I would die with them if they tried to come closer, he thought. He could sight logs across the gutter and his edgy personality could sense their nearness. I would make haste to a log and deliver a glancing blow at their skulls, the skulls of kites that want to feed on my meat.

He kept to his rush and the two figures stamped their feet as much as he did, closing up his distance. "Christ!" he whispered. If they confront me I would run into the dark street and continue my journey the next day, he thought.

From somewhere behind he heard the jolting of a car. Police or taxi, God, I hope I survive this. He panted. It is end of the road for me.

Bang!

Thought of police infected him so much that his breath became asthmatic; panting heavily as he walked. He scouted sideways and saw a dark street yawning at him.

I would disappear into the dark street if they tried anything funny. But they may shoot at me. I will have to run as fast as the wind. If I must die I must die with this money; let that be my legacy.

He could hear the puttering of the engine as it speed reduced; obviously, it could be the police questioning the two figures now and pushing them into the car, he thought.

Looking back was more infectious as he studied his escape: there was no gutter before the dark street and it would be easier to run swiftly. The car was coming now; it sped and stopped abruptly on his side and he made a powerful limp like a horse, his heels barely touching the ground.

"What is it? Why are you running?" a voice in the car asked.

Azuaka Jnr. halted. There is no police in that voice, he thought.

He turned and peered fearfully and it was black-and-yellow; a taxi with a corpulent driver looking out to him. He looked aback: the two figures were standing on their own, pretending to be waiting and he scuttled to the taxi, heaved at the back door and went in. it would be comfortable at the back seat: I don't want this man to smell money.

Chapter Two

Game Plan

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"Ogui Road. The Young Motors," he said coldly, still staring back to see if the two figures had dug out their guns to come after them. He expected the driver to be moving now. Otherwise if he sensed any attack, he would be the first to give him a daze punch in the face, push him out and drive away. Who knows? The driver could be a joint of the two figures and five million naira was his life and after life now.

"Four thousand naira," the driver replied, wishing to see the face of his last passenger for the day; he turned on the inner light and looked back to behold a sweating face in the light and a black sack measuring up to his neck. "I said Four K. Can't you hear?" His beseeching voice sounded for the second time, perhaps thinking his passenger was deaf to bill

Ready to explode, Azuaka Jnr. asked, "Are you carrying an airplane?" He just noticed tattoo running down the sleeveless arm of the driver and his bearded porcine face. He could be the age of his father, one of those countrymen that so much enjoyed life that they wished death could be bribed. "I have two thousand naira o." Beneath his aggression came his voice.

The beardie turned off the engine with the oomph of someone that would drag him out of the car soon. "Passengers like you keep us at Polo Park, leaning on our cars and regretting this business. Since morning," his stubby hand waved across his head severally. "You are my second passenger. You may have to find another taxi. I think your house is nearby." His voice became strident and then he turned on the engine. "Are you in or out?" he asked.

Upon hearing that, he glanced backward again and saw the two figures had disappeared, the dark street behind looking ghostly with the assembly of frogs croaking into the night. When he peered at his watch it was 10:15PM. Impatience inspired his sweating palms and armpit. His usual brash tone gave way for humility. "Please, sir, I can add five hundred naira to it." He emphasized further as he wiped his face, "I am a jobless graduate who is on a journey." As the beardie turned front he believed he had been considered.

"Jobless graduate," he repeated. "That is what you youth of nowadays use in deceiving us." He turned to Azuaka Jnr. again. "You will add five hundred to make it three K," he said and spittle spurted on Azuaka's nose with an accompanied peaky odour of rum. He knew the beardie was an alcoholic and had not been in his right senses. But that did not matter now; he had to travel against the clock. They were already driving out of Trans-Ekulu.

"You will do me a favour," said the beardie, breaking their brief silence. Azuaka Jnr. quietened, unwilling to talk so as not to delay his journey yet further. "We will drive through Agbani Road."

He did not know when it burst out, "What! Agbani? That means we are going round Enugu and I can't remember telling you I am on a pilgrimage tour."

Searching for the face of his bewildered passenger in the front mirror, he said, "I have to visit my hole."

"Hole?"

"My broad," the beardie emphasized.

"Broad? What's broad?"

"Are you a stranger in 042? Ok, my ashawo girlfriend. I must fuck tonight, my son," he said 'my son' with the sense of a bereft soul who never had one; a high breed street man.

"But, sir, I told you I was on a journey. You can do on to me as your son. I am already late." He expected it but never knew it would come. Of course the five million naira was not his yet until he achieved the Monkeys' software.

I wonder how stolen money could invite all the craziest people in the world. This driver is out of his mind, he thought.

More hurdles on the way? – No, he was ready to lose the money and his life. And if the beardie would not heed, then he would use his fist on his skull.

I will take no chances. We rather die tonight than losing this money to a fool. Why is he taking Agbani road if not to rob me.

"Because you're a jobless graduate I'll do as you said," he said finally, speeding through the scanty roads and still having an itchy mouth. "Yes," he said, immediately his thought reminded him of what was making round earlier in town. "My son, do you know what happened earlier today? A stupid, mad, foolish – " he lost more words to describe his offender and then he shook his head instead and continued, "boy stabbed his father twice in the neck and made away with his gratuity. His father was a retiree at the ministry. Chukwu nna m, God my father!" he exclaimed in strong Enugu accent. "You know some batch of police officers have retired and in the month to come, hmm," he hummed, "We will bury more retirees." When he got silence for a response he hammered, "Can you imagine, my son? Youth of these days don't want to exercise patience and work hard for true success. Arm robbery everywhere, evil impregnating evil."

Azuaka Jnr. cleared his throat; he hoped that gave him the right response, the response of a similar thief who would not want to discuss the art of stealing gratuity.

Oh Azuaka Jnr. is this me? He thought. Crossing his mind was thought of his father still snoring in the sofa. Who would believe that the police in his father could let him succumb to the drugged tea? At that moment when he came back with the money, he met Azuaka Jnr. sipping at his cup of tea while the other drugged one lay on the table. Given the awareness of his father returning home with his gratuity, drugged tea was the only possible bait he could throw. They had planned and discussed how to spend the money; running a wine stall and completing their house in the village, before his father gulped the tea with the cheery approach of an achiever and zoned out.

Oh thank goodness, we're at Agbani Road, he said in his head.

Night bus Lagos!

Night bus Lagos!

The Young Shall Grow!

No bus like it! Travel in safety!

The voice sounded in the speaker nearby and his thought snapped at the citified park. The taxi came to a smashing halt and he alighted, stretching his hand to pay the beardie. "So you can't add Five Hundred naira, this boy, at least to buy rubber for tonight's showdown," the beardie queried, giving a fascinating stare and bringing out a bottle of rum.

"That is what I can afford, sir," he frowned, shaking his hand impatiently. The beardie collected it and he did not hear the rest of his babble because he was already hastening to the ticket counter.

His seat was the last one at the back and as he sat, he thanked his goodness because he and the nearest passenger alone could perceive the notes. He studied his neighbours and the one very close was a light-skinned woman who was breastfeeding her baby. He would arrive the next day in Lagos and unite with the rest of the boys; Agu who resided at Victoria Island and the only software guru among them, Nku, who would arrive from New York. They had agreed each of them would contribute ten million naira to the pioneering of the Monkeys' software but he would plead with them and make them realize how chancy it was to get that sum.

It is not easy to steal five million naira from a police officer. I celebrate myself. So they must consider me and let me be a reaper of this great project. I must not die a poor man, he thought.

Right after then, he would be squatting with his girlfriend, Opula, throughout the period of commissioning the software and launching it to render the world broke, and then he would surprise her with a mansion, a brand new car and a bulky account. His father would get double of his gratuity. He would never pick offence after all.

I made it. I made it, he intoned inwardly.

"Thief!" the nursing mother shouted and Azuaka Jnr. was startled, staring hostily at her, his heart banging. "Come on take this tea and leave my breast alone." The nursing mother was scolding her baby in Igbo, squeezing her big breast into her black brassier and putting a feeding bottle to the baby's mouth. But then the bus had started cruising out of the park.

CHAPTER THREE

A Ticking Bomb

Azuaka Jnr. stood on the veranda, his hands cupping his jaw, as he watched the two men whisper at the corner. Agu stood around the garage staring at the men and seething with frustration. Their delay was on to him one of bafflement; he was not happy selling his only inheritance to a big belly Yoruba man, but Monkeys' software deserved something much better.

A month ago he had put up the bungalow and Benz for sale, hoping a generous buyer would stop by and fetch him the ten million naira so he could secure his stand in the Monkeys' software. Buyers started stopping by and their increased number soon cloyed him. None of them was willing to bite out, at least, eight million naira, their most offers were two million naira and he remembered calling a few names: "Your father! Your stroke-eaten grandfather! Buy your mother's breasts at five naira!" With time he grew weary of upbraiding his buyers and took off the 'for sale' placard. Impatience groaning inward, he went on telling as many money-bags as he could, mostly those away from his street, and they awed him with promises of buying it soon. It became a reverie about everyday: Monkey's software was a huge ice to let melt away; rendering the world broke was his own end of the world and beginning of Agu's era. Every night he said thoughtfully, when we achieve the Monkeys' software, I would tour the world in my private jet, spend on luxurious fashion, drive in stretched limos, trade on diamond, visit my Facebook white girlfriend in Texas and propose to her.

"Em, my friend," finally, the buyer called out, his hand gesturing at Agu. He thrashed the buyer, wondering if he was actually the one that banged on his gate this morning, looking all chummy and determined. Since morning he had refused to add to the Seven Million Naira offer, despite Agu's unraveling of their selling points; he had reminded them the bungalow was on Victoria Island and Benz 300 E could still be found in the crowd.

"We want to patronize you and leave. The sun is blazing already," said the other man, whose thunderous looks irritated Agu. He was the buyer's lawyer, the first lawyer that earned Agu's poison if he could set his hands on one. "Our final bidding is Seven Point Five."

"Oh, the makers of Benz will not forgive you, sir. That is Benz 300 E. The engine is still alive." He pointed to it, as though to show them something outstanding about it which they had not seen. "Five hundred K for Benz..." he barely said, when the buyer cut in.

"Yes that is Benz 300 E." His head shook on a thick, boneless neck. "I don't like Benz. I am buying it for my gate man, you understand me. I want to pay him off, you understand me."

Agu saw a lot in his accent; especially around 'you understand me' he looked like those Yoruba that had spent half of their lives abroad yet more eloquent in their mother tongue than even a Yoruba tout.

"Should I take my fortune elsewhere?" the buyer enquired. Agu sensed the eruption of anger, one that would curse him in his mother tongue soon and draw in the curtain against considerate buyers the moment he passed that gate.

"Deal or no deal?" the lawyer beamed and Agu glared at him like a watchdog, inwardly measuring his height for a coffin.

Cut and nail lawyer! May God punish you! Idiot! He cursed in his head. "Deal," he mumbled beneath his breath and led them into the sitting room to finalize it; he handed them one title deed, car documents and car keys and in return the buyer fondled into his pocket and slid out a cheque.

Azuaka Jnr. was peeking through the window, wondering at Agu; how they prepared the cheque from home, how they might have agreed not to pay anything more or less. Agu gazed at his inheritance and then snorted; taking a bold step without seeing the staircase needs a snort; Monkey's software had been my bold step and rendering the world broke my staircase, he said thoughtfully. He was 26 and he hoped to be made at 27; having local and hard currencies in his pocket was worth dying for now. Way back on campus where he was brought into the plan he had started seeing himself at the top; over there, he heard there was no much room to sit but with Monkeys' software they would stare down at poverty and keep rendering the world broke through their software. It is possible. It is possible, he encouraged himself inwardly and his thought snapped when the buyer said something.

"I want you to vacate in two days. My daughter is celebrating her birthday tomorrow and I would be glad if she can access this place the day after." He blinked powerfully at his beholder and Agu rubbed his snout, feeling how those words scared through his face; how everything in this world could easily be converted into money in few seconds, and awareness of his homelessness just started seeping into his brain. Silence overtook him and he remained a watcher and less a doll.

"You know girls don't joke with gifts, especially this." The lawyer pointed at the bungalow, "So heed to our wish," the lawyer said and borrowed innocence with his frown, as though he never said that.

Agu eyed him. Lawyers like you are the reasons our justice is lamed because you fight for your own interest. Stupid street lawyer, he cursed in his head. He would love to slap the lawyer into the floor, even if not right away, maybe sometime out there on the street. He knew he advised the buyer against being generous and what more could be ruling over the lawyer than the legion spirits of street lawyers; they behaved like touts and prostitutes.

"Nice doing business with you." The buyer pulled out his hand and Agu shook hands with him. "I wish you success in your chosen endeavour." The buyer added.

"Do you know my reason of selling my inheritance?" asked Agu.

"I don't know," the buyer replied, throwing his agbada this way and that way.

Smelling Yoruba, Agu said in his head. The lawyer brought out his hand for a hand shake and Agu snubbed him by leading them outside. The lawyer only stared with his hand stretched and shook his head.

Azuaka Jnr. adjusted himself from the window when they were going outside. They waved at him and he waved back. He kept to his gaze yet thinking; I am not alone now. If he and Agu were yet to get the complete ten million naira then Nku would have no option than to consider them. He was not alone.

Earlier in August Nku had briefed them over a chat – their contribution would be refunded to the financiers in New York, who helped to source the bills he used in procuring gadgets and prepared machine codes for the software. Upon his arrival in Lagos, he would change the money into dollars and wire it into the financiers' account.