Dying Wrongfully

The Edge

Asika woke up with a start and instinctively reached under the pillow at the other end of the bed.

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He pulled out Berry, his constant companion. As he clutched her, some level of sanity returned to his mind. He had no doubts whatsoever that they were there. He felt it as sure as he could feel the coldness of Berry on his lap.

It was a small room, measuring a little less than fifteen square metres. He looked at the time on the home screen of his cell phone. It was 06:30 am, and he realised that it must be bright outside. The thick curtains covering the two windows in the room prevented any light from escaping into the room so he could not see much farther than his outstretched hand in front of him.

He bent over and opened the bedside cupboard at the foot of the bed and quickly opened it. With his left hand still holding Berry, he groped with his right hand in the cupboard until he found a bottle containing some brown liquid. He took a long swig from the bottle and winced as a lone tear ran lazily down his face. He was not sure what caused the tear, but he suddenly felt strong enough to face the madness which was sure to ensue.

He was sweating profusely as he walked shakily to the front window and parted the curtain. He parted it ever so slightly, so gently, as if his life depended on it. It was easy for him to spot one shooter lying down among the dry brown bamboo leaves across the street from the motel. He looked around but could not see any other person. He wondered why the shooter did not spot the slight movement of the curtain since he had his sniper rifle trained on the window.

He was breathing heavily as he went back to sit on the bed. He had never been so scared in his thirty-eight years of living on earth. His heart was beating like it was about to escape the chest cavity. He took two long Swiss of the brown liquid. It was perhaps because of that drink that he summoned the courage to go to the black window and attempt what he did next.

The End

He walked over to the back window and stood on the left side of the window. He flipped the light switch in the room an swiftly but surely, he pulled the curtains to one side, expecting to hear a sniper bullet cut through the window and dig into the next wall but nothing happened. He stood very still then suddenly he ran across the window to the other side. No shots. He figured that it was just one shooter at the front.

"Who would send a single shooter to take him out?" he thought. "The shooter must be a professional."

He sat down and tried to figure out who could have put a contract on him. The list was too long. There were drug dealers he ripped off; there were all those small business owners he rubbed the wrong way when they resisted extortion, and there were the youngsters he roughed up way back in the university, back when he was the hitman for his Inagbo secret fraternity. Anyone of those groups could have come back for their payback.

"Well, not today," he said as he hurriedly started picking up his belongings. He wore his sneakers and put his wallet in the back pocket if his jeans. He checked the number of bullets in the Beretta and was satisfied. With any luck, he figured that he could take out the lone shooter if he could surprise the shooter by going out through the back window.

He climbed out of the back window without making a sound. Silently, he made his way around the motel to the corner that led to the front. From where he stood, he almost had a clear shot of the sniper. Apparently, the sniper thought he was still in the room.

He took a deep breath and pulled out the Beretta from his waist. Running as fast as his legs could carry him, he moved towards the spot where his Toyota Camry was parked, pointing Berry in the direction of the sniper and squeezing off shot after shot. He ran past the Tundra pick-up truck parked before the Camry. He was almost halfway to his car when he heard the muffled sound of the rifle. He waited for the impact but felt and heard none.

As he reached his car, he felt weak, and suddenly his legs could no longer carry his weight. His legs buckled under his full weight of ninety-six-kilogramme weight. As he fell to the ground, he saw the blood pumping from his neck, and he felt an immediate emptiness in his head as he slumped in the pull of his blood.

The sniper came out of the bush wearing brown military camouflage. He was a tall, dark man built like a prizefighter. In his face was the kind of surprise you get when something you never imagined happens to you. He approached Asika and stood over him.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, unable to mask his surprise.

As soon as he said the words, he heard the bang of the door of the Tundra and in it was the occupant of room 204, Sunday, the man he was here for. Before he could get into position to squeeze out a bullet, the Tundra had shot off with surprising acceleration.

In the distance, both Asika and the sniper heard the roar of the police siren. As the gunman retreated into the bush from whence he'd come, the last thought on Asika's mind was that it was a bullet meant for another man which finally killed him. As he closed his eyes, he could not help but think of Fela Anukulapo Kuti's song where he said, "... We go carry your body go police station for dying wrongfully."

Thank you for reading!

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_{This story is dedicated to all my friends who like reading my stories. It has been a long time since I posted a story here but I'm grateful to @kristyyd, @georgeani and @ajremy for the encouragement to write stories again. I am especially thankful to all the experts at @thewritersblock for their tireless work of trying to make writers out of people like us. I know the distance I have yet to walk but I am confident that I shall reach my destination.}