DEVIL’S PAWN: Bullets, Knives And Death... Bad Boys Also Cry

...

Thirty minutes later after a heavy meal and a cold shower, he jumped into bed. He had barely closed his eye when the telephone rang. The short arm of the clock on the wall was just shy of 12. He hissed and ignored the call. After the third ring, he got up angrily.

Who could be calling at this ungodly hour, he thought. He hissed again when he saw the caller's number. It was Joshua, his only friend outside the regular police force.

Joshua was the CSO of Buscan University, so his call meant only one thing. Another body had turned up in the cycle of revenge. Cult killings never ended in one day. It was expected. It could wait.

Joshua of all people should know he hated to be called out of bed. That was why he always switched off his cell as soon as he got home at night. The phone rang again.

He picked the call. “Hello Joshua, what is it? I thought we agreed to meet up by morning?”

“Sorry, boss.” The tone was indulging. “I had to wake you up. I just thought you might want to know about it.”

“Know about what?”

“Come off it, Judd. I ought to be in bed too. You better drop the attitude and listen to this.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m listening.”

“We have reliable information that something is going down tonight.”

“What’s your source?” Judd asked impatiently.

“One of my men saw a car belonging to one of the cultists on our watch list driving towards the Forestation project centre. Not long after, another car passed with two people. It had no lights on. It’s something they do to avoid detection.”

“And you think they are still there?” Judd asked excitedly.

He sat up as he spoke. He held the phone to his ear with his shoulders and lay on his back as he got into a pair of jean trousers.

“We pretty much think so. None of the cars have returned. Another officer reported hearing a loud sound before the second car arrived. We don’t know what it was yet but we definitely are going to find out.”

“Just wait for me. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Judd said.

Maybe this is my chance to get a break and nail the bastards for once, he thought. He picked his service pistol, a .35mm Browning GP, from under the pillow, and put it into the shoulder holster he’d strapped on.

Before leaving the house, he quickly scribbled a note for his wife. He would be in trouble, if she returned without him in bed and no explanatory note.

…

Simon brought out a switchblade from his pocket. He had taken it from Skulls earlier.

It was time to give her what she wanted. She demanded it.

Only two more and I’ll be free.

He knelt down and yanked out the pipe from Skulls buttocks. Pieces of bloody flesh hung to the rough tip. Another cry, no more than a whisper, escaped the dying man.

Skulls could not feel the tears flowing down his cheek. He was too weak to sob; the tears just flowed. Each time he tried to move, only his torso managed to shift while his arms and legs remained immobile. A wave of numbness had since enveloped him, and now he couldn’t even feel the breeze.

He watched, as Simon knelt before him, eyes glowing like coals in a blacksmith’s furnace. He was still looking at the eyes when the blade sliced through his penis. Mercifully, the blade was very sharp, and it cut through the limp flesh and muscle as easily as a knife going through butter.

The pain came seconds after the cut, and the numbness disappeared briefly. He was screaming in his mind but he couldn’t make a sound. His eyes bulged, almost popping out of their sockets as the pain set in. His body jerked severally.

Simon pocketed the bloody penis. The look on Skulls’ contorted face amused him, and he smiled.

“You ain’t so much of a bad guy now, abi?” he taunted.

Kneeling down again, this time near Skulls’ head, he smiled as he brought out his own knife. Its two-inch blade gleamed in the moonlight which had just gotten brighter.

The first swipe was the last thing Skulls felt. It struck him in the throat, slicing his windpipe and the thyroid arteries.

It did not take more than a minute for the gargling to stop and Skulls was dead. Simon yanked out the skull-shaped ring on the limp finger, and put it on his own.

An eerie calm fell on the patch.

Simon heard movement somewhere near, and turned just as a shot rang out.

The bullet felled him.

…

Mr. Joshua the Chief Security Officer of Buscan University was a veteran soldier.

Always wearing a low cut, the CSO kept his jaw clean-shaven, leaving only a moustache, Hitler style, making him look younger than his fifty-seven years. He had a well-built body and an otherwise fine jaw line spoiled by a wicked-looking scar which ran from his left ear down his jaw, ending under his thin lips.

From the right side of his face, Mr. Joshua was more than handsome; he was almost divine. He talked with a tilt, trying to turn the good side of his face towards whoever he was talking to.

Stern as he looked, the CSO was a very amiable man. He had a joke for everything, and when he smiled, which was often, those lucky to be on the unscarred part of his face saw perfection. Many times he would boast that, in his hey days, before the war and the scar, he got all the girls.

The scarred side was a different story. A smile would squeeze at the edges of the scar and make it look hideous. A perfectionist to the core, Mr. Joshua was always very impeccable in his appearance. Sometimes he stood on the edge of narcissism.

Someone had once joked about the gators of his well starched and ironed trousers being able to slice through rock. His service pistol, a compact semi-automatic Smith & Wesson .45 was his favourite toy. He would fondle and clean it at every little opportunity. He called it diamond, and it gleamed in the light, just like its namesake in the stone family.

This night, six men sat outside his office, waiting for Agent Judd. He caught himself sucking his tongue, and grunted at himself. It was a habit that he had been battling for ages. Whenever he was idle, angry or impatient, he would find himself sucking at it like a baby. It irked him.

“Maybe we need to go and drag out dear Agent from the arms of his wife,” he joked. “I heard her arms are so large and soft they could wrap around any man twice.”

The men laughed heartily. The CSO had a way of easing tension. His men liked him for that. His deep baritone voice filled the air as he joined his men in laughing.

Just then, Agent Judd arrived. He parked beside the grounded pick-up that used to be Mr. Joshua’s patrol vehicle, before the Vice-Chancellor decided to get a newer vehicle for the Security department.

“Sorry I kept you waiting,” Judd said, waving at the others as he stepped out of his truck. “How’s it going?”

The CSO smiled; he liked Judd. “You kept us waiting for too long, but I forgive you. I know it’s not easy to get out of warm arms on a cold night like this.”

“Come on, shut up, Joshua.”

“One of my men swore he heard a faint shot a few minutes ago.”

“Okay then, let’s go. We’ll use my truck, if you don’t mind.”

“I was about to suggest it,” the CSO replied. “Boys, let’s go.”

The other men clambered into the back of the Hilux, and the CSO got into the front with Agent Judd.

Judd put the truck in reverse and turned into the road expertly without stopping.

…

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEDNESDAY...

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