Lost Angels Ch. 02

Author's Note: The following chapter in this story is entirely the product of this author's imagination. The views of the characters do not necessarily represent the views of the author or any other person. Be warned that sensitive readers will find some scenes extremely offensive.

*

The beginning of the end for Peter Marquis started in the home of Fidelis Oputa, a young, filthy rich, bachelor con-man who unfortunately was spending a very cold, wet, Valentine's Day and inevitably the rest of eternity at the bottom of an old, unused water cistern several miles away from his posh pad in Manchester City. His place however was far from unoccupied as a rather contented Mel (real name: Shirley Thatcher) relaxed on his soft leather sofa and leafed through a copy of Ovation (a Nigerian high society magazine) with mild disinterest. That was when she first saw a feature on the renegade politician and decided then and there that he would be her next point of call. She would stay in Fidelis' home till she got bored while she made some future plans. Tracking him down would amuse her and so would stalking her prey before she moved in for the kill. My, she thought to herself, she was really beginning to enjoy this.

***

Even though Peter Marquis' eyes were fixed steadfastly on the T.V screen, his mind was somewhere else. The talk show hostess was easy on the eye even though she was middle aged and getting to the heavy side but she still didn't register. This would seem odd since Peter never failed to appraise a fine specimen of the opposite gender but for some reason he didn't notice her. He had a deep sense of foreboding that hung over him like a dark cloud and it wouldn't go away.

He felt that someone or something was coming for him and he didn't know what it was. Did the Nigerian government intend to kidnap him and bring him home for trial like the botched Umaru Dikko kidnap plot that they hatched with the Israeli commandos? Or were his enemies sending hired assassins to kill him? But what worried him the most was that he might not live long enough to tell Caesar why he arranged to have only him sent to him for the mysterious interview. He had something shocking to tell him. Something that would change their lives forever.

His morbid train of thought suddenly derailed as he noticed that his feet were getting cold. He glanced down at his naked feet. They even looked cold. He was slightly puzzled. He took great pains to keep the central heating in perfect condition. Why were his feet and now his hands getting chilled? There must be draft somewhere.

He got up and gratefully stuck his feet into a pair of fur slippers then headed out of the living room. He quickly found the source of the draft: the kitchen window was open. He frowned. Why the hell was it open? He very rarely opened it and when he did it was during the hottest weeks of summer. Cursing to himself he pulled it shut and was about to turn away when a hand shot out from behind his head and covered his nose with a damp cloth. A sharp intake of breath was saturated with the unmistakable smell of chloroform before darkness fell.

Mel stood over the inert body, staring at it with detached curiosity. Then she smiled to herself and tossed the cloth into a bin she spied near the sink. She left the kitchen and strolled into the living room. She gazed at the T.V set for a few seconds then left the room to head for the staircase. She spent a casual ten minutes checking out the house before returning to the kitchen. Peter was still unconscious.

Mel went over to the freezer and opened it. It was practically empty. She wondered in disgust whether it was in the kitchen for cosmetic reasons. Well, she was certainly going to help him fill it.

She picked him up bodily like a sack of potatoes and dropped him in the freezer. She slammed the lid shut and locked it after him. Looking around she noticed that cooking tools were almost none existent so that meant she would have to go out and shop for them. A few people might see her but it wouldn't matter. Not yet anyway. After all they knew the man was a playboy and certainly not prejudiced to a piece of white ass. Well he wasn't going to get her ass or any other in anytime soon.

She rummaged about till she see discovered a packet of corn flakes and some milk. She sat at the kitchen table and conjured herself a quick meal. As she ate she thought up a shopping list: A butcher's knife, a saw, black plastic bags and a bottle of disinfectant. Oh, and a butcher's apron.

***

Caesar slowly surfaced from the vortex of darkness in which he had been engulfed. The first sensation to assail his senses was a pungent abattoir smell, which churned his stomach. What followed was the realization that he had been bound to a chair and gagged. The awareness of his present predicament instantly cleared the red mist that fogged his brain.

Uh-oh, he thought pensively, now he was in real trouble.

He was sitting in the kitchen and the first thing he noticed was that most of the furniture had been pushed back to create more room. He also discovered that he was not alone. Mel stood behind the kitchen table, which had also been cleared, busily arranging some black cellophane bags she had placed on top of it. She was still dressed in her previous attire but had a familiar looking colorful apron over it. Suddenly Caesar remembered what the apron reminded him of: butchers. His fears were confirmed when he spied a wicked set of kitchen knives on a rack nearby. Uh-oh...

Mel noticed he was awake and smiled at him. She actually looked beautiful. However her eyes were as lifeless as two pieces of glass. "Evening, Drearie" She said warmly, "How sweet of you to drop in. I won't be long. Just let me fix these up. I'm sure you're in the mood for some cutting edge entertainment." She giggled. "Let me entertain you" she sang the familiar Robbie Williams song.

God, he thought horrified. She was enjoying herself. He struggled frenziedly.

"Untie me, you Witch!" he wanted to yell at her but all he managed were some incoherent mumbling.

"What's the matter?" asked Mel, "Hungry? Don't Worry. Supper's coming right up." She opened one of the bags and emptied its contents on the table. What he saw nearly made him faint.

A human head lay on the table, its hideously goggling eyes staring blankly at him. He recognized the face even with all its distorted features frozen in death. It was Peter Marquis.

"I'm sorry but it seems your country man just lost his head" she said sweetly.

"I know why you're here", she continued, "That nigger loving bitch talked to you, didn't she? I watched you two from my window."

As she talked she went to the rack and picked out an immense butcher's knife. Caesar's blood ran cold. She went back to the table and raised the knife.

"Watch this" she said smiling happily and winked at him. He shuddered.

Placing the head on a wooden slab, she raised up the butcher's knife and brought it down with tremendous force on top of the skull. There was a loud sickening crack as the skull split open like a pumpkin, blood and white particles of brain matter splashed everywhere. Something cold and wet went splat on the side of his face and slowly trickled down his cheek. He shuddered violently.

Mel flicked out a long, pink tongue and absent-mindedly licked the goo of the blade of the knife like it was tomato ketchup. Caesar thought he was going to retch.

"Care for some?" she asked in a friendly voice, "There's enough for everyone."

She brought a chair up and sat down facing him. She eyed him with mild disinterest.

"Let me tell you a little story, Darling" she started slowly, "Since you are not going anywhere soon then I guess you will be free to listen. I had a sister once who was the sweetest thing in the world. The problem was that she was a nigger lover too. So much so that she married a monkey who came here all the way from Africa. Imagine a pure white girl like my sister marrying an ape? I couldn't have it and I refused to speak to her again. Then guess what happened next. This ape saddles her with a half breed, takes all her hard earned money and goes back to Africa. Janet is heartbroken. Then, unbelievably, she commits suicide... over a bloody golliwog."

There was no hint of emotion in her eyes as she spoke. She might have been talking about the weather. Caesar wanted to extend his heartfelt condolences but the gag was impeding communication.

"So now I am on a crusade to wipe out you black monkeys living on our sacred land and desecrating our women. I'm going to send you all to Hell where you belong."

Caesar had met racists in his time but this one took the cake. He began to struggle again.

"Will you stop wriggling?" she asked annoyed, "Are you not enjoying my company?"

She got up and went to the table. She soon returned with the big butcher's knife. He watched apprehensively as she took the seat again.

"Now that we've exchanged the customary pleasantries I would now like to get to the point." She playfully prodded him in the chest with the narrow end of the blade. He felt a jab of pain in response, "Now decide for me: Castration or circumcision? Oh, you are circumcised already? Then I guess it will have to be Castration then."

She reached out a hand to his fly. Caesar tried to pull away but understandably he was a little tied up at the moment. Mel's delicate surgeon-like fingers slowly pulled his zipper down. She reached inside and after groping around pulled out his cock. Caesar was mortified to find that he was having an erection. Was he finding his present predicament erotic in some morbid perverse way?

"My, my" she cooed, as her cold fish eyes appraised his stiffening organ, "You really are a big boy aren't you, my nigger?"

Caesar watched helplessly as she gently stroked his shaft from tip to base.

"Really, really big" she continued in a detached voice, "I bet that whore really loved this abomination ripping up her white pussy, huh?"

Caesar thought he was going to faint. In all his life he had never dreamed that one day he would be sitting bound and gagged in a kitchen while a racist serial killer wanked him off. No nightmare was this screwed up.

She tentatively cupped his balls and juggled them in his hand.

"Holy shit, darling, you've got monkey nuts!" she exclaimed "What do you niggers eat to get balls this size? I could play snooker with these!"

Caesar had had about enough. He wished this crazy white woman would stop talking trash and just get it over with and kill him.

Suddenly the shrill whine of police sirens broke the dead silence of the night. She paused.

"I don't believe this" she said to herself. She stared thoughtfully at him.

"You lucky bugger, I'm not going to rush this moment. See you around."

Standing up once again, she unhurriedly removed the apron and tossed it aside. Then she stuck the knife in her belt and headed for the kitchen window. Before Caesar could blink she was gone like she never existed.

The relief that swarmed over him was so potent, it left him in shock and he was only dimly aware of police officers prompted by an agitated Holly coming to his rescue.

Kebbi Creek Divisional Police Headquarters, Kebby Creek, Nigeria July 10, 2002, Thursday, 09:43

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

"Yes, sit down, Musa."

Inspector Musa settled into the chair facing the DPO. The DPO looked half gorilla, half man and considering he was in a foul mood looked even more ferocious than normal.

"So, Musa, what have you come up with?" he growled.

"Nothing, Sir."

The DPO's bloodshot eyes narrowed into tiny red slits.

"Excuse me?" he hissed nastily, "Could you repeat that again."

"Nothing... Sir."

"Nothing, huh? Listen very carefully, Musa because I'm not sure you understand the implications of what you're saying. If this killer is not caught soon all hell will break loose. Those bastard youth organizations are already screaming for blood and the expatriate oil workers are nagging me for protection, so don't sit there and tell me you have nothing!" "I'm sorry, Sir but I can't lie about this. We have no clues to lead us on, the killer didn't leave any. We don't even know whether it's just one person or a group that is responsible. I'm afraid we are at a dead end."

"We? Correction, Musa, you are at a dead end. You, Tony and any other clown on this case. You have till Tuesday next week to get me some results otherwise I will have all your heads on my desk by noon that day. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now get out of my office."

Musa got out. He met Tony lounging in the corridor.

"Did he eat you up?" the young man asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"Almost literally."

"What did he say?"

"We have till Tuesday to find the killer or dot, dot, dot."

"Oh dear. I bet all those white oil workers paying him to look after their interests must have started a fire under his gross fanny."

"Ssh, for goodness sake. The walls have ears and tongues as well."

"Well I hope they have a sense of humor as well. This so called killer has made a laughing stock of us."

Newsday Newspapers, Ikoyi, Lagos, Nigeria July 10, 2002, Thursday, 10:12

"What the hell is this?" Maryam Williams demanded waving some papers in the air like she was directing incoming aircraft.

Caesar Clark standing at attention with his hands behind back raised an eyebrow.

"My report," he said laconically.

"I know it's your report "The heavy woman continued seething like an over worked steam engine, "Who else would write this crap? How do you expect me to believe all this nonsense?"

"What's so far fetched about an honorable senator involved in female trafficking? I have all my facts on the ground, and my sources are reliable. There's even evidence to prove it."

"Do you have an idea, what Senator Kuti will do if your report goes to press? He will sue us to the earth!"

"Let him try it. Once this report is made public The Senate will have no choice but to have him removed. We don't need female traffickers in such honorable positions of power."

"Caesar, I know how much you hate the Nigerian political scene so don't give me that moral duty crap. I don't know if you remember which country you are working in right now but you must know that this is Nigeria and this kind of trash doesn't work here. Get another report on something else before I do something drastic about you"

"Such as?" Caesar asked quietly. Dangerously.

"Hey" Maryam said hastily, softening her tone "Your mother wanted you to work here, remember? You are a good reporter, your adventure in England last year practically made you a celebrity but I can't have you dragging her name in the mud."

"Because she's an honorable Minister of Transport and part and parcel of the people I hate so much? Because she and Senator Kuti sleep together?"

"Caesar, that is enough! Another word from you and are out on the street."

"Sorry, Madam but I get the last word."

He put his hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it on the table. Maryam glared at it like it was a spider that just fell from the ceiling.

"In case you are wondering what that is it happens to be my resignation letter. I've been carrying it all year waiting for this very moment. Thanks for the opportunity."

He turned and walked out of the office leaving the woman startled and confused. He found every one in the staff room staring at him with mouths agape. Ignoring them completely he picked up his case and left the office.

Caesar's Apartment, Lekki, Lagos July 10, 2002, Thursday, 22:46

Caesar went straight back to his Lekki apartment to cool off after a marathon drinking` spree with his fellows. His place was well furnished with exquisite furniture and state of the art electronic equipment most of which Mummy Dearest had paid for. She normally ranted and raved that she would cut off his financial supply and leave him to hustle on his own but he knew and she knew she was only kidding herself. Cutting off the River Niger from the Bight of Bonny would be much easier for her to do.

Caesar brought out a bottle of whisky from his well-stocked bar and proceeded to drink himself to stupor. Later he drifted off into a dreamless sleep which was suddenly interrupted by the telephone on his bedside table that jangled rudely into his ear. Half asleep he picked up the receiver and absent-mindedly glanced at the clock on the wall. A quarter to four in the morning! He was suddenly wide-awake.

"Hello?" He asked suspiciously "Who is this? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Mr. Clark?" asked a voice at the other end. He didn't recognize it.

"Yes, that's me now who are you?"

"Don't worry about who I am. My name is of no importance to you. It is what I have that I think you will find interesting." The voice sounded strange, detached and without gender. Caesar felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"What do you mean?" He asked carefully.

"Have you heard of the Kebby Creek killings?"

"I've been getting sketchy reports but it all seems very hush-hush. It hasn't even appeared on the National Network News yet."

"It is very hush-hush. Very big names in the oil industry and the federal Government involved. The victims are all prostitutes."

The caller was right. He was interested.

"You don't say."

"I even have evidence. Photographs, tape recordings and all. If you want them you must come to Kebby Creek yourself to collect them, $3,000 is your fee. Bring it along."

"Do you thank I' m mad?"

"Once you arrive in Kebby Creek tomorrow meet me at Sandy's Bar by eight. Alone. Everyone in town knows the place so you can't miss it.

"You must think I'm very stupid, don't you and anyway why pick me?"

"I've read your work and I'm impressed. You are very anti-government and this case is tailor made for you. You can be rest assured it will be the story of a life time."

"But..."

"Goodbye, Mr. Clark. Nice talking to you."

"I've just..." The line went dead "... resigned."