Chief Alfred Nnamani paced the big terrace restlessly, a copy of The Razor newspaper in his hand. The headline was simply captioned ‘Inhuman.’ In the front page was his picture and that of his daughter, Jessica on the inset. The caption and the content of the story were gruesome and stomach churning. The newspaper report ran a complete story of his dirty and shoddy past. How he hates women and how he had wanted to abort his only daughter in his mad quest to avoid having a girl child. It also accused him of neglect which led to his only daughter getting pregnant outside wedlock and how he was putting pressure on her to abort the pregnancy. The paper also said he is suffering from psychological problem due to the disappointments he suffered in the hands of his mother and sisters and that his fear of overpopulation might drive him to legalize abortion, homosexuality, same sex marriage, euthanasia and other unethical practices. The paper concluded by saying that he is sick and urged the people to examine his polices critically.
And for a society that has a grudge against him, Chief knew his time was simply up. He also knew his policies were unpopular and not utilitarian and that the populace felt he was being forced on them and calls him the white man’s stooge. The paper argued that if elected president, will implement outrageous family planning policies and other unethical practices. In fact, the article was so detailed, incisive and reportorial that he feared whether his rating will ever remain same again.
As he fretted away, his phone rang; it was his personal assistant on grassroots mobilization, Mr. Adekunle. “Sir, you’ve seen the papers, what’s this all about?” he asked anxiously, the panic in his voice was unmistakable.
“Yes, Mr. Adekunle, I have. I’m ruined. Everything is slipping away so very fast.”
“What’s the name of the journalist that did the damage? He must pay for this. My God! How much could they have been paid him?”
“I don’t know but trust me, Ade, he must pay for it.”
As soon as Mr. Adekunle dropped the call, he put a call hurriedly to Andrew. He was mad that he could not stop the journalist. Why couldn’t he carry out a common assignment? He fumed. Why did he plant him there and why is he his inside looking out man?
“Is that you Andrew?” he asked as soon as the line went through.
“Yes, sir.”
“You fool, so you mean to tell me you couldn’t persuade that fool from shooting, eh? Why do I pay you, eh? Tell me, of what use are you to me?” he was furious.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Andrew muttered.
“You’d better be,” he shot back. “Now, you listen to me. I want all the papers off the newsstand immediately. I don’t care how much it costs. I want every one of it off the newspaper stand now. Do you hear me? Give me a break down of how it goes, okay?”
“Okay sir,” Mr. Andrew said.
Throughout the day, his phone kept ringing and so were visitors, friends, relatives and what have you visiting. Outside, journalists sneaked around with their cameras and microphones. In the social media too, he was the trending topic as different variations of the saga popped up. He was shocked to discover how fast news travels and equally ashamed to show his face in the streets or to go to the office because he knew journalists will be waiting for him there too.
He was definitely trapped.
He could imagine the look of disappointment on the faces of party officials, stakeholders, his political godfathers and friends. He sighed regretfully, wondering what he had done to deserve such fate or where he had gone wrong or hadn’t done right. Just when he thought he has arrived, when he thought he has made it, comes this crisis hanging on his neck like the swords of Damocles. He had struggled and worked so hard to get to where he was in life.
He was still bemoaning his ill-luck when his phone rang again, he picked it up. It was his political godfather, Alhaji Adetokunbo Oshodi, the Oba of Igbada land, who is rumored to have pumped in more than half a billion naira into his presidential campaign. “Fred, where are you?” he asked.”
“About leaving home.”
“Good, meet me at Onyerubi Planet in 20 minutes.”
Twenty minutes or so later, Chief was with the Oba and as soon as they sat down, the Oba asked. “So Fred, where is your daughter now?”
“I don’t know. Sincerely I don’t. She ran away from home 3 days ago and I haven’t seen her since then.”
“We have to find her and the sooner the better. You might not realize it, but that daughter of yours holds the key to your future. You have to find her. I guess you’ve seen today’s paper? You read the rot she said about you? She’s got a grudge against you and she must be stopped or else she will bring you down.”
“If I ever lay my hands on her, I’ll…,” Chief vowed, clenching and unclenching her fists.
“The state is bigger than that girl; I hope you know that already? The stakes are just too high.”
He bit his lips. “If I ever lay my hands on that girl….”
“And that brings me to the second question, Fred, if you find your daughter, then what?”
“I …I don’t understand what you mean?”
“Yes, you do. You know exactly what I mean. This girl has a grudge against you and she will forever talk. We need a permanent solution to this problem. Do you think a deal could be possible?”
“Not to my knowledge. She is stubborn and unrepentant. No, I don’t think she will bulge.”
“Then if we find her, what?” the Oba asked again.
“Let’s find her first.”
“And then what?” the look in his eyes were deadly and unmistakable and the implications weren’t lost on him.
“I’ll have to consult with my family first. I will give you my word tomorrow,” he promised.
Meanwhile, Jessica refused to soft pedal on her revenge mission as she cruised from one media house to another. Soon, her efforts paid off. A local TV station granted her an interview and that singular interview blew the whole thing out of proportion. But little did the journalist and Mr. Tim Abubakar realize they had touched the lion’s tail.
As soon as Chief Nnamani saw the TV report, he knew he had to do something fast. He knew that the only way to stop the media trial was by setting an example. So he swung into action immediately. Grabbing his phone, he put a call to Danny, his hit man, a 33 year old school dropout who earns a living hacking people down for a penny. He had warmed his way into his heart during the last general elections, and since then, he has been steadily improving. He has silenced over 8 people who stood in Chief’s way in the last four years or so, maimed and intimidated hundred others. “Where are you, Danny?”
“At home, sir.”
“Good, I want to see you in my office now.”
Minutes later, Danny was in the office.
“Good you are here,” he said the moment Danny came into his office. “I have a job for you,” he said and gave him an envelope. “I want those fools silenced immediately. All the information you need is in the envelope.”
“It’s done, Sir,” Danny said hurriedly.
“Good, get to work then,” he said, and picking up a bundle of money, he threw it at him. “Remember, no excuses.”
That night, Tim was killed by a hit and run driver and the reporter was maimed and nearly killed. Immediately, shock waves enveloped the entire city. Everyone knew who could have masterminded the attacks, but no one dared say or do anything. Chief Alfred Nnamani was a sacred cow and so untouchable. The entire police force was under his payroll and so were a handful of other policy makers.
However, unknown to Jessica the damages being done because of her, she continued in her mad quest for justice. So, it came to her as a shock to realize how powerful and popular her father was. At the mere mention of his name, the journalists will retreat back to their seats, leaving her wondering why. The few who cared to listen refused to air or publish her story. Some were downright arrogant, disrespectful and inhuman, treating her like trash. Yet, she was undeterred. She however assumed that the reason for their change in attitudes was as a result of her father’s reputation. She had been naturally worried when she couldn’t get a representation, and now she can’t even be heard.
‘This is crass injustice,’ she thought, shaking her head sadly, ‘for a country that boasts of being an egalitarian and just society.’ She felt trapped and worried. But despite these things, she was determined to get a license to keep her baby, no matter what it takes.
Meanwhile, Chief was in frenzy, his well fortified political walls seemed to be falling apart before his own very eyes and he was quite helpless about it. He could see his sudden end just like he saw his meteoric rise to stardom. He was worried and he could not see a way out of it all. Then he remembered the Oba’s proposal, and he shuddered inwardly. So later on that night, before he went to bed, he said to his wife, “Honey, I’m afraid Jessica’s case is becoming a state issue.”
“Why did you say that?”
“The stake holders say the state and the party are bigger than her.”
Immediately, the red light alarm began to beep in Doris’s mind. She knew exactly just where he was heading to. “Meaning?” she asked, sitting up.
“They said finding Jessica is not the main issue but making her keep her mouth shut. They wanted to know if we could guarantee that.”
“Do you mean… they…they want to …, oh my God! Kill her?”
“Am afraid so.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“I told them I’ll have to seek your permission first.”
“Oh my God!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. She didn’t know it would come to that.
“What do you think we should do?”
“I don’t know,” she said wearily. “Your wish is my command. “After all, she asked for it.”