“Please don’t kill me. I’ll do as you’ve asked!”
Those words kept ringing in Jola’s head as he sat in his office, deep in thought. The breeze had blown, and all the people around him, including his embattled family, would finally see his proverbial chicken’s buttocks.
How could he have been so foolish to think wealth can simply jump on a man like that? His church priest, the man who prayed for him, had assured him that the sudden 50 million naira alert he received in his account was the answer to the special prayers he made. God had finally heard his voice and compensated him. “Your glory has been returned, Brother Jola. Give thanks to God, and… err, don’t forget to pay your tithe ooo.”
Now that the real owners of the 50 million have come knocking on his door, reality has dawned on him. It belonged to the Calama Cartel, known for every dark trade you can think of. Kidnapping, drugs, prostitution chains, armed robbery — you just name it. Due to the nature of their business, they often need people to launder their dirty money to avoid the prying eyes of the authorities. There’s no running away from these people. Once they target you, your own don finish be that.
Before this sudden money landed in his account, Jola was just a secondary school teacher struggling to make ends meet. He often had to rely on his wife, who had a thriving salon business, to meet bills. Other times, he would borrow money from his long-time friend, Kamal, who was equally struggling but enjoyed occasional windfalls from his addiction to betting. As soon as he became 50 million richer, everything changed. He was meticulous enough to build a house, buy a good car, and open a betting shop with Kamal. He even gave his wife money to boost her salon business and still had some money saved up in the bank. Jola had arrived. Life had finally smiled on him.
Two years down the line, he’s in his office, begging for his life. The Calama Cartel is demanding he pay back 50 million naira in just 3 days. “But why me? Why did you target me? Why is this happening to me?” Jola had so many questions for the collector, Halima, as she casually drew a line from his head down to his chest with her 3.3 semi-automatic pistol. He did not doubt that she had taken many lives with that weapon, and he was not about to be the next victim.
“I’ll see you in three days to collect Jola. You’d better not disappoint me.” Halima blew him a deadly kiss and pranced out of his office with the other two mean-looking guys, who barely spoke a word all through the altercation.
