“Paulo! What the hell are you doing, can’t you hear the sirens?”
He turned to look at me his eyes blood shot, a sheer on his lips, as his left hand slide under the blouse of the cashier. She backed and as quick as lightening, clutched the nearest object within her reach and slammed it on his clean shaved head, a bundle of bank notes.

He stumbled back in surprise, “hey babe you are a hot blood!” his hands reached out to grab her arm, his ringed nose giving him a menacing look.
I took a quick stride towards him, the weight of the duffle bag hampering my movement.

“Are you out of your mind, Paulo we need to go!”
“This babe is coming with us; we will use her as hostage.” He pulled her to him, his hands circling around her waist. She pressed her back to the wall and pushed him off with such strength that he fell, landing on the floor with a loud thud. And then BANG!

“Ahhh!!! Ahhh!!!” Paulo rolled on the floor, twisting in pains his hand flying back and forth to his buttocks and lower thighs. I stared in disbelief as blood flowed from his left leg. He reached behind his back and threw out his Beretta. I bent and pick it up tucking it in my side pocket.

The sound of the shot invoked the fright of the chained security staff and bank officials as they struggled to get freed while the screams of the customers rose to the top of the roof.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up or I will put a bullet into your fucking heads!” Ali, my cousin was waving his automatic rifle at their faces.

I waved my revolver at the cashier, “get your chest on the floor and stay there.”
“Alo, come here and help with this nonentity.” I said with distaste as if forced to mention something nauseating.

We lifted him, placing his arms around our shoulders, an extra weight with the filled up duffle bags on our backs.
“Wait! Guys wait! What about my bag, my money. Wait!” He got no reply as we paved our way through the bodies lying on the floor towards the exit of the bank. He should have given that an earlier thought.

“What happened?” oh! No! “Babe! Babe!” his girl Angie rushed towards us almost dropping her gun.
I pointed at the door, waving her off with a slight irritation. “Get the door! Get the door!” There was a thick trail of blood as we hurdled into the jeep, squinting under the rays of the sun.

I turned on the ignition, beams of sweat running down my face and slammed my foot on the gas. The gates flew open on the impact of the reinforced front bumper. At the corner, fast approaching from the right were two police vehicle with flashing lights and sirens blowing at the highest possible level.

Alo, needed no instructions, his head and shoulders were already popped out the window of the passenger’s side. His automatic spat out hot lead in rapid succession as the empty cases of scorching bullets landed on my thighs, frying them through my cotton trousers.

The cars swerved to the side of the road as the bullets scattered their windscreens, creating an opening as if Moses was parting the red sea.

He kept on spraying, waving the Israeli made assault rifle in the air and sending drivers off the road, people screaming, running for shelter as all hell broke loose.
My hands hurt from holding the steering wheel in a tight grip, heart almost popping out of my chest as we headed for the Marina.

The driver of the speedboat was prepared as planned. The engine was already running as we ditched out of the car tossing the money bags and weapons at him.

Angie was soaked in blood, shivering and shedding uncontrollable tears, her hands wrapped around Paulo as we managed to get his groaning body into the boat. I threw a malicious kick aimed at his bleeding buttocks, he groaned in pain as it made contact.

The impact giving a bit of satisfaction, as the boat torn through the rising waves of the Lagos lagoon.
I looked at Paulo; Angie must have seen the contempt on my face, for she reached over and touched my thigh, “what happened?”

I was not going to tell her that her Paulo was back on drugs. That he had almost ruined a three months planned operation that has yielded closed to four or five million Naira.

That was Paulo, he lived in his own world, not giving a shit about those around him, took joy in their predicament, every jeopardy he could create was a trill to him.

I can still remember the indifference on his face, when I had come home one night to surprise Angie with a ticket to Spain for our wedding anniversary. He just pulled up his pants and walked out the room while I stared at Angie spread naked on the bed.

“No hard feeling bro, broads will always be broads” swinging his Elvis styled belt on his shoulders, his swagger more pronounced than usual.

He felt entitled to everything. So much more the wife of that homeless boy he took in from the street twenty five years ago.

That was Paulo, I hope he dies from the wound or maybe I might cockup the Lucifer in me and stick a blade into his guts.

Written by Osi Mac.


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