Trinitatis 2 Part One

Castel Volturno, Italy

June, 2002

When the first shots shattered the nervous silence of the cold, crispy night, Omoh didn't realize they were gunfire. She was still staring at the pages of her law textbook with her mind on automatic before realizing that the other girls in the library had jumped to their feet in agitation. Still acting on auto-pilot, she slowly packed up her books while the rest screamed for the door amidst books flying in every direction. Two more shots went off and the sound of gla.s.s shattering added fuel to the pandemonium.

Omoh stepped out unto the landing, her heart hammering in her chest. From a window she could see that it was pitch dark outside and the dilapidated building where she stayed with forty other African migrants could only be reached by sprinting across an empty square. By now the previously jam–packed library had been emptied, except for the books. She was alone and scared senseless. She began to move towards the staircase, desperation making her chuck common sense to the four winds. As she reached the first steps she suddenly b.u.mped into a tall figure who materialized from the shadows, dressed entirely in black.

"Blood of Jesus!" she screamed in terror. She started to back away but long arms encircled her waist and held her tight with the authority of a hangman's noose. Her knees gave away and she sagged. Fear like an ice cold wave washed over her and sapped all the strength from her body. The arms held her up.

"Please…" she squeaked. "Please don't hurt me."

The arms hoisted her upright and her face was drawn closer to her captor's dark features. She caught a faint whiff of alcohol and nicotine. Then she stared into the scariest pair of eyes she had ever seen. They were the eyes of a wild animal. She thought she was going to faint.

"Fine girl," the stranger drawled. "Wetin you dey find for here?"

"Nothing," she said, weak with fear. "I been dey jack before."

"Where you dey go?"

"I dey go my room" she answered, too scared to lie.

"Oya, make I escort you."

"Okay." Not like she had much choice in the matter anyway, she thought.

So that was how he walked her back to her building that crazy night. They met some sinister characters on the way but no one challenged them. Soon they were outside the house which was submerged in darkness. No doubt, the occupants were cowering and lying low.

"I'll advice you to read in your room from now on," he said grimly. "The Camorra dey vex for us. This is not a good time. Okay?"

"Yes. Thanks."

He gave her a stony look and suddenly turned around and left.

"Bye" she said. The dark figure had already receded into the shadows. She s.h.i.+vered violently and staggered to the door.

***

Emeka walked briskly up to the wrought iron gates of the lodge. It was late evening and the setting sun cast a warm red glow over the picturesque houses on the quiet street.

Emeka pressed the bell on the wall and waited for response. Ten seconds later a scruffy looking security guard emerged from the guardhouse and peered at him. Emeka wasn't surprised by his frosty reception. Most male migrants were held in a suspicious light because it was more than likely that any one of them belonged to a gang. Also, his hulking presence did not elicit any form of comfort. Clocking nearly seven feet and built like a linebacker he did not present a picture of a genteel character. His shaven head and satanic goatee did not help to soften his looks either.

"I am here to see the boss," he announced.

"Who are you?" was the curt, rude response.

"Tell him it's the delivery boy".

"What are you delivering?" The guard stared curiously at the package under Michael's arm.

"None of your f.u.c.king business, he's expecting me so hurry up".

The guard glared at him with his bloodshot eyes then turned around and stalked into the house. Emeka smiled to himself. The guard returned with a different expression on his face.

"Go straight inside" the guard said as he unlocked and opened the gate for him. His tone sounded as if the invitation was drawing quarts of blood from his body.

Michael didn't bother to reply and shouldered past him. He sauntered up the gravel path to the front door and went inside.The plush living room was empty. The big screen TV was on and tuned to CNN. Michael sat down and watched televised reports of strife around the world until the Boss came down the staircase and into the living room.

He was a large balding man with a potbelly of astronomical proportions and a rear end of similar dimensions. A thick pair of spectacles perched precariously on his fat, bulbous nose. His casual get-up of T-s.h.i.+rt and shorts showed off his unenviable contours. All these attributes gave him not an iota of concern. What he was concerned with was what Emeka was carrying.

"Did you bring it?" he asked, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.

"Yes, Sir. It's right here."

The Boss settled his bulk into a long-suffering sofa while Emeka opened the package and retrieved a photo alb.u.m from it. He handed it over to him. The alb.u.m contained glossy photos of young, beautiful ladies in various stages of undress. His eyes crawled all over them. Emeka stood at his shoulder but he wasn't watching the photos. No, he was watching the Registrar's reactions with a mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt and contempt. The ladies did not interest him. Finally, the Boss' roving eyes settled on a particular photo made Emeka smile.

"Bring her to me" the man ordered, his large pink tongue darting out to moisten his thick blackened lips.

"Yes, Sir."

"Omoh!" exclaimed her sister Janet as they hugged each other affectionately, "How nice of you to visit me. Please sit down, I'm about to take my bath."

Omoh obeyed and went to sit on her senior sister's bed. She watched with a mixture of awe and envy as Janet shed her clothes and draped a ridiculously tiny towel that could barely conceal her voluptuous curves around her body. She was rambling on about some cute guy she met in the market while her sister listened with polite interest. She was about to exit the room with her steaming bucket of water, shower cap and sponge when Toni, her bunk mate entered the room.

Toni was a bit advanced in age with close cropped hair and a firm muscular body. If not for her particularly large hips she would have been mistaken for a man. Her face was plain and masculine with a prominent nose, thin, cruel lips and a square jaw. Her eyes belonged to a fish.

"h.e.l.lo, beautiful," she said to Omoh giving her an appreciative once over. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine," replied Omoh with a bashful smile.

"Hey, leave her alone," said Janet with a knowing smile as she left the room. Toni plopped down on the bed next to Omoh and put an arm around her shoulder and a hand on her knee.

"Omoh, you look ravis.h.i.+ng tonight," Toni whispered into her ear. "What's the secret?'

"If I told you it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?" She replied with a wide grin watching with mild interest as Toni's fingers slowly advanced over her thighs towards her crotch.

"Oh come on, you can tell me. I want to be pretty like you."

"You're sure you want that?" She asked as she deftly caught Toni's hand before it reached its destination. "Boys would start chasing you."

"Like they chase you?"

"Not really. I seem to scare them off."

"Good, men are trash. They make so much noise, yet they can never be able to satisfy you. Why do you never come to see me in my room," Toni said. "What's the matter? You don't like me?"

"But of course I like you," protested Omoh with a brilliant smile, "It's just that I'm not good at visiting people. How many times do I come to see my own sister?"

"I know. But just try very hard to see me, even if it's just once. You'll never regret it." She was gently stroking her thigh. Omoh observed that all the while Toni spoke, she never blinked once.

"I'll think about it."

Janet re-entered the room, her skin wet and glistening and gave Toni an accusing look.

"I hope you haven't been hitting on my baby sis?"

"Hah! I was just saying h.e.l.lo to her."

"Okay-o."

There was a knock on the door. They automatically stiffened. The way the knuckles rapped on the wood they knew they belonged to a male.

"Wait!" yelled Janet, "I'm changing."

"Tell him to get lost" hissed Toni, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

Omoh smiled at her reaction.

"Come in," called out Janet after pulling on a halter-top and a pair of shorts that made Samantha wonder whether the towel was more decent. Emeka entered the room. To say the atmosphere cooled would be an understatement. He looked pointedly at Janet and made a sign for her to follow him outside. She obeyed instantly to the chagrin of the other two girls. When they were in the corridor, Michael immediately went straight to business.

"You have an appointment with the Boss by eight o'clock. He has already paid. Don't fail to go."

"Okay."

Emeka walked off without another word. Janet walked back into the room acutely aware of the way her sister and Toni were staring at her.

"What was that all about?" demanded Omoh.

"He's helping me get a cleaning job in the town. He said they'll pay well."

Omoh glared at her in plain disbelief.

Toni smiled to herself. She knew exactly what Emeka had come for.

Jide Offor was buried in the graveyard of a small Catholic church which was generous enough to give out one of their rapidly diminis.h.i.+ng plots. The service was attended by quite a number of people, mostly migrants. Apparently, he had been quite popular. A lot of them came to me to show their condolences since I was his closest relative. But things were to turn bizarre that cold, windy morning.

We heard the sound of chanting approaching the chapel. The next thing we knew, a group of about a dozen, young African men dressed in black clothes danced their way through the church gates and on to the graveyard. A lot of migrants scattered as they approached. They were singing songs and chanting slogans and when I listened to the words, they formed perverted versions of old Catholic hymns. Despite looking quite sinister, the men actually seemed non-threatening and appeared to be jubilating. As a few of us looked on in disbelief, they danced round the grave where Jide's casket lay, all the while singing and chanting. Eventually, they came over to where I stood and presented to me what seemed to be an ornamental dagger. I accepted their offering, looking at the dagger in wonder while they whooped and danced some more. Then, just as suddenly, they retreated. As they left, a frightened chatter broke out among the people left in the grounds. Everyone was staring at me but my eyes were glued to the dagger.

The mantle had been pa.s.sed.

Ballaro Market, Palermo, Sicily

September, 2009

I pushed my way through the old fas.h.i.+oned bead curtain and waited a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim light of the restaurant. A few customers were in attendance, nibbling at their meals while glancing in mild disinterest at the soccer game being displayed on the small plasma TV screen that hung above the kitchen door. They paid no attention to me. I was about to make a beeline for the corridor door when the kitchen door flew open and the hulking figure of my adoptive mother walked in. I cursed under my breath. I had been hoping to avoid her. As I walked into the corridor, I could feel her eyes burning holes into my back. I made my way to the shabby bedroom I had been given and started to empty my pockets. I pulled out the heavy wad of bills and stared at them with fascination. I licked the tip of my finger and began to count them and was mildly irritated when she barged in.

"Fox! Where did you get that money?" she asked her eyes widening. Her ample chest heaved in agitation as she wiped her hands nervously on a well worn ap.r.o.n. "Where's my food?" I asked as I slowly counted the bills. "Did you hear me?" Her voice had become a tad shriller. "Where did you get that money?" Her dark charcoal skin sweated furiously in the Sicilian heat and she had started to wipe her arms with her ap.r.o.n. I shot her a look and she suddenly became very still."Mommy, please bring me my food, I'm very hungry," I said, my voice not rising above a decibel. I shoved the bills back into my pocket and sat on the rickety bed to take off my sneakers. I noticed a bloodstain near the sole of the right one and wetted the tip of my finger to wipe it off."Your father will hear about this," she muttered before beating a hasty retreat. I turned to stare out of the window at the distant hills, my mind lost in thought.

The next day I was strolling around the market aimlessly when I saw him. He was lurking near a fruit stall, smoking a cigarette. I hoped he wasn't doing that on an empty stomach. I had first noticed him a couple of days ago, asking a baker for a loaf of bread. The man had shooed him off and called him a very rude name. My blood boiled when I heard the insult even though it wasn't directed at me. I then walked over and offered him the loaf I just bought. There was surprise in his eyes as he accepted it. I then walked away before he could thank me. Now here he was again, looking even more desperate than last time. Our eyes caught and my heart broke when I saw the glimmer of hope in his sunken eyes. Yet, still I was cautious. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to take my kindness for weakness.

I walked over and we both appraised each other. There was something definitely off about him, I thought. Despite his pitiable plight, he didn't seem… pathetic. He looked like a starving predator during a drought, waiting for that prey that would extend his survival. I wondered whether he regarded me as just that – prey.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" I asked. "My mother has a restaurant."

"Yes, I would," the boy replied, his eyes lighting up.

"Good. Follow me." I turned and walked off without waiting for him to say anything else. I led him through the market and down a street towards my mother's restaurant. I'm a fast walker and I didn't exactly wait for him to keep pace. I did, however, stop at the door to show him in.

There were a couple of customers inside who seem to have come together to engage in a heated debate about European soccer. I ignored them and pointed at a table at the back that was submerged in the shadows of the evening.

"Let's sit over there."

We sat opposite each other and I watched him as he looked around furtively.

"What's your name?" Fox asked.

"Ducks."

"What would you like to eat, Ducks?"

"Anything."

I smirked and nudged a worn copy of the menu that was lying on the table in his direction.

"What would you like to eat… Ducks?"

Ducks stared at me for a couple of seconds and picked up the menu.

"You can read, can't you?"

"Yes."

Ducks peered at the menu in the diminis.h.i.+ng light and eventually set it down.

"I would like fufu with ogbono."

"How many pieces of meat?"

"Two."

"Do you like fish?"

"Yes."

"Let's add that too."

"Okay."

At that moment, my mother came in through the kitchen door with a tray of food which she handed over to one of the customers. He leered at her and reached out a hand to pat her ample bottom. She slapped away his hand with a boisterous laugh.

"Mama!" I called out, "We need food." She looked up startled and waddled over to where we sat. She eyed Ducks like he had just crawled out from under her favourite pillow.

"Fox, where have you been? And who is this?"

"Please, my friend is hungry. Bring a plate of fufu and ogbono with fish and two pieces of meat. Also bring two bottles of beer. Hurry, please."

I noticed Ducks look at me in surprise and heard a sharp intake of breath from my mother. She gave me a scalding look then turned and skulked off to the kitchen.

"Hey, boy, don't speak to your mother like that!"

I turned my head slowly to look at the man who had just helped himself to my mother's bottom. I eyed him briefly and turned my attention back to Ducks.

"You kids of today have no respect. If not for your mother I would have flogged you very well."

Ironically, the man speaking was probably not even ten years older than I was. Ducks watched my face with interest but I showed no reaction. The customer berated me some more but his friends told him to knock it off. My mother came back with a tray carrying our dishes. She set it down, muttering under her breath how much of a disrespectful b.a.s.t.a.r.d I was. The irate customer called her over and told her how 'rude' I was. She apologized profusely and retreated back into the kitchen. We ate in silence while the group of friends continued their debate.

"So do you have a place to live?" I asked after a while.

"No, not really."

"Well, you can stay with me. We will have to share a room but it's big enough and it has two beds."

He regarded me for a while.

"Okay. Thank you. G.o.d bless you."

"Finish your beer. I'll show you the room."

I finished mine in one swig and licked my lips.

"Give me a second." I stood up, still holding on to the empty bottle of beer. I casually flipped it in the air and grabbed the long neck. I walked over to the customer who didn't see me at first since he was quite engrossed in the conversation he was having with his friends. He looked up at the last second to find me looming over him. The bottle descended and exploded on his big, bald dome. He grunted and crumpled from his chair to the floor. His friends jumped up in shock and outrage and rushed to his aide while I stood there holding the bottle, watching them with mild disinterest. Ducks jumped up also and stood there uncertainly. Instinctively, he picked up his own bottle which was now empty and walked over to stand beside me.

"Go and sit down," I said. "I'll handle this."

He held my gaze for a second and then went back to the table. The next couple of moments became a circus. My mother scurried out and nearly fainted with shock when she saw what I had done. Some of the men rushed their injured friend to the hospital while the rest just stood around yelling at me and my mother. However, none of them made a move on me. I just stood there really still like a cobra, holding the bottle like a judge with a gavel.

I noticed Ducks watching me with amazement and I smiled at him. He smiled back. However, it wasn't just us that were smiling. Unbeknownst to me at the time, someone else sat at another darkened corner of the restaurant and had watched the drama unfold with great interest. His unflinching gaze settled upon me and a wide, shark like grin spread across his face.

A couple of hours later, my father came back from work to find out that his plans of spending a lazy evening on his verandah, sipping wine and gazing at voluptuous Sicilian girls strolling by was never going to materialize. He sat in stony silence as my mother clucked and crowed about my shenanigans. He barely said a word, only turned occasionally to give me murderous looks that made me sweat a little.

"He also brought in a homeless boy to stay with us!" she declared. My father's frown deepened.

"Which boy?"

"He brought home a beggar from the market!"

"He's not a beggar," I said in indignation.

"Then who is he?"

"He's one of us. He's Nigerian."

"Is he Igbo?"

"No, he's Ishan from Edo State."

"Then he's not one of us."

"Oh yes he is. To the Sicilians we are all monkeys. They don't care if we are from different tribes."

My father seemed taken aback at my retort and looked away.

"Bring him here."

"Ducks!" I called out. "Get down here."

Ducks came down the stairs from the balcony where he had been watching the impromptu family meeting.

"Good evening, Sir," Ducks said in a somber voice as he came to stand near me. I noticed my father appraising him.

"Who is your father?" he asked.

"I never had a father. My mother was a prost.i.tute working in Palermo before she got murdered and left on a refuse dump."

I and my parents looked at him with various degrees of shock registered on our faces. Then various degrees of pity followed suit. My mother looked away while my father s.h.i.+fted in his seat.

"You can go back upstairs. Let me talk to Fox."

"Yes, Sir." He bowed his head a little then walked back upstairs.

"He can't stay," my mother said. "I don't trust him. He might steal something."

"We can't send him away," I said hotly. "What would your Jesus do? Or is going to ma.s.s on Sunday only for show?'

"Watch your tongue, boy," my father said with a snarl. "Don't think because we are not in Africa that I can't flog you with my belt. n.o.body here will care. These Sicilians are just like us, no matter what you think."

"The boy stays with us," he continued after a tense silence. "But if he gets into any trouble, he is gone and I will hold you responsible. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Papa."

"Now I have to visit the man you put in hospital and pay his bills. Get out of my sight."

I walked up the staircase to join Ducks as my mother and father engaged in a fresh quarrel.

The Boss waited impatiently for Janet to arrive. He felt hot and bothered and he could not get her sultry image out of his head. She was driving him nuts. His wife and kids were on holiday abroad and he intended to maximize his free time.

There was knock on the front door and he hurried to open it. It was Janet and she was looking even s.e.xier in the flesh. She had on a black silk, slip dress that wrapped lovingly round her delicious contours. The Boss thought his eyes would pop out of his head.

"Please, come in" he said, his voice as course as sandpaper.

The tall girl walked boldly into his house as if she owned it and he derived pleasure in watching her move. He first treated her to dinner then wine was served later. When he was sure the girl was tipsy enough, he invited her upstairs to his bedroom. She followed him without resistance. He couldn't wait to get her into his bed.

When they walked into the expansive bedroom he immediately became a tad more aggressive. He grabbed her from behind and pulled her close to him. She was aware of something hard pressing against the cleft of her b.u.t.tocks. His hands climbed up her body and each settled on a large breast. His stubby fingers kneaded her nipples through the light fabric.

"I've wanted you since I first saw you," he said with a low grunt. "Let me show you how much I want to f.u.c.k you".

He pushed her and she fell ungraciously on the bed. She turned round to face him, slightly alarmed, and was just in time to see him pull his shorts down. His organ was short and fat.

"How's this?" he asked, leering at her.

"Nice," she replied automatically.

"Take that dress off so I can stick this into you. Hold on! Slowly. I want to watch you strip."

Janet took her dress off with deliberate movements that kept him rapt with attention. Once he saw her completely naked he could no longer control himself. He immediately attacked her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his s...o...b..ring mouth, kissing and sucking them with noisy abandon. Janet closed her eyes and wrapped her arms round his neck.

It is difficult to say what happened after that. Apparently, the Boss had got too carried away and Janet had picked up an ashtray and let him have it over the head with it. There was a stunned look on his face before his eyeb.a.l.l.s turned inwards and he slid off the bed unto the floor.

Janet struggled into her dress, her mind in a whirl. She was about to leave the bedroom when she spied a trinket box on top of the dressing table. Stepping over the body on the floor, she went straight for the dressing table. She opened the trinket box and was pleasantly surprised to find it stacked with jewelry. She stuffed them into her handbag and made her exit.

She fled down the staircase and out the front door. She hoped that the gate man hadn't heard anything suspicious. The old fool was barely awake and she had to rouse him before he could open the gate for her.

The street was quiet and empty. Even though it was brightly lit it still looked dark and foreboding. She hurried along, her heels clacking in the silence.

Soon she heard the sound of an approaching motorcycle. As the circle of light drew nearer she flagged it down. The motorcycle stopped next to her, the young driver peering at her with interest. She was relieved to find out he was African.

"Baby," he drawled. "Where you dey go?"

"Awolowo Hall," she said breathlessly, "And you better step on it".
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The young man did step on it, breaking sharply anytime he came to any uneven parts of the cobbled road and accelerating again very sharply. He was probably enjoying himself: Janet's b.r.e.a.s.t.s kept bouncing off his back.

The bike eventually stopped in front of Awolowo Hall and the rider seemed sorry to see her disembark.

"Stay right here," she said. "I'll be right back." The leer on his face showed he was more than happy to wait.

Janet got to her room and opened the door carefully. She was relieved to find the room empty. She hastily shoved her clothes into a traveling bag then quickly scrawled a note that said:

Samantha darling, please forgive me for leaving like this but I am in very big trouble and I have to go. I'll get back to you as soon as possible.

Bye.

Your dearest sister,

Janet.

She dropped the note where she was sure her sister would see it and then left the room. The cyclist was still waiting patiently.

"Take me to the next town," she said as she got behind him. "I'll pay you well."

"No shakings, Sister. Make we dey go."

The Boss was on the phone as soon as he came to and was screaming at Emeka in such a furious, gibberish pace that the young man had difficulty in following what he was saying. Eventually he learnt that 'the b.i.t.c.h you sent me' had tried to kill him with his own ashtray and robbed him blind as well. Emeka was alarmed, as he knew Janet to have an easy going nature. The old fool must have really p.i.s.sed her off, he thought to himself.

"I'll look into it, Sir," he said though he couldn't help smiling as he conjured up an image of the Boss in his present predicament. Then his smile got wider as he thought of what he would do to Janet.

As the argument between my mother and father raged downstairs, I and ducks lay on separate mattresses and discussed other topics to take our minds off the unpleasantness of the evening. Eventually, we began to discuss the secret cults that existed back home in Nigeria. Ducks didn't know much about the subject so I decided to give him a brief history lesson.

"Well there are so many secret societies to choose from once you gain admission into a Nigerian university. The most popular ones, in no particular order, are the Pyrates Confraternity a.k.a. Sea Dogs, The Vikings Confraternity, The Black Axe Confraternity and a number of others like Trojan Horse, the Brotherhood of the Blood and the Maphites.

"The Pyrates were the first as you probably know. They are a cla.s.sical group, the first in Nigeria. The n.o.bel laureate Wole Soyinka formed the cult in 1952 which started out with just about seven members. Nowadays they call themselves the National a.s.sociation of Sea Dogs.

"Later there was dissention in the organization and thirty members of the Pyrates led by Dr. Bolaji Carew formed the Buccaneers. They are popular in the University of Nigeria, Nsukka especially among staff kids. The cult accepts only 'fine boys' and I guess most of the members are. The Vikings Confraternity sticks to the sea faring culture as well. They are the last of the cults with a sea motif.

"The Black Axe Confraternity is probably the most notorious of all the cults. They don't belong to the sea faring culture. They are also known as the Neo-Black Movement of Africa. They probably have the largest population of members. Some people would actually call them terrorists.

"They are still others: Black Beret known as the Brotherhood of the Blood, Maphites, Trojan Horse and so on. I hear Trojan Horse is into black magic."

"What of female cults?" Ducks asked.

"They're several: the Amazons, the Daughters of Jezebel, Black Bra and so on. They are mostly into prost.i.tution. However there are a few more cults I would like to add to the ones you've mentioned. A few that even you have never heard off."

"Have you heard of the Black Angels, the Captains Confraternity and the Cleopatra Club?"

"Really? What about them?"

"The Captains Confraternity is the last of the sea faring cults but very few know about them. They are heavily into racketeering but they get a good run for their money from another cult: the Black Angels. Otherwise known as the Clandestine Order of Sheol, this cult is by far the most dangerous cult to ever exist in a higher inst.i.tution. They are known as the Mob of Higher Learning. They are extremely efficient and completely shrouded in secrecy. They are always at loggerheads with the Captains and most times other cults are blamed for their skirmishes. All these cults I have mentioned are called shadow cults. These are the cults within the cults…the cults for cultists."

"How do you know all this?"

"Jedi had been more than just a cousin to me. He had been my scholar."

"Was Jedi a secret cult member?"

"I later found out he was the Chief Executioner for the Black Angels."

"Wow."

The Honda Prelude came to a halt in the center of an abandoned cornfield. The six occupants disembarked and briefly scanned the area. They knew they were alone but they didn't want to take chances.

Emeka glanced appreciatively at the jet back sky. No moon, no stars, no sources of illumination whatsoever, except for their own dimmed flashlights. He took a deep breath and savored the cold, night air.

"Bring out the b.i.t.c.h," he ordered.

The boot was opened and Janet was bundled out and thrown on the ground. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her face a contorted mask of pure terror.

"Bikonu, make una no **** me," she begged. "I'll do anything you want."

"You'll do anything we want?" Emeka asked amidst guffaws from his boys. "You dey sure?"

"Yes," Janet squawked.

"Alright then. Make you bang all of us. You fit do am?"

"Abeg…"

"You see? I know you couldn't do what we want." As he spoke unfastened his belt and pulled it clear from his worn jeans. The others did the same. The rasps of leather rubbing against fabric sounded like angry snakes. Janet continued to scream for mercy and her terrified voice only served to arouse her tormentors.

"Nna, Bros, this babe mouth big like wetin I know no," said one of the boys, licking his thick, blackened lips. "E be like say she go like to chop d.i.c.k well well."

"Na true you talk" agreed another, "Im toto go big too!"

"Please, please, please don't" she cried. "Spare me!"

"But Janet Darling, we can't spare you," Emeka said, his tone apologetic. "You've been a bad girl and you must be punished. We had to practically run down your bus before we could catch you. You've really been a pain in the a.s.s."

He let his jeans collapse round his ankles.

"Now come to papa," he cooed, his eyes reddening and dilating at the same time. "Daddy wants to give you a banana."

The boys circled Janet's kneeling figure. Tears were streaking down her face and she was shaking badly. Her clothes were soaked with sweat. She was unaware of her stiff nipples that could clearly be seen through her wet skimpy blouse and bra. They stood all around her, their grotesque organs pointing at her like firearms.

"Suck me, baby" he ordered gruffly.

"I can't…"

The slap sounded like a pistol shot and Janet sprawled out on the ground. She moaned softly and blood dribbled out of her mouth. Someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back to her knees making her yelp in pain.

"Alright b.i.t.c.h, it seems you want it the hard way," said Emeka. "Take her clothes off."

What he meant was rip her clothes off and his boys did exactly that. Janet knelt with her head bowed, naked as a newborn baby. She had at last realized that begging was not going to save her. There was a whoos.h.i.+ng noise in the air and Emeka's leather belt struck across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She screamed in pain as she covered them with her arms.

"Hold her arms," Emeka said, his voice like ice.

Someone behind her grabbed her wrists and forced her hands skywards. Emeka hit her across the chest again and again.

"Nice t.i.ts" he commented. He walked to the back of her.

"Let me ask you something, Janet darling," he said to the weeping girl, "Whenever you were being flogged back in Nigeria, was it on the hand or on the a.s.s? No answer? Well in my school they flogged girls on the hand while we boys were flogged on the a.s.s. I saw no reason for that kind of s.e.xual discrimination. Now I'm going to make things even."

Emeka's hand rose and descended. The belt whacked viciously across her naked behind, leaving an ugly red welt. Janet cried out as she tried to twist around but the hands held her immobilized. The belt struck again and again, twenty four times. By that time she had screamed herself hoa.r.s.e.Then she was pushed to the ground and her legs pushed wide open. They entered her, one by one, taking turns to hold her arms and legs while they tore into her. It was the longest and most terrifying night of her life.