THE SECOND
SIGHT
Chapter 19
BOB’S THREAT
Location: BOB’S APARTMENTS
Bob is a weird guy who has always baffled Boat.
Boat has never been able to figure Bob out.
Bob is the kind of guy who is always careful. He is meticulous and thorou-gh, and never believes in rushing things, and yet he had bumped into a girl at a railway station and in less than a week later they were married. The girl had been knocked down by a car, and had died as a result, two days after their wedding.
And what had Bob Reynolds done after he lost his wife? He took three girls to bed whilst she was still lying in the morgue and had himself a group s-× throu-ghthe night.
He is the kind of guy who will go mad at you for swapping a fly, or squashing a co-ckroach. Boat had once seen Bob carefully removing a beetle from a spider’s web, making sure that the beetle flew away unharmed.
He had also seen Bobo spending twelve minutes, whilst they were late for an appointment, to free a squirming worm from the clutches of killer ants, and putting the worm on a safe portion of gras-sland.
And in spite of that kindness to a worm and to a beetle, Boat has also seen Bob taking a baseball bat to the knees of one of his men who had stolen from him, and hit the man so ha-rd and so many times that he had become lame in one leg.
There is also an occasion when Bob had cut off the nose of a man he claimed was more than a brother to him, and all this man had done was spend some of Bob’s cocaine money.
Bob Sarpong is thus the most unpredictable person Boat has ever seen, and he is thankful for the fact that he and Bob un-derstands each other, and have mutual respect for each other. He likes Bob, though. He had shown Boat a part of the world he never existed, and had been like the older brother Boat never had.
At thirty-six, Bob has premature iron-grey hair. He has the fine, chiselled lines of a Greek aristocrat. He is five foot seven and has a ti-ght wiry frame. He has demonstrated awesome strength time and again, and knows how to take care of himself. Of course any illiterate who can rise to such heights of power and wealth would have to be damn capable of taking care of himself, especially on the African drug terrain where lives are snuffed out at the snap of fingers.
Bob has two condos in town, and has a craze for fishing boats. He keeps an apartment, located in Sweet Meadows Avenue, one of the seediest parts of Accra, for his projects. He has a loyal band of cutthroats and spies in Sweet Meadows, and that makes him feel safe. Cunning and not afraid to give out fat monies to the locals, he also has high-ranking crooked cops on his payroll, and that has kept him out of trouble and out of prison for a long time.
Boat parks the Land Cruiser on the curb, where he always does, and walks throu-ghthe meandering alleys to Bob’s dark apartment which serves as the base for his operations. Stagnant pools of water surround the building. The place stinks, and mice as hu-ge as human calves scurry in the darkness.
Boat wouldn’t have lived in Sweet Meadows for all the riches in the world, but of course Bob is like a chameleon, and can blend anywhere. The dirty apartment in the seediest part of the neighbourhood serves him well, and makes him keep as low a profile as possible. He used to tell Boat that he had lived in worst places. Boat had always wondered what kind of childhood Bob had had.
Boat knocks sharply on the door. After a moment it opens, and he finds himself looking into the grim face of Ali.
Ali is almost as tall as Boat, but dangerously lean. He is always in black suit and transparent glas-ses. He has the eyes of a killer. Ali does most of Bob’s dirty works. He is fiercely loyal to Bob; as loyal as a blind dog. His eyes bore into Boat without expression, and then he stands aside and motions Boat to enter.
The interior of the room belies its dirty stinking exterior. It is expensively-furnished and air-conditioned, providing a welcomed relief from the heat outside. Ali nods towards a closed door which leads to the bedroom.
Boat knocks once on the door, and then he enters.
BOB
(lazily)
Yaw, my nigga, come in! Come in and make yourself comfortable. What would you like, my brother? A drink, coffee, coke or a screw? You can have any combination too if you wish!
Boat’s eyes begin to adjust to the semi-darkness.
Bob bursts into raucous laughter after his speech.
He is dead stoned on cocaine.
He is wearing white boxer shorts and a flannel mauve gown. He is standing behind a hu-ge desk on top of which are three bulky transparent sachets filled with cocaine.
He mixes a little cocaine on a blotter on the desk, bends and puts his nose to it, and blows the coke with loud sniffing sounds. He Gr0-ns and stretches his arms, bucking like a bull in heat, white crystalline particles smearing his nostrils.
Boat looks away from him with a little shudder of disgust. Only a day ago he would have joined Bob and sniffed his way to oblivion, but I only has disgust for the drug baron now.
On the four-poster bed in the room are two girls, an Asian and a Black woman, both totally nu-de. They are touching each other gently and ki-ssing pas-sionately.
They are unperturbed by Boat’s presence.
The Asian girl looks at Boat, smiles lustfully, and clamps hot li-ps on the black woman’s n¡pp|e being pushed into her mouth. Judging from the bulge in Bob’s shorts and the little w£t patch clearly outlined by the bulge, Boat doesn’t nee-d to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce what Bob had been doing before Boat came into the room.
Bob reaches across the table, picks up a bottle of scotch, tilts it, and slugs heavily. He shakes his head and smiles at Boat dazedly, and then he crosses to the bed.
He grins wolfishly and grabs the wai-st of the Asian girl, caressing her crudely between her thi-ghs, and then he looks over at Boat with mock astonishment.
BOB
(slurring)
Yaw, my boy, the bed is big enough. Get out of those clothes and grab yourself a pv$$y-lunch and stop standing there like a damn fool! What’s wrong with you anyway? Why are you behaving all funny, staring at me as if you’ve seen Frankenstein’s creatures on my damn face, huh?
Bob doesn’t know that Boat is trying to stifle a scream as well. If it had been Frankenstein’s creatures, Boat would have been much happier.
But, embedded de-ep in Bob, is a monstrously terrible demon which strikes unimaginable terror into Boat’s heart.
It is just like looking into the soul of hell. It is a purplish-green colour, and its skin is bunched up like a thousand-year-old hag’s. Its nose is long and malformed, exploding outward in real ugliness, punctured by a hu-ge, pinkish hole that seems to bulge out and ooze goo. Its ears are flat and broad, plastered to the cone-shaped, hairless head.
Its three arms jut out from a convex che-st, the point of attachment looking so red it seems to be bleeding. Its stomach is so pushed in that its che-st stands out in ugly prominence.
Below the wai-st it is indistinct. A giant eye burns on a narrow forehead, surrounded by multi-coloured skin-like folds that looks festered and w£t. Its mouth is a permanently-opened “O”, the li-ps fat folds that fall back, revealing purplish inner layers. Inside that horror of a mouth, wriggling in there, beating furiously and violently, are thousands of snake-like creatures.
Tendrils of shimmering limbs stretches from it to the two nak-ed girls, and it seems to be caressing them, seeking out sp-ots and tender points on their lovely bodies.
It is so intent on whatever hellish satisfaction it is getting that it doesn’t look at Boat at first until Boat lets out his pent-up breath of fear in a heavy sigh-Gr0-n that he cannot prevent.
Boat’s mind is about to explode, the terror reaching out to grab his throat. If only he could have screamed his head off, sanity would have prevailed. But panic and horror keep his scream locked, and only that gasping, choking sigh-Gr0-n emerges from his tortured throat.
The demon’s head whips up, and a snarl-like look comes into its face, causing Boat to twist his head aside so suddenly and so ha-rd that he feels a sharp pain in his ne-ck. He simply cannot look into such fiendish fury, such evil incarnate with a stoic expression.
His stomach heaves and knots, and he fights down the bile that rises in his throat. The sweat that breaks out on his face and drips into his collar is not induced by atmospheric changes, but by sheer cowardice brou-ght on by a sight so horrific that he wishes he has stayed away, at least until the damn curse is lifted off him.
And to admit that he is a coward, on some level, really makes him sick.
BOB
(calmly)
What’s wrong with you, Yaw? For crissakes, boy, are you sick? Why do you look like that, boy?
Boat looks away from Hideous the Demon again, but he doesn’t fail to notice that it is now looking intently at him, its evil face looking puzzled for a moment.
BOAT
(softly)
I’m fine, Bobby. Really fine, dog.
He moves on ru-bbery legs to the desk, carefully keeping his back to that thing inside Bob, and places the small, black case in his hand on the bed. Bob silently moves to the desk, his crafty eyes never leaving Boat’s perspiring face.
He goes behind the desk and sits down.
Boat notices that Bob’s erection has gone down.
He also sees, with great relief, that Hideous the Demon is no longer embedded in Bob.
Boat wonders where the demon is.
The two girls are M0-ning behind him, and he wonders if Hideous is still with them, spicing up their les-bianlust.
Boat feels a sudden tingle running down his spine as he looks at Bob, and sees the look in the drug lord’s eyes. A drugged-up Bob is a highly lethal and unpredictable entity, and Boat knows that he is suddenly walking on a precipice, and has to choose his steps carefully.
BOB
(with a ti-ght smile)
You’re behaving in a mighty f*¢king way today, Boatboy.
He picks up the case and opens it. He rans his hand over the crisp cedi notes within, and smiles again.
BOB
(with a wink)
You’re doing real fine, kid. Me and you are going places, believe me. We’ll conquer and rule Africa, my nigga!
Bob opens a drawer with combination locks and begins to pack the money into it, and when it is safely sto-red away he picks up three ti-ght bundles of cocaine on the desk and begins to put them in the case Boat had packed the money in.
Business as usual.
This is Boat’s allocation for the week. More dope, more money, more tragedy. He is going to sell the cocaine, as usual, to his clientele.
But not anymore.
After what he is seeing, there is no way Boat is going to be able to do the cocaine business ever again.
It sickens him now.
Suddenly he feels nauseated and totally sick of the whole place. His che-st is congested, and he feels a weird hotness all over his body. He just wants to get out of the apartment and breathe the clean air outside.
Bob picks up a fat cigar from a pack on the desk. He trims off the end with a gold-plated cutter, puts it into his mouth and then picks up a lighter. He hesitates, and then he takes out the cigar and wags it at Boat.
BOB
You’ve been doing real good, Boatboy. I like your game, and I’m going to take care of you. I’m moving on, Yaw. This shit ghetto is getting too hot for me. The new cops are too straight, and difficult to buy. A particular bunch are masturbating down my ne-ck, trying to take me down at all cost. That kind of crap ain’t healthy for a guy like me. I want to expand my horizons, make bigger money. I want to give you this market, Yaw. I want you in charge here to handle all my affairs here, to handle all major operations. That comes with higher profit margins and respect. The future looks f*¢king bright for you, Boatboy!
Boat says nothing.
Just a few days ago this would have been the greatest news to him, worth celebr@ting for one week, but not now. Now Boat just feels sickened, and wants nothing to do with the drug market ever.
Bob scowls and puts the cigar in his mouth, lights up, exhales smoke, and looks at Boat, his face suddenly deadpan.
BOB
I offered you the f*¢king world, Yaw, and all you can say is absolute silence? What the f*¢k is the matter with you today? Should I be getting worried about you, my nigga, huh? You know me… I don’t like getting worried about people where business is concerned. I don’t like the way you’re drifting, boy.
The Gr0-ns of the girls are really embarras-sing now. Boat wonders what they are doing to each other behind him. He looks at Bob straight in the eyes.
It has to be now.
BOAT
(softly)
You’re right, Bob. Something indeed has happened to me. I’m done, my brother. I want out. I’ve just delivered my last run. I’m really grateful for all that you’ve done for me, but I can’t go on any longer, at least not now. I’m bowing out. I’ll still be your friend and your brother. We’ll still rock the town and have fun together, as always. Nothing changes, except that I ain’t selling drugs for you anymore.
Bob’s expression doesn’t change, but his eyes doesn’t leave Boat’s face.
One of the girls lets out a sharp half-wail of plea-sure like a werewolf.
BOB
(softly)
Shut the f*¢k up over there, cunt!
He must have pushed a secret bu-tton un-der the desk, because the door opens softly behind Boat, and Ali comes into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
Bob takes the cigar from his mouth and grinds it out viciously in an enamel ashtray on the desk. Boat notices with sudden trepidation that Bob’s knuckles are white with tension.
His jaw is working viciously, and when he looks up at Boat, his eyes have gone completely crazy, and it drives a sharp fear into Boat’s heart.
Boat knows that look, and he doesn’t like it one bit. It is Bob’s look of destruction; whenever he looks like that mayhem usually follows next. He either cuts noses or baseball-bats knee-cu-ps, or he just sticks knives into hearts, or shoot off heads with heavy guns.
BOB
(calmly)
You disappoint me, Boatboy.
Boat recognizes that voice. It is Bob’s funeral voice. He reserves the funeral voice for the ones he loves just before he messes them up, and later he will be sad for an hour or so, continuously wiping the hints of tears from his eyes, and then later he will party ha-rd, and that will be it.
It scares Boat now, yeah. The fact is that Boat has never thought Bob will ever go up against him, no matter what.
He had thought they mean more to each other, the whole ‘brother-from-another-mother’ thing but, incredibly, it seems Bob is going to erase him, just like all the rest.
TBC…