the hit man

Mahamudu marched towards Spot 7 bar in the partially cloudy full moon night. He avoided shouting drunkards guzzling words from their ‘drinkitionary’. They ignored him, and, if any noticed his presence, soon forgot about it. Suddenly, a cloudburst began. First, heavy winds that turned the patchily cloudy sky gloomy and sullen, then firing tears followed.

“Damn,” Mahamudu bitterly cursed under his breath, as he scattered for shelter.

He did not want even the slightest disturbance. He desperately wanted to do the assignment the soonest. He looked a financial crisis right in the face. Many folks had perforated his field. Just two years ago Mahamudu swam in well-paying assignments. The gunning down of the Inspector General three years ago, the termination of the Chief of the Anti-Corruption Commission two years before, plus many disappearances, all was his handiwork. But not now! Even his usual clients could afford to leave him aside in the shooting of the budget controller that year. 

Abruptly, the rains stopped, their strength exhausted. Mahamudu rejoiced and stepped out. But it was too early. He heard whirling thundery arms of drops, fully roaring in Nkhwangwazazizila hill 15 kilometers away; and they were screaming by the time they besieged the area. The howling heavy drops tumbled in sheets; mass after mass trooping. But swearwords about to fly out got massacred in his throat. His attentive eyes spotted Asilo, his target, retreating into Spot 7. 

Mahamudu was surprised. He was told Asilo was home. His mind warned him to be careful. Then the beast crawled back, shaking its wet fists as it died down. And out of nowhere the skies cleared and the moon immensely smiled down. Mahamudu lurked in the shadows, waiting for his target. 

He ran through his plan, engraved in his head, making quick important modifications and ironed out possible problems. He had planned to execute his mission in the target’s house. Asilo lived alone in a detached house, which reduced the prospect of getting noticed. He decided to keep it that way for the time being; at least for some minutes. But plan B was not ruled out. Asilo could decide to sleep out or might not leave the place altogether, or might try to escape. Sometimes targets did things out of their schedule the day they were to be eliminated. Possibly it was their senses trying to warn them with a fading alarm system. 

Twenty minutes later a relieved Mahamudu tactically followed his prey that was leaving the bar alone. He sized him up. Asilo was tall, slim, and attractive. He radiated confidence, his strides long and even, his head held high. He totaled up to a complete athlete he was. He showed the new real undisputed athlete in the country he was, who took everyone by storming surprise. Within the shortest period Asilo had won many trophies and accolades. Mahamudu did not care about Asilo’s looks or accolades. He had done his many assignments without the slightest feeling about his targets; at times getting rid of people who seemed harmless but marked for death by his bosses for esoteric reasons, or for reasons he did not know altogether. However, that day he was privileged to know that Asilo’s exploits had sent the marauding gamblers scrambling for his services. Asilo had refused. The gambling generals were unpleased. They marked him for death! 

Mahamudu quickened his steps as Asilo neared some Mango trees. He reached the shadows of the trees but Asilo was nowhere nearby, but meters away, tearing away. Mahamudu shivered. It was now time for plan B as the case of facing a set-up hit his mind more strongly. His eyes quickly combed his surroundings. Satisfied of his safety he started to sprint, drawing out his pistol.

Bang! The gun fired leaving a drumming noise in Asilo’s ears. His body rocked forward. He heard the faint noise of a gun go off again. Under intense pressure to impress he ignored it. He ran even harder to try and put more distance. He heard the thumping noise of his legs. He wondered if any ground was being gained on him. He heard people screaming and saw them pointing behind him. Were they telling him to go faster? It could be, and he did just that. His chest burned. But he could see the salvation up ahead. He knew it was now or never. With his last scraps of energy he sprinted and crushed across the finish line of the national 100-meters championship. Only then Asilo realized he had run on a false start. He collapsed to the ground, his mind in turmoil.  

******

His confused mind struggled to focus. He painfully thought of all he had struggled to build. He regretted accepting to work for the people three weeks ago. He still felt raw pain where the stick had smashed him in the shadows of the Mango trees as he chased Asilo his bet already on a lucrative sponsorship deal with the gamblers. And upon his capture he was plainly told he was in for terminating a brother of one of the gambling Mafias.

But the radio broadcast from one of his guards made him smile a bit. For minutes, or hours, or even days the gamblers attention would be on Asilo who had made their monies go down the drain.