BLOOD ISLAND (3)

Seeing this for the first time, read the opening episode here. Missed the last episode, read here.
*
Sade studied the handcuff. The bulb on the wall was dull but it was bright enough to tell this was a cold war era simple lock cuff. The Smith and & Wesson Model 100 used in the Service was a double locker with more complicated locking mechanism. Unlocking this was a little job if she had the tool–a bobby pin. She didn’t. She brought out the fork.

In life gives you lemon, make a lemon bomb.

She crushed three of the prongs on the wall. As she was lying down and her right wrist was cuffed above her head, and she had to work with her weaker left hand, she knew that picking the lock mechanism of the handcuff would be a slow, difficult task. They are coming to claim you, Manka had said. She had little time.

She inserted the only straight prong into the hole clipping the lock and began to pick it, anticlockwise. As she worked, she couldn’t help wondering, who would arrive here first–the Russians or the Islanders?
# #
Mark found Manka’s house just before mid-night. The main-door of the apartment was padlocked. Mark went to the opposite apartment and kept his hand on the door-bell until a rough woman’s voice screamed in French,  ‘Are you crazy?’ She snatched the door opened. The light was on her back so Mark and Maku didn’t see her face, but they saw that she was enormous and in a vile mood.

‘Bonsour, madame,’ Mark said.

‘Who are you?’ she barked.

‘Police.’

She stiffened momentarily. ‘What has Dubem done again?’ she asked.

Debum, probably a delinquent husband or a felonious son, Mark reasoned. ‘It is not Debum this time around. We are looking for Manka.’ Mark heard what sounded like a sigh of relief.

‘Manka? I haven’t seen him in weeks.’

‘And his wife?’

‘If she isn’t at home then she is out fucking her man friend somewhere.’

‘Give us his address.’

‘Not me. Goodnight.’ She made to turn.

‘Or do you want us to talk about Debum’s latest misdemeanour?’

The woman was agitated. ‘Debum is a changed person!’

‘Give me Mrs Manka’s manfriend’s address.’
# #
‘Do it again,’ Mrs Manka said. The man bit her nipple and she shrieked with lust. ‘Do it again… please, love.’

Feigning reluctance, he took his time then bit her nipple again and that crazy mirth. The man was a tiny being with a hollowing bald head and the woman tall as a pole but with a sensuous attractiveness, discoloured by barefaced immorality. The two were lying in the bed, nude and having a fabulous time. It was in the dead of the night and the whole world seemed to be asleep safe for these two sinners.

Well, there were two other people who weren’t asleep at this moment—Mark and Maku. They had just found the house after close to an hour of wrong calls though the house wasn’t more than twenty minutes trek from Manka’s house. The front door was bolted from the inside but it was woodwork, old woodwork. It didn’t take Maku five minutes to quietly unscrew the nails using a makeshift bar. Mark was in controlled apprehension, the more they delayed the more endangered, Sade’s life. They entered the unkempt sitting room then to the bedroom.

Mrs Manka was on top of her lover when the Nigerian agents stepped in. She turned sharply as her man pushed her off him. The man made for the sheet and covered his groin but the woman was too shocked or upset, perhaps both, to care for her nudity.

‘Who are you?’ she managed to ask.

‘We are Manka’s friends.’

Mrs Manka’s lip dropped. She was in so much shock that Maku feared she would have a heart attack. ‘We are not after your little romance,’ he said; ‘we want Manka.’

‘Where is he?’ Mark asked.

Relieved, Mrs Manka’s anger became uncontained. ‘Is that why you barged into my privacy?’

‘We are a little pressed for time—where is your husband?’

She glared at Mark. ‘He is probably at home.’

‘He isn’t,’ Mark said, ‘and you know it. Your husband is up to something mischievous and I must stop it. It is a matter of international importance. The agency hasn’t heard from him in almost a week. His partner is dead. He is your husband of twelve years. If he is in hiding you know where that could be. Now I ask for the last time, where is your husband?’

There was fear in her eyes but her voice was unhampered. ‘I don’t know.’

Mark brought out his gun and pointed at her face. ‘You are already betraying your husband by sleeping around. So don’t give me any loyalty bullshit because you have none. Tell me where he is now or you die.’

She was crying, hot enormous  rolling down guilty chins. ‘You dare not kill me for something I don’t know.’

Mark looked at Maku. ‘Grab him.’ Maku made to get the man but his lover blocked the way. ‘Keep him out of this,’ but Maku whose bed was thousands of miles away and who hadn’t rested in sixteen hours slapped Mrs Manka’s face with all the frustrations he could muster. She fell on the bed and passed out for two seconds. When she opened her eyes she didn’t know where she was, for fifteen seconds.

Maku had the man on the floor with his knee on the man’s spine, as easily as you would subdue a rabbit. He didn’t really appear up to a man; he resembled a boy with an old man’s face.

‘Where is your husband?’

The woman was crying and shaking with gust. ‘I don’t know, I swear.’

‘Break his hand,’ Mark said. Maku twisted the man’s hand on his back then dragged it up till it broke. The man released a rat wail as the woman screamed.

Mark shouted. ‘Where is your husband?’

‘I don’t know!’

‘Break the other hand.’

Maku grabbed the other hand.

‘NO! Wait, wait! Please wait!’

‘Why wait?’

‘I know where my husband might be!’
# #
Two Camus uniformed men entered Sade’s cell, their pistols drawn, on the ready. But they relaxed somewhat when they saw that Sade’s wrists were handcuffed in her belly, she was asleep.

‘Tu te despierta!’ The first made to grab Sade’s shoulder but was shocked to see Sade’s hands freed, he raised his gun hand but a fork prong gouged into his eye. A goat bleat escaped from his mouth as he dropped his gun and grabbed the fork stuck in his eye.

The second gunman’s finger released the trigger, but Sade’s foot had connected with his wrist, kicking the gun from his hand just as it fired. The bullet hit the first on the back and he crashed on the dish then a rude shatter on the floor. The second bent to pick his fallen firearm up but a kick on the bottom fell him on all fours.

Sade reached for the first man’s gun. The second man grabbed his pistol butt. He turned around and as he raised the gun, Sade shot him on the head.

Sade was sure these two weren’t alone. She picked up the second gun and buried it between her blouse and trousers. She took two steps forward then paused and glanced back at the death. ‘Sorry guys, I seem to be in a foul mood today.’

She thrust her gun forward.

To be continued…

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