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Added: Aug 16
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Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 53
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Source: olaxali
Immediately his phone beeped, he snatched it from the coffee table. It was the text, containing the location: An orchard in Burma, two or three junctions after the Agro Industry.
He hurried to his room and pulled his wardrobe open, shoved his clothes to an edge and drew out his firearm kit. He shoved out his rifle and rummaged for his Glock pistol, digging hands into every corner. Not finding the pistol, he stopped searching and shouldered his rifle, and then dashed to his Pathfinder. The gateman wasted no time in opening the gate.

His Pathfinder managed the bumps on the road and reached the Agro industry safely. He sped past the first junction after the industry and swerved into the second. He scanned for anything resembling an orchard, but found silence instead, treading on the damped grass and leaving its prints atop—the only thing worthy to be called a print.

Before he would attempt the third junction, he opted to try few more drives. Some distance further led him to the sight of a fence with wavering treetops protruded from its height. The orchard. He doubled speed and parked beside the fence. Birds chirped and leaves slashed within the fence. Chirping birds had never been a sign of danger. The police might have done their work and gone. Or they might have not. They were never fast enough. He examined the ground for police tyre prints. The grasses didn’t help.

Ezinne remained behind the cornered cherry tree. No other vantage could be better. She watched her man on the turf try to lure Bakare out. Time had elapsed and the coward had not yet showed himself. He ought to have appeared fifteen minutes ago and everything supposed to have been over. She eyed her wristwatch. Bakare always did the unexpected, cowardly or cunningly. Whatever way he chose to operate, she would send him to where he belonged—the fieriest pit of hell.


A minute passed. She peeked to her man. His face had grown thin, bowed to his phone screen with fingers on its buttons, probably dialling the coward.

The coward finally showed himself, but not the way he should. He tiptoed behind her man and when he got close, clutched her man’s neck with an arm. He said something into her man’s ear and brought out the gun hidden in her man’s waist. How did he manage to see the gun?

Bakare freed him and said something inaudible. She strained ears to get any word.
“What were you thinking?” he asked with a high pitch, rounding her man and scrutinizing him. “This place belongs to me. You think you can play games with me? I was here twenty minutes before you arrived. I saw you check and crack your gun.” He whirled the gun round a finger. “What’re you doing here with a gun?” She couldn’t hear the other things he said.
She reached for the pistol tucked in her trouser, stroked its surface and glanced at Bakare, who hovered round her man. She eyed her gun and dipped a finger in its muzzle—the perfect nose to breathe out the wind of death to a man deserving worse. A shoot from her vantage might be a miss, and the gun meant for backup was in the coward’s hands, glued to it as he hovered round her man. He wouldn’t hover around forever.
Some strings of her braid swirled to the wind. She pushed them back and tied them properly.
Her man spoke audible enough. “What do you expect? This is a deal and I hold guns in my deals. It’s my ethic.”

“The previous two deals, I saw no gun. If I had, there’d have been no deal” Bakare cursed him. “I don’t hold guns and don’t deal with people that hold guns.”
“Everyone in this trade hold guns.”
“I do understand that, but what I don’t understand is cracking a gun at the place of meet. I saw you crack this gun.” He whirled it round his finger. “What else could it mean? I don’t play games, and I hate people playing games with me.”
“All right I’m sorry. The gun is in your hands. Now go get me my heroin. I want to get out of here.”

“Why would I trade with you?”
“Because I have the money and you have what I need.”
Bakare said something too faint for her ears to pick. His pitch rose. “I’ll give you your heroin, but not because of the money; I have a million others to trade with. I’ll give you because of the third party involved—the woman. She shouldn’t suffer from your…” His voice ceased. Ezinne stretched ears further and gained more of his bass. “Wait here,” he told her man. “Don’t move. Remember I’m the man with the gun, and I beg you not to dare me.”


He stepped backwards, not letting his eyes totally go off her man. She tried securing an eye contact with her man but refrained. Any eye contact with him was risky and now wasn’t the time for risks.

Later, Bakare stalked back to the turf, holding the bag of rubbish.

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