FATHERS & SONS

OSITA'S STORY :CHAPTER 1

Maybe if I had a mother ...

No, it wouldn't have mattered.

She wouldn't have done anything anyway

Chapter1

Papa paced up and down the living room, eyes fixed on the ceiling with its patches of peeled white, and blackened edging. Then he'd stop, his cell phone plastered to his ear. "Don't worry, Chief," he whispered. "I'll take care of it. I'll...yes...yes. David will be easy to find."

He glanced at me.

I knew that look; another unspoken rule pulsing through Papa's yellowed eyes. Translation: Lock the doors and windows. Don't let anyone in. And don't leave.

Stiffening, I pushed myself off the wall, sweat prickling my underarms. Papa had woken me an hour before, grasping my tee-shirt and barking curses in my ear. Provoking him now would be stupid. I just had to play along.

I wasn't going to miss David.

Papa flipped his phone shut, and shoved it into his pocket with an angry hiss. I bit my lower lip, and shifted my gaze to his feet. Ugly things, with toenails all curved in different directions. He'd soon make his way back through the corridor, and return with his Glock 35, his knife, maybe even the machete...

"Osita..." Papa said his voice quiet. "Hurry up."

Swallowing, I dug in to my shorts. My fingers soon closed around a metal clump, and I sprinted toward the front door, already sliding one of the keys through the lock.

"Osita, my shoes" he called out behind me, his voice raised now. "Are you stupid?"

Of course I was. I was still here, wasn't I?

Heart racing, I hurried back to the center of the room, and crouched behind the high-backed settee, a mish-mash of torn upholstery and cushions with rat bitten holes. I thrust my hand under the sofa. After a few desperate seconds, I gave a sigh of relief as my hands closed over Papa's canvas .Then I pushed myself off the floor, trying to ignore the pin-prick sensation of sand and grit on my knees. It was better than a punch in the chest. That happened last week. Something about the way I looked at Kevwe. I couldn't remember.

Curving my hands round Papa's canvas, I straightened up and blinked at the spot where he stood a few seconds before, old boxes and cardboard hovering in the background. Another hovel. The fourth in six months. The police weren't supposed to find us here. The people on Adesanya Street wouldn't allow it, all of them bowing and smiling as Papa passed by. It was safer...smarter to be grateful to Chief.

David should have remembered that.

I rubbed the back of my neck, staring back at the sofa. It was probably in there, hidden under all that foam and spring. It could be there, all three hundred thousand. It was just like Papa to leave it there in plain sight. I'd never look there of course. I wasn't that smart.

The sounds of Papa's breathing jerked me back into reality, a white tee-shirt wrapped round his muscled frame, head glistening bald under the one fluorescent light. A duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. I stepped forward, and passed him his shoes. The frown was gone from his eyes now; all that was left was a squinty-eyed blankness. This was the second stage. The first stage was the quiet anger, the rage at being barked at by Chief, and not able to do a damn thing about it. Now he was still and calm. Ready to do what needed to be done.

As he slid his feet into his canvas, I resisted the urge to reach behind my back, and feel the scars running up and down my flank. I stared at him instead, watching as long fingers secured Velcro straps. When he stood up, I turned away quickly, and stared out of the window. Kevwe had hung her wrappers across them again, exactly the same ones as the night before. Blue-patterned cloth flung across the sill. She was too stupid to realize that if someone wanted to look through, they could. They just didn't dare.