Fair Play or Vengeance

“Come on. Drive” I called out to the driver as soon as I jumped into the back of the pick-up. A policewoman aimed an AK at me from the court’s main entrance but missed, thanks to my driver’s acumen, instead finding the target’s alternative, the pick-up’s left-wing mirror. Every then court associate seemed to be occupied with the dying man, so when the driver slowed down to launch into the highway, I jumped down and joined him behind the dashboard. His name was Issa, he was part of my father’s gang. The only one that had given himself up in my quest for revenge against Guru.

The little courtroom had been packed with all manner of lookers-on and aspirants, furniture well-spaced, to allow room for security scanning, and the domain hushed enough for neutrality swindles. I'd been seated on a bench in the last row, just next to the main entrance, a position I had deliberately chosen from the previous session. Everyone in front seemed to have a significant sort of height, so I had to occasionally lengthedn my neck to face the wan faced magistrate. He was immersed in his paperwork, on the face of it considering options. I could see his gray eyes moving side to side in his black rimmed glasses. Earlier on, as he stepped into the courtroom, I had concluded he was the lowest ranked magistrate in town, owing to the hearsays on the pending verdict. The young prosecutor visually surveyed the courtroom, lips in motion, ostentatiously spitting some sense I couldn’t figure out. My target’s lawyer was leaning on the bailiff’s desk, his head down on his mendacious paperwork. He had one of the finest suits I’d ever come upon, and was physically well proportioned.

I had turned my head to give an on to my prey. An eminent drug cartel, with loads of political connections, masses called him Guru, but I came to know him as Jordan Thabo over the uncountable barren court proceedings. He was my dad’s slayer and consequently my quarry. He already had his dead eyes fixed on me, so I retained the hostile union until he gave in to it. 

I had long been of the opinion that we lived in a tit-for-tat world. A world engulfed in massive redresses and paybacks. A world in which you had to rhyme with unjust crop ups to be accommodated. Dad had formed his gang to give credit to the world’s depraved turn ups. I had joined the gang as a champion to the hypothesis. Dad had been executed by one who believed in the cankers but to a relatively conc extent. Here I was, sitting on this bench for vengeance, what follows could also have a related successor. And therefore, we curtained the future, doing everything without a vision to satisfy our present regardless of future costs. The trend had since formed part of nature, and who was I to insult nature? Appreciation was inevitable.

“...and in this case…” I had shifted attention to the grizzled law lord’s shaky voice. He was reading from one of his files. He sipped in a breather. Meanwhile, I composed myself for my next gambit. “…the court finds the witness’s contention that Mr. Thabo murdered Mr. Dero is not supported by the ...” I had immediately reached for the Sig Sauer P938 from my waist, aimed at Guru’s left chest, flinging him soundly on to the wall behind him. I wasn’t sure if he died immediately, but I knew for sure he wouldn’t survive. I immediately darted out into the back of a white four wheel pick up that had been packed strategically for my service.

Guru had been leading another gang when he double-crossed my father- Mr. Dero in a cocaine deal, killing him to the fore of his gang members, I had been part of the gang. He shot down several other members while a few of us managed to flee after a belligerent shoot-out. He’d since been a fugitive until two years later, when he was captured boarding a plane with a ticket to Bolivia. I had waited for this final court session for eight months and his victory was becoming explicit, courtesy of the unscrupulous system. If the lucid attestation, braced by cameras wasn’t enough then a blood banquet was pertinent. Brutality for prejudice.

“Behind us” Issa yelled as soon as we joined the highway. “Hold the wheel” he added. 

“The Mossberg” I yelled back as we switched position to take the driver’s seat while he moved to the co-seat. Mossberg 500 was a powerful short gun used by dad. I had kept it behind the pick-up’s seats ever since he was murdered. It brought in a unique sort of inspiration in carrying on with the outlawed dealings and also a great back up to my little Sig Sauer P938. I held the wheel firmly, leaned forward to allow Issa pull out the Mossberg. It was terribly dusty but well crammed with bullets and in good condition. I then released my left arm from the wheel to pull out the Sig Sauer from my waist, as he dusted the short gun. A shoot out was never a queer affair, we’d grown up romping with guns, and so it began. But something happened as soon as Issa began countering the cops who had since launched their bullets on our pick-up. 

“Ooh” He screamed and immediately went silent.

“What is it?” I posed not looking at him. I had my eyes fixed on the highway now that the pick-up was at full speed. Issa didn’t respond. “Hey Issa is everything okay” I asked again tensed, but he again kept mum. I had felt some fluid spurt on my chin which on wiping I realized was blood. I took a quick glance at Issa and he was completely soaked in a pool of blood gushing out through his forehead. He’d been shot in the head from the back and through the headrest. I couldn’t tell how but I could clearly figure out the bullet’s path. I shakenly reached for my cell phone and dialed mum’s number. 

Despite the belief that dad and I were basically paying homage to the unjust world, my family had never been at one peace with this chronic take on. We had enough opulence, lived a top swanky lifestyle, but mum had never liked dad’s dealings. After losing his job to a senior retired political figure, dad had swallowed the postulation that nothing in this globe was neutral or straightforward, and so to catch up with this unethical economic, social and political atmosphere, one had to adapt, and the best way to adapt was to first adopt an unethical dealing. He had then formed his gang and resorted on living separately as a way of keeping I, my little sister Ima and mum safe. But because I had sympathized with the impression of unfairness for unfairness, I insisted I wanted to join him. Mum had strongly opposed the move but to no purpose. At only twelve, I already found myself floating in the hub of multimillion drug traffics, political and economic liquidations, and decisive gun battles. 

“Hello, love how’s the session? Made some cookies for you and your sister, would you come over after the case? I hope you’re not up for something stupid” Mum said as soon as she picked my call. Her voice was appealing as always, clearly oblivious of the proceedings. “Any hope…? She went on but I finally pulled up.

“Mama I’m sorry” I couldn’t control my tears. “I had to do it”

“Do what? I mean what are you talking about son? Is everything fine?” Her voice immediately began recasting, from an appealing one to a completely choky and tensed one. 

“Jack is dead” I responded, and immediately noticed a sigh in her breath. A promising relief that was never going to last any longer. “But I might be next. The cops mum. I love you” I added. Mum had begun sobbing. From the background I could get Ima’s innocent tender voice.

“Mummy, what’s wrong? What’s happening to Larry…” I took the phone off my ears, turned it off, kissed it and threw it on to the dashboard. 

Behind me was a squad of uniforms. It never bothered me, though the deafening sirens to some extent got my ears handicapped. Closest, like fifty meters behind was a blue flying squad Peugeot. At least that’s what could be captured by my sole right-wing mirror. So, I decided maybe I should teach them a lesson or two before the sunset. 

A lesson; I held the wheel firmly with my right arm, reached for the Mossberg on Jack’s dead arms, made myself a little bit comfortable then pulled a trigger at the Peugeot’s wheel sending it to a building on the way side. Immediately on the Jacks side surfaced another uniform on a motorbike. I could see his lips moving, so I guessed he was saying something like “Halt, surrender or I’m gonna shoot” I never bothered, I instead went for the highest speed, turned on the radio, but my favourite station had some coward yapping about some two young gunmen being pursued along the highway and warning drivers and pedestrian to keep off. So, I switched to music, one of my dearest AC/DC albums “Highway to Hell”. I raised the volume and began singing along, warping up the lyrics for my situational convenience.

“No stop signs, speed limit

Nobody’s gonna slow me down

Like a wheel, gonna spin it

Nobody’s gonna mess me around …”

Or two; the highway had since been cleared and I knew there were more of these hunters in front. The cop with the bike had managed to keep up with me, he shouted again and again, but this time I gave him a brutal alternative to “I never surrender”, showed him my middle finger then turned the wheels to his side knocking him down to a sloppy road side. His colleagues who had ceased their guns launched a new shoot out. I didn’t want to commit any more murder, I thought I had done enough, because I only wanted one person dead, Guru or rather Thabo as the court lunatics called him. But to survive this I knew I had to counter any form of war brought against me. Going to jail didn’t even cross my mind. For that reason, I made one shot at a time regardless of who I aimed or who had aimed at me. I also made sure I maintained the highest speed possible. In the meantime;

“…Hey Satan, paid my dues

 Playing in my daddy’s gang

Hey mama, Look at me

I’m on my way to the promised land, whooooo…”

“But mum I’m really sorry” I mumbled then realized my tears were out of control. I was so much engrossed into “Highway to Hell” that I didn’t take note how close the uniforms had come to me. I raised the Mossberg took a quick glance behind and made a shot but I bumped into something sending the bullet to dead Issa’s head instead. My hurting chest rested on the steering wheel. I raised my head to glance forward but all I could see was a barter of blue and red lights, and a group blurry bluish uniforms, in positions guns pointed at my car. I rotated my head to see what was behind, same scene. It’s at this moment that I noticed I was at a roadblock. My pick-up had collided with a heavy concreate barrier as I made the shot. I could as well make out a thick liquid outflux from my forehead that rushed down blocking my right eye. The Mossberg had landed on Issa’s body which was now leaning on me. I took a glance at him and his snowy eyes were wide open looking sorrowfully at me. 

“Rest in peace dude. I’m sorry” I thought.

“You better stop looking at me that way” I found myself groaning instead, then pushed him away.

I stared at the cops in front, one was on a wireless ahuja horn speaker with a bullet proof fitted around his abdomen. I couldn’t get a word from him. Everything around me looked muddled. The windscreen was clear enough and could clearly see my moves to allow them decide on their next. From raising my head off the steering, to looking behind me and to shoving away Issa’s body. My right eye was covered with blood, my left eye had a long fresh teardrop. I gave out a scornful smile, looked at Issa’s remosefull open eyes, then suddenly reached for the Mossberg.