Hard Man

7

"You're Igbo."
— General Babalola Halal

"You have so much to learn. I'll let today slide because you obviously don't know me, but you've got me fucked up if you think you can speak to me the way you've been."
— General Babalola Halal

xXx

It was the first day of the third week of the month, and it was time to do the very exercise she dreaded the most.
She always had time off every third week to do this.

This exercise always reminded her of what she had lost, and what she continued to lose five years after her father's death.
She hated to think about it, because all that came up was a blank wall of pain and confusion. She had never been able to have this discussion with her mother because shortly after her Father's death, the woman started to lose it too.

She had been left to fend off the creditors and pay all these debts alone without having knowledge of how the debts came about. She knew one day her mom would be fine, and they would finally be able to talk. Whatever her father had involved himself in had to be dire, because his death had brought on a punishment that was too much for a widow and her young daughter to bear.

"You're a fighter," she commended herself softly. "You only have five million left."

She tried to smile as she made calculations on how to disburse the money she had made. Two million was what she had, and one million must go to her father's creditors or else they would bring down trouble. She didn't want that.
Asides the debt, she also had to send her mother money for foodstuff. The last time she went home, Mrs. Funsho had talked about food.
Plus, she knew her mom needed a car because of her constant hospital visits.

"That would have to wait," she murmured, pulling up her bank app. "She decided to send 1.8 million to Mrs. Funsho, while she would manage the remaining two hundred thousand. Mrs. Funsho would send one million to their creditors, and then use the balance to buy food and pay for any medical fees her mom might have incurred.
Her mind stayed on Mrs. Funsho for another few seconds, and she thanked God for the woman.

Before her father's death, Mrs. Funsho had been working with her father for ten years. After the man's death, the debt and troubles were too much, and everyone else left. However, Mrs. Funsho stayed, and had remained with them ever since then.
She didn't think she would have been able to cope without that woman. Honestly.

A knock sounded at the door, and Des narrowed her eyes while trying to guess who it was. It couldn't be Ify. The knock was too quiet for it to be her flatmate.
If it was Ify, she would have kept banging the door until it was opened.
Whoever it was had only knocked once.

Des wanted to ignore it, but curiosity had her swinging her legs from the couch and walking towards the door.
Who was it?
She shifted the flap from the peephole and closed one eye to peer into it. The caller was a tall, with man that looked very familiar. She found herself pulling the door open, ignoring the voice in her head warning her to be cautious.

"Good morning, miss." Immediately the man spoke, she recognized him and her eyes widened.
Mohammed.
He was the man who had brought her phone in a parcel after her frolick with the General three months ago.

"Good morning," she answered.

"The General wants to see you," he said, pointing to the jeep behind him. Her heart skipped two beats, and she found herself hyperventilating as she stared across the expanse of the compound towards the black, monster vehicle.

"Is he in there?"

"No. But he's waiting for you."

Des frowned. "Why?"