Forgive the Godfather

3: Scheming and planning

Linka Strina was a tall, lean man of about forty to forty-five years. He had the complexion of an Albino. His head was oblong with high cheek bones. His big smoke-stained teeth, when he smiled, which was rare, gave you the impression of a donkey.

His boss had given him specific instructions, which he had proceeded to execute with no questions asked. For a good price of money, Linka was willing to provide all kinds of services, including the clandestine.

He'd been given the picture of a girl and the house address where she lived with her parents. His job was to follow her around wherever she went and to keep out of sight.

After following the girl for about two to three weeks, he had gathered enough information about her routine.

But before he'd begun, he needed to have an office. So, posing as a freelance reporter, the estate agents had accepted him as such, and granted him six months' lease of one of the over three thousand shops at the top most floor of one the six blocks of the commercial business center, for which Linka paid fully in cash.

Another crucial aspect of this assignment required a vehicle. So, Linka had gotten one of the numerous printers within the commercial plaza, to print for him a sample business card.

This time he was posing as a printer when he'd approached the car rental service. Linka had hired a van, telling the proprietor of the car rental service that he needed to move some papers, and would be needing the van for three days.

So now, he was ready to move to the next phase of the operation.

Linka sat before the tiny desk in the small office, with the green paint peeling off the wall. Apart from the small desk with one drawer and a chair, there was a plastic chair facing the desk. A suspended ceiling fan churned hot air around the room.

Linka continued to stare expectantly at the two cell phones on the dust covered table in front of him.

His boss had told him to expect a call from him at 10.00 am. He had been waiting impatiently for two hours for the phone to ring. Finally, after waiting for about two and half hours, the blue-cased phone began to chime an African beat, signalling an incoming call.

Linka hurriedly scooped up the phone with his large, claw-like fingers. "Hello? Linka speaking."

He listened for three minutes without interrupting, barely grunting and nodding his oblong head. When the voice from the other end had stopped speaking, Linka gently put back the worn phone on the table top.

He again waited for about twenty minutes, then he saw a text message on the cracked screen of the black-cased phone.

Linka leaned forward and peered at the message. He could see only part of the message due to the cracked screen. The message indicated that its origin was from his bank.

He hurriedly picked up the phone and, screwing up his eyes, he scrolled through the short text message:

Bank Alert. Credit Notification. Your account has been credited with N200,000.00.

Linka showed his large stained teeth in one of those rare moments, which passed for a grin.

He flipped through his contact list on the blue-cased phone, found the number he was looking for and pressed the dial button.

"Hello?" a voice answered.

"Jumbo, is that you?"

"It is me quite alright," the voice said.

"Okay, listen," Linka went on, "Something very important has come up. Get Long and get Frankie. I want you at my place in one hour. It's time you guys made a little money. Meet me at my place at the commercial plaza. If I'm not here when you get here, wait for me, okay?"