TAKEOVER

13

The weekend went by fast, and it was already Monday. Stan was in his usual seat at the back of the class, but he was alert. Ever since that conversation he had with Ikram, he had lost the ability to sleep. Mostly because of the paranoia.

He hadn't noticed anyone following him since his meeting with Ikram, and neither Isack nor Mathew had contacted him for the past two days, which added fuel to the flame inside Stan's mind.

He stared out the window, searching for any anomaly in his surroundings. Anxiety steadily creeped on him.

A tap on his shoulder alerted him of a presence standing beside him.

She was short, her round face held a certain charm to her, and her chubby cheeks flushed slightly due to the heat of the day. Her hair was braided in cornrows that ran along her scalp, falling just past her shoulders. A class representative badge was pinned against her chest.

"Is this seat taken?" Her voice was cheerful, and a warm smile appeared across her face.

"Nope"

Jasmine scents filled Stan's nostrils, probably her perfume as she sat beside him.

"Isn't the class rep supposed to be sitting at the front?" He teased

"Feeling rebellious today," her smile provided a fleeting moment of calm in Stan.

"I didn't know Linah was capable of rebelling," she smacked Stan's shoulder playfully. Stan hinged to the side, rubbing his shoulder.

"Abuse of power there," Linah smiled as she twirled her hair with her finger, a movement that Stan did pick up on. As he turned to face the board, his eyes met with a familiar pair of brown eyes; his pair widened.

She looked hurt, but angry too, and the sight she saw was totally misleading. She turned and stomped out the hall. It took everything Stan had not to go after her, but he would rather be hated by her than be the one who puts her in harm's way.

"So," Linah started, "I don't mean to intrude."

"It's fine, don't worry."

Yep. I'm totally screwed.

***
Matthew parked his car on the curb, in front of a local gym, which was tucked in the industrial part of the city. The gym hadn't changed much over the years; its weathered bricks still holding strong.

Matthew got off his car and walked towards the entrance. A chuckle escaped his lips as he stared at the faded sign at the entrance. 'The gym'

Good old days

Inside, the walls were well painted, and even the equipment was top-notch. The faint smell of sweat still lingered in the air; heavy, muted thuds echoed through the room. Matthew shifted his gaze to the individuals at the centre of the room, where a large boxing ring was.

Roger's broad shoulders were an imposing sight, with thick arms and a bulky chest that put some women to shame. He paced around carefully studying Nico. Who's wiry figure moved swiftly around the ring, trying to keep up with Roger's power.

In an instant, Roger closed the space between them and reached Nico, bombarding him with a series of jabs that forced Nico to the ropes, his movements agile for his size. Nico barely managed to manoeuvre himself out of the ropes; beads of sweat rolled down his face as he breathed heavily.

"Come on, Nico!" Roger barked as he lunged at the young man. Each punch carried more weight, and soon, Nico was completely overpowered and against the ropes.

Matthew watched from the side, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the rampage. Roger was a fighter; he thrived in moments like these. Roger threw a right hook to the ribs, but Nico barely avoided but nicked his side, causing him to grunt in pain. He went down on his knees, holding his side.

"You're going soft, boss." Matthew called out, a smirk firmly planted on his face, alerting the two of his presence.

Roger's eyes locked onto Matthew; a sinister grin appeared. "Nico," he started, grabbing his shirt, forcefully making him stand, "go take a shower." He pushed Nico, who stumbled a bit but headed for the showers still holding his side.

"You think you can do better?" Roger asked, his tone laced with excitement, and the grin widened.

Matthew shrugged, tossing his jacket to a nearby chair. "You should pick on someone your own size."

Roger stepped out of the ring; his muscles gleamed under the light. "Get in then. I could use a real fight."

Matthew obliged, stepping up without hesitation. He climbed inside the ring. They were the only ones in the gym, somewhere Mathew hoped he would be able to talk with Roger without fear of surveillance.

"It's been a while, hasn't it Rog?" Matthew asked as he stretched his arms, readying himself.

"Is that an excuse I hear?" Roger chuckled, his voice a little on edge.

The two began circling each other. Prying eyes, studying each other's movements. "You need to do something, Roger; the situation isn't good."

Roger attacked first, moving with surprising lightness; he threw a light jab, intending to test his opponent. Matthew dodged and created a three-pace space between them.

"Accusations are being thrown around," Matthew said, this time his turn to attack, throwing a right hook, which Roger dodged. "The people are getting nervous; we need to do something.".

Roger's eyes narrowed as he thought. Although he didn't let up, he launched a combination of jabs, which Matthew deflected.

"Do you have the mole?" Roger asked, between breaths.

"Not yet," Matthew swung a left hook, which Roger ducked, counterattacking with a hit to the ribs. Matthew grunted, stumbling back against the ropes. He coughed.

"But I'm close," he coughed again.

Roger wiped the seat from his brows, a look of frustration bare on his face. "We need to do something before our hands are tied, Mat.".

Matthew suddenly jumped, attempting to catch Roger by surprise. Roger sidestepped to the left and ducked an elbow.

"I'm aware"

Roger grunted, delivering another flurry of punches that forced Matthew back once again, against the ropes.

"JB knows he can't beat us in a fight; why can't we attack him head-on?" Roger barked, clearly frustrated.
"If we wait, he might rally an army, and our advantage will disappear."

Matthew managed to duck under a wide hook, landing a solid punch that landed on Roger's gut. Forcing him back temporarily.

"He knows that; that's why there are cops all over us. If we attack now, the best-case scenario is we both fall."

Roger paused, his fists still raised. "What about our people in the force?"

"Most of them have been bought by JB." Matthew blocked a jab and slipped to the side. "The few we have are feeding info about the investigation, in case they have any hard proofs."

Roger's lips curled into a scowl. Without warning, he lunged at Matthew, catching him off guard with a punch to the left ribs. Matthew gritted his teeth as he went down on one knee.

"Fuck!"

Roger removed his gloves, tossing them to the side, a smirk planted on his lips. "How long do we have to wait?"

Matthew sat down, leaning against the ropes as he tried to regain his breath. "I need to set a few things right."

Roger raised his brow. He clearly was getting annoyed with all the waiting, and he wasn't wrong about attacking first. But the cops were placed so that if they were to mobilise, they would be stopped in their tracks, leaving JB to pick them up one by one.

"How about this then?" Matthew stated as Roger was going out the ring. "A month. After that, we can do everything you want."

Roger stood for a moment, calculating. He nodded at Matthew and headed for the showers.

***
"I expect the assignments by Friday," Professor Maziwa said as she closed her laptop. The chatter of the hall steadily rising; finally, the final session of the day had passed. Not that Stan was even attentive in any of them.

"Helloo! World to Stan?" Linah teased, bringing him back from his daydreaming world. "We're going to Mary's café; wanna join?"

"We?"
"Yeah, some of the class reps are joining," her stare was seductive, and although he wasn't in the mood to go for drinks or anything. Being out with a group was better than being alone at home.

"Sure," he said, with a forced smile.

As they walked along the university walls, a couple of Linah's friends were already with her. Laughter and chatter all around him, accompanied by the faint smell of street food.

Greasy.

He glanced occasionally over his shoulder as he walked; he felt something wasn't right, but he couldn't pinpoint what.

Just as they reached the corner, the café was in sight. A black Toyota Alphard glided silently from behind him and parked at the curb just across the street from where he was standing. The tinted windows show nothing from the outside.

Stan's heart started to race. He slowed his pace deliberately, allowing Linah and her friends to go ahead, and as insurance, he slowly removed his phone.

He could hear the passenger seat of the car open. He found the contact and pressed call before returning it into his pocket.

"Stan! You coming?" Linah shouted from across the road; she was alone facing him.

Shit!.

"Of course, I'm coming." He hoped it was a false alarm.

"Stanford Mwina!" A man asked midway across the road.

Shit!

He faced the two men who were making their way towards him. They moved swiftly; one was bald, had a thick neck, a horrible scar across his cheek that ran all the way up to under his eyes.

The other one was shorter but was bulky; his hair was cut short and well kept, and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Both were in black suits.

"Who's asking?" Stan said, staring at the two men who were now standing with him on the sidewalk.

"We need to ask you a few questions," the taller one responded.

"About what?" A rebellious tone in his voice as he waved for Linah to enter the café. He couldn't risk escalating the situation by adding an innocent bystander.

"Not here," the short one chimed in. "We need you to come with us."

"Naah, I'm pretty good talking out here," Stan challenging the pair. They couldn't make a scene out here in public, not with everyone watching.

"Forgive me if we made the wrong impression," the shorter one said, an evil smirk across his face as he pulled his jacket back slightly, revealing a gun tucked in its holster. "It wasn't a request."