Cheating Death

5

Four race cars pulled up in convoy right on Stamp Street and it didn’t take long before Makinde came to the conclusion that this wasn’t a car race because it’s a close-ended street – it played out like a scene from Fast and Furious.

He counted nine tough men wielding a proliferation of weapons alight from the cars – two each from the first three cars and three from the last car. Overwhelmed with trembling fear, he gasped.

“Shit! I’m so fucked!” They floundered towards the main gate and beckoned on Josh. He dropped the foam wiping his soapy hands clean with his shorts and motioned a handshake to the leader of the pack.

He rebuffed him.

‘What the fuck!’ Makinde gushed as he watched a thriller unfold from his window pane. The leader and Josh talked for a few seconds and then Josh walked away from him, bouncing into the house.

“Yo!” Josh yelled from the entrance. “This man outside - Hardy, wants to talk to you man, you should holla at him” Josh echoed. Makinde detested Josh for leading the man to him, he could have just told them there’s nobody by that name here.

“Fuck!” Makinde exclaimed grabbing his head with his hands, his back against the wall.

He sunk to the floor wishing it would open up and take him. He couldn’t decide whether to face his fears regardless of the outcome or hit the ground running and skip town.

“Just hear what he has to say. He said he just wants to talk” Josh said knocking at his door.

“Josh, Are you out of your fucking mind?!” Makinde hollered with clenched teeth.

“These guys are trouble, can’t you see that?”

A storm of thoughts flooded his head as he peeped out once more and the wild pack were casing his house thought they didn't force their way in. ‘Fuck It! I’m going out there.’

Makinde thought, simultaneously bobbing towards the pack past his bedroom door and through into the lot. He slowly approached the Hardy man who he presumed is Ann’s husband.

Hardy had a pretty boy face but Makinde couldn’t even look in his eyes because he had a cold killer look. Makinde was certain what happened between him and Ann was the reason he had uninvited guests.
“Are you Mak?”

“Nope! I don’t know anybody by that name sir.” Mak shook his head.

Hardy was fuming, clutching a Katana sword behind him. Makinde stood across from him separated by a 5 feet gate.

“Ask my friend!” Makinde said shakily quickly turning his head to point Josh to him but Josh was nowhere in sight.

“He told me you’re Mak. Are you lying to me?” Hardy said as his voice deepened.

“You’re not Mak?!”

“Oh! Check the next house sir.” Makinde said hoping he could talk his way out of this dilemma.
Hardy wasn’t shaking. “You’re not Mak, Right?” He said in a roaring voice.

Makinde lifted his head to peer past Hardy’s shoulder and got a clear view of the hard-boiled faces of the thugs he came with.

They raked at him muttering to each other indistinctly.

‘These dogs look hungry and about to feast on my flesh.’ Makinde pondered as his walls of confidence crumbled.

Hardy reached into pocket and pulled out a phone which looked all too familiar, raising up to his face.

“Is that you or not?” Makinde peered into the phone and he caught a whiff of Ann’s scent.

“Motherfucker! Is that you or not?” He screamed so loud. Makinde sloped over the gate to look again then Hardy scrolled through the lewd pictures of him and his ex-wife or wife.

Makinde stared at Hardy, disbelief, horror and confusion coming together in his eyes.

Hardy lunged at Makinde with the sword striking him on the head. At once, the pack wrestled to break the locks on the main gate loose.

Makinde gushing blood out the gash on his head, hurdled into his house snapping the lid on the sliding door then struggled to close the collapsible steel door, holding it together with one hand while trying to hook and click the padlock.

Hardy and his gang rushed to the entrance and unleashed their arsenal at Makinde in a ferocious rage. He couldn’t hook the lock fast enough, the force with which they charged at the glass door sent fragments of glass shattering on him. Makinde gathered momentum before letting go his failing grip.

Makinde raced into his bedroom and slammed his door. They were on his heels, thumping and thrashing but he forcefully kept them out and keyed the door.

“Come out here. Motherfucker! You’re dead!” They whacked and crashed against the door; cursing and swearing, but Makinde pushed back with all he had.

Things went south in the blink an eye. Soon, the pushing and shouting ceased for a few seconds. Makinde could hear them destroy everything in the house; they wrecked the flat screen television, smashed the PlayStation, shattered everything ceramic and glass in the kitchen.

Makinde fueled by adrenaline didn’t feel any pain though he was bleeding profusely from his head and his hand – cuts inflicted while trying to secure the entrance. He held his phone and called the cops.

He appealed to the call operator, vaguely illustrating the emergency on Stamp Street. He explained that he was being attacked by thugs who were hell bent on killing him at his house.

Moments later, the breaking and clattering sounds from the house died away and alas there was a semblance of quiet. He didn’t know if they had left so he saw an exit through his room window leading to the rear of the house and leaped into the backyard, now he had a clear view of the entrance through his defaced kitchen - looking in from the back of the house.

The entrance was mangled and ajar. Josh, Mayor and Cherish were tiptoeing across the gable roof at a distance, they eluded the assault through the attic – choosing the roof as their exit strategy.

He felt guilty and deeply apologetic for putting them through such chaos.
Sirens blared and before long cop lights gleamed on the walls of the living room.

Makinde cautiously skipped back his room and unlocked the door. He could now comprehend the degree of the vandalism; the T.V set had a big hole in the center and now laid on the floor, the leather seats had been ripped apart leaving wool scattered all over the lounge floors, the whole house looked like a battlefield.

The state in which Makinde saw his house hurt him deeply, overwhelmed by emotions of agony and sorrow, tears rolled his cheeks. He walked away from the ruin to meet the cops in the driveway.

“Are they still here?” The cop asked pointing his gun towards the foyer.

“No. No. They left already.” He stuttered quivering with pain in his voice.