SERGENT SALVIN

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"Have you heard, he's here!"
"Who's here?"
"Salvin!"
"Salvin?! That's impossible—"
"Aahh, we've no hope then, our deeds must surely have reached his ears."
Bola and Kola paced around a little, hands spread under their chins; each man to his own thoughts.
"I know what to do, we'll hide in the underground channel; the one I dug for. . .you know nah!"
Kola nodded calmly, his face covered with perspiration.
They looked hither and thither in the compound as though expecting to see someone. Not seeing anyone, Bola beckoned his ally into his hut.
I chuckled as I watched them from the Closed Circuit Television chip I'd implanted in every nook and cranny of Bola's compound. Adjusting my tie, I began to scribble a poem — my men waiting patiently for an order — then handed it to the chief FBI, Wassiu. He scratched the base of his beard-covered neck with one hand, then collected the manuscript with the other.
His eyes skedaddled through, then grew wide. With his hand, he wrote some calculations on an imaginary board, then grinned after unraveling the mystery behind my words. I threw my face away from his eyes when I saw he'd figured my words out. The others stretched their necks over his shoulders but, unfortunately, could not understand a single thing.
If I was in a community or village, then there was a problem. And no villain ever escaped, you know why? Because I'd have already been in the village two weeks before it was officially announced. I raised my sunglasses to my eyes, with my favourite no-nonsense face. Together, we matched to the home of Bola, whose friend was lying vulnerably inside the hut — his back against the wall, while his filà covering his face. Just beside him, there was an empty gin bottle. I motioned to two officers to keep their guns watching the sleepyhead, while myself and the others went to the backyard where the sound of running water was heard.
The backyard had a trodded path that led to a forest. Bola was nowhere to be found, so we had to trace the footprints we thought we were getting, into the forest. The more we advanced, the more the sound of running water grew lounder in our ears. Birds chirped above the trees, gazing down at us. My men had their eyes open for any suspicious movement. While they acted as though they were in a war film, Wassiu and I walked calmly, already expecting what to see.
Before our eyes, we saw a little river that ran through lot of bushes and barrows. Just at the top of a little tree, hung Bola's lifeless body, dangling down a rope tied tightly around his neck.
"There!" someone alarmed, and the others averted their gaze to Bola.
I turned around and looked at my men. They all had their mouth gaped.
"The lesson, friends," I said to them. "One thing that kills a man faster than a gun is his own conscience. Research showed that Bola has been reading lots of newspapers about my bringing justice for one village to the other, and the fate of the evildoers."
They had their arms folded as they listened. I was about to speak further when someone called out from behind us. "Sergent Salvin! Kola Is dead!"
This one took me by surprise. I arched an eyebrow and he spoke further, "The bottle beside him was inspected and we saw it was poison. When I tried tugging at him with my gun, he fell the other way, without a shrug. His face was pale-white."
They all turned their astonished faces at me, while Wassiu whispered something in my ears that they all yearned, again, to know. . .

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