Dave Coker climbs the stairs, two at a time. His coat is dripping wet and his hat is heavy. He ignores the mutterings of the young men smoking at the base of the stairs. They can't see his face.

He climbs all the way to the top floor, his gloved hands are clenching and unclenching. He turns right, marches down the hallway to the last door. The door is old and brown with a shiny black padlock.

Dave removes a key from his front pocket and inserts it into the lock. The door groans open as he leans a shoulder into it. He takes a long look down the hallway before going inside.

The room is bare except for except for two men strapped to chairs in the middle of the room. Next to them is a music player and a big speaker.

Dave Coker switches on the light and the room is bathed in a dull yellow glow from the dirty bulb hanging from the ceiling. The smell of damp concrete is thick and cockroaches scurry away from the light.

The man on the right is Justice Bamidele. 65, bald with an absurd potbelly and notoriously corrupt.

Next to him is Kenneth Amadi. 30, a rapist and has evaded the law several times.

Dave removes his hat, places it on the speaker. His hair drips water onto his face. He removes a Glock 22 from his holster. The grip is alien in his hands. It is not his service pistol. "I'm going to remove the tape now," he says to both men. "Do not shout or I will kill you."

He removes the duct tape from Kenneth Amadi's mouth.

"Fuck you," says Kenneth. His eyes are angry, almost rabid.

Dave allows a small smile into his face. He removes four photographs from his pocket. They are small and square with staple holes at the top. "I imagine you still remember these women," he says as he drops them one after the other on Kenneth's lap. "Lisa Benjamin, Margaret Udochie, Omolola Peters and Mary Asuno. All raped by you."

"So? What are you gonna do? What's your deal anyway?"

Dave holds Kenneth's gaze. He takes out another photograph from his pocket. This one is of a younger girl. He dumps it on his laps.

Kenneth Amadi swallows. "What... what is this?"

"Tayo Omode. She was fourteen, just a kid and you raped her."

"Look, look," says Kenneth as he laughs. "You just let me go and I'll pay you handsomely, I swear. I'm a man of my word."

"Yes. Just like how you payed the judge here."

Kenneth stares at him for few moments. "Twenty million," he says. "In cash. How about that?"

"The girl died last night. She jumped from a seven storey building. The autopsy report showed she was three weeks pregnant."

"What?" For the first time, Kenneth looks afraid.

Dave tapes his mouth.

He removes the tape from Justice Bamidele's mouth. It comes off with some bit of moustache.

He takes a photograph from his pocket and holds it before the judge's face. "Rambo, murdered a family of three and you let him go."

The judge is sweating. His potbelly heaves up and down with each breath. "Please, don't kill me," he says. "I have children... two... two children. Please."

"Yes," says Dave. "John and Sarah. They've lived in Switzerland all their lives and they have no idea their dad releases criminals into the society after accepting bribes, do they?"

"Please," says the judge. Tears are running down his eyes. "I was greedy."

"Because of you, thirteen people are dead."

"What? Where? How?"

"Rambo robbed a bank a few hours ago with thirteen bodies on his trail. If you had convicted him as you should have - according to the evidences - that wouldn't have happened."

"Oh God. Please."

"You don't get to call his name," says Dave. He tapes Justice Bamidele's mouth. "Not now. Not after what you've done."

"Why are you doing this?"

Dave pauses. "I don't know. I stopped thinking about that a long time ago. I guess it is because someone has to make you pay."

He turns on the music player and connects it to the speaker. The two men are watching him, struggling against their bonds with wide eyes. He plays a song and twists the volume knob. The room vibrates with heavy beats and bass guitar.

He pulls back the slide on the gun and pulls the trigger. Twice.

He puts on his soggy hat and exits the room. No one spares him a glance at the bottom of the steps. He walks out into the drizzling rain and down the street to a black van.

Twenty minutes later, he is on the Third Mainland Bridge.

He parks the van by the side, walks out. The rain picks up pace. He shoves his hand into his pocket and brings out the gun, he pulls out the cartridge and tosses them over the side.

He waits to hear the sound of the gun hitting the water, but he never hears it. It is a very tall bridge.

He gets into the van and starts it. He wonders if he'd be able to sleep tonight.

Dave looks out of the window, stares at the inky darkness of the lagoon, he imagines his heart is slowly turning that colour. From red to black. A slow l, steady corruption.

He puts the van into gear and pulls away. The rain is pelting the glass and the smell of charcoal smoke is thick in his hands.

***

"He wont know what hit him," says Agent Charles. He fiddles with his gun and forces himself from chewing his nails. He can feel it. The time has come. Fabian Dost, Interpol's third most wanted criminal is about to land in Lagos.

He can picture the pay raise, the commendations and perhaps the much needed leave he is going to get after delivering Fabian Dost. Paris seems a very nice place this time of the year. The opportunities are so plenty he's almost lightheaded.

"Don't you think the intel sounds fishy?" asks Agent Yemi. He is sitting next to Charles in a government issued Peugeot that is racing towards a private airfield. Yemi is cautious and reserved. Always thinking twice before every action.

Charles isn't sharing his thoughts. "The private airfield is registered in Nicklas Savage; one of Fabian Dost's aliases. What more proof do you want?"

Yemi shrugs. "All we have is a name. No face, nothing."

The Peugeot skids to a stop before a barbed gate. Charles jumps out of the car as a convoy of similar looking Peugeots come to a stop before the gate.

"Let's worry about intel later. Its time to end this fucker," says Charles.

A small plane cruises to a stop in the airfield before the gate. "He's here," says Charles to the fifteen field operatives behind him. They are all wide eyed, excited and nervous. This is the biggest operation of their career.

"Alright," he says. "Let's do this."

There is a loud crunching of gravel as they reach the gate. A sleepy eyed security guard pops up before them. There is a ketchup stain on his shirt that he tries to lick off. "No journalists," he says as he checks the padlock on the metal door.

Then, he sees the guns and he freezes.

"We are with the state security agency. There is a very dangerous criminal aboard that plane. It'll be best if you find a safe place." Charles grits his teeth as he hears the sounds of the plane die. "Let us through," he says.

The security guard swallows and eyes them. "Did you say the SSA?"

Charles cocks his gun. "Open this goddamned door or I swear you'll be lucky if you find a job cleaning public toilets."

The guard hesitates for a moment then removes a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocks the gate.

The agents stream in, guns ready as they half run on the tarmac. A dozen lamp posts line the walls of the small airfield. The dark sky holds no moon.

A figure emerges from the plane and Agent Charles points his gun at him. "How many passengers are there?"

"J...Just one."

"Open it."

The pilot walks to the side of the plane and pulls open the door. The interior is dark. "Mr Johnson," he says.

There is no answer from the plane.

"Johnson?" asks Agent Charles.

The pilot frowns. "Yes. Mr Tade Johnson."

There is a screeching sound in Agent Charles' ears as he feels his plans float away. He slides his gun and climbs inside the plane. There is a strong copper smell in the air. "Where is the light?"

The pilot runs to the cockpit and a moment later, the light is turned on.

Agent Charles stares at the scene before him in horror and surprise. There is a figure on the plush leather seats. It is not Fabian Dost. It is Tade Johnson; a candidate in Lagos state's fiercely contested governorship office race. His eyes are open and his face is twisted into a mask of silent agony. There are two rivulets of blood running from his nose down to the floor. It is still fresh.

"Shit," says Agent Yemi as he climbs into the plane and surveys the scene. "I knew something was off."

"Call an ambulance. Make it all hush. This must not get out. I have to call the headquarters," says Agent Charles. He jumps down the plane and whips out his phone.

The pilot walks up to him.
"Whats wrong? Is Mr Johnson alright?"

"I'm sorry but we'll have to take you into custody. This is a matter of national security." He signals to two agents. "Take him in," he says. The pilot's mouth is open in surprise as a handcuff clamps down his wrists and he is led out of the gate.

Agent Charles punches in three numbers and clears his throat. There are three pings before a sharp voice speaks.

"Do you have him?"

"No, sir. We have something else. Tade Johnson was in the plane."

"Tade Johnson?"

"Yes, sir. I am most certain its a murder."

"Call the police and leave the scene. Come to the headquarters for your next instructions." There is a loud ping. The line is dead.

Agent Charles stares at the phone and screams into the silent night.

***

The killer walks down the hallway of The Cavendish: both sides with glowing brown Cipriani doors, the floor is thickly carpeted. There are pieces of art at regular intervals.

He gets into the elevator with a housekeeper cart and presses the fourteenth floor. It whirs open a moment later and he gets out into a similar corridor.

He nods at a couple about to enter the elevator. He adjusts his face cap and stops before room 1408. The door stares at him' bright, polished wood. He thinks of standing before hundreds of torchlights, the glare, the blinding intensity.

He takes a key card out of the front pocket of his housekeeper's uniform. His hand is trembling. He taps the key card against the knob and the door clicks open.

He swishes inside with the housekeeper's cart behind him.
He walks to the wardrobe, opens it and goes in. Then he waits.

An hour later, the room door opens and a someone enters. It is a man. Expensive tuxedo, flashy haircut, brown Guccis. He sees the housekeeper's cart and he stares. That moment of hesitation is all the killer needs.

The killer feels a strange pounding in his head. Is it rage or excitement? He wonders.

He takes a syringe out of his pocket. It is filled with a clear liquid. He comes out of the wardrobe and tiptoes behind the man. In a flash, he has the man's neck in his hands and the syringe is plunging in.

He lays the man on the lush carpet and goes to the bathroom. He turns on the water on the bathtub and plugs the sink. He goes out and undresses the man up to his boxers.

The man stares at him, he isn't able to move his body. He is in complete paralysis.

The killer carries him on his shoulder to the bathroom. He lays the man carefully in the sink and turns on the water. He stares into the man's eyes and gently strokes his face.

"Let me tell you a story," he says.

Hey guys. So the chapter is finally out. What do you think?