DEMILADE NOVEL PART 1
Chapter 1: The Night of Crowns
The air pulsed with life and energy, thick with the pounding rhythm of party jams and the thunderous applause of the crowd. Inside the dimly lit club house, strobe lights painted the walls in streaks of red, gold, and violet, bathing the sea of bodies in a kaleidoscope of color. The bass reverberated so deeply that it seemed to shake the very foundation of the building, and the aroma of expensive liquor and perfume mingled in the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere.
At the heart of the chaos, a figure stood towering over the crowd on an elevated stage, a microphone in hand and a devilish grin plastered across his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Demilade’s voice boomed over the speakers, cutting through the music like a blade.
The DJ screeched the turntable in perfect sync, pulling the attention of every soul in the room. Heads turned, and eyes fixated on him as he raised his free hand to the heavens, soaking in the adoration.
“Special love to the ladies in the building tonight!” he continued, his baritone voice laced with charisma. Another screech from the DJ punctuated his words, igniting cheers from the crowd. “You know why? Today is all about the ladies. Beautiful ladies, make some noise!”
The response was deafening. The crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers and whoops, voices rising in unison like a symphony of wild abandon.
“Wooooooooooooooow!” the crowd roared, fists pumping in the air. The atmosphere crackled with electricity.
Demilade basked in the chaos, his energy feeding off the crowd. “It is what it is tonight! We’re going to crown someone the biggest lady in town. The city is about to be painted red with the red paint in the red cup! I go by the name DE-MI-LA-DEEEEEEEEE! Your number one craziest hype man in town! Who dem be? Where dem dey? We go chop dem raw! Make some noiseeeeee!”
The DJ’s screeches came in waves, as if underscoring every syllable, driving the crowd to the brink of madness.
“Woooooooooow!” the collective cry roared through the air like a primal chant.
“I love you, DEMMY!” came a high-pitched voice from the throng. A girl with vibrant red hair stood on tiptoes, waving frantically.
Demilade’s grin widened as he pointed to her, his voice smooth and teasing. “Love you big, gurllll!”
The girl squealed in delight. “Yeah! Yeah!!” she shouted, her excitement infectious.
Demilade, ever the showman, leaned closer to the microphone. “I am the man with the milk and sweat!”
The girl’s response was instant. “I will milk you, baby!”
Laughter rippled through the crowd as Demilade chuckled, shaking his head. “Wooow! I like it! Make some noise!!!!”
Another crescendo of cheers engulfed the room, and the DJ’s beats slammed through the speakers, energizing the crowd further.
“Your number one craziest hype man is not here alone tonight,” Demilade declared, his voice cutting through the din. “Make some noise for your ever-trusted DJ! Dee-jay—COLE-MAN!!!”
The DJ’s entrance was dramatic. The music shifted, the beat dropping with perfect precision as he raised his arms, hyping the crowd. The response was instantaneous—a wave of screams and applause erupted, filling the room.
“Woooooooow!” the crowd roared again, a frenzy of movement and sound.
Demilade’s energy never waned as he continued. “Respect to every man here tonight. You have come to show these beautiful ladies love. Na man you be! Ladies, show your man some love. Make some noiseeeeeee!”
Another thunderous roar exploded from the audience, the room vibrating with excitement.
“Okay, here’s how it’s going to go down tonight,” Demilade began, pacing the stage with the confidence of a general commanding his troops. “Buy your drinks. The table with the biggest purchase will earn the table of the queen for tonight. You know how we do it! The girl on the table wears the crown for the next one month.”
The spotlight shifted, illuminating a stunning woman seated at a luxurious table adorned with sparkling bottles.
“Respect to the defending champion, Queen Shinda-raaaaaaaa!” Demilade’s voice carried her name like a triumphant anthem.
The DJ’s screeches emphasized the announcement as the crowd turned to cheer the reigning queen. Shindara rose with a regal grace, her glittering dress catching the light, her smile confident and assured.
“The only lady who won the crown back to back and has secured countless endorsements because she sits on the throne as the Queen of the Street!” Demilade announced, his tone reverent. “And guess what? She has given her word tonight that whoever emerges as the new Queen of the Street will win 500,000 naira!”
The crowd went wild. Cheers, applause, and chants filled the air, an unstoppable wave of exhilaration.
“So keep the waiters busy,” Demilade urged, pointing to the tables. “Frustrate them with your orders!”
Suddenly, the sharp crack of fireworks erupted, and a burst of light illuminated the room. A waiter carried a “casket” of premium liquor, sparking excitement.
Demilade’s voice cut through the commotion. “Wooooow! Someone just ordered a casket! Let the games begin! It will be a bloody night. DJ Coleman, break some waists tonight!”
As the DJ dropped a fresh beat, the club descended into pure chaos—a beautiful, wild chaos orchestrated by the one and only Demilade. Tonight, the city would remember his name, and someone would walk away a queen.
Chapter 2: The Crossroads
The music thumped relentlessly in the background, the pulsating rhythm a stark contrast to the tension that brewed in the dimly lit car parked just outside the club. Demilade slid into the plush leather seat beside his boss, her scent a heady mix of power and seduction.
“Demilade,” she greeted, her voice smooth and commanding.
“Mama,” he replied, his tone deferential yet tinged with pride.
She smiled approvingly. “Nice charge in there.”
He leaned back confidently. “Boss, you know your guy na, that’s what we do.”
“I feel you,” she said, her tone warm.
“You sure pass, Mama,” Demilade responded, flashing his trademark grin.
Her smile turned sly. “So make those idiots buy and buy.”
“That’s how we roll, Mama,” he said with a chuckle.
“Nice one,” she nodded. “So, what’s the plan for the next round?”
Demilade’s eyes gleamed. “Are the ladies ready?”
“On ground,” she confirmed.
“Okay,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Let the guys fill up their system with alcohol first, then we bring in the strippers. They’ll be fired up to pay any amount for our ladies.”
“Good plan. Keep it up,” she said, her tone laced with approval.
“Yes, Mama.”
Her voice softened, becoming almost seductive. “Don’t worry, you’ve got the big pot waiting for you once I’m back from my trip in three days.”
Demilade’s grin widened. He matched her tone. “I can’t wait to hear you call my name like you love to call it.”
She laughed, low and sultry. “Stupid boy. Get to work now.”
A phone buzzed, cutting through the moment. Demilade raised a hand apologetically. “Sorry, please, I have to take this.”
“No problem,” she said, waving him off. “Well done on the good work.”
“Yep, later,” he replied, stepping out of the car.
“Okay, baby boy,” she said with a teasing smile.
As he walked a few steps away, the vibrant music and the distant cheers of the crowd blended into the night. He pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello, Mummy,” he greeted, his tone immediately shifting to respectful.
“How are you, son?” her voice came, filled with concern.
“Mum, I’m good. I’m at work. Can I call you back?”
“Demilade, how long will I tell you to change your job?” she asked, her voice tinged with frustration.
His jaw tightened. “Mum, do you want to start this fight again?”
“Son, your job doesn’t give glory to God,” she said firmly.
“Mum, stop this! Please.”
“Your job has no heavenly reward. I don’t like it,” she continued, her persistence unwavering.
Demilade pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mum, do you want me to change it for you?”
“Change it for me if you want,” she retorted.
“Mummy, I don’t like this,” he muttered, his frustration mounting.
“I also don’t like what you’re doing,” she countered.
He sighed heavily. “Mum, can you please end this call? I’m working at the moment.”
Her voice hardened. “You dare not cut this call on me, son…”
“Do you want me to lose my job?” he asked, exasperated.
“God has a better job for you,” she said softly but resolutely.
“What better job are you talking about, Mum? How much will your so-called godly job pay me?”
“It is not your job that will sustain you. Only God will sustain a man,” she replied.
Demilade shook his head. “Mum, come and be going.”
“I go nowhere. God has a better plan and purpose for you. Leave that job,” she insisted.
“What are you saying, Mummy? You over-spiritualize things a lot. Christianity is not this difficult. You’re taking this too far.”
“Tell me how your job helps lives,” she challenged.
“Mummy, my job puts joy on people’s faces. I keep people alive,” he argued.
“What joy supersedes the joy that God gives?” she asked. “What life do you give when people come to the club, drink, get high, drunk drive, and lose their lives? You’ve opened yourself to alcohol and girls. Even you have no gain doing that job.”
Demilade sighed. “Okay, Mum. I’ll come and see you, and we’ll discuss this.”
“Please do,” she said, her tone softening. “You need to leave that job. My God will visit you and help you realize that you are a special child. You can’t just do anything.”
“Mummy, it is my life. Let me live my life.”
Her voice rose. “It is not your life. It is our life. I gave birth to you. God gave you to me. He owns you, and I own you. When you were a baby and couldn’t do anything for yourself, why didn’t you say it was your life then? Now you’re grown, you want to cut me off? Never! I will give an account of your life.”
Demilade’s patience snapped. “You are just complaining, but anytime I give you money, you collect it.”
Her voice cracked. “Listen to me. Ever since I found out where you work, I vowed to God that I would never spend the money you send me. I’ve been sowing it as a seed to God in exchange for your salvation.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“Yes,” she affirmed. “You are not the one sustaining me. My God has never failed me and never will.” Her voice broke as she began to cry. “Demilade, why are you doing this to me? Is it because your father is no more? He made sure you gave your life to Christ before he died. Why are you going back to your past?”
His voice turned cold. “Mummy, cut the crab. I will call you back. Have a nice night.”
The call disconnected abruptly. The music from the club roared back into focus as Demilade slipped the phone into his pocket and steeled himself for the night ahead.
Chapter 3: The Morning After
The soft melody of a piano drifted through the open window as the early morning breeze swept into the small apartment. A rooster crowed faintly in the distance, blending with the distant hum of city life. Inside, Demilade lay sprawled on his bed, the remnants of a long night etched across his face. His phone vibrated persistently on the bedside table before erupting into a loud, familiar ringtone.
“Good morning,” a cheery voice boomed over the phone.
Demilade groaned, his voice heavy with sleep. “Ak, how far?”
“I dey o! You just dey wake?”
“Yes o, I just knock since last night, baba mi,” Demilade replied, rubbing his face as he tried to sit up.
“Wo, omo! Wetin you drink yesterday was too much,” Ak teased, laughing.
Demilade staggered out of bed, phone pressed to his ear. “Alaye, free me jare. If I no do am like that, that yesterday babe go laugh me. I no fit fall my hand.”
The sound of a door creaking open and then slamming shut was followed by the rush of water in the bathroom. Moments later, Demilade returned, his voice lighter.
“She never die,” he said with a smirk.
Ak laughed, incredulous. “Ha! You no allow her sleep, abi?”
“Baba, wetin I do her no be small. If I let her sleep for my house, she fit pass out. So I pursue her go her mama house instead. Make she go rest there,” Demilade joked, chuckling.
“Wawu!” Ak exclaimed.
“Baba mi, na so. All those ladies whey no get better mama to train them, we go help them. Pursue dem go their mama house!” Demilade said, his laughter filling the room.
“Naso, baba mi,” Ak agreed.
The conversation turned casual as they talked about the previous night’s escapades.
“I just dey plan do round eight o,” Ak confessed with a laugh.
“Haaaa! You won kill person pikin?” Demilade teased, shaking his head.
“She no fit die, baba. She stubborn pass me. She no dey say no!”
“Na wa ooo,” Demilade muttered.
“30k one night na joke?” Ak bragged.
“Na you o! Where you dey get this money?” Demilade asked, curiosity piqued.
Ak’s tone shifted. “Omo, which money? Account red o.”
“You say?” Demilade sat up straighter, his disbelief evident.
“I dey tell you, padi mi. Account don red. Na why I dey call you,” Ak admitted sheepishly.
Demilade couldn’t believe it. “How do you mean?”
“Abeg, wire me 20k. Make I beg this babe to collect am like that,” Ak pleaded.
“You dey whine me, abi?”
“Baba mi, why I go whine you now?”
Demilade sighed. “You no get money, you go carry woman. Alaye, why you go do yourself like this?”
Ak’s tone was apologetic. “Baba, no laugh me abeg.”
“I no dey whine you. I swear I no get. I don blow my account since yesterday,” Demilade said, shaking his head.
“Ha!” Ak exclaimed, defeated.
“As I dey talk to you now, 3k no dey my account,” Demilade added.
“Wetin we go do now?” Ak asked, his desperation growing.
Demilade chuckled darkly. “Omo, this one na real gbege o.”
Ak groaned. “Wetin I fit do now?”
“Who we fit call?” Demilade suggested.
“Make I press buttons. You sef help me press buttons for your side,” Ak urged.
“Okay. I go see wetin I fit do,” Demilade replied reluctantly.
As they spoke, Demilade glanced out of his window and noticed something unusual. A man sat alone on the field outside his house, motionless. His brow furrowed.
“Haha! Who be this one?” Demilade muttered.
“Who be that?” Ak asked.
“I dey see one man for the field outside my house. He just dey sit there. Wetin he dey do for there? Omo, make I go charge am. Maybe na new style of robbery,” Demilade said, his suspicion rising.
“Okay na. Sha no forget me,” Ak said, preparing to end the call.
“Wait, you still dey plan do wetin you dey do?” Demilade asked, incredulous.
“Haha, make I no do?”
“You no get money to pay, you still wan continue?”
“Sebi you say you go help me press button,” Ak replied with a sly laugh.
“Okay, I gat your back, bro,” Demilade said with a resigned sigh.
“Thanks, baba.”
The call ended, and Demilade shook his head, muttering to himself. “This guy na fool. No money, but e still wan dey carry woman. Nonsense.”
He turned his attention back to the man outside. “By the way, who be this man? Make I go meet am.”
As the soft piano music played in the background, Demilade grabbed his slippers, preparing to confront the mysterious figure waiting outside.
Chapter 4: A Curious Encounter
The early morning breeze carried a faint chill as Demilade stepped out of his house and walked toward the lone figure sitting in the open field. The soft melody of a piano played somewhere in the background, blending seamlessly with the distant noises of the waking neighborhood.
The man was seated calmly, dressed in a simple yet neat outfit, his posture almost meditative as he surveyed the land around him. Demilade’s footsteps crunched softly on the dry grass, and he cleared his throat to announce his presence.
“Hello, sir,” Demilade greeted, his voice polite but curious.
The man looked up with a warm smile. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” Demilade responded, pausing briefly before continuing, “Please, are you here waiting for someone?”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied evenly, his tone calm and measured.
Demilade furrowed his brows slightly. “Who are you waiting for?”
The man straightened his back, looking directly at Demilade. “I’m actually the owner of this land.”
Demilade blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Oh, good morning, sir. That’s great! Did you just buy this land?”
“I did,” the man replied with a small nod.
Demilade’s curiosity deepened. “And you’re waiting for someone to build on it?”
“Exactly,” the man confirmed.
“Congratulations, sir,” Demilade said, gesturing toward his house in the distance. “I was just curious. I saw you from my house. I own that house, by the way.”
“Wow,” the man said, his smile widening. “Nice one. That’s a good property you’ve got there.”
“Abi na!” Demilade said with a chuckle. “Na so we dey push am, small small.”
“It’s good, sir,” the man replied, nodding approvingly.
“So,” Demilade continued, his tone light but probing, “how long will the person you’re waiting for keep you here?”
“As long as it takes for him to show up,” the man said, his voice steady.
“Just one person?”
“Yes.”
Demilade thought for a moment. “Then it must be the engineer.”
“Exactly,” the man affirmed.
Demilade tilted his head. “But he should be the one getting the laborers, right?”
The man shook his head. “No, I will get the laborers myself.”
“Why stress yourself? That’s his job,” Demilade said, frowning slightly.
The man smiled faintly. “It’s not about stress. I choose to do it myself.”
“Ah,” Demilade said, nodding as if understanding. “The laborers are not trustworthy, abi?”
“Not exactly,” the man replied. “I already know the laborers. It’s the engineer I don’t know.”
Demilade’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, really?”
“Yes,” the man confirmed.
“Then why don’t you ask your trusted laborers to recommend a good engineer?” Demilade suggested.
The man’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile. “Will you build it for me?”
Demilade laughed. “Me? No o, I’m not an engineer. But I can ask around the neighborhood for you.”
The man gestured vaguely. “People in this neighborhood are already busy.”
Demilade chuckled. “Haha! How do you know that?”
“Look around,” the man said, pointing to the nearby houses. “What color dominates the neighborhood?”
Demilade looked around, confused. “Well… most of the houses are painted white.”
“Exactly,” the man said. “And a few houses are yet to be painted white. It shows how busy everyone here is.”
Demilade raised a brow, uncertain of the connection. “Okay… Maybe I should make some calls to find someone for you.”
The man’s smile didn’t waver. “Can’t you do it for me?”
“I told you, I’m not a builder. But wait,” Demilade paused, an idea forming in his mind. “Actually, I’m a contractor. If you can award the contract to me, I’ll do a good job for you.”
The man leaned back slightly, studying Demilade. “Are you sure about that?”
“Very sure,” Demilade said confidently. “Do you have the plan for the structure?”
The man reached into his bag and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Yes. Here it is.”
Demilade took the paper and unfolded it, his expression shifting to one of confusion. “Sorry, sir, but… this isn’t a plan. Is this an article? Or an essay? What is this?”
The man’s face remained calm. “That’s all you need.”
Demilade blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Sir, this is not a house plan. Did someone give you this as a plan?”
“I drew it myself,” the man said, his tone proud.
Demilade’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile. “Okay… Maybe you should wait for your engineer. Hopefully, he’ll show up soon.”
“Hopefully, he will,” the man said with a nod. “Mr. Demilade.”
Demilade froze mid-step. He turned slowly. “Yes, sir?”
“Do have a nice day,” the man said with a knowing smile.
Demilade nodded awkwardly and walked away, his mind racing. As he reached his house, he muttered to himself, “This man must be sick. I hope I haven’t spent the early hours of my day talking to a madman. Wonders shall never end fa…”
He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening. “Wait. He called my name. Did I tell him my name?”
His heart began to race. “How did he know my name? What is going on here?”
Demilade turned back toward the field, a sense of unease creeping over him. “Let me go back. How did he know my name?”
The soft piano music played on, underscoring the growing tension as Demilade made his way back to confront the mysterious man.
Chapter 5: A Strange Encounter
The cool morning breeze caressed the field as Demilade approached Mr. Rett once again. His footsteps crunched softly on the dry grass, his mind racing with unease.
“Excuse me, sir,” Demilade called, his voice more measured this time.
Mr. Rett turned to face him, his demeanor calm and collected. “You are back, Mr. Demilade.”
Demilade froze for a moment, his breath catching. “Yes… Sorry for disturbing you, sir.”
“You are not disturbing me,” Mr. Rett replied, studying him with piercing eyes. “But you look disturbed.”
Demilade blinked, caught off guard. “Really? I look disturbed?”
“Yes, you do,” Mr. Rett said, his tone unchanging. “Are you perhaps wondering how I know your name?”
“Exactly!” Demilade said, his voice rising slightly. “Do you know me? Have we… met somewhere before?”
Mr. Rett smiled faintly. “No. This is our first meeting, one-on-one.”
Demilade frowned. “Then how did you know my name?”
Mr. Rett’s smile widened slightly, enigmatic and unnerving. “Perhaps because I called you that name before you were ever called that name.”
Demilade’s confusion deepened. “How do you mean?”
“Mr. Demilade,” Mr. Rett began, his voice calm but unsettling. “I have been working in this neighborhood for a long time. We have not just met.”
Demilade shook his head. “That can’t be. My name is known by very few people. In fact, I’m not even sure anyone here knows I answer that name.”
“How are you so sure?” Mr. Rett asked, tilting his head slightly.
Demilade hesitated, his confidence wavering. “Maybe… Never mind. Have a nice day.”
As he turned to leave, Mr. Rett called out, “You have still not considered building this for me?”
Demilade stopped, looking over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir, but your project doesn’t seem realistic. It’s better you wait for an engineer.”
A distant sound interrupted the conversation—the synchronized footsteps of several people, heavy and deliberate.
Mr. Rett’s expression shifted slightly as he pointed toward Demilade’s house. “Who are those people going to your house?”
Demilade squinted, following the direction of Mr. Rett’s gaze. “Where? No one is going into my house.”
“Can’t you see those people approaching your door?” Mr. Rett asked, his tone oddly calm.
Demilade’s unease grew. He turned back to Mr. Rett, his voice hushed. “No, sir. No one is approaching my door.” To himself, he muttered, I think I’m talking to a madman. I need to leave here as soon as possible.
Mr. Rett’s calm voice cut through his thoughts. “I think you need to start going, Mr. Demilade. You have intruders in your house.”
Suddenly, the distant sound of heavy scattering reached Demilade’s ears—glass breaking, furniture being overturned. His heart sank.
“What is happening?” he whispered, panic seeping into his voice. “I locked my door before coming out.”
Without another word, Demilade broke into a run toward his house.
“Do you need my assistance?” Mr. Rett called after him.
“Don’t bother,” Demilade shouted over his shoulder, his voice tight with urgency. To himself, he muttered, This man is strange.
Reaching his door, Demilade fumbled with the lock. “But my door is locked,” he muttered in disbelief. “How did they get in?”
His mind raced as he turned and sprinted to the back door.
The back door was just as tightly locked as the front. Demilade’s hands trembled as he tried the handle again, hoping for a mistake.
“This door is also locked,” he murmured, his voice cracking. He stood there, staring at the locked door, his heart pounding. “Then how did those people get inside the house?”
The distant sound of chaos continued inside his home, each crash and thud driving his confusion and fear higher. Behind him, the breeze carried Mr. Rett’s calm, unsettling words:
“Are you sure it is your house they are in, Mr. Demilade?”
Demilade froze, his mind spiraling into uncertainty as tension hung thick in the air.
Chapter 6: A Day of Chaos
The house was eerily silent as Demilade unlocked the front door. The key clicked into place, and the door creaked open. A faint breeze swept past him, carrying the scent of disarray. The distant noises of the outside world seemed muffled, overshadowed by the stillness within.
Demilade stepped in cautiously, his heart sinking at the sight before him. “Oh my God,” he muttered under his breath. His home was unrecognizable—upended furniture, shattered glass, and scattered belongings littered the floor. “Who did this? How did they even get in?”
His voice grew louder, anger bubbling to the surface. “Hey there! Whoever you are, just respect yourself and come out now!”
A loud crash echoed from the bedroom. Demilade’s fists clenched. “I’m getting angry, idiot!” he shouted, storming toward the noise. Under his breath, he muttered, “That’s from the room.”
He stopped at the bedroom door, raising his voice. “Hey! I’ve got expensive stuff in there! I’m not joking right now. You’ve done enough damage. Come out and face me!”
Another crash. This time, something shattered.
Demilade’s anger boiled over. “No, no, no. Who the hell are you?” Without waiting for a response, he kicked the door open.
The room was empty, save for the destruction. Panting, Demilade looked around, his voice shaking. “Where are you? Come out right now!”
From behind him, a voice called calmly, “Mr. Demilade.”
He froze, his heart pounding. “Who is that?”
“It’s me, Mr. Rett,” the voice said.
Demilade turned toward the door. “Do you… Do you need help?”
Mr. Rett’s voice was steady. “Do you need help?”
Demilade hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes, please!”
A sudden clatter from the kitchen snapped his attention back. The sound of breaking plates and slamming doors echoed through the house.
“The intruder is trying to escape!” Demilade yelled.
“I’m on my way,” Mr. Rett called back.
“Go through the back door!” Demilade shouted as he bolted toward the noise.
But when he reached the kitchen, there was no one there. The back door was still locked. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the counter, muttering to himself, “Damn it. The thief got away already.”
A sharp knock at the front door startled him.
“You’re late, man,” he called out, his frustration mounting.
The knocking continued, persistent and measured.
Sighing, he opened the door. Mr. Rett stood there, his expression unreadable. “Can I come in?”
Demilade blocked the entrance with his arm. “You’re late, man.”
“I can see your house is upside down already,” Mr. Rett said, peering inside.
“Yes,” Demilade replied curtly.
“Did you see the man?”
“No.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Rett said thoughtfully. “Sorry about that.”
“Thank you,” Demilade muttered, already losing patience.
“I can help you put things in order,” Mr. Rett offered.
“It’s not necessary,” Demilade said, shaking his head.
“I choose to help,” Mr. Rett insisted.
“I said don’t bother yourself!” Demilade snapped.
Mr. Rett held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright. Can I at least come in and have a seat?”
“No,” Demilade said firmly.
Mr. Rett smiled faintly. “Okay, I better get going.”
“Please do,” Demilade replied, shutting the door behind him with a slam.
Leaning against the door, Demilade muttered to himself, “Who the hell is this man? There’s something off about him.”
The sharp ring of his phone interrupted his thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Guy, how far now?” came AK’s voice on the other end. “You get anything?”
“Not now,” Demilade replied, exasperated. “I haven’t even made any calls yet. I just—”
“Guy, you dey fuck up,” AK cut in. “Just to assist me, you dey do anyhow abi?”
Before Demilade could respond, the call disconnected. He stared at the phone, incredulous.
“Is this guy mad?” he muttered. “What’s my business with his wahala? If them born your papa well, call me back.”
The phone rang again almost immediately.
Now genuinely irritated, Demilade answered, “You dey mad? Hello, wetin dey do you sef?”
“Guy, abeg no vex,” AK pleaded. “Help me. I carry one babe go my uncle house, and she don dey show me madness. She don call her friends for backup. She say she go break everything breakable. Abeg!”
“Why you go carry babe go your uncle house? You no get house?” Demilade asked, incredulous.
“Baba, na show off I do o,” AK confessed.
Demilade groaned. “As I dey talk to you, I dey inside my own wahala. Some people came into my house and scattered everywhere.”
“When that one happen?” AK asked, surprised.
“This morning,” Demilade replied.
“Serious?”
“Make I switch to video call make you see.”
Moments later, Demilade flipped the camera, showing the destruction.
“Haaa, wahala,” AK murmured.
“No be small one,” Demilade replied.
In the background, AK’s phone erupted with yelling. “You think say you wise? I go show you madness today!”
“Who be that?” Demilade asked.
“The girl!” AK said in a panic.
“Please go solve your wahala. Let me face my own. Today is a strange day,” Demilade said, ending the call.
As he sat down, thunder rumbled ominously, followed by the sound of heavy rain beginning to fall. Looking out the window, he spotted Mr. Rett still seated outside, unmoved by the weather.
“Rain again? And this man is still sitting there?” Demilade muttered. “Can’t he see it’s about to pour? There’s something about this man…”
He picked up his phone, but the signal failed. He sighed in frustration, staring at Mr. Rett through the rain.
“Could he really be waiting for an engineer? Or is this some kind of setup?” Demilade whispered to himself. Torn between suspicion and pity, he paced the room. “Should I help him or mind my own business?”
The piano music swelled softly as the storm outside intensified.
Chapter 7: A Storm Brews
The wind howled softly across the open field, carrying with it the scent of approaching rain. Demilade walked briskly toward Mr. Rett, who remained seated under the darkening sky. The clouds hung low, pregnant with the promise of a downpour.
“Hello, sir,” Demilade called as he approached.
Mr. Rett turned to him with a faint smile. “Mr. Demilade.”
Demilade hesitated, eyeing the older man. “Can’t you see it’s about to rain?”
“I can,” Mr. Rett replied, his voice calm, almost detached.
“Then why not look for a place to stay?” Demilade asked, his concern tinged with frustration.
Mr. Rett shrugged. “I’m used to waiting for my builders.”
“But not in the rain,” Demilade countered, gesturing at the darkening horizon.
“It’s not a problem,” Mr. Rett replied, his tone unwavering.
Demilade sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t just a drizzle—it’s going to be a heavy one. You need to find shelter.”
Mr. Rett tilted his head slightly. “Is your house open for me?”
Demilade blinked, caught off guard. “But you said you know people in this neighborhood.”
“I do,” Mr. Rett said simply.
“Who exactly do you know?” Demilade pressed, his suspicion growing.
“I know you,” Mr. Rett said, his expression unreadable.
“Sir,” Demilade said, his patience thinning, “you need to be serious right now. The rain is already starting to fall heavily.”
Mr. Rett looked up at the sky, letting a few drops of rain splash against his face. “Yes, that’s because you need it.”
“I need it?” Demilade repeated, confused.
“Yes,” Mr. Rett said, his voice steady.
“How do you mean?”
Mr. Rett leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. “I saw a man pouring petrol around your house. So I had to call for the fire service.”
Demilade’s breath caught in his throat. “Petrol?!”
“Yes,” Mr. Rett confirmed calmly.
“Who? When? Where?” Demilade demanded, his voice rising in panic.
“Don’t panic,” Mr. Rett said, holding up a hand. “The rain has already settled that.”
Demilade stared at him, a mixture of fear and disbelief swirling in his chest. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, his voice trembling, “so many things about you are strange. Who are you?”
“I am Mr. Rett,” he said simply.
“Is that a name?”
“Yes,” Mr. Rett replied.
Demilade studied him for a moment, unsure whether to believe him. Finally, he sighed, his instincts wavering between mistrust and a strange pull to help. “Hmmm. Okay, come on. Let’s go inside. The rain is getting heavy.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Rett said, rising slowly.
Demilade led the way, glancing over his shoulder as Mr. Rett followed. The rain had begun in earnest now, pelting the ground and soaking them both. Demilade’s mind raced. He wasn’t certain what he was getting himself into, but for now, one thing was clear—he couldn’t leave Mr. Rett out in the storm.
As they approached the house, the rain grew heavier, the sound of it pounding against the ground like a drumbeat. Demilade unlocked the door, his unease growing with each passing moment.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside to let Mr. Rett enter.
“Thank you,” Mr. Rett said again, his tone calm and deliberate.
Demilade closed the door behind them, locking out the storm, but not the questions swirling in his mind.
TO BE CONTINUED
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