Being a hitman was purpose for Bazz. He had grown from Bassey the orphan - a Hood urchin raised by local hemp farmer, to Bazz the notorious hitman, living on payroll of persons who had people they wanted dead. He was death's messenger. He hung the rosary close to his neck always to remind him of the cross he would bear someday for his profession, killing.

The loaded .69 pistol perched coldly on his temple with a trigger-happy Oma on the barrel. Oma had promised to put bullets in Bazz's if he dared revisit the Hood. Bazz had been rumoured to have accepted a job to exterminate Oma's younger brother who was a political aspirant in as small settlement close to the Hood. Bazz's ethics had refrained him from finding our the details of his target. He swooped in on Oma's brother in broad daylight while he had sessions at an underground brothel, killed the seven security details and beheaded Oma's brother with his Ikwa Afang, a kitchen knife for chopping thick vegetables.

Bazz knelt right here, life in his tongue, dripping in thirst to the hard ground. Eyes searching for an escape to death. Nose, bleeding shots of blood and water.

"Forgive them, for they know..."

FOR THEY THAT LIVE BY THE SWORD...

#xavier_clann
#storyteller
© Xavier Clann