The Cigar Man. Full Story. Written for IK Ogbonna, Adesua Etomi and Diamond Okechi

Two human beings alone knew a secret. Last year, they were gone but death would never hide what is under the sun. “Get up! It is time for politics!” ************** The cold shower could not

Two human beings alone knew a secret. Last year, they were gone but death would never hide what is under the sun.
“Get up! It is time for politics!”
**************
The cold shower could not solve it, Charity adjusted herself to the hot shower. At first, it was soothing, warm, hot and sweaty before it started boiling into her hair. She needed to burn last night’s contraband out of her skin. Last night was no easier than other nights. She shook her drenched dreadlocks, it played with the white atmosphere surrounding her. The bathroom appeared glorious in a clean smoke.
“What if the bed covers had bedbugs or beetles… Oh father.”
Her thoughts still raced with the heated water now stinging her skin, when a foot kicked the door open. The owner of the body leaned on the door.
“I’m a lady, Marshall, close the fucking door for once.”
He giggled.
“What do you need in your life now Sis, I’m sure it’s not privacy? Mass media won’t even allow you that so pause.”
Charity finished and walked towards him. She stood closer to him. Prettily unclad. Marshall won’t still see the prettiness, she was simply his twin and she is a cow.
“We need to make an arrest!”
Charity pursed and said no more. She padded into her room, Marshall sat on her bed and ran his eyes on the monitor of her laptop. He smiled, took out his phone and wrote on the note app “Mustapha, 2018, donates 20million naira to Hope Foundation.”

If Charity were in an NYSC camp, you could have described her police outfit that day as seven over seven. She was in full garb and widget. Her blinking gun fitted perfectly by the side. She signalled Marshall and they matched towards the stair case, making a united heavy sound on the ten flights of stairs till they were at the dinning.
Work time is 8am but Charity resumed at the Police Department at 9am. She lived the American flag.
Tony stood by, his hands crossed behind, above his butt. His service was always prompt, 8:20am, West African Time for breakfast. He made to greet them but Marshall lifted a finger and that rendered him dumb the numb. The next finger movement made him disappear. The twins usually sit opposite each other, occupying the two seats by both sides of the table immediately after a head chair that used to be their mothers’. The rest of the seats were always cleaned and adorned but not used. They were more or less antiques or giant figurines.

Charity pulled out her Identification Card from a pocket over her left breast and thrust it towards Marshall, “Charity Freeman, LAPD. Who deserves my arrest today?”
No sooner had she finished her show off than she burst into laughter, she laughed alone. Marshall only gazed at the cups of tea and plates of sandwiches and vegetables.
“Twinnie, is it that serious? What is the matter? I’m ready to combat any enemy Bro.”

She looked at her twin and over again confirmed her suspicion. Her brother must be having an artificial down syndrome over the brutality that happened in their family. He was too whippy yet accurate for his political jingoism. She came out to the world first, she must often comfort him.
“You know I have had sexual intercourse with just two women right?” Marshall began.
“Yes and the second was compensated even though she left you for a man of the UK.”
Marshall rolled his eyes, “Don’t venture into that now. The point is we try to avoid scandal and I can hardly do sexy-sexo without care and vigilance. Oh damn! To be a Senator, this dream of mine is almost giving me low sperm count.”

That got them cackling in unison.
Marshall was too cautious and so was Charity. At nights, she wore a very strange hairpiece, placed two removable tattoos on her body. One on her shoulder, the other a drawing of a black waterfall running into her anus line from her waist. No one would ever know she was the astute detective everyone admired. It was their own world, of wealth, reputation, politics and…they are not friends with scandals. The Freemans’ fortune has made them stewards. No matter how strict, it was still a life, their life. Besides, no one knows who is really….

The Cigar Man. Part 2

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