Wednesday 6 February 2008

THE TRIGGER TALE...part three



“You know it is absurd my young man. The cops are killing us off - the innocent people. They scream ‘to protect and to serve’ but all they do is to extort and to murder,” the pathologist said taking his glasses off as he wiped his face. “As you can see, I live in the world of deaths. Almost every death I have looked into bore the signature of a cop.” Ozi adjusted himself in his seat. He did not bargain for the confession of a distraught pathologist but he had better listen carefully.
“Forgive my outburst,” the pathologist said apologetically.
“That’s all right. I share your anxiety. You’re not alone,” he assured.
“From my thorough analysis, the suspect’s primary cause of death was gunshot and physical assault,” the doctor began to explain the content of the autopsy report.
“Who could have done that?” he asked the pathologist.
“His body was soiled with blood, gunshot injury on the left wrist entry and outlet with fracture of the wrist bone,” he explained. “Another gunshot injury at right upper abdomen with exit wound at left shoulder. Internal examinations revealed trajectory wound through the liver, lungs, trachea and cervical bones. Stab wound on the right shoulders.”
“The Trigger! An innocent soul sacrificed again!”
“What? What trigger?” the doctor asked him.


He thanked the doctor profusely, promising to keep in touch as he tucked a copy of the autopsy report in his breast pocket; he paused as he stepped outside of the hospital’s premises and dialed a number.

“TCP on the line”, a deadpan voice came up.
“I just called to ask about the suspect. How is he doing now?”
“You journalist! You’re like dogs always wanting a chunk of the meat,” the voice at the other end retorted.
“What chunk of meat are you referring to sir? The one you deposited at the City Hospital, today?” anger and disdain rising in his voice.
“What do you mean young man?” the deadpan voice suddenly mellowed.
“I am not asking for a chunk of meat. I am not a dog. All I have asked for is a piece of information,” he fumed. “Sleep well!”


Now, stuck in his chair, he thought rather than wishing the man with the deadpan voice a good night sleep he could have done that to himself because to him the man did not deserve a moment’s sleep. He had blood on his hands. He had murdered sleep. But if man must catch a thief he must not go a-slumbering too. Ozi had become a watchman – he was a watchdog. Funki’s call interrupted his thoughts.

“Men, what are you up to? Why did it take you ages to pick my call!”
“Funki, tell me you won’t be coming to my end tonight. It is late already. We’ll see tomorrow.”
“Howdy pal? I’ll come this night. I promised Atiko I’ll bring her to your end. Who’s certain about tomorrow? Let’s see the end of today first,” Funki argued.
“You mean Atiko, our great reporter from National Crusader, is coming with you? I can’t wait to host her. I thought it was going to be a long night. Now, I say it’s going to be the longest night ever!”
“I have a lot to gist you about. We’re getting married. I proposed to her.”
“Oh dear, save your breath and credit when you arrive you’ll give me the whole gist. I can’t wait to hear it all.”
“Drive carefully. Beware of the policemen on the road!” Ozi warned and ended the call.

LATEST VACANCIES...contd



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LATEST VACANCIES...to be continued



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HND/BSC
5 YEARS EXPERIENCE
EXCELLENT COMMUNICATION & PRESENTATION SKILLS
AGGRESSIVE MARKETING & NEGOTIATING SKILLS
CREATIVE WRITING AND BUSINESS DEVELOPMENT SENSE

2. MARTKETING EXECUTIVES- LAGOS, ABUJA & ENUGU OFFICES [REF: ME/002]
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2 YEARS EXPERIENCE
MARKETING, COMMUNICATION & NEGOTIATING SKILLS
AGGRESSIVE, CREATIVE AND ABLE TO CLOSE DEALS

3. SALES OFFICERS- LAGOS, ABUJA, ENUGU & PORT HARCOURT OFFICES [REF: SO/003]
OND
2 YEARS EXPERIENCE
GOOD COMMUNICATION, SELLING & LISTENING SKILLS
HARD-WORKING WITH GOOD CUSTOMER SERVICE KNOWLEDGE

4. CORPORATE DRIVERS- LAGOS OFFICE [REF: CD/004]

5. ACCOUNT ASSISTANTS- LAGOS, PORT HARCOURT & ABUJA OFFICES [REF: AA/005]
OND ACCOUNTING
2 YEARS EXPERIENCE
PROFICIENCY IN VERBAL AND WRITTEN COMMUNICATION
PROFICIENCY IN MS WORD, EXCEL, ETC
PREPARATION OF DAILY REPORT

If you qualify, send CV + application, clearly state ref no. of post applied for and indicating which location you prefer. ALL APPLICANTS MUST BE RESIDENTS OF SELECTED LOCATIONS.

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SURULERE, LAGOS or,
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THE TRIGGER TALE...part two



The sleepy journalist sighed as he recalled that incident; and that was by far the least of his encounters with criminal acts. He was not a crime reporter but one way or the other he had found himself working that beat. With his incisive and thorough write-ups he had exposed not a few dirty cops’ evils. With his writings he had sent one particular underhanded police officer to gaol; incidentally, he was not aware of this. His consistent, factual and detailed chronicle of the infamous City Ten killings that shook the Federal City was invaluable in exposing the murderous cops behind the tragedy. At that time the police maintained that the ten persons shot dead were armed robbery suspects. Ozi dug deep into the suspected murder case, asking along the line that even if these six persons were robbery suspects were they not to be presumed innocent until they were found guilty. He dug deeper and the revelations sent the Police Command tumbling down. The murdered armed robbery suspects were innocent bricklayers, after all.

Whilst he bemoaned the deplorable state of policemen, he was even more appalled by their corrupt and murderous tendencies. Their penchant to kill for 20 Naira, to torture an innocent suspect to confess to a crime he did not commit, to lend rampaging armed robbers their uniforms and munitions, and above all, to kill on personal provocations. Little wonder a policeman was no more fondly called Ascari – he now bore the sobriquet: The Trigger. Every policeman was trigger-happy. They were walking time-bombs, about to explode at a gentle push.

Even as he fixed himself in his chair tonight he had a murder story to unravel. Yesterday evening he was present while police authorities paraded one armed robbery suspect. The parade was conducted by one dirty-looking cop, with a funny face that made him appear as if he was laughing all the time; he was the chief of police. The police chief said the suspect was caught at a robbery scene which he did not care to elaborate on. He then announced to journalists that the suspect would be taken to the hospital. Before any of the press men could ask why an obviously unhurt person should be taken to the hospital, the accused man was hurled into a police van with the inscription: To Serve and To Protect.

He saw something fishy in all this. Later that evening, he stopped by at the City Hospital to check on the suspect and see if he could look beyond what he was seeing. “Mr. Ozi Francis, the man you wanted to see was brought in dead tonight,” the chief medical director disclosed to him on their way to the pathologist’s office. “It can’t be true. I saw him early this evening. He was OK. He didn’t have a bruise on his skin. It can’t be true!” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“Please, come in,” the grave-looking pathologist said.
“Well done, doctor. Here’s Mr. Ozi Francis, a journalist from The Conscience newspaper. He’s conducting an investigation into the killing of a robbery suspect. He’s a friend of this facility. He had been of help when we were in difficult times,” the medical director said as he introduced him to the pathologist. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let the two of you be.”
He looked at the pathologist as a man who conferred with death. The man looked so spooky and unfriendly; he was gaunt, eyes sunken in their sockets. He had firm bony fingers with a countenance that betrayed brittleness. The journalist was wondering where to start, as his thought-flow was momentarily held hostage by the spookiness of the man. As he began to open his mouth to say something, “please, sit down” the doctor said, gesturing at a chair. He sat facing the doctor.