The Undercover

THE UNDERCOVER

The source of my wealth remained a secret, known to none, not even my wife, who shows no interest, or to any of the other women in my household.

Speaking of the other women, there are three of them. Stella, my wife’s younger sister, a distant cousin of mine, Celina, and then Madam Mary, an old lady who works as the housekeeper. Madam Mary was the oldest member of my household, having started working with me a year before my marriage. She occupied the boys quarter with her two grandchildren.

In addition to the women, was my stepbrother, Samuel, who moved in with me, a year after my marriage.

As much as I tried to keep a low profile, people still question the source of my wealth. On three different occasions, the State crime commission agency has sent undercovers to me, disguised as friends. But as a smart guy, I could tell a fake smile by just looking at one’s forehead.

“An ordinary sergeant cannot be living in such a house”. I had heard my colleagues discussing one morning. I knew they were referring to me. I just smiled and went about my business.

If they were bothered about my small niche, I wonder what they would say when they discovered I’m the anonymous owner of the house the commissioner has lived in for seven years. I wonder how they would feel knowing I’m the face behind one of the state’s fastest-growing transport companies.

A brief introduction. My name Patrick, sergeant Patrick. Like my colleagues would say, I am an ordinary sergeant in the Nigeria police force. I lived most of my life in the South East. I’m married with two kids.

I joined the police force at a very young age, fresh from high School, not willingly though. My father forced me into it. To him, his son joining the force means elevation from poverty and freedom from the law. But things didn’t turn out the way he envisioned. Because 7 years after being in the force, I still had nothing to bring to the table, no promotion, no nothing.

My father’s second marriage made life really tough. He neglected my mother and younger siblings, prompting me to find a part-time job. I now spend my evenings after work checking for faulty appliances to fix in people’s homes.

In the course of one such assignment, I had an experience that significantly impacted my life’s narrative for good or should I say… for bad?

That fateful Thursday evening, I was going to check on a particular house when I noticed the gate was slightly ajar. Contrary to my work ethic, I pushed it open and entered the compound which seemed empty. I almost turned back, but something inside me said I shouldn’t.

“Anyone here?”. I called out as I made my way to the veranda.

When I got into the veranda, through the window, my eyes caught a glimpse of the interior. Driven by curiosity, I bent over to look. What I saw still sends shivers down my spine till this day.

Typing 2….

© Joy Ifunanya

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