“HOW MUCH DOES A JUDGE cost?” my father asked me.
“That depends,” I said.
“Well, that’s all justice is about in this republic.”
“What are you not telling me, Dad?”
He sighed deeply and said, “We lost the case, John. We lost.”
“What? What do you mean? No way!”
“Yes. Apparently, there’s no sufficient evidence.”
I was about to sob. “Everybody knew it. Everybody knows it. It was our land. It is our land.” I almost shouted at Dad. “And we all know that it was him who killed Grandpa. Why, Dad? Why?”
My father was his usual cool. “John, son, I hate to tell you this, but it’s the truth. Life ain’t fair; get used to it.”
I felt like I could kill somebody. Hell, I could, and would, kill somebody.
“Thank God you’re alive, John,” my father told me after a while. “World of Richie Riches, they get their own breaks, and everyone else’s too.”
“Yeah, I get it. The rich just get richer, and the poor …”
“Whine like you.”
That was ten years ago.
And this is now.
I have a bounty of over a billion shillings on my head. I rob, with violence, and kill the rich—government officials, media moguls, academicians, church leaders, bankers, police, judges, military gooks and all.
I am the MOST WANTED man locally and internationally.
That’s the bad thing.
The good thing is that I do it for the common man.
And I never gonna be caught. Trust me on that!