The Weatherman bleeds

It never rained. It didn’t drizzle either. The Weatherman on MNTV said it would be rainy and cloudy for most of the day. The cloud cover was scanty. The sun was hot. His heart was ablaze and his eyes were fiery. Jimmy Okoth knew days like these were inevitable. He had seen worse days in his life before but there was something peculiar about today. The heat of the day and the impregnable dust of Namanve both had an unfamiliar touch of vagueness that heightened his unease. He thought about the weatherman again- that stocky smart-aleck dude with a bolding head and the swagger of a college drop out. That weatherman who lied about the weather everyday and never lost his job. “What a profession!” he thought. In his line of business, a single lie was enough to cost you a body part. Joe Kirundi had lost two fingers on each of his hands 12 months ago over lying about the price of a 45. Caliber slug in Juba during the Vinca Project. The trouble with lies is that when you tell them, you still have to sell them. Jimmy pulled his Techno J7 out of his pocket and typed a text to the Godfather, “Its time. Am headed out” An instant reply was received, “ make it clean” and the Godfather watched Jimmy drive off behind a cloud of white mint-scented smoke from his contraband cigarette. “The weather man will not lie again”, he spoke to himself and he spun on his heels pass on express instructions to Jimmy through the table phone. He spoke in cipher.
On the other hand, Cyrus Kamundu never loved his job. Being the Weatherman on TV was his fourteenth job since Makerere University. He went to school with Kalisya Nelson at the school of Psychology. While there, he met Komak Dan Bernie, Twine Vincent and most of all Gloria Kobugabe. That was a long time ago but these bonds had survived the trial of time and life had gone on to prove to him that destiny had chosen this path for him. He knew that Gloria was home with the kids and he had to pass by the supermarket to pick up some supplies before he made it home.
While the weatherman drove his Nissan Cube to the Cacia’s mall parking lot, Jimmy Okoth was already waiting for him. He was coiled back in the trunk of a black Mitsubishi Challenger SUV. He knew what was in for him if he completed this task which had been categorized for him as high priority. He was fully aware of the what consequences he could face if this one assignment went to the dogs but he also knew sacrifices had to be made in exchange for freedom. Freedom and wealth. He had made his sacrifice many years ago and today was the Weather man’s turn. He had calculated the risk and consequences so often in the past few days and had planned the best way out that he was now confident he would execute this mission without breaking a sweat. The butt of the stolen AK 47 riffle had been poking into the side of his belly and only now did he realize it hurt. He shifted just enough to transfer the pressure of the butt to another spot on his belly as a drop of perspiration slumped on the old unpolished barrel of the riffle. “ The weatherman must be exterminated” the reminded himself. He never wanted to know why. He never asked his elusive Mafioso boss why-that wasn’t any of his affairs so he had always not concerned himself with the pursuit for matters beyond his pay grade. The weatherman reverse parked his Jalopy in a free parking slot and stepped out, right foot first and head after. Jimmy, released the safety latch of the Old rifle, aimed for the Weatherman’s head and squeezed the trigger. The weatherman heard the shot a split second before his body slumped and hit the bitumen floor, a pool of blood oozing out of his shattered skull. The bystanders in the parking lot ducked in total shock and Jimmy Okoth drove off in the Black SUV knocking off the yellow and black painted access barricades.
Back in Namanve, Joe Kirundi waited for Jimmy Okoth’s arrival at the roof of a 20feet ISO container. He heard the lean sound of the 3.5 Litre engine before he saw the SUV emerge from a cloud of dust. His instructions were clear, a single shot to the heart was what was required to put the old dog to sleep. Jimmy pulled the trigger and the recoil force of the magnum caliber pump action hand gun jerked his right shoulder back so hard he thought it was dislocated. When the smoke cleared and the dust settled, the radio in Jimmy Okoth’s car was tuned in to 97.2FM and a Garth brooks song played. The dance was a 1989 classic song, this song won the Academy of Country Music Award for Song of the Year and it was playing on the stereo…songs play even when life ceases…