WHAT BILLIONAIRES TASTE LIKE

Mr. Ziu sat at the balcony of his hotel, looking out to the ocean, smoking from his pipe, when one of his aides came to him with a phone from a caller. He asked who it was in Chinese and the aide replied back in Chinese,

“Mr. Khan from Hong Kong.”

He picked the call, “Hi, Mr. Khan.” He waved at his aide to leave his presence and when he had left, he continued the call in a slight British accent, “I have been expecting your call. How is Hong Kong? Oh Caifornia is fine. Business is getting on. I am making progress on the software. The boys will yield soon. They have no choice than to give in to my bid. They are poor young fellas who need money desperately. Oh yes with the brains they have got I have no doubt about the software. When I buy the software I will bring it to my team in Kowloon to reproduce its memory codes to cyber security software under my trademark. Yes, yes, it will be my invention, one I have been aspiring to achieve from time immemorial. American government will patronize me till the last dollar in her pockets; the world would create a market from it just to secure their economy and financial hub. Oh yes everything is fine down here. No, if they want a top up on the fifteen million dollars I can do that just to have the software. As it stands I can do anything now to have that software. Ok, we will talk later. Bye.” The caller hung up, and Mr. Ziu smiled. He waved on his aides and told them in Chinese to prepare him a warm bath in the Jacuzzi. He kept to his smile, smoked on and rubbed his naked stomach with his hand.

Heavy display of fireworks filled the atmosphere. Down the street there was a noise of people exchanging Christmas wishes.

“I can’t remember the last time I stayed in a motel room with a man.” Opula stole a glance around the room and then Ferguson’s back.

Ferguson had his tattooed pale back to her while he poured two glasses of beer with a whisky chaser. She read the tattoo on his back, just beneath his hair: Washington Daily. Her eyes were still on it, awed by the dark pigmentation that ran over his back.

“Washington Daily,” she read out.

His laugh forced out. “Yes, for the memory of it.” He walked and Opula bickered in her head if all of them were like that; walking without their heels meeting the floor.

“I was a dab hand at photo journalism. But somehow I got kicked in the ass for breaking protocols. Whisky for the weather?” He placed a cup beside her and sat to his.

Opula hummed what would have been her silence. Until now she had been expecting his crisp, modest American accent that cut through the mind than two edged sword.

“I am here now. I believe California is my top.” He caught hold of his Roi Tan and beheld her glare question him “Hope you don’t mind”.

She shook her Rihanna hair style and sipped at the whisky. His finger pressed down and a blue glow from the butane lighter lit the Roi Tan. A narrow smoke came through his mouth before he said, “I saw it in my future.”

“Yes. You guys leave your state, come down here and own Lagos. You close our beaches, raise sky scrapers, sit back and rub your palms for your rents.” Opula took his giggling to be daffy since that would not stop her from talking him into granting the paychecks to Azuaka Jnr. and Agu for their distinguished roles in his ‘real estate’ business.

He recovered from his giggling. “Real estate? Well, nice for others but not me. I ain’t a real estate freak. It’s the least damn thing I’ll invest in, you got that?”

Nice lips, she said in her head as she watched the smoke leaving his lips. She wanted to create her boundaries and make sure she executed what her man wanted without any form of emotional attachment. She felt a strange hunger in her. What is happening to me? But I ate before coming, she said in her head. How can I tell this stranger to buy me food now?

“Does your Roi Tan make you lie or the whisky?” She knew she had not come to hobnob with a New York whitie but to execute Azuaka’s task herself instead of hiring a week-kneed girl that would not look him in the eyes and counter his guts.NôvelDrama.Org owns all © content.

“You see down here we believe in nemesis and it’ll befall you if you don’t give them their paychecks for their roles in your real estate.”

Ferguson felt slightly frizzled. His green eyes turned watery.” What real estate? What roles? I don’t know what he’s been telling you but pretty, the four of us are bunch of criminals who are ready to render the world broke.”

“Criminals?” She gaped with an expression of faint confusion.

“I don’t know what you call it in your mother tongue but I want you to know we have been developing software that can steal money from any bank account within five seconds. Nku was in the Big Apple to that effect. Didn’t he tell you we’re monkeys with Monkeys’ software? Didn’t he tell you the world is in trouble from the month of January?”

She shook her head and she wished it would continue shaking. Her eyes bulged and felt hungrier. You have proven to be a liar earlier. How can I believe you? She thought.

Ferguson took a draw at his cigar and made a whistling puff, letting silence sink the truth into her. He watched as she glugged the whisky furiously, restraining her grin with a frown.

“But he didn’t tell me all that.” Her tone quivered with indignation as she stuttered. “I – I.”

“Let me tell you, Opula. This Monkeys’ software has been dragging us. I sacrificed my money and porn photography for this project, Nku sacrificed his talent, time money and good hustle in New York, Agu sacrificed his only inheritance, the house his parents left for him and your mocker boyfriend sacrificed his father’s gratuity.”

She shot her frown, her nerves jangling.

She grasped her handbag and stood on her high heel.

“Heh, calm down. If you’re going to ask him don’t mention my name, please. I don’t wan’ vultures to be jealous of my bloodshed.”