Author: emmanuelonimisi

TASER | Episode 2: The Trap

WRITER’S NOTE: Hi there! Emmanuel here! The nature of the plot of this story requires that you have read the previous episode. So, if you have not, please read the previous episode first. Just my advice.  Here’s the link:

Episode 1: The Cop

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‘Reports within the county corroborate the existence of the anonymous vigilante known to law enforcement forces only as the ‘Taser’.

  The vigilante has been known to go after criminals over the last decade. His ostensibly well-intentioned reason for not working along with the police or the Justice Department is reminiscent of the antiheroic comic book vigilantes of popular culture. The moniker attributed to this vigilante, analogizing him with the trademark stun gun used by the police, is based on rumors claiming that he terminates his victims by electrocution. While this method of crime-fighting is inhumane and outside the boundaries of the law, the Taser has thus been branded persona non grata with the public, and is declared wanted by the police.

  No one knows when or where, or even why he might strike next…’

From the Towne Times

 The Trap

 

8:14PM

Quigley Diner in Towne.

Gigi’s surprise for his birthday was a breath of fresh air to Jerry’s otherwise gloomy weekend. He had not been expecting it, but in her characteristic manner she had set the stage, breaking the ice.

Strangely, dinner with his sister did not feel as awkward as he had expected. She did not beat him up, perhaps because she knew it was not what he needed at the moment. She just seemed glad to meet up with him again. When she mentioned his avoidance of her calls, and he had apologized, that had been the end of it.

It was then that Jerry realized how much he had missed his sister. No one else understood him as much as she did. She knew just the right questions to ask to make him speak. For any other person, that would be hard work because Jerry tended to prefer sarcasm to actually expressing his feelings.

He felt free to be himself here, not trying to impress her with stellar stories about his career as a cop. She asked about his wife, and Marty, and about life since then. It had brought a solemn mood to an otherwise happy reunion. It was not that it made him feel better, no. It was just that he had never known that he really needed someone to listen. Or that he really had a lot of stuff to say worth listening to, bottled up inside.

“So the whole ‘mean, big guy’ façade is your shield?” Gigi asked.

Jerry shrugged. “One could say that.”

“So … what do you think you’re protecting?”

He thought about that for a moment. “My sanity?” It was meant as a statement, but he was also asking himself. He shook his head as he chuckled. “I’m sorry, that makes me sound like a case.” He had not planned to say so much.

“No, no, Jerry. It’s alright. I’ll understand.”

“Really, the world is not as perfect as you’d want it to be. Sometimes you have to be tough to get some respect. You earn it. Pull your weight.”

“I see.” She sipped her juice. “But then, you know the other ‘tough’ guys are also trying to protect something.”

An image of the talkative Eddie actually taking a moment to think about something serious crossed his mind. He chuckled. “Nah…”

She shrugged. “I’m just saying. Everyone’s real on the inside. The stuff we see on the outside are just loads of layers to hide what’s going on inside. That’s the real person that feels love, joy … that’s got fears, that worries … the real you. When we expose that person, we feel vulnerable. We only do that to people we trust.”

She leaned toward him and whispered. “Everyone is struggling with something, Jerry. There’s stuff that bugs them, that makes them realize that they’re not so tough on the inside.”

Jerry thought of his addiction to drugs and alcohol. He always told himself it was just a low he sunk into when depressed, a secret burden he could deal with. He had chosen alcohol to keep him distracted from the cravings he felt for the dope anytime he was depressed. He took all that to keep him from dwelling on his regrets, from thinking of Marty and of his failure as a father. But in the end … it was all still there. He tried not to bat an eye as he stared back into his sister’s piercing eyes.

He shook his head. “Listen, Gigi, I’m a cop. It’s a crazy world out there. You have no idea the kinds of people I meet. Nutcases without a—“

“Actually, bro, I meet a very wide variety of people every day. I think I have a good idea the kinds of people you meet.”

“I’m sorry, I keep forgetting. You’re a prison therapist, right?”

Gigi cocked her head. “Something like that. I engage in … restorative techniques for the prisoners.”

Jerry remembered when Gigi used to bail him out whenever he was bullied. She had always had a way of commanding respect, even from the older bullies. It did not take a stretch to imagine her talking to huge, heavily-tattooed criminals and listening to them baring their minds during her therapeutic exercises. “Still, I doubt you’ve experienced what I have. It’s different on the frontlines. When you’re out after real dangerous criminals, all illusions of ideals are gone.”

Jerry was thinking about Kraven Moore. He believed that if he could legally prove him guilty, he could effectively make a difference. Get the Dope out of circulation. Deal with the problem. Redeem himself. He was out trying to do something. Yet everyone else on the force was certain he was getting into dangerous waters with this case.

“I may not know about the people you deal with,” Gigi said. “But I do know enough to be concerned.”

Jerry stared up at her. “I’ll be fine.”

“I mean it, bro. There’s more at work out there than meets even the keen investigative eye.”

He squinted. “You’re not talking about angels and demons and stuff, are ya?”

She paused to think about it. “There’s that too. But I’m talking about something much deeper.” She thought for a moment, making Jerry wonder what was on her mind. “Light and Darkness have always been at war.”

For some reason, Jerry’s mind went to the weird nightmares that had been plaguing him. The gloom and deadness he felt in his dreams never left him even after he awoke. Darkness. He avoided her gaze and shook his head.

“There’s a whole network of evil and darkness out there, Jerry. It’s what operates in the hearts of men. The Darkness. You can’t fight it on your own. Only the Light can.”

“Gigi, please, you know I respect you and all. But please, don’t bring God into this. I’ve tried it, been there, done that, yeah I even know the lingo. We grew up in the church, remember? But I’ve moved on since then.” He shook his head. “It didn’t work for me.”

“Jerry, this is not about going to some building or obeying some rules. It’s more than someone giving you a clean slate. It’s about God, the Writer and Maker of your life, giving you a totally new and different one.”

Images kept running through his mind. Thoughts he preferred to keep away. “Yeah, so I can totally mess it up again?”

Gigi stared at him, pursing her lips. Just when Jerry thought it would all end up in a stale staring contest, she said, “He’ll help you be what’s right. That’s the only way you can do what’s right.”

Jerry exhaled. “Well, He should just keep this wonderful plan coming.”

She placed her hands on his own, staring into his eyes. “I need you to listen to me here, Jerry. Are you listening?”

His gaze lifted from her hands to her face. “Sure.”

“Are you? Are you really listening?”

“Yeah, sure I am.” He was going to raise his voice, but it felt inappropriate.

She nodded, but she looked really serious. “Remember how in the movies, when a character’s dying, they usually call out ‘Whatever you do, don’t look into the light’.” He smiled at the reference. “You will see the Light one day, Jerry. Whatever you do, you must look into the it. Sure, it’ll draw you in. And probably end your life. But that’s the only way you’ll ever truly live.”

Jerry slightly arched a brow. While that did not make much sense to him, Gigi had seemed extremely serious there. She was definitely not kidding.

“I’m not dying anytime soon, Gee,” he said slowly. “I’ll be fine.”

Gigi rubbed an eye. “I’m really glad we met today, Jerry. I’ve missed this.”

Jerry was stumped. How could he express his own gratitude? She had just celebrated his birthday for him. Could she know the great import of what she had done? “No thank you. I truly am grateful. I mean, I honestly was not expecting to come here today … mostly because, well, it’s been a long time since we met an’ all. I was expecting this to be awkward but you just … blew me away with this … birthday thing. I mean, even after I … after I didn’t take your calls and or answer your text messages and stuff. It’s been much more … it’s been much better than I expected it to be and …” He caught himself and shrugged. “Thanks.” She looked amused.

Man, he had missed this. What had he been afraid of for so long? There was no use trying to impress or be good in front of Gigi. She knew him all too well. It was as if this moment would not end.

And that’s when the report came in.

His radio was chirping so he placed it on the table. Some officers were reporting suspicious sightings The dispatcher came on air, “… A possible attack is imminent. I repeat, the Taser might strike tonight.”

The chills of his normal regular life came crashing back with those words.

Jerry gasped. Uh-oh. Not the elusive vigilante…the Taser?!

He had heard numerous tales and reports about the Taser. The self-appointed purveyor of justice on lawbreakers had just left his calling card again. The graffiti. There had been reports of his activity in the surrounding area, but there had been no casualties in Towne so far.

More reports corroborating the announcement came over the radio. This was going to be one long night. On nights like these, there was intense activity in Town. All patrols would be focused on the rooting out of this self-acclaimed vigilante, who was considered nothing but a criminal.

When he stared up at Gigi, she was smiling. “I’m sorry, sis. I … I really wanna stay—”

“It’s OK—“

“I’ve had a really wonderful evening, I’ll admit…”

“I know…” The radio still chirped with more reports.

“But I’ve got to get back to work. There’s—“

“I understand, bro. Go.”

“I mean, thank you for—“

“Jeremiah Tyler Jenson! Go! Get back to work. Shoo.”

He stood and they embraced. “You’ll be alright, bro.” she said.

He certainly hoped so as he left.

  8:45PM

As he drove past, Jerry noticed that the Uptown Pub had been lit up with spotlights and cordoned off. A crowd had been evacuated from the building and was now standing outside the area taped off. Some officers were taking pictures of the writing on the wall. That had been the Taser’s signature ID ever since he started his professed rain on crime. It was said that he had assaulted many criminals, but the rumors said he electrocuted his victims, earning his popular nickname as a not-very-accurate description of his methods. He operated outside the law, and was therefore a target thereof.

The dispatcher came over the radio. “Dispatch for Jenson?”

“Over,” he replied.

“You’re needed at the precinct. Chief’s office.”

  Uh-oh. “Already on my way.”

Clint had warned about this. Funny how a great night could just be ruined by a meeting with the Chief. Gonna meet the principal…

Not surprisingly, the streets were more active this night with more police activity. Every street had the occasional flashing red and blue lights and wailing sirens.

The elderly police chief, Lenny Baynes, was speaking with a press crew in the parking lot when Jerry arrived. “The buildings have been evacuated, and citizens have been cordoned off from the perimeter.”

“Thank you sir,” the lady from TNN said. “But we have questions about the Taser himself.”

“Ah, well our investigations on this case have been as in-depth as possible, within available resources, ma’am.”

“Is it true that no one has seen the Taser’s face?”

“That is correct.”

“Not even sketch artist impressions?”

Baynes scratched the back of his neck. “The Taser is a very intelligent mastermind. He knows how to operate under the radar. No one, and absolutely no one, has come forward with an image or a description of an image that we can work with.”

“Not even the victims?” Baynes cocked his head. “Oh, I’m sorry, the victims aren’t … uh, alive. So, for all we know, we could pass the Taser every day and not know it?”

“For all I know, ma’am, even you might be the Taser.” That earned a chuckle. “But all security is on high alert tonight, and we can assure the wonderful citizens that they can be at peace. There has been no recorded death at the hands of the Taser in this town, thank God, but we are ready for the worst scenario.”

“What would constitute a worse scenario, Chief?”

Bayness chuckled. “Let’s hope we don’t see one.” He tipped his hat. “I would love to talk some more, ma’am. But duty calls. Just stay indoors tonight. Things could get really dangerous. Your faithful men in black and blue will cover the streets for ya.” And with that he walked away, waving off any further questions.

He motioned Jerry over. “Walk with me.” The latter prepared for the worst. He was not one to back down from a challenge. Baynes was a levelheaded man that could take a good explanation. But he did not say a word to him until they got to his office. On the way they passed a couple of staff in the reception and dispatch units, doing afterhours duty because of the imminent threat.

Soon, Chief slammed his door and motioned Jerry to take a seat. “Please.” He then sat in his high back chair. He placed a folder on the table and stared up at Jerry. He knew full well what that folder contained – all Jerry and Clint had gathered on Kraven and his criminal network— but then he had not been expecting less, had he? But was this really the best time for Chief to bring this up?

“What’re you doing, Jenson?” Baynes asked. He seemed really concerned, not angry.

Jerry stared at the folder, thrown off by this line of question. Sarcasm was always the easiest way out. “I’m currently sitting before you, sir.”

Chief did not bite. “Don’t push it. You’ve documented quite an extensive report of your crackdown on the drug dealers. You’re after something, Jenson. And you’re fueling it with all the energy you’ve got.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, it’s not a compliment. You’re on a rabbit trail, Jenson. And I don’t know if you’re gonna get out of this without acquiring some dirt. Or worse.”

Jenson leaned close to him. “Sir, I think we can get Kraven Moore. He’s the criminal mastermind in the under—“

“Do you know this for certain?”

“But I can prove it, legally. With documented evidence and witnesses.”

Baynes tapped the folder. “Your ragtag group of detainees?”

Jerry nodded. “Sir, Moore has a hold on our youth. He’s poisoning the lives and futures of young men and women, enslaving them through drug dependence. They’ll do whatever he tells them to. That’s why he’s so powerful, and the criminal element would still go on unchecked. If we keep ignoring this, sir, the risk is much too high. Lives are at stake.”

The chief stared hard at him and lowered his voice. “Is this because of your daughter, Jenson?” Jerry was stuck for a moment. He could not lose this case over emotional attachment, and Baynes was definitely playing that card. He simply shook his head slightly. “You do know that policy officially does not support your involvement in this investigation,” Baynes said.

“My daughter was not officially linked to Moore. This case has got nothing to do with her. “

“You would have a motive for retribution,” the chief said. “Revenge. Clouded judgment. But this is the police department, Jenson. We administer justice according to the law. I cannot allow you to go on with this, I’m sorry.”

Jerry sat back, considering a slightly different tack. “Sir, if it was your daughter, wouldn’t you do what I’m doing?” There, he had accidentally leaked his emotional attachment to the case. But was it not helping?

The chief leaned forward. “I’m gonna forgive you for that line, officer. Unlike you, I’m a good father. And my daughters have never been, nor will they ever be, junkies.” Jerry just stared at him, trying to contain the anger welling up within. “Jenson, I only want to help you here. We have no idea just how far Kraven’s influence goes. There are many on his payroll in Towne, people of great influence. Even if we got him to court … we could be goners before he even got to the stand. Or worse. Besides, Towne’s doing just fine as it is. We don’t need to ruin that balance because we wanna be heroes.”

Jerry was still reeling over the chief’s jab at his daughter. “I’m not afraid to die. That’s why we’re the police.”

“Oh, COME ON! We’ve got bigger problems to deal with than the drug issue. The Taser’s out there, and here we are arguing about going after some untouchable drug dealer?” He inhaled and paused. “Let’s not get over-excited. You’ve done an excellent job gathering data on Mr. Moore. This would surely help us in our investigation. You have earned it. As of this moment, you’ve been reassigned to be our representative on the county’s task force investigaing the Taser problem. Anything, just … stay away from Kraven Moore!” They stared at each other. “It’s a dead-end.”

Isn’t Chief overreacting to this? Something kept prodding Jerry’s mind, but he ignored it. Perhaps he was reckless, living on autopilot. Perhaps he really did not care if he died anymore, even if it was at the hands of people like Kraven or of those in their networks of influence. “I’m come too far, Chief.”

After a stale pause, Baynes stared at his desk and exhaled. “No use negotiating…”

That thought kept running through Jerry’s mind. This was not going to end well.

Baynes looked up at him. “You’re fired.”

And then it hit him like a freight train. It felt like all the air in the room was sucked out.

But he couldn’t really be fired. His voice came out choked. “I’m sorry?”

“This folder will never see the light of day. Every last one of your supposed ‘witnesses’ has been cleared and released—“

“What?!” Your life is over, Jerry. He’s with Kraven.

“You’ll get your payment for the month, but then that’s it. You’ll have to leave the force.”

Jerry Jenson’s world was crashing all around him in one fell swoop. Baynes had been working for Kraven all along! Could it be a dream he would wake up from? He was not even strong enough to bite his lip to confirm.

“You’re letting me go?” he whispered.

Baynes stood and walked over to a window. “Oh, and we don’t expect you to cause any trouble, Jenson. You’ve already got many strikes against you, as it is.”

“Sir?”

“Let’s just say there’s more than one way to fly, isn’t there, Jeremiah Jenson?” He stared hard at him, his face expressionless.

The Dope. He still had enough stashed in his room, for the lows. He knows … dear God, he knows!

Jerry wished the ground could just open up and swallow him in that moment.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Jenson. Good luck with the rest of your life. Oh, and don’t bother clearing your office. Keep the uniform. Let it be a, uh … a souvenir. A goodbye gift from the Towne Police Department.”

It’s Kraven.

Jerry pushed himself to his feet, on wobbly legs as it was. It felt hard to breathe, or to even say anything intelligible.

Kraven killed your daughter. Kraven took your job. Kraven ruined your life… Is ruining your life…

He walked over to the door and placed his hand on the handle. Baynes just watched him, unsmiling.

It’s been Kraven from the very beginning. The bane of your existence. The scourge. The evil.

“Dear God, my life is over…”

And he walked out the door, lacking even the strength to slam it in anger. He felt like a terrible failure. He really should have seen this coming.

Marty…the Dope…Kraven…Marty…my job…my life…Kraven…Marty….failure…I’m a…I’m…

I will get you, Kraven Moore.

He grabbed his phone, the only thing within his reach, and slammed it against a wall.

The only thing he could think of was the moment he saw Marty’s body in the gutter, eyes staring into the distance. Gone. Dead. That had been the moment his life was turned on its face, the moment he realized that nothing would ever be the same again. The moment he realized that he had failed as a father. It had taken much to bring him up to this point. But now, he had been slammed against rock bottom. And now, he did not know if he could rise any more.

He sank to the floor and cried.

TO BE CONTINUED … in THE ULTIMATUM

Tune in for the continuing drama of TASER, coming up shortly.

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God bless ya!

TASER | Episode 1: The Cop

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It’s a dark room. So dark. And silent. Ceiling lights flicker overhead. And that’s when he sees them.

Bodies. Lying side by side along a wall. Lifeless.

Dead.

Not a single one moves. Propped against the wall, their heads sagging, their eyes shut.

Dead.

And then he sees a familiar face. Dried skin. Unmoving. The resemblance was striking … is striking … It was … it is …

It is him.

Dead.

Jerry sat bolt upright in his bed, panting. The clock glowed red in the darkness of his room. 02:39AM. Somewhere in the distance a dog howled. It was just a dream.

He shut his eyes and sank back into his bed. Not that silly dream again, not now. Please, not now.

It was roughly another thirty minutes before he finally settled in to anything close to a nice sleep.

The Cop

6:03PM

 Russell Road in Towne

Evenings on the Russell thoroughfare were usually calm despite the bustle of shop owners closing for the day. It was not unusual for one or two persons to be running across the road at that time, since most children still played around. But a police chase was out of the ordinary. A young man in jeans and a hoodie ran across the road with a burly policeman hot on his tail, drawing beeps from vehicles that stopped abruptly on both lanes.

The policeman keyed his radio. “Jenson, you got my back?”

The radio squawked. “What’s your ten-twenty?”

“We’re uh…” he paused to take a breath. “He’s heading up the Ramp.” His sides ached. He knew he should’ve taken those morning jogs more seriously.

“That’ll put you guys on Carlyle. He’s headed for the old ghetto. I’ll cut him off.”

“I still think we need more back-up!”

“No! We’ve got this, Clint! Don’t lose him.”

You’re one to talk, he mused. Ahead, the teenager slipped into an alley behind a building, setting a couple of other kids running off. If Clint knew that place well enough, it was surely a dead-end. He halted for a moment, but the kid did not come out. He either thought he’d found a good hiding spot, or was planning to spring him. I’m getting too old for this. Clint placed a hand over his gun.

“Alright! Show’s over, kid!” Clint called out as he approached. Suddenly overcome by a foul odour, he covered his nose and mouth. The alley was strewn with newsprint, mostly littered around the dumpster along the wall on the right. Cigarette smoke still hung in the air. His shadow extended before him into the alley, urged on by the rays of the setting sun. It was all quiet. Too quiet.

Clint sauntered in, wary of the shadows. “Okay,” he muttered in a nasal voice, his hand still covering his nose and mouth. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way.” The fire escapes ran up high to the roofs of the adjoining buildings. He could have climbed up there. But he’d have to have been extremely fast to…

Something scurried behind him. In a flash, Clint turned with his gun raised before a fist hit him flush in the face. He landed with a grunt on the ground, his gun sliding away. A cold blade pressed gently on his neck. “Don’t move!” the kid rasped.

Now crouched and on his knees, Clint’s pulse thumped in his ears. “It’s OK! Don’t do anything hasty!” It was all rushing from his mouth. Where are ya, Jenson? He tried to reach for his radio, but the move would have been too obvious. His best play was to be calm.

“Don’t make me kill ya!” the kid said with a slight whimper in his voice.

Clint’s experience in the force was enough to tell him that the kid was visibly scared. He had not killed anyone before, and he clearly wasn’t about to start now. Still, riling him up would be dangerous, tense as he already was. “That was a mean swing. But it’s OK, we don’t have to—“

“No! It’s NOT OK!” That blade was pressing a little bit too hard now. “I’m not a criminal. I-it was an accident!”

C’mon, Jenson… “Hey,” Clint tried to be calm, but kneeling and crouching on the hard ground was becoming more uncomfortable. And that horrible smell from the dumpster … ugh. “It’s up to the courts to decide now, kid. But what we saw you doing was illegal.”

“I was just selling the stuff. It’s…you’ve got nothing on me, man—“

“Newsflash, son: Dope is illegal! Selling it is a crime. And so is evading arrest.”

“I don’t even do the drugs, man. This is the only way I get any dough.”

This kid wouldn’t stab a stop sign!  He was concentrating more on talking than on threatening Clint. This was to Clint’s advantage.  “And this is what, your way of pulling your weight, proving you’re a man now? What do you think your parents feel about you hanging with that crowd? Or paying your bail?”

A pause. “They’re dead. I got no one.”

Clint was stuck there. Well, you’re not the first one. “I’m sorry, kid. Really. But … how’d you end up with these guys? You’re not like all the others. You seem like a smart kid.”

“This was supposed to be my last run. I wasn’t gonna do this no more. Now that he’s let me go.” He suddenly gasped. “I know why you guys are after me. He sent you, didn’t he? The Big Guy?”

Clint was going to say something but he was suddenly interrupted by a buzz followed by a gut-wrenching scream. The blade dropped to the ground and the kid fell to the pavement, yelping. Clint scampered toward his gun and turned. There behind the screaming kid stood Jerry Jenson, all six-feet and over 250 pounds of him.

“Now he shows up!” Clint said.

“It burns!” the kid wailed, grabbing for his back. “It HURTS, maaan!”

Jenson replaced the stun gun in its holster as he stooped. “Kid, by order of the Towne Police Department, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—“ the kid was still screaming “—and anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”

“Seriously?!” Clint squinted at him.

“You also have the right to legal counsel during questioning, but in the event that you are unable to afford one, an attorney will be provided for you by the—“

“So that’s it?” Clint asked, getting to his feet. “You show up late, and now you’re just gonna ignore me now?” The kid was still writhing in pain. Some citizens peered through the windows overhead. “And what did you do to this kid?!”

Jenson was busy placing the kid’s hands in cuffs. “What’s it look like I did?”

“You tazed him?” The kid still lay on the ground, and Jenson was still avoiding his eyes. “Why’s he screaming like that?”

Jenson inhaled. “Junkies have high pain thresholds. Had to up the voltage a bit. My bad.” He reached into the kid’s pocket and pulled out a big white ball of dope wrapped in a bag. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t even think of ditching this along the way?”

“I’m not going to jail!” the kid cried. “I’m not a criminal!”

Jenson pulled him to his feet. “Yeah, and I’m the queen of England. Hey, if you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

Clint arched a brow. “That’s a little cliché, don’t you think?”

“Let’s go.” And Jenson single-handedly bundled the struggling kid to the squad car. The rage that fueled that man…

“So no apology?” Clint asked as Jenson thrust the kid into the backseat and slammed the door. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The crowd that gathered watched as they pulled away from the scene.

“I hate cops!” the kid mumbled in the backseat.

Clint turned in his seat. “Oh really?” But the kid just stared at him with cold eyes. Clint ignored him and turned when the kid continued.

“You’re phonies! Hypos! Cons…”

“Hippos?” Jenson arched a brow.

“Hypocrites…” Clint explained.

“…they call you the law but you’re all as rotten as the rest of us!”

Jenson had had it. “Will you SHUT IT back there?!”

“Easy, Jerry,” Clint gave him a look.

“This kid will drive me nuts!”

“You can’t take me back to the Big Guy,” the kid screamed. “I’m not going back…”

“Yeah, the Big Guy,” Clint turned to Jenson. “He keeps saying that.”

“You think I’m a felon,” the kid’s rant continued. “At least I’m trying to change! While you, cops, break the very laws you—“

“I’m gonna hit that kid!” Jenson said, fuming by the wheel.

“Easy, Jerry! Hey, kid, who’s the Big Guy?”

“The Big Guy?” Jenson turned. “He say that?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“All I heard was blah-blah-blah-hippos-blah-blah-annoying junk-blah blah…”

“Yeah, I get it. Blah. Duh.”

“That’s what their Inner Circle calls Moore. The Big Guy.”

“Kraven Moore?”

“I wasn’t really gonna skip town,” the kid cried. “I wasn’t gonna. I’m solid.”

Clint cocked his head. “But I thought you told me that this was your last run…”

“He thinks we work for Moore,” Jenson surmised. “He’s covering his tracks.”

“It’s OK, kid. We’re the good guys.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny,” the kid muttered.

Clint gave him a look. “What’s your name, kid?”

The kid paused. “Jamie.”

“Well, Jamie,” Jenson said. “Whether you like it or not, you’re going to jail. And you’re gonna regret it, too. Momma’s gonna have to pay for bail. Oh no, wait I forgot … she’s dead. Boo-hoo, get used to it.”

The car was silent for a moment. Clint squinted at him. “You didn’t have to do that, Jenson. That was just mean.”

Under his breath, Jenson muttered, “Story of my life.”

Jamie Gustav refused to say anymore about ‘the Big Guy’ even at the precinct. Fair enough, their stream of ‘info gathering’ had ended three arrests ago. The more recent ones kept spilling out the same things. Jamie was booked and placed in a cell until trial. Tired and already working after-hours, they spent the rest of the evening watching the news in the pub across the street, over doughnuts and coffee.

“Chief will not be pleased,” Clint Barker said, referring to the chief of police. “Soon as he gets back, he’s gonna whip our behinds.”

Jerry Jenson shrugged. “Won’t be the first time he’s been peeved. I really think we’re on to something here, Clint.”

“No, you’re on to something. I’m just the mascot. Going after them drug pushers was a wild goose chase from the very beginning, and you know it.”

Jenson’s cell beeped. He stared at the screen and shut it. He lowered his voice. “Look, Clint, I need you to trust me on this one. Kraven Moore’s guilty. Once we get all the evidence we need to bury him—“

“What more do we need? And what makes you think we’ll make it out alive? Wake up and smell the Starbucks, man. Haven’t you been listening to the witnesses we’ve been gathering?”

“Clint –“

“I don’t know about this. Moore’s syndicate may have more influence than we can even imagine. We may be getting in too deep.”

“We expected this right from the ‘git-go’, Clint. This was what we signed up for.”

“Haven’t you noticed that we’re the only ones following this case? Hey, you may be reckless all you want, good luck. I got a family to pro…” His voice trailed off. His face registered his shock at his mistake. “…tect…”

Jerry took a sip from his coffee. Yes, he had no family. Not anymore, at least. The only family he had had died two years earlier. But he was not going to think about it now. He would not hold it against Clint for bringing this up again, however unintentional his bringing it up had been, in context.

“Bro, I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

Jerry held up a hand. “It’s all good. You don’t have to keep apologizing every time you talk about it…”

“No, I mean it. I was … that was insensitive and uncalled for—“

“Hey! Let it go.” Clint still winced. “Really.”

They ate in silence, watching the news. This was the part Jenson dreaded, the awkward-silence bit. No one wanted to say the wrong thing at that moment. Perhaps it was best to keep quiet then. Besides, some said it was alright for friends to have occasional quiet moments. But they could not remain silent. Jenson never liked awkward pauses. Time for a save, Jerry.

He sighed. “You know … sometimes I wonder why our founding fathers just called this town … ‘Towne’?” Jenson said, trying to lighten the mood. “I mean, couldn’t they come up with a better name? A real name?”

Clint chuckled, still wary. “Towne, huh?” The TNN news correspondent on TV was now introducing the weather segment.

“Yeah? I mean, they might as well have called the country ‘The Country’? Or they could just call us … what, ‘Metropolis’?” Now Clint laughed. “Like they just wanted to get on with the story they wanted to tell.”

Jerry’s cell beeped again. This time he simply clicked it off.

Just then the door chimed as the big Edgar ‘Eddie’ Maxwell bounced in. “Hey, Jerry! Clint, my man!”

“Here comes the bulldozer,” Jerry muttered in a sing-song voice. He never liked Eddie’s knack for long pointless conversations. They pumped knuckles with Eddie, just before he grabbed Jerry’s last doughnut. “And now he’s got my dinner.”

Eddie grinned and held the remaining crescent up in thanks. “I hear you guys pulled another one in today.”

Jerry sighed. Yeah, like I need an announcement anytime you hear something new. He avoided Clint’s side-glance. “You never miss a thing, Eddie.” He took a sip from his cup of coffee.

“I’m not trying to be nosey or anything, but the rest of the guys have been talking,” Eddie said, leaning closer. “You two should be careful out there.”

Clint jumped on that one. “Wait, what’re the guys saying?” But Eddie was already walking towards the counter.

“Just be careful,” he called back.

Jenson knew Eddie had a point. He really had reason to be careful. Kraven Moore’s monopoly on the market for narcotics gave him a lot of influence, especially in the criminal underworld. And out in the open, he was the wealthy philanthropist donating to charities, dedicating monuments, and kissing babies. But in the intelligence community where it mattered, everyone knew he was the drug baron of Towne. Many said that he held his customers by a form of mind control. Jenson just assumed it was the drug dependence of his customers that kept them beholden to him. With Kraven, no one knew where the facts ended and where rumors began. But the only thing Jenson was sure of was that Kraven was a criminal, the type of person that must be brought to justice.

  He knew he was being reckless here. But he had to do this. He stared up and caught Clint staring at him. He sighed. “Go ahead. You can’t keep tip-toeing around me.”

Clint kept his voice low. “Is this about Marty?” Yup, he was going to bring that up sooner or later. “You can’t keep beating yourself up because of that.”

“I’ve gotta redeem myself, Clint.” That was the most he had said about his situation to anyone. Clint paused as he held his gaze.

“You’ve done enough already.” Jerry’s phone beeped again. “And don’t cut that call. Could be a good girl, you never know.”

Jerry didn’t bat an eye as he punched the ‘Silence’ button. “It is. And I know. And I’m not looking for a girl now.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s my sister.”

Clint’s eyes widened. “Gigi? The amazing sister you never stop talking about?”

He held up his cup, but the coffee was finished. “Yeah, well she’s in Towne for the weekend. Wants us to meet up tonight. For dinner.”

“You need a dinner to talk with your sister?”

“That’s her idea, apparently. And I don’t ‘need’ to talk with her.”

Clint gave him that look again. “You haven’t talked with her in a long time, have you?” Jenson only shrugged. “C’mon, this is your sister we’re talking about, Jerry. I’ve never met her before, but if all the stories you keep telling me from when you were young are something, then this is what you need.”

“No.”

“Look, we’ve both had a long week. I have no idea what you’re going through like you do. But a return to normalcy is what you need right now.” He held up a hand to shut Jerry up. Like that would work.

“There is no normalcy to return to.”

“Hey, just trust me on this one,” Clint said with a smile. “Go, meet your sister tonight. Call her. You need this more than you know.”

“Clint, I … I’m not the guy she thinks I am. Not anymore.”

“Jerry, you’re a cop. You’re a decent man. Haven’t seen you with a bottle in months now. You always wanna do what’s right. You’re a father … trying to honor the memory of his daughter. Don’t you want Gigi to see the man you’ve become?”

That’s what I’m afraid of.

 

Jerry knew Clint was right.

But the truth was he also knew the man that he had become, and he was not proud of it.

After his wife had died during labour, Marty had been the only ray of comfort in his life. Growing up without a mother had not been easy for her, Jerry knew, but he had not been the best of fathers either. He had focused on his job in the force, and spent much time away from Marty and her teenage angst. Way too much time, he realized in hindsight. But then, he felt he had pushed her out into the big bad world outside. Clueless, he had misinterpreted her preference for dark clothes, tattoos and cutting and stuff, as simple adolescent rebellion. Later perusal of her diary opened up her world of gloom and pain to Jerry. How had all of this happened without him seeing? She had been hanging out with druggies, and had done some experimentation herself. He would never forget the day her fifteen year old body was found in a gutter, the result of an overdose.

Drowning in depression, Jerry had sunk into his old habits of drinking and smoking. As much as he denied it to his colleagues, he had also gotten into the drug scene. He had felt like a mess. He did things he tried really hard to forget. It had taken months for him to return to the man he was today. But some of the pain still haunted him.

He had never really gotten over the drugs, but he still never got relieved of depression. In his frequent low times, he got high and drowned himself in a bottle. But that usually left him feeling high and dry, the ecstasy gone. Alone, feeling like a ‘hypo’, as Jamie called it. He fought and fought to come out of this, but he always returned to the lows.

Maybe that was why he wanted to deal with Kraven Moore. If he was really the drug baron everyone talked about, then he was Jerry’s enemy. Everything he was fighting against was embodied by that man. Kraven.

  What would Gigi think of the man you’ve become? He thought as he drove through the streets, headed home.

And in all that time, Gigi had never stopped trying to reach him. While he avoided her deliberately, her messages of encouragement never ceased on voicemail, texts, even on Facebook. Gigi…how do you do that?

He was now at an intersection. He could either continue home on the right lane or turn left down to Quigley’s, where Gigi said she would be waiting.

They were not related by blood, actually. They had both grown up at the Irene Williams Home for Orphans. But with no other family, Gigi had become the closest thing to a sister he could ever have. She was so nice to all that everyone liked her. She was always there to defend Jerry— who was older— whenever he was bullied. And, oh, he was bullied more often than not as a kid. Not every young boy with a pot belly survived the jokes from the bullies back then. Maybe that was why he had always wanted to be a cop in the first place, to deal with the bullies of the world.

But now, he was simply an organ in the system, living in reaction to whatever happened around him. He was neither deep nor superficial, keeping others at arm’s length. Sometimes, some would consider him mean. But none of them really cared what was going on with him.

  What would Gigi think of the man I’ve become?

He was just a man fighting for his peace. Fighting to live.

He parked outside the Quigley’s Diner. Better get this over with. He stepped out of his car, locked it, and made his way to the door. Ok, how do I say it? I’m sorry for not picking your call? Yeah, that’ll do. If she won’t accept it, I’ll just shrug…I’ll just…

An old man in rags held up a can by the door. A sign by his feet read ‘FEED THE HUNGRY KIDS’.  Jerry rolled his eyes as he approached him.  “Oi there, guv. Drop a li’l coin for the young-uns tonight, eh mate?”

“Out of the way, gramps,” Jerry pushed past him, leaving the man stunned.

Now, you don’t have to be like that. While Jerry was not used to giving to causes, he most definitely didn’t like people shoving cans in his face; especially those with bogus British accents. He knew the man meant well, and did not deserve to be treated badly. Why do I do these things?

But he was not prepared for the sight that met him as soon as he entered the diner.

All around there were tables with people seated. But Gigi’s was not hard to miss. Her table had a very prominent cake in the centre, and was decorated with red ribbons. And there she sat, her eyes twinkling as she flashed that impossible smile at him.

“Happy birthday, bro!” she exulted. Everyone turned to see who it was, and as one the diner applauded the man whose birthday Gigi was celebrating. Me?

Jerry’s mouth was suddenly dry. It’s my birthday…my…  He had stopped celebrating anything ever since Marty died. There just never seemed to be a point to celebrate. But here he was, having forgotten that this was his birthday. Gigi would not let the day pass. Gigi, how do you do all this?

  The fact that someone still cared about him to celebrate his birthday, to remember this … when he had even forgotten it, made his eyes water. He blinked the tears away. He was a cop, after all. In his mind, at least.

Gigi stood and hurried over to him, her silky black hair flowing down to her neck. Beautiful as ever. He embraced his sister, but he could not speak. What could he say?

“Thanks for coming, bro,” she whispered in his ear. That did it. The sobs came.

Thank me? Thank YOU!!! But nothing came out of his mouth.

How could he thank Gigi for this? He did not deserve this, after shutting her out for so long.

Somehow, he knew Clint had been right. This had been what he needed.

In one small way, he felt like he was home.

Later that night, a couple of police officers stumbled out of a pub. It had been another Friday night rave. Who cared that they would be driving drunk? They were the law; deal with it! As they entered their cars, one of them stopped.

“Hey, guys, come check this out!” He pointed his flashlight up the side wall of the pub. It was not unusual for them to see graffiti on walls in Towne, but this was different.

For a moment the policemen were silent. It couldn’t be…

“This fits his M.O.,” another cop commented.

“Anyone see this when they were coming in?”

“Nuh-uh. This one’s fresh.”

“We’d better call it in.”

“You sure? Could just be some kids messing around.

“Too risky. Killers of his type don’t tolerate copycats.”

Up on the wall was a big T with one word written underneath.

TONIGHT!

    “Better spread the word. This is gonna be a long night.”

He keyed his radio. “Dispatch, we have a scribbled threat on Twenty-Fourth and Downey, Uptown Pub, west wall. Fits the M.O. of the vigilante.“

He was interrupted by another transmission. “We got the same thing over here on Yak Avenue. Big T with the word ‘TONIGHT’ scribbled under.” The cops exchanged glances.

The dispatcher’s voice came over the radio. “Dispatch to Unit on Yak. Are you certain?”

“Affirmative.”

“Downey?”

“Ten-four.”

A third report came over the radio. The dispatcher asked for clarification. An awkward pause followed.

One of the cops blinked. “What’s going on?”

The dispatcher came back on. “All units be at alert. Code Red. We are at full-scale security tonight. A possible attack is imminent. I repeat, the Taser might strike tonight.”

And somewhere in Towne, the one they called the Taser was smiling. The message was out.

TO BE CONTINUED…in THE TRAP

Tune in for the continuing drama of TASER.

If you’re new to this site, you might as well check on some of the other amazing stories here, filled with humor and unforgettable lessons. They include Bill’s Car, Unchurch, The Elevator, and many more articles. You might also want to check up on the first feature presentation on this site, The Love Revolution Trilogy. You’re gonna love ’em.

Please don’t hesitate to leave a comment.

God bless ya!

TASER

Title Block

SYNOPSIS
As the elusive vigilante known as ‘the Taser’ comes to a small town, the police are suddenly riled up. In the midst of ever-changing stakes and an investigation that goes awry, one man is brought face-to-face with questions he never thought he would ever consider.

Written in the tone of a TV  serial, this 6-episode story of grace and redemption in the midst of gloom and darkness is sure to rock your world.

Episode 1: The Cop

Episode 2: The Trap

Episode 3: The Ultimatum

Episode 4: The Alternative

Episode 5: The Real World

The Finale: A New Story

In this world, nothing is what it seems.

UNCHURCH

(Photo Credits: www.inimagine.com)
(Photo Credits: http://www.inimagine.com)

From Tobi’s Journal

I didn’t like going to Church.
OK, I know that must sound like a backslider’s swansong as he sinks slowly back into the dark and sinful world. But here, in my journal where no one can judge me, I can be honest. To me, Church was just … boring. This comes from growing up in a church family. But don’t worry, this story gets better along the way. Just stay with me.
My most dreaded day of the week was Sunday, ‘cause that’s when we’d all have to wake up by 6 am so we can leave the house and be in church by 7 am (I mean, who wakes up that early … on a weekend?). It didn’t matter that we hurried to church because we’d still be a few minutes late for the Workers’ Meeting so we’d all remain standing ‘till morning service began at 8 am. In all this time, we hadn’t eaten. It all felt rushed to me, and quite unsettling. Why couldn’t I just sleep in or play games or watch movies all morning, like other folks did? I wasn’t even a ‘worker’ in church, my parents were!
Anyway, we’d then start the Morning Service (and that’s another thing, I wondered why they called it ‘service’. It’s a ‘programme’, not a delivery service or anything) with Praise and Worship. I can recite the entire church programme by heart; any church kid can. Praise and Worship a system of slow songs, then fast jumpy songs, and then more slow songs, with or without the raising of hands. One of the deacons would then come up to take the Opening Prayer (the older the deacon, the longer the prayer, just saying), followed by the Testimonies (people telling us what God’s done for them) and/or a Hymn (really old songs in old books written by old people long gone before our grandpas were born). The choir would then take what they called the ‘Choir Ministration’, a special song they figured we’d either not heard before or that they thought we’d like. Pastor Dan would then come on stage and give a long teaching from the Bible called a Sermon. And don’t you dare take a nap or the ushers would tap you, exposing you and ruining your chances with anyone you secretly admire. Too bad if you haven’t got a wristwatch either, because they deliberately keep the big clock on the wall at the back facing the front, so that only the pastor can know how long he’s spending, and can choose to keep you seated for as long as he wants. After the Sermon, you know it is almost time to get home, so you listen through the Announcements and wait for the Closing Prayer and Benediction (‘May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ…’). Another Church Service is over. That is, unless there’s another meeting after.
Maybe I was a little too hard back there. It wasn’t so bad, you know. Perhaps it was just my perspective that needed changing. Either way, here’s what happened one Sunday.
The first warning signs I should have noticed was my father’s constant snicker anytime he talked about the coming Sunday’s service. “Don’t forget to invite your friends,” he said. Yeah right, like I’d bring my friends over to my church. As in my church?
“They’re already going to theirs,” I said.
“It’s just one Sunday. They can tell their parents that I’ll pick them up. It’s going to be special, trust me.” My father and mother teach in Bible Study classes.
I smiled sheepishly. My Mom suddenly put in. “What about the family across the road? The Oluwoles?”
Uh-oh. “Haven’t they got a boy your age?” Dad added. “I think his name’s Tosin?”
I nodded slowly, thinking of why this would not work. Tosin was not what you’d call ‘church’-material. He was one of the ‘big boys’ in school, who always seemed to have a lot of stuff, and hung out with other guys who did. His father worked in an oil company in the South-South. Girls like those kinds of guys; you learn that pretty quickly. Other guys like me just knew we were out of his league. Why would he come to my church? “Yyyyeeeeesss, but I don’t think he’ll wanna come.”
“It’s worth a try,” Mom said. “I’ve seen his mother in our church once. Besides it’s not far from this neighbourhood.”
“I think I’ll talk to his father,” Dad said. “He’s back from Port Harcourt.”
“Just try, Tobi,” Mom said. “Hmm?”
I didn’t. But this is not about how I did or did not tell him, because in the end he turned up in church with his mother, father, and his little baby sister. I did not go up to meet them, no way. How could I let him see me in my church clothes: tucked in t-shirt and trousers? He looked cool in his Lakers jersey and jeans. Man, I felt jealous that morning. Gotta work on myself. But, moving on.
The choir came on stage to lead us in Praise and Worship, all dressed in their ceremonial gowns. Another Sunday service about to begin. The handsome choir leader who many of the girls had a crush on (if my sister’s comments are anything to go by) came up in front and took the microphone. “Let’s lift our hands as we sing,” he said. Hands went up all around the sanctuary. I wondered what someone like Tosin was thinking about all this.
And he blew us away.
With just the right instruments, the guitars and drums blared in an awesome blend as the tenors sang,

We are the Champions, my friends!
And we’ll keep on fighting ‘til the end
We are the Champions
We are the Champions
No time for losers
For we are the Champions
Of the World!

My jaw fell open. What in the world was going on? That was not a gospel song … was it? I could not hear the rest because it was drowned out by the screams of the young people in the auditorium. For the sake of the older ones, the lyrics were displayed on the projector screens. I knew the choir surely had something up their sleeves. But that was not the end of it.
And as the refrain ended, the fast beats came. As one the choir jumped with the rhythm. And they just kept it going. It was not over.

I will never say never (I will fight)
I will fight till forever
Whenever you knock me down
I will not stay on the ground…

I was surprised these songs were being sung in church. In my church. I was more surprised to hear the screams and to see many of the ‘church kids’ singing along enthusiastically. So girls in my church also listened to Bieber, hmm. It was clear that they felt nervous at first, but then they just shrugged it off. Hey, if they were singing it in church it must be alright, right?
Some of the songs, I did not really recognize. They were mainly mainstream songs that many people knew. I even saw my Mom singing along to ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’, a Diana Ross hit from the ‘70s. The congregation was ecstatic that morning. It was all weird, but fun. And then the final blast came, and we all cheered. The instrumentals were amazing; I had to give it to them. I wondered how long they had been preparing for this.
“Now, time for the slow songs,” the leader said. I blinked. No, he didn’t just say that…

Heal the world
Make it a better place
For you and for me…

Oh no, what was going on here? This was funny, but it just felt weird around here.

Iwe kiko (Yoruba translation: Education)
L’aisi oko (without the hoe)
Ati ada (and cutlass … just a Yoruba expression for ‘farming’)
Ko ipe o (is not enough)
Ko ipe o (is definitely not enough)

Soon he was done, and everyone cheered as they took their seats, wondering what would happen next. Clearly, this was all staged. Deacon Olasope came up on stage. “Welcome to another beautiful Sunday, everyone. I’m sure we’ve all had quite an interesting past week. We’ve had some good times, some not-so-good times, and some of the…” he winced. “So-sos.” That elicited giggles.
“So if anybody wants to tell us some of the good things that happened to them in the last week, please come up on stage.” In our church, people with testimonies to share registered with the pastor before the service. Today there were six up on stage. The first person announced that he did not get arrested for speeding beyond the speed limit. We laughed. The second was grateful that we’d had no earthquakes. The third announced that he’d got a new videogame. The other ‘testimonies’ were equally weird.
OK, by this point I was feeling totally weirded out. None of this made sense in any way. Thankfully, Pastor Dan came up to set things right again. As he stopped up on stage in his polo shirt and jeans, the moments that followed would be one of the most solemn moments I would ever remember in our church.
“We’ve had quite an interesting programme today, haven’t we?”There were murmurs of affirmation, but then it was clear that others felt the same way. If this all was an attempt to get people to enjoy church, it was lame. “I know everyone is wondering what’s been going on. Some unconventional things have happened here today. In the next few minutes, let’s talk about it together, shall we?”
There was an awkward moment of silence as the pastor stared at us all. I pitied him for the moment, because this was church. No one wants to talk in church, as far as I’m concerned. We were simply OK with him ending each sentence with ‘Praise the Lord’ or ‘Amen’, and us responding with ‘Halleluiah’. No one was going to—
But then someone in front raised a hand. “Yes,” Pastor’s face lit up as he pointed at her. “Tell us, Joana.”
Joana was one of the kids in our youth forum, who was never afraid to speak her mind. Thankfully she’s the one that got everyone talking that day. “We sang secular songs in church today.”
“Secular?” one of the elderly woman exclaimed. “Those were worldly songs! They don’t minister life!”
That got many people talking over each other, as each side wanted to prove that the songs were either totally bad or not that bad. Music was just one of those topics that many people even in my church did not fully agree on.
When Pastor Dan finally got us all to calm down, he said, “OK, now we all want to talk. But we’ve gotten that point down. ‘Un-Christian songs in church … that don’t minister life’, is that good with everyone? We deliberately selected songs with morally-acceptable content for this exercise. That’ll be the last time we’ll sing those songs from here, don’t worry. Wonderful. Any other thing we noticed?”
Some people still muttered about the music. I could not put my finger on it, but there was something more to this Sunday service that made me feel uneasy. He was expecting us to talk about the order of programmes, but no one wanted to state the obvious.
Suddenly a stranger raised his hand. He was Tosin’s dad, the one that worked in Port Harcourt. He was a huge man, and this was his first time in our church. Uh-oh, I thought, Pastor’s in big trouble today.
“Good morning everyone,” he said. “I’ll make it brief. Uh… this is my first time in this church. I don’t go to church normally, except for special occasions like Christmas or Easter, or December 31st or funerals and memorial services. It’s just how I live. I would not have come today, had uh…my neighbour not invited me.” He was talking about my Dad. I just wished he remembered his name.
“I understand that what we’ve had here today was simply an act, for a discussion, and I’m glad. I really am, because … I don’t have anything against the songs. It’s just that, this is church. The few times I come to church, I get the opportunity to think about someone else for a change. To experience God in a different way, apart from the busyness of the rest of my week. I don’t know if anyone here understands me—“ there were nods all around “—but I come to church to be with God. I did not have any of that here today, Pastor. It felt no different than a hang out with friends, and nothing more. I came for the ‘more’. And I hope I’ll still get some of that today. Thank you.”
As he sat, we all applauded his statement. What he said gave me the courage to stand. “Yes, Tobi,” Pastor Dan encouraged me to speak.
“It was not only the songs,” I said. “But everything else was missing something. I did not feel … safe. I can’t put my finger on it, but I just did not feel safe.”
“Thank you, Tobi.”
More people spoke along the same lines. Some did not feel safe, some did not feel encouraged, and some were annoyed at some of the bogus testimonies praising their human ingenuity and all. Some blatantly said that they did not feel God. It did not feel like Church to any of us.
Pastor Dan got all of this down. “Thank you everyone. Without God, all that we do here every Sunday is empty. Beyond the order of programmes and activities, there is Someone calling to us through it all. We dedicate our songs to him in here, we praise him for his wonderful work and we thank Him for what He’s done for us. He is our God, and also our Father who has saved us and called us to Himself. We pray to Him. This is who we are, and it’s what we do here, folks. Without Him, our Sunday mornings here are nothing more than a waste of time.
“In giving the first morning of the week to the Lord, we are setting a template for the week ahead. I’m not saying you must start your day at your workplace with fifteen minutes of praise and worship … or fast songs and slow songs.” That made us laugh again. “And while we’re on the subject, you do understand that ‘praise’ does not necessarily mean a fast song, and ‘worship’ does not necessarily mean a slow song either, right?” We agreed. “Uh … Media Team, please put up Romans 12:1, from The Message, please? Thank you. Songs of praise are songs of adoration and sometimes thanksgiving to God for what He’s done for us, for who He is. Songs of Worship are, uh … they are an expression of the heart in love and worship to God. You know what, I don’t have the best definitions here, but that leads me to my next point. Media are we … ready?” He sighed as he stared at the screen, waiting for the projection to adjust.
Our Media Team was pretty awesome, but sometimes they got quite clumsy. I was going to join them someday. But today they first put up Romans 11:1 before the projection changed to 12:1.
I think Pastor Dan likes reading from The Message Bible sometimes because of its conversational tone. “Very good. Romans 12:1 says, and here, Brother Paul is speaking by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, ‘So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—‘ now everyone listen closely to this, ‘—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for Him.’” He paused and stared back at us. “That’s Worship, friends. That’s what God expects from us every single day. Our offerings to Him are not a couple of notes and coins we place in the basket every Sunday, no. It’s our everyday lives, in the little things we do. Honouring Him, thanking Him for His faithfulness and goodness, and glorifying Him in all our ways. Living lives of integrity, of love. This is the most reasonable way to serve God.
“That’s what Worship means, people of God,” Pastor Dan said, slowly so that we all got it. “That’s what ‘Service’ means, to God. We’re serving Him by offering our lives to Him for His purpose. To be what He wants us to be, and to do what He wants us to do.” He stepped down from the podium and stood among the congregation. “Sunday is a platform; I could almost call it a ‘special excuse’, or an opportunity to pour out ourselves and our time as an offering to our Father. Surely, He will bless us as He has promised. But this is our part, to Worship. A book I read years ago defined ‘Worship’ as ‘Worth-ship’, giving the most worth to the One that deserves it the most. Not just in our songs, but specifically in our lives. What we do here is a product of that, unto God. That’s what makes us His house.”
In the moments that followed, we all let this sink in. He was right. It was not just the literal mentioning of ‘God’ in our programmes, but an outpouring of our hearts. That’s what made the programmes worthwhile, even if they were changed or re-ordered, or even if they remained monotonous. It’s the Lord we worship beyond all of this that makes it worthwhile.

“So now,” Pastor Dan said. “We’ve had quite a morning. Now let’s do some Service.” And Sister Sarah took her place at the grand piano. She is one of those elderly women who have been a blessing to our congregation for generations. I was told she started our choir when my Dad was still a boy, and that her children were successful pastors abroad. No one would have known that she was a doctor, for her musical skill was always a marvel and a blessing to us. Perhaps it was this new perspective I had just gotten that allowed me to see her and her gift as a gift from God that morning. For as we followed her in singing her song, we meant it with all we had.
All to Jesus I surrender
All to Him I freely give.
I will ever love and trust Him
In His presence daily live.
I surrender all.
I surrender all.
All to Thee, my Blessed Savior
I surrender all.
We spent the rest of the morning worshipping God in prayer and song. What a service that was. While we’ve not had that kind of service again, I kinda enjoyed it. I wonder what comments Pastor Dan got after.

So, what do I think about Church now? I still don’t enjoy rushing every Sunday morning, and the monotonous order sometimes just gives me a good laugh. But I understand that God deserves my best, and Sunday services in Church are an opportunity to do that. From the songs, to the prayers, to the testimonies, the Sermon, and even the rare projections on screen, I get to see God at work in these people. He’s much bigger than the box I make for Him in my mind, and He’s just … amazing. I’m encouraged in my walk with God. I don’t have all the answers. But I know there’s a good reason children of God gather together to meet and worship Him this way. Iron sharpens iron…

The other day I showed this piece to my friend, Emmanuel. He’s a weird guy, that one. He suggested that he’d like to post this article on his blog. I think he was just teasing. I just hope he didn’t do it. If this goes on his blog, the things I’ll do to that guy … I’ll … I’ll … oh well, I’ll just have to forgive him. Eventually.
Until next time, journal.

P.S.: Emmanuel here. I gotta apologise to Tobi for posting this up, though I warned him. Hey, to you readers out there, do NOT read other people’s journals without their permission … even if they are fictitious characters!

For those of you that waited behind for more, here’s a little teaser for a Feature Presentation coming soon …

A Feature Presentation coming soon on Emmanuel Presents
A Feature Presentation coming soon on Emmanuel Presents

The Elevator

As they entered the lobby, the woman and her little boy were overwhelmed by the crowd. Here and there, men and women walked back and forth, most definitely with a purpose in mind. Everyone was here for the company’s Grand Dinner at the Top Floor. But this woman had an edge over them:
Her husband was the C.E.O., and he had given her a special invite.
The boy clutched her hand tight. “Mom?”
“It’s OK, dear,” she said reassuringly. She still held her husband’s note in her other hand. “We’ll be fine. Stay close.”
It appeared many were taking the stairs at the other end of the room. But the note in her hand had given specific instructions.
“We’re supposed to look for a man…” she muttered to herself.
Her boy beat her to it. “Could it be that man over there?” He pointed at a man in a suit across the room. He was, apparently, already staring at them.
She shrugged. “Ok, let’s go ask him.” So, making their way through the sea of humanity, they approached the tall fellow, who was beaming.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello, sir. I’m sorry, I’m looking for a, uh…” she checked the note in her hand. “Mr. J.C.?”
“That would be me,” he said. “And you must be Karen.”
“Why, yes,” she said, taking his hand. She ruffled her son’s hair. “Smart boy. How’d you know it was him?”
“He was the only one smiling,” he said. Karen smiled at that. Her boy was easily attracted to people that smiled.
The man bowed to his level. “And this must be Richie. Your father talks about you all the time. High five!” The boy smiled and gave him the high five.
“He said we should meet you,” Karen explained.
“Why yes,” J.C. said. “He wouldn’t want you to take the stairs. You would be much too tired before you got to the Top Floor. Here.” And with that, he tapped the wall behind him. It suddenly swung open to show what looked like a small room.
“An Elevator!” Richard said in wonder. “COOL!”
J.C. smiled. “You just type in the code in the panel on the right, and it’ll take you there.”
Karen nodded. “Thank you, sir. And the code…is…?”
“Faith,” he said. “F-A-I-T-H.”
Karen smirked as she tapped it out. “My husband has always got a knack for deep passcodes, hasn’t he?”
“Oh, you have no idea!” J.C. replied.
Richard was reading a word on the Elevator’s wall. “G-R-A-C-E? Mom, what’s ‘grace’?” He pronounced it as ‘grass-ay’.
She stared up at it. “It’s pronounced ‘grace’, dear.”
“Grace,” he repeated.
“That’s what we call the Elevator,” J.C. explained.
As Karen pressed ‘Enter’ the lights came on. “Thank you, Mr. J.C. I do hope we’ll meet again.”
“Oh, we will, Karen. You too, Richie.”
“Bye, Mr. J.C.,” Richard said, waving.
“Sir, I’m curious,” she said. “Why don’t the others just take the Elevator?”
Here J.C. looked visibly sad. “They don’t know it exists. But only I can tell them, and, frankly, they don’t want to come to me.”
“Can we tell them? To direct them to you? I can’t imagine leaving them to take the stairs.”
“That would be marvellous. I couldn’t ask for more. Now hurry along. Your husband’s waiting for you.”
So they waved as the Elevator lifted them and carried them towards the Top Floor. All through it all, Richie kept jumping in amazement. “We’re gonna meet Daddy!”
“Yes we are, dear. Yes we are.”

—

‘Through [our Lord Jesus Christ] … we have access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.’ Romans 5:2

The Glory of God is like the Top Floor. It’s where God is, and where He wants us to be. But because of our sins, we’ve been brought down to the ground (all have sinned and ‘fall short’ of THE GLORY OF GOD: Romans 3:23). But God still wants us to reach His glorious ideal.
The stairs are like the Law. While it was God that gave the Law, it can’t get us there. It’s based on our own efforts to do what’s right, and we just can’t measure up on our own. That’s what He gave the Law to us for, to show us that we really need God’s help. And He’s willing to give it!
And God sent His help, His Grace. It gets us there. But the only way to recieve His Grace is through faith in Jesus Christ. Then, in whatever situation, we can rejoice because we know that we are getting closer to that glorious ideal.
Not by our own strength, but by His own Strength at work in us.

His Grace.

“Go, hug the Transformer!”

Have you ever been told to ‘go to blazes?’ Sorry, someone probably spoke out of turn. But on my side of the globe, what people say is, “Go hug a transformer!” This conjures up pictures of Tom from TOM AND JERRY getting zapped with electricity. We get to laugh as Tom walks away in jerks of static, while Jerry runs off laughing. By the way, it’s been over thirty years. The sooner Tom realizes he’s never gonna get Jerry the better it’ll be for him.
So Tom is staticky, not the calm and conniving Tom we’re used to, for a moment. We could say he’s a different person … er, cat. A different cat. He’s ‘transformed’!
While it looks comical, electric shock is no joke. It’s death. So please don’t go hugging the transformer on your street, no matter what anyone says!
But then there’s another Transformer I think we all should hug and embrace. And while this one has many good perks, it will most assuredly KILL you! But that’s why we should embrace it.
OK, I’m not suicidal, in case you were wondering. This Transformer is different, trust me.
Romans 12:2 tells us “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may be able to test and approve what God’s Will is, His good, pleasing and perfect will.”

So that we can know and do what pleases Him, God wants to change the way we think, changing our mindsets to become like His. A change in your mindset will change you. It is letting go of who we are so that we can hold on to who he wants us to be.
Remember the Hulk from Marvel comics and movies? He was originally a man called Dr. Bruce Banner, who was exposed to gamma radiation. This transforms him into a green hulking monstrousity anytime he’s exceedingly angry. The Hulk can do a lot of things that Bruce Banner can’t, such as having titanic strength and leaping to near-stratospheric heights. He was transformed by an exposure to radiation.
To be transformed, we need a spark. A jolt. Some electricity. Like hugging a Transformer?
It’ll be the death of whosoever dares to embrace it, but he or she will leave as a different person. Staticky, bursting with electricity.

For us to live the New Life in Christ we must let the old life with its mindsets die daily. We need some electricity. I think of the Grace of God as electricity (have you read my previous post, GRACE LIKE ELECTRICITY). While it has been made available to us, we need to deliberately recieve it. Embrace the source.

And the Source is JESUS, the Word of God Himself. He is the One we ought to embrace. He has made the Grace of God abound to us, but we need to recieve it.
Our minds are renewed as we interact with Him in studying the Bible and talking with Him. Just like interacting with a friend, soon we begin to think and talk like Him. We’re transformed as His grace fills us.
And we become more like Him, thinking His thoughts and doing His acts. We would have His heart, growing in love and abounding in it. We can’t do it on our own. We must recieve His electricity. His Grace.
Then, we are ready to get started, holding on to Him in all our ways.

Don’t you just wanna embrace the Transformer?

A not-so-major motion picture: TRANSFORMERS
A not-so-major motion picture: TRANSFORMERS
Part of a series of humorous movie posters I made for this blog.
That’s the transformer on my street. Who knows, it might actually be a robot from space! Go figure!

Watching my Tongue… Watching my Mind

I thought I was blessed with the knack for attracting embarrassing circumstances until I found out that others also had their own share. But really, I tend to get into some pretty weird circumstances. I used to feel bad about it until I learnt to laugh about them. No kidding, I think God knew what He was doing when He made me. Ha!
Whenever I got into these circumstances, my mind automatically ran through either of the following responses:
“You’re such an Idiot!”
“You’re a fool, Emmanuel. A big fat fool. You know that, don’t you?”
“Oh shut up! Shut up! You’re not an idiot.”
“But you know you are!”
Wow, it seemed to give me some comic relief to have these conversations in my head, keeping the pasted smile on my face. But I learnt that it was wrong. These words have their effect on me, be they funny or not.
The words we speak, as sons of God, had better be good because they are important. God has made me His child, and no matter what seems to happen around me, I gotta keep my mind focused on what He calls me.
I realised that the things I say are a product of whatever’s going on in my mind. What do I fill my mind with? Stuff from what people say around me or in the movies (however interesting they may be), or with the Word of God? The latter is the best, of course, because it always tells the Truth.
Someone once said that our hearts are like buckets filled to the brim with water. When the bucket is pushed even slightly, it’s the water that spills out.
When push comes to shove, when situations around try to push you off your centre, what spills out? What is your response? What do you say? Or think? Or do?
I’m learning to fill my mind, and align my mindset, with all God says I am. Letting God change the way I think. The Bible calls that ‘renewing your mind’ in Romans 12:2. We do that by constantly interacting with Him in prayer, and studying His Word. So if seemingly weird situations come up, I trust God to keep my response (in words, actions and thoughts) according to His own responses.

So do I still get into embarrassing stuff? You bet I do! But my response?
“You’re such an i…ntelligent child of God!”
“You’re a f…riend of God. A wonderful friend of God!”

And that’s who I am.

To Please my Commanding Officer

A couple of posts ago I hinted that I’d be joining the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) here in my country. Just in case you were wondering, nah, it’s not the military. The NYSC is a program organised by the Nigerian Government (yeah, I’m Nigerian) to place graduates of universities and colleges into service for the nation, for one whole year. Some get to work in hospitals, some in industries, and some of us get to teach in schools (yup, I’m a teacher alright!)
During our 3-week orientation experience (aka bootcamp) one fact was constantly drilled into our heads: that for the next 12 months our lives belonged to the government. They would be responsible for us, but we were going to serve them. I mean we weren’t even given a choice! They gave us uniforms, and we were consistently indoctrinated on what service to the country means. It felt like they were trying to brainwash us! And that’s not the half of it. Everyday, from early in the morning till evening, we were drilled by military personnel: standing in formation under the hot sunshine for hours (some folks fainted), marching, standing at attention anytime the anthems were sung, discipline — it was like they were punishing us for being civilians! Ok, I’ll admit it was also fun, but I still felt like they were trying to turn us into mindless pawns, or robots!
But it gets better.
Now we’ve been deployed to our places of assignment across the country, and this writer’ll be teaching for the next 12 months (and he’s loving it! The kids are amazing, thank God!) I’ve noticed that wherever I go in my corps uniform, I’m respected. People bow to greet me, elderly folks see me and bless me with prayers (in my country, the blessings of elderly folks are placed in high esteem); it’s all been pretty cool. But you see, I can’t let it get to my head. It’s not me they respect. It’s the people I represent — the government — that they respect. But it’s still been fun to be a celebrity (hehe).
It’s all come at a price, though. We live by a strict code, barring us from living like others. For security reasons I’ve been seperated from my lovely laptop (sniff!) That may seem like a small price to you, but not to me. Besides, we have given up some other stuff such as the comfort of home, friends, the lives we’re used to, etc. We represent the government here, so we gotta be good.
It’s got a military ring to it.

But then, I also am of another military breed.
Paul wrote, “No one engaged in warfare entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who enlisted him.” (2 Timothy 2:4).
Following Jesus is like being in His army. It means we’ll live only to please Him. Actually, that’s the best way to live, because it’s got a Great Reward.
It comes at a price too. We don’t just live like anyone else would. We don’t simply blab because We have the freedom to. We don’t simply do stuff because we can. If He doesn’t want us to, we don’t. On the other hand, we speak and do stuff if and when He wants us to.
In case you didn’t notice, let me lay it out for you: YOUR LIFE IS NOT YOUR OWN!
We were made to live for Him, to please Him. That’s what following Jesus means.
It’s not everytime that this is easy, I know. But He’s told us that to follow Him we must deny ourselves. It’s like He always says: to live for Him we must first die to ourselves. That’s the way to life. And the rewards here and beyond far outweigh the hardship of submitting to His leadership. There’s glory and honour involved, but remember, it’s still all for the One that called us here. He’s not a sadistic mind-controlling dictator. He’s crowned us with His glory because He loves us. Following Him is the best thing that could ever happen to us. Really.

I too am undergoing training in His Service. By submitting myself to the guidance of His Word and His Holy Spirit, I’m allowing myself to become what He wants me to be.
A soldier pleasing the One that enlisted me.

‘For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.’
Romans 8:18

GRACE LIKE ELECTRICITY

Whenever there is electric power in your house, all you need is to plug your gadget into that socket, turn on the switch, and let the power stream in and bring it to life. The only limitation to the power received is the amount of electric current streaming in your house.

God’s grace is like electricity. It gives us the power and ability to do ALL THINGS, in an amazing way. All you need to do is to plug in to the socket. If you are not a son of God, your life is like a square plug that cannot enter into that round socket. But if you are a son of God, you are plugged in for Christ is the socket, the Door [for the sheep]. When you agree with God and His ability to do amazing things through you, you turn on the switch, and an amazing life powered by the grace of God springs forth.

And don’t worry about low voltage. You see, the Bible tells us that God has made His grace ‘abound’ (or gush out in large amounts) to us, in Ephesians 1. It also tells us that Jesus is the Grace of God to us. He is the One that empowers us to do all things. Jesus described it as ‘living water flowing from your innermost being’. David described it as a cup that overflows in Psalm 23. The supply never ends as long as we keep receiving.

I believe God’s intent is not for us to try to do things in our own strength, but through His. We can’t handle it all by ourselves. We weren’t made to. Just like your average electrical appliance. Say, a television? The television is made for viewing, but it is useless without electricity. Oh well, it could be used to block a hole in the wall or in the ground, to squash a bug, or to even play basketball! But that’ll only ruin your television, BADLY! But plug it in, and you are set up for the most amazing experience of your life … well, as far as televisions are concerned. Televisions work with electricity. You were made to live by the Grace of God, in the strength that He gives, and with the Life that He is.

Eternal Life. Abundant Life. Life to the Full.

And when we receive His Grace and allow it to empower our lives, we see who we really are made to be in Christ Jesus. So like Paul, you can boldly say, “By the Grace of God, I am what I am.”

“I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

His Grace is free for God’s sons.

Plug in.