Chapter 3: RICHARD
"Are you alright, Sir?" Lanke, my driver asked with that weird accent of his.
" Of course I’m not" I had wanted to snap, but Lanke was one of those few persons I’ve come to respect. He was a black, advancing into his late fifties. Three years into the job, putting up with my outbursts, insults and demeaning attitude, I respected him unlike those young blood who always bailed a few months from the job.
The longest anyone of them had stayed was a year and six months before deciding that my attitude wasn’t worth the pay. I never expected that I would ever come to like Lanke, one, he was older and doesn’t get me at times and two, he has a weird accent which he claimed was because he was a Yoruban.
A tribe according to him in West Africa, Nigeria to be precise.
The truth was that I’m far from alright. How could I be when each second, minute, hour and day, feels like a countdown leading to the inevitable. I may not take my situation seriously in the presence of others, but deep down I was scared shit of dying.
I watched him look at me again through the rear mirror, his face a contour of worried lines and reminded myself that I was Richard Wellington and I hate pity. Lanke knew of my condition and that alone should be enough to fire him, but for some unfathomable reasons, I just couldn’t.
"Lanke, what have I told you about that look?" I asked, catching him off guard.
"Uhm... Sorry Sir, as a father myself I..."
"Just wipe it off your face and keep your eyes on the road" I interjected, not in the mood for his overly concern.
With a forced smile, he muttered, "Yes Sir".
A pang of guilt thrummed through me and before it could spread to my cold heart, my phone rang.
The number wasn’t one I recognized and as I wasn’t in the mood for dealing with strangers or fans. I allowed it to continue vibrating. The urge to get high and simply float on the clouds of ecstasy tugged with desperation in my mind as the phone kept ringing. But I couldn’t even do that since I was with Lanke, and he hated seeing me smoke. It’s times like this that I miss my younger employees, especially Trey, who always got the good stuff.
After the second ring, I was curious about the voicemail that came after. So I punched on the button.
"Hello" it began in a feminine voice I didn’t recognize, I almost dismissed it as one of those girls I had moved on from, but somehow was still stuck in the dream of getting me back, when it continued;
"This is Beck from Falling Stars Hotel, if this is Richard Wellington then Sir, a certain friends of yours, hold on a minute, Sir what do you say it’s your name again" I felt the pause as if in that moment she had been holding the phone away from her mouth, a voice I would recognize anywhere grumbled in the background, "Chad Ramsey".
The voice mail continued, " Okay , so Sir your friend Chad Ramsey has been here for a few days now and he has accumulated quite a debt. His credit card has been maxed and according to him, you are the only one who can help him, so if you get this message don’t hesitate to come save your friend."
" Fuck!" I yelled after the beep at the end of the voice mail.
I heard Lanke utter a curse in his dialect and the car screeched to a halt. Without even waiting for a go ahead order, he revised the car and sped towards the location. I couldn’t have liked him more than I did at that moment, the guy knew me and how I never play with those I care about.
"Pick up. Pick up" I agitatedly spoke over the dialing tone.
"Why are you calling this early?
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