Kante sat down with his leg crossed, looking at the old man in front of him, who was on his knees, crying profusely while begging for his life.
"Please, sir — don't kill me, please."
The old man pleaded, his voice shaky, hands trembling. His clothes had been soaked with blood, his white hair painted crimson, and a large chunk of it had been ripped out, blood slowly oozing from the wound. A large scar ran across his face and his eyes looked like they were about to fall out; his upper lip had been sliced. Only the gods knew how the man was still speaking.
He should have been dead by now.
"Your death is not now. I still have several jobs for you to do."
Kante said, his voice as cold as Antarctic ice. His face was emotionless — he looked like a cold-blooded killer.
They were still in the old man's house on the outskirts, and they were currently in the library. Kante had shown the man what hell looked like, sent him on a journey to hell and back, but the man was still alive despite looking barely able to hang on.
"Now sit down. I have something for you to do."
Kante gestured for him to sit opposite, and the man wasted no time doing what he was told. Since the young man's visit the previous day, he had learned to do whatever Kante said.
After the man had sat down, his whole body shaking, Kante reached into the shelf beside the table and brought out a phone, sliding it over to the man.
"I'm guessing that phone belongs to you." Kante asked, and the man nodded instantly.
"I've already done my research, but I still want to hear from you. How large is the company you work for, and how strong are their people?"
Kante asked, his right hand moving strangely downward.
"No — no, I'm a solo surgeon. I work for no one."
The old man said, shaking his head violently.
Kante swung his hand upward and something hissed through the air. In the next moment, the old man fell from his chair and screamed in pain.
"Argh!"
"I'll talk. I work for an organ-trafficking ring."
The man shouted, his body shaking. A bloody mark had appeared on his cheek and blood was dripping from it.
"Now get up and tell me. You already know not to stress me."
Kante said as he retracted his whip, which was almost invisible.
The man slowly got back into his seat and began speaking, his lips trembling.
"I... I work for an organ-trafficking ring. The company is not that large, but we have people backing us with resources and several other things. I was among the people who established the company back then. Do you want me to go into details? I mean, if you want to know how we started it, how we got to know people who are backing us..."
"My question is clear!"
Kante snapped, interrupting the man's rambling.
"How large is your company and how strong are your men?"
The man gulped and answered immediately.
"Large enough to take over the two largest companies in Lagos City, and our men are strong enough to take down a whole convoy of the best cops in Lagos City — even the elite squad. But without these people backing us, we are nothing."
Kante's lips curled into a smirk.
"Well, that solves a lot. How much does your company value this Connect person they're looking for?"
The old man's eyes widened in shock; he wanted to ask how Kante had found out, but he dared not, so he answered.
"A vault of gold. He's our link to a breakthrough to the next level."
The smile on Kante's face widened, almost blinding.
"A vault of gold indeed. What if I told you the cops will be taking that vault of gold with them to headquarters in a few hours?"
The man frowned, not fully understanding what he meant.
"The... the cops? How did they find out about him?"
He asked, his voice tinged with disbelief and fear.
Kante reached into the shelf again and brought out a large printed photograph. He spread it on the table for the man to see.
"They haven't found out that he's a Connect, but they're going to arrest him because they suspect he's Snowflake."
"Snowflake? The cold-blooded killer?
It doesn't make sense — how can he be Snowflake? That man is innocent."
The man protested, pointing a shaky finger at the photograph.
Kante smiled again.
"Now this is where your job comes in, and you must not mess it up."
The man nodded, still not fully understanding.
"Pick up your phone and call the person who's in charge of your organ-trafficking ring — maybe the manager or someone."
Kante said. The man hesitated for a couple of seconds but eventually picked it up; he wanted to ask why and what Kante's motives were, but he dared not.
The phone rang for half a minute before it was answered.
"Yes, old man. I told you not to call me if there's no update."
A deep voice said through the phone.
The man glanced at Kante before speaking.
"Erm, it's about the Connect. I got an update that the cops suspect him as Snowflake, so they're looking for him."
Te said, his voice steady.
"Are you sure? What's his connection with Snowflake?"
The deep voice asked.
"I don't know his connection with the psycho, but that doesn't matter now. What matters is that they already arrested him and are taking him to headquarters now."
"They got him? How? We failed to get him even with all our connections."
The voice said, shocked.
Kante smiled, enjoying the conversation.
"Now this is our chance. A whole convoy of elite squad members are guarding him to headquarters, and I'm sure they won't follow the highway to avoid raising tension among the people. So I think I don't need to tell you what needs to be done."
The old man's voice was steady and devoid of fear as he replied, and he hung up the call after saying the last word.
"Interesting. You did a good job. Now get up and go eat; it wouldn't be nice if you starved to death."
Kante said, clapping for him.