A savage grin, starting from his fleshy cheeks, but not staying there, contorted his still smooth countenance, adding age and some new wrinkles to his face.
The friar was pleased with himself.
In fact, at that precise moment, Brother Hugh reasoned that his omniscience, his omnipresence and his omnipotence had paid off.
He now had his tormentor-in-chief – Bamanga Njuma of the fifth – in the shooting sights with the cross hairs fixed on the boy’s mischief-filled head, dead centre.
All he had to do now was squeeze on the trigger and a serious menace to his peace, the peace of Sacred Heart College and the peace of all humanity would be no more.
He could almost feel his devastating trigger finger tingling as it always did before a kill. Now there would be no mercy. Now a huge thorn would be taken out of his flesh before dawn. Now the student with the trademark big inane laugh would be reduced to silence.
Somewhere in the building, the deep booms of a wall clock preceded the strident clang of a brass bell.
Prep was over. In his mind’s eye, Brother Hugh could see the relieved classrooms wheeling out their even more relieved content – seven hundred students, if everyone had attended prep, which would be a miracle, into the numerous corridors of the main building.