12 Badoets
Sangangpuluh Loro: The End

After Adzan isya' reverberated, Wildan returned to his house bowed. Jawara looks full of scratches. Just like his master, the rooster looked uninspired. The roost is no longer upright, looks lackluster with some blood spots.

"Well, we lost again" Wildan lamented as he sat on the porch of his quiet home. The jawara was left on the ground. His beak pecked at a small pebble.

"My money is just Jawara. Tomorrow dong fast. Ah, how the hell. You seem to be training less. That's why don't be lazy. A lot of sports" Wildan grumbled. Honey, the rooster doesn't understand Wildan's words.

From a distance a vaguely visible figure walked over. From the way he walked and his posture it was clear that the figure was a woman. Dressed in a black hoodie and tights, wading with hasty footsteps.

"Well?" wildan's murmur narrowed his eyes. Trying to see more clearly. There was no light on the small road leading to his house.

Wildan's chest shook suddenly. He guessed as well as hoping, that figure was Angel. There is an unstoppable longing. His heart felt empty for days not seeing the woman who always behaved fiercely.

"Angel?" squealed Wildan with sparkling eyes. Although it was not clear who had come, hope had convinced him.

When the distance gets closer, it is clear that the figure of a woman with a smile on her lips. Others expected others to come. Not Angel, not Ika. The figure of the beautiful woman took off the hoodie hood, displaying silver hair color in the moonlight.

Wildan choked, silent noiseless. It was as if seeing an unexpected ghost coming from the valley of death. Wildan gulped down his suddenly dry throat. The woman in front of him was a fugitive. The woman who framed him, and worked with Bono Bin Sukito.

Inca, come with dark purple lip color. Her new haircut and color look increasingly wild and mischievous. Inka looked at Wildan while shaking his waist with his legs only wrapped in short jeans tight on the knees.

"Wildan, how are you?" The Inca greeted Wildan with a soft voice. His face was also visibly stifling but the look in his eyes felt very intimidating.

"Damn it! What are you gonna do here?" wildan stood up from his seat. Jawara was also seen to be vigilant even though the head of the rooster was full of wounds.

"Slow down baby's. I'm just asking you how you are. Why do you look angry? Was it because of our last meeting? Oh come on. I was used to trap you," said the Inca spoiledly.

"I'll call the police" Wildan threatened, taking a cell phone in his pants pocket. With a quick movement the Inca immediately grabbed and grasped Wildan's arm.

"If you do that, then you will never know the meaning of the will from Mr. Umar." Inka glares. His eyelids are bright green, looking like poison ivy enemies from batman.

"Huh?" Wildan scrunched his forehead. He put the phone back in his pocket.

"Follow me," asked Inka.

"You want to trick me again?"

"Why trick you? What do you have, Wildan? Even the only treasure of yours, the rooster was not sold, either" taunted the Inca. Wildan's face flushed. There was a sense of resentment in his heart but he could not refute it.

"Come," take Inka once more. The woman walked first. Wildan hesitated, but in the end he complied and followed behind the Inca.

Up in front of the alley, it turns out that Wildan has been waiting for a black SUV car. A sight that made Wildan feel dejavu. He remembers his first meeting with Angel.

"Let's go in" the Inca command opened the middle door. Wildan said, sitting next to the Inca who smiled meaningfully. Behind the wheel was a middle-aged man dressed all in black.

"Let's drive sir," the Inca command was brief. The car moves slowly.

"I'm going to take you to a place where this whole thing started" said the Inca. This time the woman looked at the street from the window. Flickering flickering lights look beautiful at night. Wildan just sat there with a myriad of questions in his mind.

"Me, You, and Angga are victims. We have a similar fate" the Inca said after a long sigh.

"What do you mean?" Wildan looked at the Inca for an explanation.

"The word Mamakku, life when it is still 'belonging' Sumiran is not bad. We have a comfortable residence, sufficient finance, and safe from the pursuit of officers. Then, when Sumiran was killed, that was the beginning of the difficulties that Mamakku went through. Not having any skills, we live in a mobile life and sometimes it is difficult to just eat. The story of Sumiran continues to resonate to the present generation of Wildan. For us, Sumiran was a hero killed by people who wanted his own peace. Selfish, for not thinking about the fate of others. And fate brought me to Bono. In the ending it all feels satisfying," said the Inca smiled wryly.

"Crazy!" sahut Wildan's.

The car suddenly moved slowly. They arrive at the empty shophouse area where Bono and Pak Wito fight. The car stops at the end of the shophouse with the building looking the largest. Dark purple paint color appears chipped, moldy and full of moss in some parts.

"This used to be a shophouse where Sumiran and Umar had transactions" explained the Inca. A board in the wood part of the courtyard looks weathered but can still be read by his faint writing. Welcome to Arum Dalu's halfway house.

"It is here that all the tragedies that have befallen us begin. Find your Father's will. You're the one who has the right to have it," continued the Inca opened the car door to Wildan.

Though a little doubtful, Wildan did. He got out of the car, walked haggardly to the porch of an old shophouse building. Then push the front door full of dust. Fetid and dark. The first sensation Wildan felt.

The inside wasn't as bad as Wildan thought. With the help of a mobile phone flash Wildan observed every corner of the abandoned building.

"The stuff is in that big cupboard" said the Inca. Wildan was a little surprised, the woman was already standing behind Wildan while shaking her waist.

Wildan approached the cupboard. It looks cleaner than other furniture. It was as if the closet had been opened a few days before.

While adjusting his breath, Wildan slowly opened the teak cabinet. Unique carvings make it look expensive and classic. In the closet there are two large wooden crates.

The first box contains a sheet of money of 50 thousand old with serial numbers that sequence. While the second box contains some sparkling gold jewelry. There is also a photo, 12 people lined with twilight background on the beach. Photos of the youth of 12 Clowns. It is strong evidence that the 12 people in the photo were the perpetrators of the robbery 30 years ago.

At the bottom of the chest lay a mask of a clown. Wildan scrunched his forehead. Ask in his mind, whose mask is it? Slowly he pulled the clown mask that stuck some jewelry in the crate.

With the flash of the mobile phone, it is clear that the exact same Clown mask belongs to Mr. Umar or Mr. Anwar. On the forehead of the mask imprinted a number. A number that represents emptiness. Numbers 0.

"Well 0?" Wildan was confused.

"12 clowns does not mean 12 people. Because numbers start with 0. The number 0 is a number used to represent the number in the number." The Inca smiled meaningfully.

...EXPIRE...

12 Clowns finished.

Sorry if it is not satisfactory.

Writers still need to learn more about writing.

Many plot holes, and some parts are too forced.

When writing this story somehow, there are only obstacles and obstacles.

Starting from illness for 3 weeks, piled up end-of-year work, accidents while riding a motorcycle, and some other things that make it a choked chapter update.

Again, sorry if not satisfactory.

See you in my next writings.

Hope someone still reads.