by Leye Adenle
He bit his lip and cursed his luck. He would take her number and give her his. He would tell her to call him anytime she needed a driver. If she did, he would make his money back; if she didn’t, he might find a passenger in VI. If she offered sex, he would tell her he was a born-again Christian - the same lie he used when his family begged him to get a girlfriend who would one day, God willing, become his wife.
Malik walked along the balcony on the sixth floor and stopped in front of a door. Shehu watched him from inside his Prius. Malik pressed a bell, looked about him, and knocked on the door. He looked through the peephole then turned his back to the door and scanned the car park below. He walked back along the corridor, went down the stairs, and returned to his car. He sat inside and looked up at the flat he’d just visited.
84
A police van, followed by a Nigerian Navy bus and an armoured vehicle, drove into 1004 Estate, drawing attention as they sped over speed bumps and screeched to a stop in front of a block.
‘What’s going on here?’ Shehu said, watching armed officers alighting from the vehicles. He looked at Malik’s car. Malik’s head slid down in his seat.
The back of the armoured vehicle opened and its occupants alighted, among them, a woman Shehu recognised.
‘Wait a second,’ Shehu said to himself. It was Amaka Mbadiwe. ‘Is that the reason you’re here?’ he said looking at Malik’s car. Malik was also watching her from the window, his hand over the side of his face.
Amaka stood facing two men who appeared to be in charge. A third, younger man, stood between them, listening to what the three were saying.
Amaka squinted at the sun as she looked in Shehu’s direction. There were four rows of cars between them.
Accompanied by two police officers brandishing weapons, Amaka, Ibrahim, and Mshelia stopped in front of Naomi’s flat. Amaka knocked on the door, pressed the bell, placed her ear to the wood and listened. She shouted through the kitchen window on the side of the building: ‘Naomi, it’s me, Amaka.’ She knocked again, then put her phone to her ear.
Ibrahim looked down from the balcony and saw a group of residents from the estate looking up at them.
Amaka ended the call. ‘It’s still off,’ she said.
Ibrahim nodded at one of the men. The officer moved in front of the door, took a step back and levelled his weapon at the lock. The bang was followed by screams downstairs. It took two more shots to defeat the locks.
Amaka was about to step inside, but Ibrahim held her back and the two officers went in first.
Minutes later, Amaka, Ibrahim, Mshelia and one of the armed men returned. Ibrahim shut the door behind them and together they all began to walk along the balcony.
‘Five go in, four come out.’ Shehu said.
Ibrahim, Amaka, and Mshelia gathered beside the armoured vehicle.
‘He caught her and he killed her too,’ Amaka said.
‘Or she tipped him off,’ Mshelia said. ‘Either way, he’s in the wind now. We may never find him.’
Amaka’s phone vibrated. She looked at the display. It was Eyitayo. She let the phone ring out. ‘I need a car,’ she said. ‘Can I borrow yours?’
‘My car?’ Ibrahim said.
‘The girl from Oshodi. There’s something going on with her. She’s been trying to get in touch all day.’
‘Where is she?’ Ibrahim asked. ‘My driver can take you.’
‘She’s with friends. A policeman was responsible for her brother’s death. Seeing a policeman will spook her. I need to go alone. Please.’
She looked up at Naomi’s block. ‘I thought I finally got Malik,’ she said. ‘I really thought I was going to get to look into his eyes and let him know it was me who took him down.’
A female police officer pulled up in Ibrahim’s red Camry. She handed the keys to Ibrahim, who handed them to Amaka.
‘Drive safely,’ Ibrahim said.
Amaka got into the car. As she adjusted the seat and mirrors, the officers got into their vehicles, revved their engines, and drove out of 1004 one after the other. Amaka pulled out behind them and drove, slowly at first, testing the brakes and readjusting the mirror.
Shehu released the handbrake just as Malik drove past him, following Amaka.
‘Hello, Eyitayo?’
Amaka turned the steering wheel with one hand, holding her phone to her ear with the other.
‘Amaka, where have you been? I’ve been calling you all day.’
‘I’m on my way back now. How is Chioma doing?’
‘That’s why I’ve been calling you. She said she was going to Apapa to see her pastor. She said she’s staying there for a night vigil. I tried to stop her.’
‘That’s all right. Maybe that’s exactly what she needs now. I got videos of the lynching from people at the market. When she returns we’ll see if she can identify Kingsley in them.’
‘You want to show her a video of her brother being killed?’
‘You’re right. I’m not thinking. It’s been one hell of a day. Maybe I’ll ask her for a picture. I’ll see if I can find him in the videos myself. Did she say when she’ll be back?’
‘First thing in the morning. Amaka, I tried to stop her.’
‘It’s ok, Eyitayo.’
‘No, you don’t understand. She was being very cagey. I have a bad feeling about this. She left you a letter. Should I read it?’
‘You haven’t?’
‘It’s sealed. I’ll get it.’
Amaka switched hands and moved the phone to her other ear while Eyitayo fetched the letter.
‘Oh my God,’ Eyitayo said.
‘What?’
‘She’s gone to meet him.’
‘Who?’
‘Kingsley. Her ex-boyfriend. She’s gone to Oshodi to meet him.’
‘What?’
Amaka put her foot hard on the brake. The car behind came to a screeching stop. She looked in the mirror. The Mercedes had almost rear-ended her and it would have been her fault. She wound down the window, held out her hand to apologise, and continued driving.
‘What do you mean she’s gone to meet him?’
Eyitayo read out the letter.
‘He wasn’t trying to protect her brother,’ Amaka said. ‘He killed him and he’s going to going to kill her too. Fuck.’
She dropped the phone onto the other seat and accelerated. The Mercedes SUV had overtaken her. She looked in the mirror. A Prius was following closely behind. She had to pull out; she had to get Oshodi before it was too late.
The Mercedes was too close. She pressed the heel of her palm onto the horn and braked but it was too late. Her body flung forward, the seatbelt tightened across her chest, and the airbag inflated just in time to stop her face smashing into the steering wheel.
When she raised her head, a sharp pain tore through her neck. The airbag had deflated and flopped over the steering wheel leaving a mist of white powder. She coughed, covered her nose and waved in front of her face. She unclasped the seat belt and opened the door. A car drove by without slowing. She held the back of her neck and groaned. The front bumper had meshed into the rear bumper of the Mercedes. The driver was still in the car. A little further back, the Prius had also stopped on the road. She staggered a little as she approached the Mercedes but couldn’t see what had made it stop suddenly. Perhaps there was something wrong with the driver. A medical emergency? A heart attack?
Amaka knocked on the car window. The driver was slumped over the passenger seat. She looked about for help, saw the door of the Prius opening, and pulled the handle of the Mercedes. The door opened. She looked back. The driver of the Prius was now walking towards her. She recognised him; it was retired navy commodore Shehu Yaya – the man with Chief Ojo the night she spiked his drink.
‘Hello Amaka,’ the man in the Mercedes said.
Her eyes darted to him. He was sitting up, grinning, and aiming a silver pistol at her chest. It was Malik.
85
Shehu stood next to Amaka on
the dual carriageway. He looked at Malik. ‘I thought we agreed she was mine,’ he said.
‘Did you follow me?’ Malik asked him.
‘Yes. From 1004.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Following her.’ Shehu said. ‘What were you doing there?’
‘Looking up a friend who lives there.’
‘Florentine?’
‘No. She’s dead. She’s buried not very far from The Harem.’ Malik looked out the rear window, past Amaka’s car at the parked Prius. ‘We really don’t have time for chit-chat,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get off the road.’ He reached back to open the rear door and waved his gun at Amaka. ‘Get in.’
Amaka stood still. Shehu grabbed her arm and shoved her towards the open door. He followed her into the car and closed the door.
‘What about your car?’ Malik asked.
‘Move, before we attract attention.’
Malik closed his door and placed the gun in his lap.
‘You better give me that,’ Shehu said.
Malik looked at him in the mirror. ‘You don’t need it,’ he said. ‘We’re not going far.’
They were soon on the Lekki-Ajah Expressway, speeding away from Victoria Island.
From the back seat, Amaka watched Malik’s side profile. ‘What did you do to her?’ she asked.
He did not answer.
‘Who is she talking about?’ Shehu said.
‘Oh, just the snitch who told her how to find my club. They burnt it down.’
‘The Harem?’
‘Yes. Burnt to the ground. I sent a boy to check on a situation there. He sent me pictures of my lovely building on fire. Then my associate lied to me that it had to do with the Ukrainian girls, but I know it’s our friend here. She likes to play detective all over Lagos. And now I also know she was working with the girl at 1004. Her name is Naomi. She was there last night while you were there. You would have liked her. Pretty girl. And intelligent. I was going to ask her some questions, but I don’t have to anymore. I’ll get everything I need out of this one.’
86
‘Where are you taking me?’ Amaka asked. ‘Are we going to Lekki Phase 1? Is that where you live?’
‘You should reserve your energy,’ Malik said, without taking his eyes off the road. He joined a queue of cars waiting to enter the housing development.
‘Is Malik your real name?’
‘We’ll have enough time to get to know each other later.’
‘Or is it a fake name?’
‘Make her shut up,’ Malik said, looking at Shehu over his shoulder.
Shehu looked at Amaka. ‘She’s afraid,’ he said. ‘Talking is her coping mechanism.’
‘I don’t feel like hearing her voice right now,’ Malik said.
‘What do you want me to do?’ Shehu asked.
Amaka looked out her window. ‘You live in Lekki Phase 1?’ she asked.
With his left hand crossed over his right shoulder, Malik pointed the gun at her. Both Amaka and Shehu moved apart. He placed the gun back on his lap and looked around. ‘Your voice, I find it grating. And I have a migraine. Don’t make me shoot you inside this car and dump your body in a gutter.’
‘Like you and Ojo dumped Florentine on the express?’ Amaka said.
Shehu reached over to touch her arm. She flinched.
‘Young lady,’ he said. ‘Try to do as you’re told.’
‘Your name is Shehu Yaya. Retired navy commodore Shehu Yaya. You are Ojo’s friend. You saw me with him. Is that why you are involved with this? Ojo sent you to get the videos I have of him sleeping with underage girls?’
‘I really think you should keep your mouth shut,’ Shehu said.
Malik watched them in the mirror. Amaka continued. ‘Chief Ojo, a man who is running for governor, almost beat Florentine to death. You, Malik, you helped him dump her body. I found pictures and videos of little girls on Ojo’s phone. That’s why he wants me dead. That’s why Malik wants me dead. But you, what is your part in this? Why are you helping them?’
‘You should have left trouble alone when you found it sleeping,’ Shehu said.
‘One of you lives in Lekki Phase 1. Which is it?’
Security guards stopped the Mercedes. One wrote the registration number down in a worn notebook while another approached the driver’s window.
Malik looked at Amaka before he wound down the window. ‘Behave yourself,’ he said.
Amaka’s fingers crept towards the door handle. Shehu gripped her forearm. ‘That is a bad idea,’ he said.
The guard standing in the sun looked into car then stood away. Shehu wound the window up and continued onto Admiralty Way.
‘Bisola Durosinmi Etti Drive,’ Amaka said. ‘I have friends on this road.’
Neither Malik nor Shehu responded to her.
Amaka turned to look out through Shehu’s window. ‘Abike Animashaun,’ she said. Malik turned again and slowed down. ‘Ayo Jagun Street. Is this where you live?’
Malik turned towards a white gate.
‘No 28B,’ Amaka said. ‘Is this where you killed Florentine?’
‘Shut up,’ Shehu said. And to Malik: ‘Whose house is this?’
The Mercedes was idling. Malik pressed the horn twice.
‘It’s a guesthouse,’ Malik said.
The ten by ten-inch square on the gate slid open and a face peered through the hole. The panel slid back and a moment later a shirtless young man opened the gate.
Malik drove into the compound and waited in the car till the man closed the gates and stood by his door.
‘Is anybody inside?’ Malik asked, pointing at the building.
The boy shook his head.
‘Lock the gates and don’t let anyone in.’
The boy nodded.
‘Yours?’ Shehu asked.
‘A joint venture,’ Malik said. He got down and opened Amaka’s door. The boy looked up from securing the padlock on the door and saw the weapon pointed at Amaka. He suppressed a scream and Malik looked at him and put his finger to his lips. The boy mimicked him and nodded.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Shehu asked.
‘Deaf,’ Malik said. Keeping his pistol on Amaka, he stepped back and let her out. He waved the gun at her. ‘Inside.’
Amaka did not move. He aimed the weapon at her head. ‘Don’t try me,’ he said.
Amaka stared down the barrel into his eyes. She looked at Shehu, looked at the deaf boy, looked back at Malik, rolled her eyes at him and turned towards the building.
87
Eyitayo, still in her housecoat, held her phone to her ear. In her right hand she held a pen over an open notebook on a stool in front of her.
Gabriel stood, bent over her, his phone also pressed against his ear, reading what Eyitayo had written and relaying it over the phone.
Eyitayo crossed out Abike Animashaun, like she had crossed out Bisola Durosinmi Etti Drive above it. On a new line she wrote: Ayo Jagun Street. Then, after listening, she added 28B in front of the street name and underlined the address.
Ibrahim took the phone away from his ear and covered the mouthpiece with his hand. His body rocked in the front cab of the police van speeding down Ahmadu Bello. He shouted over the noise of the sirens: ‘28B, Ayo Jagun Street.’
Bakare, his driver, shunted out from behind a white Peugeot 504 and floored the throttle. In the open back of the van, armed police held on to whatever they could grip to stop being thrown onto the road. The driver of the Peugeot beeped his horn in protest at the dangerous manoeuvre. Sergeant Hot-Temper in the back of the van pointed his AK-47 at the motorist’s windscreen. The Peugeot screeched to a halt on the road, other cars swerved to avoid running into it, and the police van sped on, siren blaring and lights flashing.
88
‘Open the door,’ Malik said, his pistol pressed into Amaka’s back. Shehu was standing by his side in the corridor on the first floor. Amaka didn’t move.
Shehu reached past Amaka a
nd opened the door. It was a bedroom. There were two camera lights on tripods looking down on the bed and between them was a third tripod with a video camera. Black cables ran from each tripod to the ground and along the floor to a black extension box that was plugged into a wall socket. Above the bed’s headboard was a metre-wide framed picture of a Great Dane sitting on a golden cowhide rug. The walls of the room were covered in white wallpaper with silver rose petals falling off bunched bouquets. Sunlight shone through the two windows behind thin white curtains.
Malik pressed the weapon into Amaka’s back. She walked into the room followed by Shehu, then Malik, who closed the door behind him.
‘Take your clothes off.’ Malik said.
Amaka had stopped just behind where the video equipment was set up. She turned and stared at him.
Malik raised the gun to her head.
‘I said take off your clothes.’
