When Trouble Sleeps

by Leye Adenle

  Ibrahim looked at the phone. ‘Who did you call?’ he asked.

  Malik sniggered. He looked around at the officers aiming their weapons at him and smiled at each of them. He winked at Hot-Temper.

  ‘Put him in the front,’ Ibrahim said.

  Two officers pushed Malik into the police van. Ibrahim got in after him and the rest of the officers climbed into the back. Bakare did not look at Malik as he turned the van to face the queue of vehicles that had formed ahead on the road. He drove the wrong way a while, then, when he could, he turned onto the other carriageway and carried on the Lekki-Epe Expressway.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Malik said. He brought his hands to his face to catch blood dripping from his mouth.

  Ibrahim stared straight ahead.

  ‘You’re making a big mistake,’ Malik said, gurgling a mix of saliva and blood. ‘You haven’t told me what you’re arresting me for.’

  Malik looked from Ibrahim to Bakare and back.

  ‘Look, guys, I really don’t want to get you into trouble. Let us talk and settle this thing, whatever it is. I can make it all worth your while. I will give you one hundred K each.’

  They rode in silence, passing the Lekki Phase 1 roundabout.

  ‘Look, I can make you people rich. All of you. Two hundred K each.’

  ‘Sharap!’ Ibrahim yelled at the top of his voice.

  Bakare glanced at his boss and continued driving.

  96

  Shehu gasped, making a wheezing sound as he struggled to breathe. Next to him, also plastered to the smouldering mattress, Amaka coughed. The smoke was so thick that they couldn’t see each other.

  Another swoosh and a gust of white smoke blew over their backs and cooled their exposed necks.

  ‘Is anybody there?’ a voice shouted.

  Swoosh. A fire extinguisher ate up the flames clinging to the ceiling along the corridor. Swoosh. Swoosh.

  ‘Yes!’ both Amaka and Shehu shouted back. They stood and spread their hands out into the white cloud.

  A tall man in khaki shorts, his lean muscular body glistening with sweat, led Amaka and Shehu down a charred staircase and out of the building past men rushing in with fire extinguishers. The gate was wide open. A dog barked in the background. Everywhere there were people tackling the blaze, breaking windows to pour water onto the flames. A woman kneeling at the edge of the swimming pool was scooping water into pails and passing them to a chain of people that extended into the building. More people with fire extinguishers rushed in through the gates: housemaids, gatemen, gardeners, children, and the homeowners of the neighbourhood. The siren of a fire engine grew louder from down the road.

  The tall man led Amaka and Shehu onto the road where people surrounded them. Someone brought plastic chairs but Amaka stood. Shehu sat and took a full blast of water in the face from an old lady with grey cornrows. With water from the plastic bowl in her hand, she wiped sweat and soot from Shehu’s face.

  All around them people were talking and asking questions.

  ‘Madam, is anybody else in the house?’ the man who had led them out asked.

  ‘No. Nobody,’ Amaka said.

  Shehu coughed. The old lady sprinkled more water on his face, backing away from the road to make way for the fire engine.

  ‘My driver will take you to the hospital,’ the woman said. ‘You, you look familiar,’ she said to Amaka. What is your name?’

  ‘Mrs. Bakare, you don’t remember me? I’m Amaka, Emma’s friend.’

  ‘I thought I recognised you,’ the lady said. ‘What happened? What were you doing in that house?’

  That house, Amaka thought.

  Shehu coughed.

  ‘We need to get him to the hospital,’ Amaka said, looking into Shehu’s eyes. ‘He’s asthmatic.’

  Shehu continued coughing into his hand while the driver hurried off to fetch his madam’s car.

  ‘I know about your asthma,’ Amaka said in the back of a speeding 1980 Mercedes S-Class.

  ‘How?’ Shehu asked.

  Amaka looked at her phone, which had started vibrating, as she answered Shehu. ‘After I saw you in Ojo’s suite at Eko hotel, I found out everything I could about you.’

  ‘Ojo.’ Shehu shook his head. ‘You need to release those videos. You need to make sure he doesn’t have a chance in hell of becoming governor.’

  Amaka held her phone out. ‘I will do whatever it takes. Listen, I need to take this call. It’s urgent.’

  Shehu nodded.

  ‘Ibrahim,’ Amaka said. ‘Yes, yes, I got out. Did you get him?’

  She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and exhaled ‘OK. Listen, I’m on my way to Oshodi. Remember Chioma?… Yes. Her ex-boyfriend asked her to meet him there…. Yes, the person responsible for her brother’s death.’ She turned to Shehu. ‘I need your keys.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your car keys. I need to be somewhere and it’s urgent.’

  ‘My keys?’ Shehu began searching his pockets. ‘Why?’

  ‘I bashed my car into the back of his. I need a car the police won’t stop.’

  ‘Oh. I get it now. But, shouldn’t you get checked out at the hospital at least?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. You go to the hospital; I need to get to Oshodi. A girl’s life is at risk.’

  Amaka caught the elderly driver’s eyes looking at her in the mirror. He’d been listening. ‘Madam said I should take you to her hospital,’ the man said.

  Amaka leaned forward and wrapped her hand around the headrest of the passenger seat in front. ‘Sir,’ she said to the driver, ‘our cars are on Ozumba Mbadiwe. You can drop me and take him to the hospital, but you have to drive faster than this.’

  The old man searched for Shehu’s face in the mirror.

  ‘You heard her,’ Shehu said. He turned to Amaka. ‘You’ll explain later, abi?’ He handed her the keys to his wife’s Prius.

  The driver floored the throttle and the 1980s V6 engine responded with a growl that thrust the two-tonne limousine forward as if it had been at standstill all along.

  97

  Ibrahim stepped out and his boots sank into sand. The police van was in the middle of a long, straight, narrow road. Mature vegetation grew wild on either side and there were no houses.

  ‘Get out,’ Ibrahim said to Malik.

  Bakare reached inside and Malik shimmied over and got out through the other door. Ibrahim led him by the arm to the front of the van where the officers formed a circle around them. A cloud of bats flew overhead. The men looked up till the last of the mammals had disappeared over the trees on the other side of the road.

  ‘I will give each of you five hundred thousand naira if you let me go,’ Malik said.

  The officers stared at him. Nobody spoke.

  ‘One million each,’ Malik said. He turned, looking into each officer’s face. ‘All of you.’ He continued turning in the circle. ‘I am very rich. I have very powerful friends. I will give each of you ten million naira. Ten million for you, ten million for you, ten million for you.’ He faced Ibrahim and pointed at him. ‘Just shoot him. Ten million naira for each of you, if you shoot him now. And ten million extra for the person who shoots him first.’ His finger remained pointed at Ibrahim. The men stared into each other’s eyes.

  98

  From the bridge, Amaka saw smoke rising from the road. She turned off to descend into Oshodi. A crowd was ahead on the road, moving between cars, wielding sticks and stopping motorists.

  ‘Oh no,’ Amaka whispered leaning over the steering wheel. She had seen this before; the sweating, half-naked young men; the spectators lining the sides of the road, standing on the kerb, hands in the air, taking pictures and recording videos on their phones. The men surrounded her car. She revved the engine. Some turned to look at her; one banged on her bonnet. She tucked her phone into her skirt and opened the door; someone ran into it as it swung open.

  Gripping the top of the window that had caught him in the chest, a lanky young man bent
down and scowled at Amaka. She stared back at him and he hissed, let go of the door, and walked away into the crowd.

  Amaka put one leg out onto the road. She stood behind the open door and watched the gathering mob. In their midst, black smoke rose in a spiral. In the air, a familiar smell. She stepped out, closed the door, and walked into the crowd.

  99

  Malik turned in a circle in the middle of the officers. They all stared at him.

  ‘Take me to a bank and I will withdraw the money for you,’ he said. ‘Just shoot him.’ Wherever he turned, he continued pointing at Ibrahim.

  Silence.

  ‘Are you done?’ Ibrahim said. ‘Who were the people on the bridge? I need their names and how to find them.’

  ‘Shoot him,’ Malik shouted. His smirk vanished.

  ‘Who were the people shooting from the bridge?’ Ibrahim asked again.

  Malik lowered his hand. He looked at the blank faces of the officers staring back at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘Will someone shoot this man and become rich or what?’

  ‘Fati. Police superintendent Fatima Alao. That is the person who was in Amaka’s car. The person you murdered. Our colleague. Our sister. One of us.’

  With his hands behind his back, Hot-Temper stepped into the circle. Malik turned to face him. Turning his back to Malik, Hot-Temper stepped past him and swung around. Malik yelled out, raised his left leg and grabbed it with both hands. Blood seeped through his fingers. He looked at Hot-Temper, searching for the blade that had cut him, but the sergeant’s hands were behind his back.

  100

  Amaka pushed through the crowd. She squeezed past two men and felt fingers grip her butt. She stopped. Anger surged through her and she formed a fist. This was not the time.

  She pushed on, continuing through the throng of people between her and the fire; the body sizzled and popped, and that all-too familiar smell of burning flesh and rubber was thick in the air and impossible not to inhale. At the front, she watched as someone flung another tyre on top of the body that was covered in steel belts from tyres that had already melted away. Another shirtless man sprayed petrol from a water bottle. The flames leapt. The crowd retreated. The fire glowed on the faces of the guilty. Their victim’s hand was visible under the burning rubber; black like coal. Flames wrapped around fingers that had charred into a claw.

  A young boy was recording the scene with his phone next to Amaka. She grabbed hold of his hand. ‘What happened?’ she asked.

  The boy looked at her and then at his hand in her grip. He tried to pull away, but she held tight. ‘What happened?’ she asked again and tugged, tightening her grip. He looked her up and down, as if weighing her status or authority.

  ‘Na thief,’ he said.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He snatch that woman gold chain,’ he said and pointed.

  Amaka followed his finger. On the other side of the burning body, standing behind the people watching and filming, Amaka saw who he was pointing at: Chioma, staring back at her, face blank, hair dishevelled, eyes cold.

  101

  Malik bled from the cut and he turned to look at his assailant.

  With his hands behind him, Hot-Temper continued to circle.

  Malik kept turning, keeping his eyes on the sergeant. Without missing a step, Hot-Temper bent to the ground, almost kneeling before rising to his feet again. Malik cried out and fell to the ground, blood staining his trousers from a straight four-inch tear across his right calf.

  Hot-Temper stood with his hands behind his back again; and again Malik didn’t see the blade that caught him.

  ‘Names and addresses,’ Ibrahim said.

  Laying on his side in the sand, curled into a foetal position, his hands over his bleeding wounds, Malik squeezed his eyes at the pain. ‘Fuck you,’ he shouted, spittle shooting from his mouth.

  ‘Names and addresses.’

  ‘Fuck you. I don’t know who they are.’

  ‘Cut him,’ Ibrahim said.

  Hot-Temper brought his hands forward from behind his back. In his hand he held a dagger. From the ground Malik looked at the blade that had inflicted his wounds. Hot-Temper stepped forward. Malik grabbed the sand and pulled himself away. Then he raised his hand. ‘Wait.’

  Ibrahim held his hand up and Hot-Temper stopped.

  Malik crawled further from the sergeant and closer to Ibrahim. ‘Wait,’ he repeated.

  ‘Go on,’ Ibrahim said.

  Malik heaved himself up till he was sitting up, his injured legs stretched out before him. He bent over, wiped sand off his fingers and reached forward to touch the skin around his wounds. He shut his eyes and winced.

  ‘You are wasting my time,’ Ibrahim said.

  ‘OK. OK. What happens after I tell you?’

  ‘You have been arrested by the Nigerian police on suspicion of culpability in the murder of a police officer. After you tell us what we want to know, we will take you to the station where you will be formally charged. I will personally call your lawyer or whoever you want to come and bail you for the amount of money you have offered me and my colleagues today.’

  ‘So you will take my money?’

  ‘Yes. For bail.’

  Malik sniggered. ‘For bail. What if I don’t have the names?’

  ‘Then you will not be eligible for bail and your case will go to court.’

  ‘OK. I don’t have names. I have a name.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘It was meant to be Amaka in the car. Someone wanted to know where she was. I told them. I didn’t know they would try to kill her. And I didn’t know your colleague would be in her car instead of her.’

  ‘So you made a call.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who did you call?’

  Malik looked Ibrahim in the eye. He looked down and shook his head before he answered. ‘Otunba Oluawo. You need to keep me alive if you want me to testify in court.’

  ‘You already did.’ Ibrahim said. He nodded at a female police officer. She was holding her phone to Malik. Recording. She pressed a button on the screen and the video played back. From the tiny speakers came Malik’s voice: ‘It was meant to be Amaka in the car…’

  Ibrahim stepped back. ‘Now we send you to hell,’ he said.

  ‘You motherfucker,’ Malik shouted. He looked around at the officers. ‘You fucking motherfuckers. You’re all going to die poor. You stupid motherfucking bastards. Take the fucking money and let me go. Otunba Oluawo killed your colleague, not me.’ The officers backed away. ‘Did you hear me? Oluawo killed your fucking colleague. I didn’t even know her. Fuck her. Fuck you. Fuck all of you. You will all die poor, you fucking illiterate fucking fools.’

  The officers formed an arc around him and racked their weapons, the sliding and locking of metal the only sound on the deserted road. Ibrahim stood at one end, his sub-machine gun by his side.

  Malik looked around at the faces gathered in a line in front of him, their guns ready to take his life, and he began to laugh. ‘Fucking illiterates,’ he said. He laughed from his belly.

  102

  Across from the circle of murderers, their victim burning in the middle, Amaka and Chioma stared at each other. The crowd heaved while the body crackled and dripped burning fat.

  The boy who pointed Chioma out melted into the crowd and Amaka stood alone in the midst of killers and accomplices, her mind in a swirl that drowned out the noises and blurred everything except Chioma standing unapologetically on the other side.

  Amaka wanted to look at the body, at the kill, but she kept her eyes locked on Chioma, as if there was a danger of losing her; as if Chioma would merge with the crowd and become as faceless as the other killers.

  Chioma began to move, edging her way through the bodies. Her eyes and Amaka’s remained locked. Amaka moved with her on the other side, pushing her way through, then she turned, and with her shoulders and her elbows, she cut a path through the crowd.

  Ama
ka stepped out of the mass and walked to the Prius. She got into the driver’s seat and closed the door, shutting out the fumes and muffling the noise.

  Chioma broke through the crowd and the two women looked at each other through the windscreen. Chioma climbed in the passenger side, shut the door, folded her hands across her body, and stared out of her window.

  Amaka sat in silence, watching, but Chioma kept staring out the window. Amaka texted Ibrahim: ‘I was wrong. Chioma didn’t come to Oshodi. She’s not here. She was never here.’ She clicked send and looked at Chioma, then inserted the key in the ignition. ‘You realise you’re now a murderer,’ she said.

  Amaka pulled out onto the road, used her horn to clear a path in the crowd, then turned around and drove the wrong way like other motorists were doing to avoid the inconvenience of the lynching.

  103

  Ibrahim felt a vibration against his leg, reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He looked at the screen and then back at the officers standing in silence, their guns pointed at Malik laughing on the ground and bleeding into the sand.

  Ibrahim turned round and walked away. He answered the call, listened to the voice on the other end, and nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said. He placed the device back in his pocket and returned to the line of officers, walked past them, and stood in front of Malik.

  Ibrahim looked down at Malik laughing like he had lost his mind. He removed Malik’s phone from his pocket and threw it down at the laughing man. It missed Malik’s head. Ibrahim spat on the wounded man’s face, shutting him up.

  ‘We are leaving,’ Ibrahim said through gritted teeth. He turned to his officers. ‘We are leaving him here. Let’s go.’

  They neither budged nor lowered their guns.