by Ponzo, Gary
Nailah nodded. “Understood,” she said in a feeble voice barely audible. “I’ll call a lawyer, a good friend of mine, who’s an excellent criminal lawyer. He’ll help us through this.”
“Before you do that, I want you to call someone else. He has a lot of pull with the police. Don’t tell him who you are, just tell him about the shootout here, that you are with me, and that I’m in trouble.”
“Okay, I will do that. And thank you, Justin. You saved my life.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “And . . . and I will get you that information about those people in my company and their meetings.”
Justin nodded. “That would be really helpful in finding and stopping these killers. Now just give me about ten minutes, and this should soon be over.”
Chapter Five
Lagos, Nigeria
March 20, 9:25 p.m.
Justin and Nailah walked back to their table. Nailah took her purse, then dialed the number Justin had given her, the home number of the commissioner of police.
Justin tossed his pistol inside his briefcase and went to meet with the police and buy Nailah enough time for her calls. She had not given him back the other pistol, and he hoped she had thrown it somewhere the police would take a long time to find it. Given the utter mayhem in the restaurant, the police were going to take a long time to sift through the rubble and piece together the story.
The highest-ranking police official seemed to be a police inspector, a short, stocky man whose light blue uniform seemed two sizes too small for his bulging belly and large, thick neck. Four officers were responding to his orders with great deference mixed with visible agitation as they rounded up witnesses and began to study the crime scene. He was waiting for Justin at the entrance to the dining room.
“I am Inspector of Police Roger Uko.” The stocky man extended his right hand. “And you are?”
Justin shook Uko’s hand. He had a tight grip. “My name is Hall, Justin Hall.”
“What happened here, Mr. Hall?”
“A shootout. Gunmen broke through those windows.” Justin hitched back his thumb to his left. “Some patrons and the guards returned fire and it was over.”
“Some witnesses claim you were one of the people returning fire.”
Justin shrugged. “I may have. Everything happened so fast. I’m still confused about most of the events. I’m just glad I’m alive, sir.”
“Where did you find the weapon, Mr. Hall?”
Uko’s question rang with suspicion, as if he knew the answer and was testing to see if Justin was going to tell him the truth.
“Like I said, things escalated pretty fast. One moment we’re enjoying our dinner and the next moment bullets start flying, broken glass, people shouting, diving for cover, tables flying all over the place.”
“And the weapon?”
Justin peered into Uko’s gray eyes and detected a wicked glint. He realized the inspector was determining if Justin would make for a scapegoat, or at least one of them. Justin decided to play his winning card.
He stepped closer to Uko and lowered his tone of voice so the other police officers questioning witnesses about six feet away would not hear his words. “I’m not sure, sir. And before you ask me more questions, I’d like to inform you of my status in the Federal Republic of Nigeria. I am a Canadian diplomat, working for the High Commission of Canada in Abuja.”
Justin slowly raised the briefcase hanging on his left hand and opened its front pocket. He pulled out his diplomatic passport and handed it to Uko, whose face had sunk into a deep frown.
“So you are a diplomat, isn’t that right?” Uko said in a sarcastic voice while he opened the passport to the biodata page and studied Justin’s picture and his other personal information. He flipped through the passport and took note of the many stamps of the countries visited. Then he ran his fingers over the burgundy cover and the golden Royal Coat of Arms emblazoned in the center. “Very convenient, wouldn’t you say?” he asked while holding the passport in his hand and waving it very close to Justin’s face.
You have no idea, Justin thought, but he just shrugged. “Everything on my person and in my possession is covered and protected by diplomatic immunity.” Justin glanced down at his briefcase. “And this protection extends to my associate here, with whom I was dining this evening, Ms. Nailah Atoki.” Justin pointed to his right and beyond the restaurant’s kitchen.
Uko’s eyes flared up. His thick lips formed an evil grin as he shook his head. “Her name sounds Nigerian to me. Unless she has a diplomatic passport, like this one, I will take her to my station and aks her a lot of questions.” Uko spat out his words very slowly and emphatically, emphasizing the word “aks,” as most Nigerians pronounced “ask.”
Justin frowned. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen. If you let us leave right now, you’ll save yourself a lot of embarrassment. See, in a moment or two, your radio or cellphone will ring, and a very important man will be at the other end of that call. Not your boss, but his boss’s boss, someone very high up in the food chain. In fact, I’m not sure why he hasn’t called already. You can avoid his scolding by telling him we’re not in your custody.”
Uko gave Justin a sideways glance, as if determining whether to let them go or to call Justin’s bluff. He tapped his left hand with Justin’s passport, then shrugged. “I don’t hear the phone ringing, so I guess—”
“I’m sorry, Inspector,” one of the police officers interrupted them as he hurried toward them. He held a device in his hands, which looked like an iPhone and was making a low buzzing sound. “You left your phone in the car. It’s Police Commissioner Chindo.”
Uko clamped his jaws shut and threw Justin a fuming glare. He tossed the diplomatic passport at Justin then spat on the ground. “Get out of my face, you and your ‘friend,’ before I change my mind,” he howled, then picked up the phone and turned around.
“Yes, sir,” Justin said. He looked at the police officer, who was a young man in his early twenties. “My friend is this way. I will go and take her. We can find our way out.”
The police officer nodded reluctantly and stepped back.
Justin walked through the restaurant to find Nailah. She was sitting in a chair and had somewhat regained her composure. He told her about the conversation with Uko and that they were free to go. He asked her about the pistol, but Nailah was not sure where she had hurled it in the middle of all the chaos.
They got up to leave and walked along the shattered windows, avoiding the sharp glass fragments. Two police officers were examining the body of the first gunman under a powerful flashlight, and Justin and Nailah stepped around them. Justin looked out the window, further away by the gazebo. He peered, but did not see the body of the third gunman. He stopped for a closer look and noticed a trail in the sand. Was he wounded and he got away or did the guards move the body? He resumed his walking before Nailah or the police officers noticed his stop or the location fixed by his glare.
A crowd of onlookers had gathered outside the restaurant. Two police cars had just arrived and some of the uniforms began to push people back and away from the doors. Uko was away to the right, barking loud orders to his subordinates. Two of the security guards were smoking at the far end of the yard. Justin recognized the large man who had first approached him upon his arrival at the restaurant.
“Nailah, will you give me a minute? I need to double-check something,” Justin said.
Nailah nodded. “Sure, I’ll call us a cab.” Her initial shock was wearing off and she was slowly reclaiming full control of her emotions.
Justin smiled at Nailah and walked toward the guards at a brisk pace. “Hey, you did a great job back there, fending off those robbers.”
The large man shrugged. “It was nothing,” he said with a grin. “That was an amateur job.”
Justin took a step closer and gave his voice a conspiratorial tone. “And even more impressive how you snatched the wounded gunman right from under their noses.”
&nbs
p; The large man’s face froze in mid-grin. His dark, deep-set eyes glinted with rage. “You’re wrong, man, and you need to get yourself a pair of glasses.”
The other guard shifted his body weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Listen, I don’t care if the gunman lives or dies. Frankly, he deserves to die, but I’ll let you be the judge on his life. I just need to ask him a few questions about the motive of this attack. Then, he’s all yours,” Justin said with a hint of pleading in his low voice.
The large man began to shake his head, but Justin stopped him. “Now, if you’re not willing to help me, I’ll have no choice but to tell Uko about your little disappearing trick. The inspector is frantically trying to pin this attack on someone and well, in this case, you will do. Especially since you concealed evidence, interfered with a police investigation, and caused an obstruction of justice. Uko will spin this incident as an attack against you and the other guards from people who had some good reason to come with a vengeance.”
“He can’t prove any of this,” the large man replied in an angry, yet hushed voice. “And you’re not going to do anything.”
“Don’t test me or my patience,” Justin said. “And don’t mistake my kindness for weakness. I’m offering you a deal and you have ten seconds to make a decision. I want to interrogate the wounded gunman and after he answers my questions, he’s all yours. Now it’s your choice if you want to take my deal or take your chances with the police and your justice system.”
Justin stepped back, giving the guards a bit of space. The large man was chewing on Justin’s offer and pondering his options. At one point he exchanged a few quick words with the other guard, then let out a deep sigh. “Fine, but no word to the police or anyone else. And you get one hour with him.”
“Okay. Where is he?”
“We have him in a safe place.”
“Uh-huh.” Justin shook his head. “Our deal doesn’t work that way.”
“We put him in the back of a van, and my men have taken him to a house under construction, five blocks away.”
“How is he doing?”
“He’ll make it.” The large guard waved a dismissive hand in front of his face.
“I want to see him right away. Have someone meet me outside the gate and drive me there.”
“Yes, sir,” the large guard replied in a high-pitched, mocking voice.
Justin ignored the sarcastic jab and made his way to Nailah. She was standing outside the restaurant’s complex wrought-iron gate, next to a taxi. Four police cars had blocked the road and one of the officers was shouting at the cab driver to move his taxi further down the block.
“Nailah,” Justin said.
“Oh, Justin, let’s get out of here,” she replied, and opened the taxi’s back door.
Justin said, “Uh . . . I can’t . . . we can’t leave yet. We’ve got to go somewhere, and not in the cab.”
Nailah frowned, shrugged, and slammed the taxi door a bit harder than necessary.
“Hey, what about my fare?” the cab driver called at them.
“Sure, here you go.” Justin pulled a fifty-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Happy?”
The driver snatched the money out of Justin’s hand with a grumble, then got into his taxi without another word.
“Well, obviously not,” Justin muttered.
“Where are we going?” Nailah asked when Justin stood next to her on the sidewalk.
“One of the shooters is alive. I’ve got to ask him a couple of questions.”
“Shouldn’t the police take care of that?” Nailah gestured with her head toward the nearest police car.
“They could, but I don’t think finding Duncan is their priority.”
Nailah nodded as a white Toyota sedan pulled up a few feet away from them. The driver was a scrawny-looking young man Justin did not recognize and the front passenger was the large man. The latter waved in Justin’s direction.
“This is our ride,” Justin said.
He opened the door behind the driver for Nailah, then slid into the seat behind the large man.
“Why is she coming with us?” the large man growled.
“Because she’s with me and we’re working together on this case. Problems?”
The large man cursed under his breath. “No, no problems at all.” His voice resumed the high-pitched, mocking voice.
A tense silence reigned in the car during the short drive. Justin turned his head a few times to make sure no one was following the Toyota.
Two minutes later, the Toyota stopped in front of a dark, half-built, three-story house. There were no streetlights in the front and no other cars parked around the structure. The entire area was cordoned off by a low chain-link fence, and a cement truck was parked to the left side of the house.
“This is it,” the large man said.
Justin waited until the driver and the large man stepped outside, then handed Nailah his SIG pistol. “Stay in the car and double-tap anyone you perceive as a threat. Got it?”
Nailah nodded and clenched her fingers around the pistol’s handle.
“I’ll be back right away,” Justin said, and got out of the car.
He had an unsettling feeling about going in without a gun, but he had no other options. He could not take Nailah with him inside the house, but he also could not leave her unarmed on the street. The large man and the driver were both carrying pistols and Justin was sure the other guards would have other, more powerful weapons. He shrugged. I’ll take one from the guards if I need to use a gun.
Justin followed the two guards as they led the way around the cement truck. The ground was littered with construction debris, and Justin was thankful for a sliver of moonlight beaming upon them from a gap in the heavy curtain of clouds. The dim glow was barely sufficient to guide their steps as they crossed the front yard and entered the house from the left side.
A bright flashlight shone on his face and Justin raised his hand to shield his eyes. The large man gave an order in a low yet firm voice, in a language Justin did not understand, but its meaning was clear: kill the light. The blackness returned and the faint moonlight reflected off the AKs of two men standing in the hallway about ten feet away. Their facial features were veiled by the darkness, but the man on the left was about a foot shorter, and stockier than the other one.
“Where is he?” the large man asked Shorty.
Shorty did not answer fast enough for the large man’s liking, so he asked again, “Where is the shooter?”
“This way,” Shorty replied, with a bit of hesitation in his voice.
He turned left and up a set of cement stairs without a handrail. The large man and the driver followed him. Justin walked along the brick wall, occasionally glancing down to negotiate his steps on the unfinished stairs. The other guard carrying an AK was in his early twenties, with a bushy beard and an embroidered green hat. He stood right behind Justin, almost breathing down his neck.
Shorty led them to the right and into a large room. The shooter lay next to a corner of the half-finished outside wall of the house. He was covered in a gray blanket and showed no sign of life as the men drew near him.
“There you go,” the large man said to Justin. “Aks him your questions.”
“Hand me the flashlight.” Justin stretched out his hand.
Shorty tossed him the small flashlight with a sign of annoyance and a headshake.
Justin caught the flashlight, flicked its switch, and knelt by the shooter. The man was still irresponsive, his eyes shut and his face a pale shade of gray. His breath was low and shallow. Justin placed his hand on the side of the man’s neck to check his pulse. Feeling nothing, he moved his hand to another location, about an inch lower. Still nothing. The man’s circulation was very weak if he could not detect a pulse at the carotid artery.
Justin frowned and lifted the blanket. The shooter’s chest was rising and falling very slowly. He had a gunshot wound to the left side of his body. Someone had patched the
wound with a white sheet of cloth wrapped around the shooter’s waist, which had now turned crimson from the blood.
Justin touched the man’s wrist and found his pulse. It was slow and irregular. He’s not going to last long, unless we get him immediate and professional medical attention. Justin looked further down and noticed another wound on the upper part of the man’s right thigh. The wound was also patched with white cloth and someone had made a crude tourniquet out of what looked like a broomstick.
“Have you called a doctor?” Justin asked.
“Who do you think I am; Mother Teresa?” the large man replied.
“Then we need to take him to a hospital or some sort of medical center.”
The large man shook his head. “He is not going anywhere.”
Justin stood up. “He’s gonna die if not given proper care by a doctor.”
“No, he won’t. I was shot once, just like him. People left me to die on the street, like a dog. But I made it, and here I am. I survived. And so will he.” The large man glanced at the shooter, then added as an afterthought, “And if he dies, well, it’s not a big loss. He wounded one of my men.”
Justin realized it was no use trying to convince him. The grin on the large man’s face told Justin he had known the shooter was at death’s door, and he had told a bald-faced lie. This had all been a ploy. The large man supposedly kept his end of the deal and in this situation—outnumbered and outgunned—Justin would have no choice but to leave, without the shooter and without the answers to his questions. He thinks he’s calculated everything. But he’s mistaken.
Justin nodded and let out a deep sigh. “Oh, well, we’re done here. Let’s go.” He nodded toward the entrance to the door.
“You first.” The large man gestured with his hand.
Justin nodded again and took a couple of measured steps. The plan was clear in his mind. He hoped those parts that were beyond his control would also fall into place.
