by Leye Adenle
Eremobor jogged up to his boss. Anytime the Chief had female guests, he stayed awake to take them home.
‘We are taking the Pajero,’ Amadi said. He got into the back of the SUV. ‘We are going to Ojuelegba.’
Eremobor’s hand froze above the ignition. He looked at his boss. ‘Ojuelegba, sir?’
‘Yes. I’ll find the address on my phone before we get there.’
Eremobor first knew Ojuelegba from a Fela Kuti song. Years later, when he was a bus conductor, he witnessed ordinary people turning into killers for the sake of a pickpocket there. They had chased the boy to the Ojuelegba overhead roundabout. The boy, still in school uniform, was too exhausted to defend himself against the sticks, stones, planks and cement blocks they used on him. They threw two discarded tyres over his head and doused him in petrol that they’d siphoned from cars stuck in the jam. Eremobor had never forgotten the smell of burning human flesh. Ojuelegba was a dangerous place during the day and much worse at night.
They parked in front of a house, on a road that undulated with caked-over mud hills. The neighbourhood was in darkness from a power failure but a generator powered the house. It sputtered black fumes to the rhythm of its diesel engine, causing stray dogs to howl in unison.
By the light of a gas lamp set on the ground, Area boys were playing football on the road. They stopped to watch at the sound of a car navigating the bumps. Amadi opened his door himself, stepped out onto the dusty road, and walked towards the house with loud music pouring from it. Eremobor locked the doors and kept the darkened windows rolled up.
Amadi walked down a corridor, past couples cuddling on worn sofas, to a room bathed in red light. He parted a curtain of glass beads that hung over the doorway and stepped in. A large plasma TV on the wall still had the manufacturer’s sticker on the corner of the screen. Six men and a dozen women sat on sofas and armchairs staring at a Premier League game.
The men watched the match while the girls stroked chests underneath unbuttoned shirts, or used their phones. Directly opposite the big screen, Catch-Fire was on a sofa, topless, bottles of beer on a stool in front of him and two girls on either side, one caressing his sweaty chest, the other jerking him off under his boxer shots.
18
Knockout pulled up behind Chief Amadi’s car. ‘Look, the morafucker has bought a jeep.’
Staring at his rear-view mirror, Eremobor waited for the headlights of the car to go off. Perhaps he would recognise a business partner of his boss, and a driver who he had made friends with on the kind of nights when servants bonded outside while the masters congregated inside.
Go-Slow inspected his shirt for blood while Knockout walked over to the car in front. Eremobor did not recognise the midget in the side mirror, or the giant standing behind him. He went for a dagger he kept under his seat.
Knockout circled the car, peering through the darkened windows. He kicked the front tyre then walked round to join Go-Slow.
A girl in black micro shorts and a studded bra was the first to notice Amadi. She looked at his shoes and at his watch and then got to her feet before any of the other girls saw him.
Catch-Fire looked up. In the red light, it took a moment to recognise his new business partner. His erection poked out from the slit of the Tommy Hilfiger boxers. He tucked himself back in, brushed aside a girl’s arm, and stepped over the stool in front of him, knocking over a bottle of beer.
‘My Chief, I wasn’t expecting you, sir. I hope nothing is wrong. Please come, sit down. What will you drink? I have cold beer, I have brandy, I have girls.’
Catch-Fire bowed as he shook his hand. The men and the girls watched.
‘I was at a party in Surulere. I remembered you lived here, so I said I should stop by to say hello.’
‘My Chief, I am so honoured. Please, let them get you something to eat. I have fish pepper soup.’
‘Don’t worry. I didn’t know you were having a party. I’ll come another time.’
‘Oh, Chief, you cannot come to my house and leave like that. Let me entertain you. Please, sit down. Should they bring brandy?’
‘OK, brandy would be good. But I’m only staying for one drink.’
Amadi sat on the sofa where Catch-Fire had been. The girls stood to make space for him. They lingered.
‘Bring Rémy Martin for my oga.’ He gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa next to Amadi. ‘Chief, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have come to visit me in my house. You are sure there is no problem?’
‘No, no problem. So, when does your party end?’
‘Ah, Chief, it is not a party. These people, they stay here with me.’
‘All of them?’
‘No, sir. Only the girls.’
‘I see.’
‘Chief, I am very happy that you came to visit me. Me, Catch- Fire. Chief, I must entertain you.’
He jumped to his feet and had to adjust his boxers again.
‘Everybody, clear out.’
The party moved lethargically towards the door.
‘All the girls, stay.’
The men gave him unsavoury looks. He darted to a stack of new electronic equipment that sat on a wooden stool with thin legs tapering to even thinner points. He fumbled with the controls, temporarily plunged the room into silence, then found the track he was searching for. Makossa music played from deceptively slim speakers at the corners of the room. The girls started dancing. Catch-Fire took a moment to admire them then he turned to his guest.
‘My Chief, these girls are from Cotonou. They dance Makossa very well and they fuck like dogs. Please, take your pick.’
The girls undressed. They had colourful beads around their waists, bouncing as they danced in their thongs. Some of them had not been wearing underwear. A girl with nipple piercings poured Amadi’s brandy and pulled his hand to come to the dance floor. He smiled and remained on the sofa.
‘Chief, please, pick anyone you like.’
‘Another time, my friend. I have to leave now. Come and see me before seven a.m. We have work to do.’
Go-Slow held the beaded curtain for Knockout and bent his head to pass through the doorway. He stopped when he saw the girls. Knockout grabbed a girl and pulled her to himself, gripped her bum, and pressed his open mouth onto her breast. She pushed him away and slapped him.
The other girls covered their breasts with their palms and gathered round their friend. Go-Slow stepped in front of Knockout and spread his arms. ‘Calm down, please.’
Knockout tried to get past Go-Slow. ‘What is wrong with her?’ he said, eyeing the girl. ‘Aren’t you a prostitute? Aren’t you all prostitutes? Why are you covering your breasts?’
One of the girls spoke: ‘Oga, you cannot just be treating her anyhow. After all, you are not the one who brought her here.’
‘Oh, really? And what are you going to do about it?’ His hand went under his t-shirt.
Go-Slow knew he was going for his weapon. He turned and wrapped his arms around Knockout before he could draw the pistol.
Catch-Fire pushed his way through the girls. ‘What are you boys doing here?’ he said.
‘We bring you business,’ Knockout said. He shook himself free from Go-Slow’s embrace.
‘Please, I do not do business at this time. Why didn’t you call me first before coming here?’
‘So we now have to call to make appointments?’
‘Look, my friend, I don’t have any business with you. I have paid you guys what I owe you. If you think you can just come to my house and start harassing my friends you are mistaken.’
‘What do you mean?’ Knockout’s hand found the handle of his pistol.
Go-Slow tapped him on the shoulder and nodded sideways. Knockout looked and saw a buxom girl pointing a revolver at his head. Another was handing out pistols from a rucksack.
‘What is this bullshit? We brought you business and you allow your prostitutes to draw guns?’ Knockout said.
‘I don’t have any business with you anymore.
Get out of my house. And if I ever see you on my street again I will feed your testicles to the rabid dogs of Surulere.’
Go-Slow stepped forward. ‘We have made a terrible mistake,’ he said. ‘We will leave now and you don’t have to worry about us.’ He began to back out of the room, tugging Knockout’s arm.
Knockout stayed in the same spot staring into Catch-Fire’s eyes; the corners of his lips formed into a scornful smile and his fingers twitched with intent on the butt of his pistol.
‘Kanayo, let us go,’ Go-Slow said, raising his voice. All the girls now had guns which were pointed at them.
‘Why are you saying my name?’
‘Let’s go.’
Knockout looked past Catch-Fire and locked eyes with Amadi.
‘Kanayo.’
He shook Go-Slow’s hand off his shoulder. His hand remained on his undrawn weapon, his nose twitching from his snarl.
‘I am leaving,’ Go-Slow said.
Knockout began to back away, escorted out of the room by Catch-Fire and the girls.
When the last girl had left the room, Amadi, who had been watching in silence, searched the stool for a glass and found none. He checked the beer bottles and found one that wasn’t empty. He looked at the beaded curtains still dangling, took out the folded white envelope from his pocket and straightened it. He checked the curtain again, cupped his hand over the bottle to form a funnel and tipped the contents of the envelope into the beer. The alcohol foamed. He returned the empty envelope to his pocket and dusted his hands off each other and off his lap. He held the bottle by its neck and gently shook it then he relaxed back into his seat and picked up his glass of brandy from the floor.
19
Knockout and Go-Slow walked backwards down the corridor and into the night. Catch-Fire and the girls spilled out onto the road after them. The boys that were playing football stopped to watch. Eremobor saw the girls were holding guns and he sank down below the window and contemplated speeding off without his boss.
Go-Slow got into the driver’s seat of their car. He drove slowly at first, looking into the rear-view mirror, then he floored the throttle and the car bounced on the uneven road.
‘Fuuuuuuuck!’ Knockout said, banging his fists on the dashboard. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking Shit. Bastard. Me? Knockout? Fuuuuuuuck.’
‘Cool down,’ Go-Slow said. He strained the engine, charging at potholes as if they weren’t there.
‘Fuck. Catch-Fire is dead. He is a dead man.’
‘Cool down.’
‘Fuck. Let’s go back.’
‘And do what?’
‘Fuuuuuuuck.’
‘Let it go.’
At the Ojuelegba flyover, Go-Slow finally eased off the throttle and slowed to a crawl. He drove round the roundabout twice then he pulled up on the kerb. He got out and crossed the road to reach the overgrown enclosure under the bridge. He unzipped his trouser and began whistling as he peed.
A disabled man on a wooden board with squeaky metal wheels rolled out from beneath a shelter of cardboard and wooden planks. Go-Slow ignored the man and looked around. He pulled out three pistols from his belt: his, Knockout’s, and the one they had seized from the girl who tried to rob them. Without speaking, he handed the guns to the man who then rolled himself back into his shelter, propelled by callused palms that pulled against the rough ground. When he got back into the car, Knockout was silent. He drove to Matori, the motor vehicle spare parts centre of Lagos, and stopped in front of a dilapidated colonial era building with rows of second-hand motorcycles chained together in front. A fading sign said: CHUCKS AUTO DEALERS AND AGENT. DEALERS IN ORIGINAL SPARE PARTS, GENERATORS AND TOKUNBO MOTORCYCLES.
Across the road, on the flat roof of the adjacent building, a man lying on his belly, with a twelve gauge pump-action shotgun by his side, watched them through a pair of military issue binoculars.
They walked up to the building and Go-Slow knocked on the wooden door behind a second entry-way of iron bars which were in turn secured by heavy-duty padlocks at four different points. They waited for an answer. He knocked again – still no response. Knockout banged on the door with the side of his fist.
‘Who is that?’
‘We are looking for Chucks,’ Knockout said. ‘We have a delivery for him.’
‘He has travelled.’
‘Travelled? When?’
‘I don’t know. Go away.’
The man on the roof adjusted his binoculars. He fetched his phone and made a call.
A boy in worn khaki shorts and an oversized singlet dotted with holes laboured with the locks, making clanking sounds, then stepped out to meet them.
‘Oga said I should bring you,’ he said. He looked like he had been woken from sleep.
‘Where is he?’ Knockout said.
‘I’ll take you to him. Is that the car you brought?’ He pointed at the stolen SUV and started walking towards it.
‘What is going on here? I thought you said he had travelled?’
‘Yes. He’s back. I’ll take you to him. Let’s go.’ The boy opened the back door, pulled himself onto the seat, and closed his eyes.
The criminals exchanged looks. Go-Slow shrugged. They got into the car and Go-Slow started the engine. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked the boy.
Head slumped back and eyes shut, the boy pointed the way: ‘Go like this. Take the next turn left, then turn left again and drive to the front of the Glo kiosk.’
They exchanged looks again. Go-Slow shrugged. They followed the boy’s directions and ended up on the next street, behind a row of closed shops.
By now the boy was snoring. Knockout reached back and shook him. ‘Hey. Where is he?’
‘He will soon come.’ He shifted and continued sleeping with his mouth open.
A tap on the window jolted the crooks. Knockout went for his gun and remembered they had ‘deposited’ their weapons.
Chucks stood by the window holding the pump-action in one hand and a phone in the other. A pair of binoculars hung from his neck.
‘What are you boys doing here?’ He drew his fingers over the door where he thought he saw a dent, then he leaned back to look at the tyres.
‘Bros, what’s going on?’ Knockout said.
‘This is a very bad night. Those foolish Iron Bender boys were supposed to deliver twelve cars tonight but they have all been arrested.’
‘They did not settle the police?’
‘I don’t know for them. Maybe the bribe was not enough. Maybe the officers they bribed were not the ones out on patrol tonight. Maybe their ashewo girlfriends cursed them, I don’t know. But the information I have is that they have all been arrested, and once the police start to torture them they might give me away.’
‘Damn. Well, it serves you right; those boys are not professionals at all. I warned you.’
‘Look, if I have a big order, those boys can deliver twenty cars in one night. What can you do? You bring me one car in two months. You expect me to wait for you when I have customers waiting for me?’
‘All I’m saying is that those boys are amateurs. They are not clean. We, we do neat jobs; no police problem at all.’
‘Whatever. So what have you come to see me for?’
‘We came to deliver this jeep.’
Chucks was still inspecting the car. ‘I don’t think I can take it,’ he said. ‘Town is too hot right now. Those boys will soon start talking. I can’t handle any delivery today.’
‘So, what do you want us to do with this car?’
‘You can return it to the owner. If I were you, I would lay low till things settle.’
Go-Slow had been watching him and had seen the way he looked at the car. ‘What is the best price you can give us?’ he said.
‘Well, I really don’t want to do any business today, but because it is you boys, I will use this one for spare parts. It is too dangerous to drive it out of town tonight.’
‘How much?’
‘Well, one hundred t
housand.’
Knockout spread his fingers at him. ‘Fuck you. This car is worth at least two million.’
‘OK, go and sell it yourself.’
‘Two hundred thousand,’ Go-Slow said.
Chucks hissed. ‘OK. But please, no more business till I contact you. Town is very hot right now.’
‘And a motorcycle.’
Go-Slow and Knockout puttered along Third Mainland Bridge on a second-hand scooter. Go-Slow was driving. Knockout held him tight from behind.
‘It’s because of that man that Catch-Fire embarrassed us like that,’ Knockout shouted over the passing flow of air. ‘He didn’t want us to talk in front of his new oga.’
‘Let it go,’ Go-Slow shouted back.
‘He must be the one that brought that car. Did you notice how Catch-Fire tried to block him? He didn’t want us to see him.’
‘I didn’t notice anything.’
‘What’s that kind of big man doing with a common thief like Catch-Fire? He must be the one he’s doing the business with.’
‘Let it go.’
‘He is the one we should be talking to.’
‘Kanayo, let it go.’
The boys who had been playing football raised their fists, chanting ‘Baba Catch-Fire.’ The girls did not cover their bodies and the boys did not stare. Catch-Fire did a little dance to a song the boys sang for him then he waved at them and waved his girls back into the house.
Amadi was sipping brandy and watching the game on mute. The sound system had stopped playing.
‘My Chief, sir, I am very sorry about that embarrassment,’ Catch-Fire said.
‘Who are those boys?’
‘Just some stupid thugs like that. No need to worry about them, sir.’
‘What was the business they brought?’
‘Nothing, Chief. Not our business.’
‘I did not ask you if it was our business.’ Amadi realised he had to take care of the two clowns as well.
‘They look like reckless guys.’
‘Very reckless,’ Catch-Fire said.
