Doing Dangerously Well

by Carole Enahoro

  “This my own door. Right here. Come first around servant entrance. Then at least you can go through security like proper minion.”

  “Okay. Next time. But I need map.”

  The guard kissed his teeth long and hard. “Get at security gate. Not from Presidential Guard himself.” He flipped his sunglasses back on and slammed the door.

  Kolo peeked out of the trunk. His heart beat faster. “How did you get in here?”

  “Some people outside. I just dashed them some money.” He began to take off his mechanic’s clothes.

  “How dare you enter the presidential bedroom! How did you even know you’d find me here?”

  “The whole of Nigeria knows you sleep in garage, sir. Me, I thought you were jus’ crazy, but now I can appreciate. A presidential garage is not like a garage at all.” The man’s eyes travelled around the room, steeped in admiration.

  “People know?” Greater panic clutched at Kolo’s chest and squeezed it tight.

  No answer from a man still under the spell of opulence. Still in his trance, he chucked away his overalls to reveal a garish cowboy shirt, with multiple gold chains around his neck. His trousers appeared to be made from snakeskin, and his boots most definitely crocodile.

  Kolo quickly scribbled notes and a quick diagram indicating new security measures to protect the garage, muttering to himself. “Typical Nigeria. Everyone has to know everyone’s business.” When he finished, he turned to the man. “I wanted Jegede dead. Where is he?”

  “Still alive, sir,” Lance answered.

  Kolo lowered his eyelids in a contemptuous gaze. “Is that so? And when are you planning to do your job, Mr Omeke?”

  “Jus’ Lance is fine.”

  “It’s been four months. I should have had you executed by now.”

  “How can you execute a man you can’t find?” The man chuckled as he eased himself into an antique chair. He sat straight-legged with feet wide apart, as if parading his groin. “Anyway, I have had a few problems. Some one person paid me to ruin Jegede. This I did immediately. I’m sure you know of my work.”

  Kolo contemplated, then his heart almost stopped. “The TransAqua bombing?”

  The man could scarcely hide his pride. Under these lighting conditions, despite his obvious beauty, Lance possessed the insanity of detachment. “Then some other one person paid me even more to protect Jegede. This I did immediately.”

  “What?”

  “Enh-heh. Now you can see my problem. I cannot please both. This is dilemma for Solomon. And you never offer me anything. How can I work for free?”

  “I offered you your life, you idiot! You wouldn’t be here without my authority!”

  “What do you think I am? Some yeye mercenary? Some beggar, blue-collar killer? Take time, my friend. I don’t offer my class-one skills for small change.”

  Kolo could hardly believe the subject of this conversation. It felt dreamlike, conjured up by a playful sorcerer. “What about the other two?”

  “They work for me.”

  “Christ help us. He’s set up a business. Alright, how much are you asking?”

  “Two hundred thousand dollars. Just a bit more than the others, for quick service.”

  Finally coming to his senses, Kolo exploded. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Probably. But those are my terms. Take or leave. If I protect Jegede, no other assassin will be able to kill him. I can smell killers.” Lance fastened an eerie gaze on Kolo, one that told of his own death should he decline this offer.

  “Okay. Two hundred. But I want him dead this Thursday evening.”

  “Fine. Do you have business card?”

  “Why?”

  “So I can put on body.” The man laughed, gold fillings sparkling in the light of the chandeliers. Once he had kicked out the tail end of his titters, he resumed. “If you want the job done well-well … time.”

  “Your client?” Perhaps the garage air had created this hallucination. “What kind of time?”

  “Three months.”

  “Again? Three more months?”

  “Well,” the man fiddled with the fringes on his shirt, “I had too many clients in the first three. Now I can devote time to you exclusively.”

  Promising himself to personally attend this man’s execution once he had performed this one-minute task, Kolo offered 50 percent up front, the rest of the payment on delivery. “But,” he added, “if I need quicker delivery, it’s essential that I have access to immediate service. So, how can I get a message to you regarding that?”

  Lance Omeke stared at the chandelier, pondering, tutting as he dismissed each new thought. Finally he murmured, “Client contact must be kept to a minimum. Wait-oh. I have an idea. Go through African Water Warriors. They have a contact for me.”

  By mid-December, Barbara had recovered. The pines and firs had finally come into their own, outlasting the cocksure folly of spring blossoms, the brazen dazzle of the summer’s floral displays and the presumptuous pirouettes of autumn leaves. Now perennials stuck out like mere twigs, defiling the landscape with their nudity, while their seasonal gimmickry lay in brown tatters on the ground. In contrast, across the accepting boughs of evergreens lay a kaleidoscope of Christmas lights, strands of jewels winking at passersby. Huddled close to them, fat men in red suits marked the time of generosity and overdrafts, joy and disappointment, acceptance and rejection.

  After a stroll through the winter streets, Barbara and Astro returned to the apartment. Astro creaked open his mailbox in the lobby and a card fell out onto the floor. He picked it up and passed it to Barbara. She recognized her mother’s handwriting. Inside, a Christmas invitation.

  She crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage.

  “What’s up, Babs?”

  “My parents want me to come for dinner to celebrate the winter solstice.”

  “You gotta go, man.” He picked the card out of the garbage and flattened it out. “They’re your parents. They’re trying to build bridges.”

  “No way. They’re toxic.” Barbara emphasized the last word. She had read many books on the subject. “I’ve had enough of their verbal and emotional abuse.” She had also seen a therapist.

  “You don’t have to go alone, Bibble. I’ll come with. If your sister is there, maybe you can get some info. Might help you with your other problems.”

  She clutched her breast, lanced by An Insight. As usual, Astro had found the key, a talent with which she had rarely credited him. She felt the euphoria of coming victory. “We can work as a team, but …”

  Astro whipped around, holding on to an excited inhale.

  “We won’t tell them I went to hospital. Just feeling drained, okay? All they know is I took a few days off work because of fatigue. If they hear I went to hospital, they’d try and get me committed to a psych ward in DC. Believe me, Mary would stop at nothing. Now, the quickest way to get anything from my sister is to belittle her, or praise me, which is actually the same thing. We could strategize together—”

  “Together? Strategize together? Me and you? Wow! You and your corporate-speak.” A crooked smile of reverence rifled across Astro’s delicate features. “Tell you what—I’ll bring some smokes.” He adjusted his Alice band. “That should calm us all down, man.”

  “Your ideas just get better and better.” The look on her mother’s face would be worth the trauma of a visit, as would her father’s chest seizure. “Perhaps you could wear your dress while you’re at it.”

  “Aw, I don’t want to shock them, Bing. They seem a tad conservative.”

  “A ‘tad’? Do you know how huge a tad can be?”

  Astro planted hardier winter flowers on the roof of his Volvo and plugged in some twinkling Christmas lights. With almost two hours to spare, he ushered Barbara into the passenger seat and took off at a crawl, pulsing the accelerator as he drove. He insisted on total silence so he could concentrate.

  He had spent a lot of time preparing for this meeting, assuming a more formal mien
. He scraped his hair back into a tight bun and shaved the light stubble on his chin. He donned an orange tie, then wrapped himself in several layers of mismatched clothing, topping it with a powder pink hat with earflaps and a bobble. In solidarity, Barbara had matched her clothing to his, employing an array of items from the highest reaches of Tibet to the barest regions of the Sahara. Noting the severity of his coiffure, she had also swept her hair from her shoulders, rolling it in a French twist held, to some extent, by two chopsticks.

  They pulled into the driveway fifteen minutes early. Barbara noticed that her parents had not had their windows cleaned. They must be feeling the pinch of the new water rates.

  The front door opened, her father behind it holding a pan of roast potatoes and wearing a frilly apron. He stood at its threshold in an uncomfortable silence and scrutinized them both. “Well-well-well-well-well. Our terrorist seems to have lost weight.” His oven mitts needed cleaning. “Ah—and who is this? I thought you were bringing a boyfriend.”

  Astro threw himself at Barbara’s father and drew him into a deep embrace. “Hey, Dad. Great to meet you!” There were tears in his eyes.

  Father’s eyes popped out of his skull. “This is your boyfriend?” Trapped within Astro’s clinch, the pan of potatoes forced Father into a posture of crucifixion. “This is a … Where’s your mother? Catherine!”

  Barbara’s mother steered her square features to the front path, barging in front of Father to block any unwelcome visitors. “Barbara—what the hell are you wearing? Take those clothes off immediately!”

  “Hey, Mom!” Astro threw himself at her boxy frame. “It’s so great to meet you, man.” His bottom lip trembled with emotion.

  “What’s this?” Mother, hands pinned to her sides, rolled her eyes towards Barbara.

  “Astroturf.” Barbara’s eyes sparkled with pride. “My boyfriend.”

  Two pairs of eyes bulged with incomprehension. They glanced down at the creature’s trousers for confirmation.

  “Hey, Mom, Dad! Great place.” Astro wiped his eyes. He walked into the house and placed his sandals neatly next to each other. As he bent down, Barbara noticed a tear in the thin fabric of his Middle Eastern pants, through which his gender could be clearly identified.

  Mother stiffened. She had obviously seen the evidence too. “Dinner will be ready in approximately twenty minutes.”

  They entered the drawing room to find Mary standing by the drinks cabinet, her stick frame thinner than usual. “Astro, this is my sister. Mary, this is Astro—my boyfriend.”

  “Your what?”

  “Hey, Sis!” Astro smothered her in an earnest hug. “Great to finally meet you.”

  “Get it off me!” Mary yelled, backing towards the sitting room, her globe eyes bulging out, putting her on par with any nocturnal creature.

  “Hey!” Astro put his arms around both sisters, creating a small huddle. He looked down at both of them. “C’mon now, guys. You’re sisters! We’re family.”

  Mary squirmed out of his arms, shuddering. “Don’t you even think of touching me again or I’ll call the police.”

  “Could someone turn the heating up, please?” Astro asked the curtains, yellow eyes enquiring under his pink cap flaps. “Bit chilly in here.”

  “Astro?” Barbara moved into the living room. “This is Grandma.”

  A tiny, innocent face looked up at them.

  “Awesome. Hey, Granny!” He tickled her as if she were a small child. “How [poke] are [poke] things [poke] with [poke] you [poke]? I bet you could tell me all kinds of secrets about this family.”

  Grandma giggled. No one in the family paid this much attention to her. “I sure could, young lady. I sure could.”

  Barbara’s family froze at −273°C—absolute zero, the freezing point of all liquids—their deeply hidden secrets rendering them glacial for the briefest of moments, glaring at Grandma, each pair of eyes holding different threats and entreaties. Barbara was the only family member who remained at room temperature.

  Astroturf broke the spell. “Well,” he said, looking around at his guests, “I’ll light one up before lunch.” He took his bong and a bag of marijuana out of a voluminous pocket. “Hey, Ern,” he turned to Father, “care to join? Sis? You look like you could do with some. Gran?”

  “We can only smoke outside, Miss Turf,” said Grandma, levering herself out of her chair.

  Mother’s mouth hung open, mercury fillings reflecting the flashing colours of the Christmas tree lights.

  “Drugs?” Father gasped. “Certainly not.” Then, returning to his role as host, “Drink, Astro?”

  In the dining room, each place setting was arranged with prickly attention to detail. The crystal glasses shot off sharp, disapproving glints; the silverware yawned with superiority. Although the candlesticks and vase of flowers framing the centre of the table initially appeared welcoming, once the guests sat down they loomed, obscuring the view.

  Lying in the table’s epicentre, the carcass of a turkey sat as a glorious centrepiece on a platter of sculpted silver. And, as a tribute to the magnificence of this kill, no vegetable, no starch or sauce shared this triumphant staging, save for some sprigs of parsley to underscore the bird’s vast dimensions.

  After pulling a firecracker which lay by his place setting, Astro excused himself and returned with a picnic basket. Following British tradition, he put on his paper hat with the rest of the family, and, against tradition, began to unload the basket.

  “Oh, doesn’t she look adorable with her hat on?” Grandma smiled in Astro’s direction.

  “She sure does,” Mary murmured.

  Barbara shot a look at Mary. She felt like stapling the paper hat to Mary’s head.

  “What have you got there?” Mother asked, confusion clouding features that otherwise questioned very little in life.

  “I’ve brought our dinner, Mom,” Astro replied, laying out buttermilk curd, tabbouleh salad and unleavened flatbreads from Ethiopia. “As you know, Babs and I are ‘vegetarian.’” He enunciated clearly as he quote-marked the air. “That means we don’t eat meat.” He looked at her to see if she had understood.

  Blood collected around Mother’s multiple chins as gunpowder grey eyes stared at him, unblinking.

  Dissatisfied with her response, he continued. “That means we don’t eat turkey,” he pointed at the bird lying on the side table, legs akimbo, “which is what you have sitting there. A turkey.” He checked her again for signs of comprehension. She blinked. Now satisfied, he forged ahead. “Don’t worry, though. I’ve brought enough for all of us.” He placed some sprouted moong dal salad on the table.

  As Father carved and placed body parts on plates, Astro served fufu from West Africa, okra and dishes made from pungent unripened cheese. Before Father could offer his guests red wine, Astro topped up their glasses with boza—a drink of fermented millet.

  The rest of the Glass family looked at their plates as if dead rats lay upon them. Sifting through the vegetarian fare, they picked at their turkey. Only Grandma, her olfactory senses severely dulled by age, tucked in with pleasure.

  “How are you doing, hun?” Grandma looked at Barbara with concern.

  “She’s doing fine, thanks,” Astro replied, still exercising authority over his ward.

  “You still feeling a bit down?” Gran asked, glancing from Barbara to Astro and back again, unsure as to whom this query should be addressed.

  “She’s getting stronger every day,” Astro replied.

  “Walking should do the trick.” Grandma now looked directly at Astro for all matters concerning Barbara’s welfare.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got that covered.” Astro flicked his serviette open with self-assurance. “We’re on a programme. A structured programme.”

  “Oh!” Grandma seemed impressed.

  “So,” Father turned to Astro and commenced the interrogation, “what do you do?”

  “I work with plants, Dad,” said Astro. “I can see that someone here works w
ith them too!” Mother flushed with pride, then stiffened back into disapproval.

  “So, you’re a gardener?” Father continued.

  “No, I work with plants, Ern.”

  A note of bafflement. “And where do you live?”

  “Just outside DC, Earl.” Astro’s paper hat quivered as he spoke. “Babu and I met in the same yoga class.”

  “Really? Well, you must be very flexible, then.”

  “Sure am, Ed.”

  “That must come in handy.” Father took a loud gulp of his wine.

  “Sure does. Barbara can be quite demanding, despite her age.”

  Father almost spilled his wine. He cleared his throat. Mother actually stopped eating.

  “You ever tried yoga, Millie?” Astro turned to face Mary. “You should. You’d really get a kick out of it. Loosen you up a bit.” He reached over and ruffled her hair. “I say that with all due respect there, Sis.”

  Mary sat stupefied, not knowing what to do now that her perfect bob was in utter disarray. Barbara closed her eyes, thanking the universe for the great joy that had descended upon her.

  “Dad,” Mary stared at her father through the mess of bangs that stuck into her eyes, “why don’t you tell Barbara about your heart?” She emphasized the last two words, prompting her father.

  “Oh, uh, yes, Barbara,” Father replied, sucking on a bone. “I’ve seen a doctor recently.”

  “Really?” Barbara munched her kale. “Dad, could you please stop snarfling? So, what did the doctor say?”

  “Barbie,” Mother put down her fork for a microsecond, “your father is in very poor health. You’ve caused us a great deal of worry.”

  Astro stared at Mother, yellow eyes burning with query. “Is that why you didn’t phone Babu for so long?” he asked. “Aw, I see it all now, man.” He turned to Barbara. “I knew they couldn’t be that heartless.”

  Mother fired off a look of buckshot grey in Astro’s direction. “The doctor says he may not have much longer. We know how much your job means to you, but he needs you here.”

  Barbara almost dropped her kamut bread. “Dad!” she gasped. “What is it? Is it diabetes? Your liver? Cirrhosis?”