by Terry Morgan
The first meeting of Vigo's close-knit was at Pink Lips. Benji organised the shaking of hands and the sorting out of who was who. "So, so. Fine, fine. We tock business."
Casper organised the wiping of the meeting table bringing a dripping cloth which he used with one quick swipe. They pulled up chairs and sat in a tight circle around the table, wet from Casper's cloth and the soggy remains of someone's rice from last night. Chelsea sniffed the air and nodded as if the smell that lingered was exactly what was needed for a top level gathering.
Vigo lay back and stared at the ceiling, Mazda took out his phone, checked it and shook his head as if it proved the total incompetence of others.
Benji flicked his thumb again at Casper. "Star Lite for our guests."
Cigarettes were handed around as if smoke was vital for positive thinking. Then it began.
"Good you come," Benji began with enthusiasm, sweat glistening on his wide forehead. "Danny, he arrive from Abuja last night."
Danny, a short, stocky, middle-aged man wearing a scarlet shirt matched with black trousers held up his hand. "Not so fast, Benji. This no time for bein' flippant."
Benji, realising his status, shrank back.
"So," Danny said. He took a gulp of Star Lite, wiped the drips and then rubbed the back of his neck. "So.....let's start. Balogun and Festus. These guys they so full of jazz. We give Balogun slap and get results. Then some suits get upset and send their security round. Seem our slap not enough. Agree?"
Nodding of heads and murmurs of agreement ensued. Chelsea choked on his beer but nodded on time.
"Dat man Festus he bounce too much, shakara. Tock plenty, too much pose, travel too much, here and there, fancy houses, fucks girl friends with big cow bells. You see her, Benji?"
"I see." Benji held his hands up as if he was holding two footballs.
"But Balogun gave full report to Festus then Festus team come out from under stone and put pressure on me and Civic. But, hey, no problem 'cus me and Civic stay strong. We shake head, say nuttin and stay cool. Right Civic?"
Civic nodded, grinned, looked around.
"When I say I got evidence of plan to assassinate Pastor Gabriel they back off, yes Civic? Festus team they look to one another, ask questions. Tock small in ears. Get too scared to make big trouble 'cus I said Gabriel talk with President Azazi. Right Civic?"
Civic nodded and grinned. Chelsea nodded but looked confused.
Danny was still talking."No way dat man Festus can walk tall now for worry we plan total deletion. So, Festus team back away. Seem shit scared of somtin. And Festus he arrive in Abuja yesterday. Go some place by car but look behind him now since I put 007 on his tail. You see 007, Benji?"
"I see him, Danny. Big fella, soji."
"So," Danny looked around. He'd finished his chairman's summary and the mood was serious. Much thinking was going on.
Hearing about the meeting later from Vigo, Dobson knew if he'd been there he'd have been worried, especially about mentioning the President. He'd also have asked for a hundred other clarifications, but this was a Nigerian close-knit and close-knits did things differently.
They were sitting on a pile of bald tyres in Vigo's garage. "So, who's side are they all on?" he'd asked Vigo.
"No confusions, Mercedes. Everyone on Gabriel's side."
Indeed, they were all, Dobson concluded, as mad as hell about the treatment being dished out to Pastor Gabriel. They knew about the forged arrest warrant and that Gabriel was one of the very few trying to break the tradition of large scale bribery and corruption.
"Well," Dobson said. "Oiling a few small cogs might be OK, but....."
"Yeh, I know," Vigo interrupted. "We need more than that. Nigeria needs a full, fucking service and an oil change."
He was right. Lubrication and corrosion, working side by side through the tips and dash that were the daily inducements to get things done, to make things happen. It was like a tax and every member of this close-knit lived by tips and dash because, rightly or wrongly, that was how things worked. But they were, it seemed, acknowledging the system was at fault, blaming it for the growing gulf between rich and poor and pointing fingers of blame at the big, fat men in suits, ones like Festus Fulani who sat at the very top taking the really big money. Stop it at the top and the culture might slowly change further down. That, at any rate, had always been Gabriel's view and they seemed to agree.
"So, what happened next, Vigo?"
Danny had asked who the spokesman was. "Wettin dey. Wot the current plan? Who the spokesman?"
Vigo had leaned forward. "I am." he'd said as if about to break news of global importance. "Mr Simon Smith is our partner, our client. We only do half the job so far. Balogun and Festus are two, but we need to slap some other fat men in fancy suits who sit in big office with AC. We got names. Big shots who cosy up to President. But not the President himself."
"How did that go down?" Dobson asked.
"Casper, he ask why not we shoot the President quick quick, but I say, 'Stop stop. Mr Simon Smith, he be like say, done do. We need President for have use later in plan."
"Good, Vigo. Then what?"
"Danny then say: 'Your Mr Smith know something critical?' And I say, 'Sure, sure. Very critical.' And Danny then say, 'Simon Smith, he got connections with limitless funds?' And I say, 'Sure he have. My man Simon, he rich guy but he's English. He expects value for money. He wants action sham-sham, he demand first class strategy, a war plan like Winston Churchill. Then he give go ahead with money up front, cash flow guaranteed, bonus at the end.'"
Dobson, fidgeting on the pile of tyres cringed. "Mmm, what next?"
"We put heads together."
"Like a secret conspiracy?" Dobson suggested trying to imagine this gathering.
"That's it Mercedes. And Danny was the first to move his head. 'Why this akata so mad about Festus and these other suits?' he asked. And that, Mercedes was when I gave my big speech. The one I learned from you."
"From me?"
"Sure. Last night in the Southern Sun."
"Remind me. What did I say, Vigo?" Dobson asked as Mazda arrived with four cans of Star Lite.
"I remember word for word, Mercedes. Cheers. You talk like a real Winston Churchill last night. When the time is right, you told me, go ahead. Tell them everything. Tell them about Kenneth Eju, that no-one, not just Gabriel and Sol is safe. That these are big powerful suits hell bent on destroying everything just for themselves. Get them to ask around about who shot Kenneth, you said. That we think it was this guy Osman Olande, the guy who Festus pays to do all his dirty work. Rub it in, you said. Make them feel mad about all the fucking bureaucrats, the corrupt suits and the politicians who rake off billions while businesses like Pink Lips and Solomon Trading struggle to make ends meet.
"What else did I say?" asked Dobson
"You said leave out one person, Vigo. Leave out the President himself. You said you felt, and so did Gabriel, that the President is a good man who's doing his best, but he's got a tough job. He's walking what you called a political tightrope not just on corruption but on everything else - the economy, healthcare, education, defence and terrorism. You talk like genuine professor from the University. Did I miss anything, Mercedes?"
"Not a thing," said Dobson.
