Guns Of Malabor

by Sirra Arris

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  Pacing back and forth at the entrance to the Lily’s Grand hotel, he ran his hand though his curly, black hair and checked his phone clock every five minutes. It had been two months since his dismissal from Eastman Properties, and a fortnight since his discharge from a private rehab. The walkway leading to the reception was flanked on each side by short, garden lights, and goliath palm trees. The hand in which his phone lay, twitched in short intervals.

  His eyes, dimmed yet bloodshot, felt as though they had been pushed back deeper into their sockets, and his brain flashed images before him repeatedly. A feeling of dizziness suppressed the fears he was now having. After all, the movies had taught him that one’s life played out like a movie, in front of them, just before their final breath.

  These images were random and disappeared almost as quickly as they had come. In one of them, he stood watching as his nine-year-old self pestered his mom to let him take the common entrance examinations. He was still in fifth grade at the time, but had no intentions of waiting till grade six, the recommended class requirement for the exams. A lot of time had passed since the fifth grade. Since then, he’d learnt the value of patience, with the most notable lesson taking place within his first week in the city. At the time, he was just twenty, and was doing freelance estate agency work to supplement a meager service year allowance. That was up until he happened upon the impatient man’s kryptonite – The free meal. On that day, he’d been approached by a corporately dressed femme fatale. She looked every bit the part in heels and a skirt, with the coiffed hair and glasses. There was even a brochure and complementary card with the words “Jean Eluu, CEO Jeenius IT solutions” handed to him.

  According to the brochure, she was offering an investment opportunity for fresh graduates in her company, and it came with a chance to purchase sizable stock options at ‘giveaway rates’. This only applied if the new entrants worked a minimum of five months without pay or paid upfront at the price she was offering. She was beautiful. He was hooked. Long story short, he ended up having to sell rat traps and poisons in traffic, just to get by that month.

  In another flash, he’d seen the face of his mother Estelle ‘‘Nunu’’ Dianko. Once she heard he’d been duped, she never let him hear the last of it, particularly because she had always warned him about his malleability in the hands of the opposite sex. He never listened. She never stopped with the advice. After all, he was the younger, surviving one of her two children. She still saw him as her baby and made sure to send him a ‘care package’ basket every couple of weeks.

  Eric stared at his phone once more and was about to dial a number, when he was suddenly interrupted by the elderly concierge from the front desk. The concierge repeated his whisper. Something about a guest, and people not being allowed to stand idly by the entrance - to which he apologized.

  He then made his way into the lobby and scanned the place for his guest.

  There was an expensively dressed couple by the counter, along with another man who had come alone. A porter kept one of the three female receptionists occupied, while another checked in the couple. Nonso, the concierge who had ushered Eric in, had returned to his station and shooed him away. Using his thumb, he made a flicking movement towards the porter, as if to signal his need for a lighter. With the other hand, he indicated the numbers ‘two’ and ‘one’ to the porter, who scurried off towards the stairs.

  Eric looked on with pupils all groggy, and legs feeling like he’d had kept them in an uncomfortable position for too long.

  “You look fucked” said a voice familiar to Eric.

  He looked behind back and saw another man; grey haired but looking barely past his forties. He was smiling at him and holding out something in his outstretched hand. Eric opened his palm, and the visitor placed a black, menthol inhaler in it, before walking towards the sofa chair across from them. On the table between them was a chess board, its pieces spread out in battle formation, a bottle of cognac nestled between two empty wine glasses, and a brown paper bag.

  “You alright, son?” asked the guest.

  Eric replied with a muffled, snorting sound. The inhaler had been stuck as far up as his nostrils permitted.

  “Should have never tried that. That weaning thing, it never works if you’re just forcing it.

  Eric once again responded with a snort, followed by a quick shake of the head. He then wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sat down on the sofa.

  His guest followed suit, lifting the bottle of cognac to pour himself a drink.

  “It’s like with girls…you know? When you stop talking to them to try and dust away those silly feelings. You have to be ready in here first.” the guest said, pointing towards his own head.

  He poured Eric a glass.

  “Besides, I don’t supply stuff which you can easily abandon. That’s just bad business.”

  “You got me fucked me up” Eric grunted.

  “I did no such thing. You’ve never needed help with that at all.”

  The guest paused, halved his glass in a gulp, and then continued.

  “I actually thought the job would make a difference in your life but look at you now… Unemployed and burnt out. You’ll be thirty in two weeks… at your age I’d moved my mom to a new neighborhood and had a kid. I wasn’t hopping around with butch whores in fancy hotels.”

  Eric shrugged before speaking.

  “As I’ve said before uncle, things were way different in your time. For me, this is just more…. convenient”. He jabbed the inhaler back into his nose again.

  “See that? instant relief is what I bring you” the guest mocked.

  “You bring death.” Eric countered.

  “No. No. You’re getting things wrong again son. I’m a relief salesman. And the next time you think to go cold on me, I need you to remember this exact fucking feeling. Just so you don’t fuck with my payments again…Ever.”

  Eric responded with a sigh and inhaled deeply.

  “The kid. How is she doing?’’ asked the guest.

  “Back home with her grandma. Started convulsing about a week ago, but she’s doing slightly better than before. Heart’s still pumping as normal, but the doctor said it could get much worse. He referred to it as the Anna Devas Syndrome. Very rare in kids her age. One thing’s for sure though, the ice worked like magic.”

  “What a life. Poor thing hasn’t even seen her third birthday. Last I remember, she had Margaret’s rosy cheeks and wide brimmed smile, with your half shut eyes. That’s a trait your father passed down to you, and now you to her.”

  “Must have been fun to sit around and hear the sleep themed jokes.” Eric quipped in veiled sarcasm.

  The guest laughed with a sound that was almost guttural.

  Despite the taunts and clowning, the man known as Ernest Vanedi a.k.a ‘Akah Demands’, was the one of the few men Eric respected the most. He hadn’t known the man for much of his early childhood, but he was the closest thing to a father figure for Eric.

  His real father, Eric Dianko Sr., had died when he was three; leaving him with a plethora of unanswered questions. From what Nunu told him, the older Eric’s car had reportedly gone up in flames as soon as he exited a restaurant, and that was all the info available on that.

  Akah had been there for them at crucial times when Nunu needed help raising him. Like when he came visiting during the school holidays or chipped in when rent money was required. Later, much of Eric’s tertiary education had been bankrolled via working shifts at Akah’s small scale pharmacy.

  On his twenty first birthday however, he received a package in the mail containing a bunch of keys and the sign-in details of a Dropbox account. The keys opened the doors of a two storey, thirty-two room student hostel in Malabor. The dropbox account contained soft copies of shares bought in Eric Junior’s name, nude photos of women Eric Senior had been with, some photos of the Senior Eric Dianko, along with general letters of advice on life to an unborn child named Junior. One lette
r told him not to chase women until he was twenty-three, and had money, and that he would be rich by age thirty. Another one said he was not to smoke pot after age twenty-two, because ‘good health was the only true wealth’. From recent evidence, Eric junior had failed on both accounts.

  He seemed to have gotten some reprieve from the inhaler because the flashes had stopped, along with the twitching of hands. His ears pricked up as soon as Akah began to speak again.

  “So, joke time’s over, you got my money?”

  “Uncle, the thing is this, I-…”

  “Where. The fuck. Is my money!” Akah said in a muted yell. His eyes paused in their sockets, staring coldly at his nephew, and almost repeating the request telepathically.

  “Akah Demands, rigid as ever. No joy in that heart of yours. It’s all here.” Eric said with a soft laugh.

  He brought out a wad of notes and pushed them towards his uncle.

  “One day I’m going to find a replacement if you don’t start giving me stuff on the house” said Eric.

  “Good luck with that.” Akah replied.

  He licked his forefinger and thumb and began flipping the bills between them rapidly. The way he did it, one could argue that he found this method of counting more enjoyable, compared to the automated boxes they had in banks.

  “You’re lucky you even contacted me early. There’s a big drought coming, and it won’t be pretty. I almost didn’t find any this time.”

  “What do you mean big drought?” Eric asked.

  “The supplier’s, son. Nowadays, even if you can afford it, you probably won’t see it to buy. It’s almost like its being phased out, deliberately.”

  “But it’s a big hit. Why would they do that?”

  “Beats me as well.”

  “Maybe the cops are tightening the noose.” Eric added in hopes that it was more rhetoric than fact.

  “Unlikely. Everything else has maintained a steady supply and demand. Word out on the street is that they are running out of product. Something about crop rotation. This means you’d have to wait another three years or so for your next hit. Same for your little girl.”

  “But Nella can’t wait three years.” Eric started in panic.

  “I’d never forgive myself. I’ve even almost blazed through my entire reserve stash. I-”

  “Again, didn’t I tell you not to touch the reserve? Didn’t I? You keep taking unnecessary risks. And then you turn ’round and try blame me for fucking you up.” Akah interjected.

  He stopped counting to put aside a defective note, and resumed almost immediately, until after the last bill was flipped. In exchange, he passed Eric a pack of menthol inhalers; all twelve of them neatly packed in a small box.

  Seemingly placated by the cash, Akah went on.

  “I’m open to getting you another batch if you pay in advance.”

  Eric laughed in reply.

  “I know, uncle, but you have to understand, things are quite slow now. One fifty is a bit on the high side. I’m neck deep in debt, I only just managed to pay off the hotel rent and there’s this loan shark–”

  “One fifty doesn’t even begin to cut it.” barked Akah, his face beginning to contort in rage again.

  “Whatever story you’re about to tell, I’m not interested. I already know it could well have been avoided. I’ve always told you, you are responsible for your fuck-ups.”

  Eric nodded in silent agreement.

  “You’ve got to balance the virtues and vices; the good wolf and the bad wolf, because whichever one you feed more dominates your life.”

  “I still remember all the lectures, Uncle. I don’t look for trouble; it just tends to find me.” said Eric.

  “That’s no excuse.” said Akah.

  Eric smiled in acknowledgement of his uncle’s unchanging stoicism. It was nothing new to him. He recalled an incident a few months to his college graduation when Akah had disappeared. It was rumored that he had been imprisoned in Cotonou for smuggling rice and cars across the border. He wasn’t seen or heard from again for the next five years. The radio silence remained, up until the previous year when he’d resurfaced at Eric’s hotel room door, looking younger than he should, and toting bite sized packs of the latest street sensation, Black Ice. All he’d said when Eric opened the door was ‘what’s for lunch?

  Akah continued.

  “Now, I get that you can’t pay now. However, there is another way for you fund things. Small jobs here and there. Pharmaceuticals. Big money. Stable money.”

  “Are the sales that good now? I don’t remember us ever breaking even.” Eric asked in mock concern.

  “You’ve always been cynical about my line of work, but truth is if you do well at it, you’d be made in no time.” Akah replied.

  They had a couple more glasses in silence, then Eric spoke up.

  “Doesn’t sound good but I’m listening.”

  “How are your driving skills? Still as sharp as I left them?”

  “More or less I guess.” Eric replied.

  “That’s good enough. I don’t know where you learnt, but you definitely got your money’s worth.”Akah said and put down his glass.

  “Now listen, the books are open, this is a portal to other made jobs if you’d be interested. For the current task involved, it’s a pretty easy job description, just drive. I’ll be honest with you however, this isn’t some job you can fuck around with. It’s the type that one cannot afford to lose guard to, or else, it will be the ultimate checkmate.” the older man added, as he moved the black chess rook to a position adjacent to the white king.

  Eric looked uneasily at the hard, expressionless face opposite him. His earlier dizziness had now been completely replaced by feelings of curiosity.

  “Spill it already.”

  Akah looked at his nephew carefully and then began.

  “The thing is, I’m robbing an Ögaboss, and you’re going to be my getaway driver.”

  “What! Why? How? I don’t understand.” Eric exclaimed.

  “It has to be done. The why is inconsequential, but if you must know, I’m doing this for two reasons. The first of them is a six and a half million dollars Askels necklace. Will fetch a good price with the collectors. Say three, three point five at the least.” Akah continued.

  “Fuck that! Is your life worth three million? Do you know how much planning and balls it would take to pull a job like that?” Eric asked, clearly astonished at the ballsy proposition before him.

  “I’ve gone through the details. I’ve put everything in place, you’re the only piece that’s left. I normally wouldn’t bother you, but it’s the only way that seems error free. You should know this by now.” said Akah.

  “Nope. I’m not interested. Get someone else.’’ Eric clapped both palms on his thighs and shook his head in disagreement.

  “You haven’t heard the second part. Your cut is a cool two mill. Going by what you told me about your finances, my advice to you would be simple; take it. I’m trying to help you here.” said the older man.

  “Do I have to shoot anyone?”

  “How many times have you heard of a bullet free heist? Not ruling it out, but you shouldn’t have to if things go as planned.”

  “This is a joke that has begun to sound too expensive. Tell me again, exactly why I have to come?” Eric inquired.

  “Because the target is Mommy, your old fling.”

  “No fucking way!” Eric said, shifting softly in his seat.

  “You saw what they did to Margaret. She sent pictures.”

  Akah sighed.

  “Perhaps I need to add that this gig is key to getting your daughter well again. Do you have the money for her treatment? No. Do you have money to buy ice on a regular? I think not. Your move, son.”

  “Let me at least think it over.” said Eric.

  “Yeah. Do that. But don’t take too long, offer might not be available when you finally come around to it. In the meantime, you can pay me off for this batch by getting me that.” he adde
d, while handing Eric a complimentary card.

  Scribbled upon it in barely legible writing was an address. Underneath the address was another set of scribbles, which read - fifty quarts of serachloric acid.

  “Go there” Akah said, pointing to the address.

  “The boy there will tell you what to do.”

  “Now drop my transport fee. I’ll call you in three days when the new batch is cooked.”

  Eric laughed, but he knew Akah never joked about payment. He could still recall a moment in his late teens, when Akah beat up a defaulter for his refusal to pay up on the agreed date.

  The man in question, Festus Mansoma, had racked up a huge credit tab for purchases of salicylates, barbiturates, opiates and benzodiazepines in that month. He had to have been a big-time meth cook or an anesthetist of some sort, but the bad part of his client-ship was his payment schedule. The ratio was more like one payment per every six purchases. Ironically, he was also a big spender at many of the popular bars in town. Akah had been away for a while, but still kept tabs on his business via phone calls to his manager. Occasionally, he would slip back into town and show up at the store unannounced.

  On the day of the beat down, Cletus had walked into the store in his usual, braggart manner. He’d placed his order and tried to leave with the usual excuse of ‘place it on my tab, Akah knows me’, when Akah walked into the store. Without warning, he grabbed the spatula that usually hung on the wall beside the entrance, a position whose usefulness Eric had always wondered about. In one swift stroke, he had slashed Cletus across the left cheek, and landed a crushing punch on the right cheek with another. The rest was medical history. Nobody came in the store asking for stuff on credit again.

  “I’ll be heading back to Agadiz in three days, but I have a job to wrap up here first. If I am to help you through this trying time, you must do as I say, no questions asked.” Akah stated, his gravel voice bringing Eric back to the present.

  “Akah Demands” Eric said in a complimentary tone.

  “And Akah gets what he demands” Akah replied. Eric got up and grabbed the paper bag before wobbling towards the lobby elevator. As the doors closed, so did his eyes, lost in thought about his next birthday which was two weeks away.