The Carnivorous City

by Toni Kan

  As they walked down to the club, Santos asked Abel whether he should call Matthew.

  ‘He will give us VIP treatment,’ he said, reaching for his phone, but Abel had told him not to. He wanted to experience the club as a normal punter without being chaperoned.

  There were two bouncers at the entrance and a mobile policeman holding an AK-47 as casually as an artist would hold a brush while contemplating a new painting. He had the bored look of a man who provided a service no one really needed.

  When they got to the head of the queue, they were asked to pay a two thousand naira entry fee, were patted down and had the back of their hands stamped with invisible ink. Stuck to the door was a loud sign – NO ENTRY IF YOU ARE NOT OF LEGAL AGE – but no one was there to check.

  Inside, the music was loud and the air thick with cigarette smoke.

  The joint was small and L-shaped. The stage stood in the right-angled crook of the L, allowing patrons on both ends to get a good view. It was a small rectangular space with a raised floor, about two feet off the ground, that held Abel’s attention. It had two poles set about four feet apart and two naked girls shimmied on stage, each baring her sex as she slid down. They didn’t seem very good at it, if what he saw in the movies was the standard.

  Abel and Santos found a seat. There was an unrelenting air of desperation about the place. Abel had come expecting to see naked women dancing and grinding, but this was excessive and a tad depressing. He had never seen as many naked women all at once in one place, and even though he liked naked women, the nude conurbation had the unintended consequence of leaving him unaroused. There was a pall around the place, a strange displacement, and the low lighting that seemed to cast a deathly glow did not help.

  He had come expecting nudity but this was a meat shop, a surfeit that left him nauseous.

  A girl in a red top came up to them and asked what they wanted to drink. They ordered stout. She hadn’t even stepped away when two girls with jiggling breasts planted themselves in front of Abel and Santos.

  ‘Make I dance for you?’ the taller of the two said, planting long fingers painted in different colours on Abel’s crotch.

  He smiled. ‘Come back later.’

  She did not return his smile as she walked away, wriggling her G-stringed ass. Santos had no qualms and as Abel turned, the other girl was already dancing, rubbing her ample backside against Santos’ distended crotch.

  He looked around. There were doors leading off the floors and most of them had what appeared to be stickers but on closer examination were actually instructions to patrons.

  A FEE OF N4,000 IS CHARGED FOR RELAXING WITH A GIRL IN VIP LOUNGE.

  RESPECT YOURSELF NO CAMERA

  Television screens showing pornographic movies hung from the corners like demented bats with flickering eyes. No one seemed to be watching, so Abel put it down to a need to create atmosphere, as if anybody walking in would mistake the place for a church.

  The patrons were a mixed bunch. There were elderly men with beer bellies leering at the naked girls and sticking fingers into their dripping wetness. Quite a few of the men seemed bored, as if they would rather be somewhere else.

  The professional types and younger boys were more eager. Most of the younger boys, those in their twenties, had girls with them and Abel wondered how a man convinces his date to come with him to a strip club.

  The seats seemed like church pews: straight-backed benches with desks in front. The girls would lie on the desktops, spread their legs wide, place both legs on the patron’s shoulders and sometimes grind themselves into a willing face. It was a bit too much for Abel but many of the men didn’t seem to mind, nor did the girls, who didn’t show any qualms about having fingers stuck inside them or having their breasts kneaded.

  He saw a girl walk by and thought she looked like a student of his. Reaching out, he touched her hand. She turned to look at him. There was the briefest flicker of what looked like recognition, then her face clouded over and she sashayed away.

  Abel sipped his drink, casting a quick look at Santos who was fondling the girl’s breast, and then he let the music wash over him. They were playing Nigerian music. Davido. Olamide. Wande Coal. P-Square. IllBliss. Some he recognised and some he did not, but the music was loud and he let his mind drift with the sounds.

  ‘Leave me,’ he heard, and turned.

  A girl was up and trying to get past her boyfriend and a stripper who was draped all over him like a second skin.

  ‘I am going jor,’ she said, pushing past them and running outside. The boy pushed the stripper away as he got up and chased after her, the bulge in his trousers making him walk funny.

  ‘Oya, go and look for Matthew,’ Abel said nudging Santos.

  Santos pushed the girl aside, fished out two notes for her, then stood and adjusted his erection.

  ‘Haba, I did not know you were here,’ Matthew said, smiling expansively when Santos returned with him. ‘I have been waiting for you in the VIP lounge. Abeg come,’ he said leading Abel to a door.

  He was the tallest Chinese man Abel had ever seen. He had a full beard and walked with a Nigerian swagger, arms thrust out as if he owned the universe.

  He pushed the door open and let them upstairs.

  ‘How long have you been in Nigeria?’ Abel asked as Matthew preceded them into his office and indicated the seats.

  ‘Long time. Na we show Chinese people the way,’ he said in pidgin and laughed. ‘When I come to Lagos, the only Chinese they know is Bruce Lee and Bruce Lee is American sef. But I like Lagos. In this town anything can happen. Very good things and very bad things, no be so?’

  He pulled out a folder, spread out the papers in front of Abel and produced a pen from his pocket. ‘Sign here, here and here,’ he said, pointing, but Abel indicated that he wanted to read. ‘Ah, a cautious man. You read before you sign; good.’ Matthew fetched a bottle of Hennessy from a cupboard. He placed the bottle on the table, produced three plastic cups and poured drinks. He and Santos made small talk while Abel read. He asked Santos whether they needed girls for the night and Santos nodded towards Abel and shook his head.

  ‘Oh, your broda doesn’t do that, eh? You don’t tell him our girls are clean? Sweet, clean pussy,’ Matthew said, more to Abel than to Santos.

  Abel looked up, smiled and continued reading.

  Done. He signed and downed his drink.

  ‘Santos knows your people, so I will put this in his hands. Is that OK?’ Abel asked.

  Matthew nodded. ‘Very OK. They all sabi Santos anyway.’

  ‘We need to go now.’ Abel extended a hand.

  ‘Ahh, we have clean girls here. You don’t want some ficki-ficki? I bring you the cleanest girls,’ Matthew offered again as they shook hands.

  Abel thanked him and said he was good, then led the way downstairs and out to the car.

  —

  They drove home in silence, Abel studiously avoiding talking to Santos. He was still miffed by the encounter with Dr Nicole at the bank and Santos’ part in the charade.

  Once he got home, Abel stripped and stepped under the shower. He knew it was all in his head, but it felt as if the strip joint had left a layer of dirt on his skin and he needed to scrub it off.

  Santos launched into another apology the next morning the moment Abel sat down beside him to plan their itinerary, but Abel had asked him to shut it.

  ‘How much do you earn?’ Abel asked.

  ‘Eighty thousand naira, bros.’

  ‘Eighty thousand naira.’ The idiot earned more money than him. He made a mental note to speak to Ada and the accountant about increasing Santos’ salary before he sold them all to the devil in his quest for money. Abel could well understand how it must feel for Santos to sit so close, to smell and taste wealth all day and yet remain acutely aware that none of it was his. He had heard many stories of how people like Santos, feeling resentment, would commit all sorts of atrocities against their benefactor. Their excuse was always simple and the same
: it was all a hustle.

  They had a date at Panti to meet the deputy commissioner of police, who was now in charge of Soni’s case. Whether criminal or not, Panti was known to everyone. It was called Panti after the street on which it was located. When a criminal said his case had been transferred to Panti, people raised their hands to their heads and got all bug-eyed with fear.

  The official name was the State Criminal Investigations Department (SCID) and the belief was that any case that did not get cracked by the team of detectives at Panti would never be solved. People also believed that any criminal who was not broken at Panti must be the devil himself.

  The deputy commissioner of police assigned to Soni’s case had called Abel the previous evening, just as the commissioner had said he would, a few minutes after Calista dropped him off at home. The incident with the policemen at Ilupeju had soured everything and their plans to spend time together didn’t happen after all.

  ‘Why didn’t she come in?’ Ada asked when Abel came outside to meet her by the pool. She had a guest and they were watching a Nigerian movie.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your female friend. I saw her drop you off.’

  ‘She had to go someplace.’ He nodded to acknowledge the lady’s greeting.

  ‘She is a pretty one.’ Ada winked.

  ‘Not as pretty as you,’ Abel said and flopped into a chair.

  He saw the woman smile at Ada and open her palms quizzically as if to say What’s going on here?

  ‘Don’t mind Ada, she likes to tease,’ Abel said to the woman in response to her unuttered question.

  ‘Oh, I am the tease now,’ Ada said. ‘You were the one who called me hairy, eh, remember?’

  ‘You don’t forget things?’ Abel asked with mock seriousness. ‘What are you girls watching?’

  ‘Two Brides and a Baby,’ her friend answered.

  ‘Who is in it?’

  ‘When did you start liking Nollywood flicks?’ Ada asked. ‘Or is it my friend you like?’

  ‘Ada!’ her friend cried and they both giggled.

  ‘All of the above,’ Abel said and rose.

  —

  DCP Bola Balogun was a tall, slim, slightly stooping man with a deep voice. He welcomed Abel into his little office, which had been done up in red hues from the rug to the upholstered chairs.

  ‘When the commissioner starts calling us about cases it looks as if we are not doing our jobs,’ he began and there was no mistaking the note of displeasure in his voice.

  ‘Oga, that’s not what happened. I did not go to make a report. I was at the government house and ran into the CSO. Somehow my brother’s issue came up and he promised to assist.’ Abel quickly filled him in on what the situation was like.

  ‘Your brother’s case is a difficult one to crack,’ he said, as if he hadn’t heard Abel. ‘It appears he was abducted and we believe the abductors must have been riding with him in the car. There must have been a struggle, which was why the car was found in the ditch. What happened afterwards is anyone’s guess because they didn’t ask for a ransom and we haven’t found a body. Whoever did this wanted your brother fixed for good. If we had a ransom demand then we would have a lead to pursue, but as things stand, it’s as if your brother simply disappeared from the face of the earth.’

  He pressed a bell on his table and a dark, burly policeman stepped in.

  ‘Kunle, get me DSP Umannah.’ A minute later he introduced the man. ‘DSP Umannah, please meet Mr Dike.’ Abel and the officer shook hands. ‘The commissioner asked me to transfer his brother’s case from Ofio to you with immediate effect. Ofio has handed you the files, right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. The commissioner wants quick answers. I need quicker answers. The family is anxious. You have five weeks. Gentlemen.’ He rose.

  Abel took the hand he extended, said his thanks and followed Umannah out. Umannah’s office was tiny and stacked with papers. He seemed like the brainy kind. He settled down behind a desk and motioned for Abel to sit in one of the chairs opposite him.

  ‘This place is hot and there is no light,’ he said, pushing the window open.

  ‘But there was light now at the DCP’s office,’ Abel said

  ‘That is the dividend of being the boss,’ Umannah said and laughed. ‘You remember George Orwell’s book, Animal Farm?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said.

  ‘“Some animals are more equal than others”,’ Umannah quoted and laughed. Abel laughed too, liking him. He was light-skinned the way people from his Cross River area could be and he spoke with the slightest hint of an accent, the type people called ‘Calabar accent’.

  ‘See, I will put my all into this because I knew your brother and he helped me once.’

  ‘You knew him?’

  ‘Yes. I was at Area F when he was detained there. I was a much younger officer then.’

  ‘Really. That was like seven years ago or so. I came to bail him out but I am not sure I met you. I remember some woman at the counter stole his ring.’

  ‘Service charge, you mean,’ he said and laughed. Abel laughed too.

  ‘Well, while in detention, I helped him buy food, water and stuff. I was even the one who sent word to his brother in Asaba.’

  ‘I am the brother.’

  ‘Wow. He was scared of how you would react but he said you were the only person he could trust. I thought you would be older.’

  ‘I am older.’

  ‘I know; I meant older as in older. Anyway, he kept in touch after he was released and a few years back, when my son needed surgery for a hernia, he paid the hospital bill. He was a nice guy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Abel said. The more he heard stories of how his brother revered him the more he wondered why he had never noticed. It felt sometimes as if they were talking about two different people, not his brother and him.

  ‘I will put my best men on this right away. I read Inspector Ofio’s report and I already have a theory, but give me a week or two and I should have something conclusive for you and the family.’

  Abel thanked him and stood to go, but Umannah’s voice stopped him at the door.

  ‘Abel, this is high stakes. I don’t want to raise your hopes too much but I will help you find the missing pieces so that all of this can make better sense.’

  ‘Thank you so very much,’ Abel said and walked out.

  —

  Calista was home so he had Santos drop him off there.

  She had her bathrobe on when she opened the door and as soon as Abel stepped into the living room, he tugged at the sash and the robe came undone. She was naked underneath. Abel sank to his knees and buried his face between her legs, inhaling her deeply.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked, stroking his head like a mother would a wayward child.

  ‘This will do for now,’ he said as he lifted her and carried her upstairs.

  Abel drifted off to sleep after their lovemaking and by the time he woke up Calista had made lunch and laid the table.

  They ate and returned to bed. ‘Hold me,’ Abel said. She held him and once again he was a twenty-two-year old who had just received word that his father was dead. Soni had gone drinking once the news was broken to them and would be carried back to the room hours later, totally drunk.

  Abel, on the other hand, had found Calista and snuggled up to her, crying and talking, pouring out his fears, his angst and his innermost thoughts.

  That was almost fourteen years ago but now he was back in that place and Calista was there with a thirsty ear to lap up his stream of words. He started with the text message and explained how, for so many years since the day he came to bail Soni out of Area F, he had dreaded receiving a call that intimated something terrible.

  ‘That was why, every time he offered me something, I declined. But he always insisted. You know, money, a car, stuff. I felt that by saying no, I was expressing my disapproval and hoping that things would turn out differently.’

  He told her about the
woman and the girl at the bank, how the girl had torn off her clothes, stripping herself naked in full view of everyone to get away from the stink. He told Calista that that was how he felt at times, living in Soni’s house, spending his money, luxuriating in the opulence that had been made possible by crime, like he was wallowing in something dirty, and being tainted by the stink of it all.

  He told her about the meeting with DCP Balogun and how he had sensed that maybe the police already knew more than they were telling.

  ‘He said, “Whoever did this wanted your brother fixed for good.” There was something ominous about those words. Something very final.’

  ‘Abel, whoever did this meant it. That’s what I think he was trying to say,’ Calista told him, teasing his left nipple with the tip of her tongue. Abel laughed and pushed her gently away.

  He told her about Ada and his disturbing feelings towards her.

  ‘I don’t know how much longer we can keep away from each other. If we open that door, everything will break down,’ he said, rising from the bed and pacing.

  ‘So what are you going to do about your feelings for her?’ Calista asked sitting up, lotus style on the bed, her sex exposed to him.

  Leaning against the wall, away from the bed, and contemplating her question, Abel watched her sitting there, her naked pubis fringed by the light fluff that tapered into the parted folds of her labia. He regarded her with a cocked brow, suddenly lightheaded from a surfeit of desire. She seemed to him like a deep well from which he would never be able to drink enough, but there was, above all, in that pose, a quality that made her look like a goddess; his petite Buddha of desire.

  Abel pushed her back on the bed and mounted her like an eager steed and this time there was not just need but an insatiable hunger. A lifetime or two later, sweating and panting, Abel held her close from behind, his flaccid member dripping spunk onto her bed sheet like a one-eyed slug.

  ‘I wish you weren’t leaving so soon; maybe I would have moved in here,’ he told her.

  ‘Rent a place,’ she said turning to face him, her breasts heaving. ‘You can afford it.’