by Leye Adenle
The man wiped his face using his forearm, blinked sweat off his eyelids, and swatted at a mosquito that buzzed near his face. He turned the phone over in his hand and held the ‘on’ button with his thumb. The screen lit up. He waited till he could see the icons, then holding down the same button he switched the phone off again and put it into his pocket.
They began to cover up the body.
Malik leaned forward in the tall burgundy seat behind his desk. The leather upholstery squeaked. Two air conditioners hummed, keeping the large room at a constant 17 degrees. A closed, space-grey Apple laptop was the only item on the red leather surface of the wooden desk. Sisi, tall, and with gym-toned muscles and immobile breasts bought in Brazil, was standing next to Malik in a see-through black camisole and a pair of black short pants. On the other side, two middle-aged Russian men sat drinking coffee from teacups that looked small in their thick, bejewelled fingers. Both men had noses that had been broken more than once. They had gold chains under their white shirts, visible around their tanned necks. Behind them, standing in a row, twelve Ukrainians girls shifted from leg to leg, looked straight ahead at the people conversing at the desk, listening for words they could recognise.
‘How long do I have them for?’ Malik asked. His eyes moved from girl to girl, from face to feet and feet to face.
The man on the right held up three fingers. ‘Three weeks. Only three weeks. Then I come and I take them.’ His accent was thick.
‘And medicals?’
‘All certificates, I give already to Sisi.’
Malik looked at Sisi. She nodded.
‘Tell them to take off their clothes.’
The man turned and spoke in Russian. Some of the girls had already begun undressing.
‘I need something from you, Dmitry. Something special,’ Malik said.
‘Very young girl?’
‘No. A tranny. You know what that is?’
‘Da. Transvestite. Girl with…’ he signified a penis with his finger over his crotch.
‘Yes. Can you get one?’
‘One? I get you many. You tell me, I bring.’
‘Just one. He… She must look like a woman.’
‘They sexy even more than real woman.’
‘I want someone who looks young, good breasts, good body, voice like a girl. I want to see her pictures before you bring her.’
‘No problem. When you want tranny?’
‘As soon as possible.’
Someone knocked on the door behind the girls. They all looked. The door opened. Naomi, in a red bra, red pants, red high heels and black stockings with suspenders, entered the room. She walked through the middle of the girls. She had a brown envelope in her hand. She handed it to Malik.
Malik tore open the envelope and looked inside. He turned it over and a phone with a pink cover dropped onto his desk. He picked up the device between his thumb and index finger and turned it over, inspecting it closely, then looked up. Naomi was looking at the phone. ‘What?’ Malik said.
Naomi shook her head. ‘Nothing. Nothing is wrong.’
‘I didn’t ask you if anything is wrong.’
‘I’m sorry.’
34
A man in a white sailor’s uniform held out his hand to Amaka. He had come down from the yacht to help her on board. She ignored his offer, gripped the railing with one hand, and looked down at the metal mesh beneath her feet as she stepped onto the steep gangway leading to the vessel. It was anchored at the private moorings of the exclusive Aquamarine Boat Club of The Civic Centre on Ozumba Mbadiwe Avenue. Written in gold on the side of the mega yacht was Ẹja nlá: Big fish.
She took care not to let her heels slip into the tiny holes in the flooring beneath her feet. On either side, the plastic debris of Lagos Lagoon swelled with the water and slapped against the concrete.
An albino man waited for her on board. He asked her to follow him, then led her through a door into a living area with white leather seats set against oak-panelled walls with porthole windows. A staircase rose to the upper floor.
The man went up first. They stepped into a meeting. The room had white walls, a mirrored ceiling, and the floor was covered in a deep pile cream rug. A group of Chinese men in suits occupied two of the fixed-in-place white sofas. In another, Amaka recognised the heir apparent of the Mourtadas. It clicked; the yacht belonged to the billionaire Lebanese family. On another sofa she recognised Ambrose sitting alone, the shortest of all the men there.
‘This way, please,’ the albino said, holding his hand out towards the glass door. The men continued talking. Amaka pushed the door open and stepped out onto the deck. She looked at the hot tub at the far end, then up at the nautically-inspired Civic Centre building before casting a glance at the other boats moored alongside Ẹja nlá. Finally, she looked out across the lagoon to Oyinkan Abayomi Drive. Her home was behind trees lining the lagoon. When she walked through, the men had continued talking as if they didn’t see her. Now she sat and faced them. They stood up. Amaka watched. Ambrose motioned for them to sit down, said something, then turned and walked towards the door with the albino man in tow.
He walked on to the deck, squinted at the sun and approached Amaka. He was shorter than she expected.
‘You are Amaka?’ he said, but he did not try to shake hands. The albino stood behind him, his eyes hidden behind the reflective lenses of his glasses.
‘Yes,’ Amaka said, standing up. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’
‘Yes, yes. As you can see, I’m very busy. What do you need from me?’ He checked his watch.
‘I have information on Chief Olabisi Ojo. In return, I want to become a member of your party.’
He looked up. ‘What kind of information?’
She looked at the albino.
‘Quick,’ he said. ‘I have to return to my meeting.’ He checked the time again.
‘Videos that can destroy him.’
‘Where are the videos?’
‘On a memory card I got from his phone.’
‘Do you have it here with you?’ He held out his palm.
‘No.’
‘Bring it to my house tonight. Ask Gabriel for the address.’
He turned and returned to the meeting. The men stood up again as he entered the room. The albino stayed behind on the deck, holding out his hand to see her off.
35
The sun was beginning to set when Ambrose walked down the gangway from Ẹja nlá. Yellowman followed behind, and Babalola, in a sky blue agbada that billowed in the wind, waited at the bottom.
‘Doc, we have scored a joker,’ Ambrose said as he stepped off the gangway. He began walking towards the car park, Ambrose alongside him. ‘Manna has fallen from heaven right into our laps.’
‘The Mourtadas are supporting us?’
‘They will always support whatever I do. It’s not them. I have found a wife for you.’
Babalola stopped. Ambrose had walked a couple of steps before he paused and looked back. ‘Come on,’ he said, gesturing with his hand. ‘I have found you the perfect partner. The woman who would help you win the election.’
‘Prince, what are you talking about?’
‘Do you know Ambassador Mbadiwe?’
‘Yes.’
‘His daughter came to see me today. A name like that on our ticket and we have won.’
‘Prince, we did not discuss this.’
Ambrose stopped walking and grabbed Babalola’s agbada.
‘What you do in the privacy of your own room is none of my business,’ he said, ‘even if you do it with another man. I know everything about you. Everything. Do you understand? This girl will be by your side till you enter government house. It is non-negotiable.’ He let go of Babalola and started walking away, then stopped and turned around.
‘And one more thing. That boy that follows you everywhere, I don’t want to see him again. I give you twenty-four hours to get him out of the country.’
Otunba Oluawo walked alone past his swimm
ing pool and into the pool house. A reflection of the sinking sun shone as an orange line, thicker and brighter in the middle, across the glass wall. Inside, a short man in blue jeans, floral short-sleeved shirt, and a black trilby hat was waiting in an armchair.
‘Area, how are you?’ Otunba said. ‘You took care of everything?’
‘Baba,’ Area said. He started to shimmy out of the chair but Otunba raised a hand to let him know it was OK to remain seated.
‘They said the boy survived till he reached the hospital,’ Otunba said.
‘He must be strong, or his juju is strong,’ Area said. ‘He chopped six bullets.’
‘Were you there?’
‘No.’
‘Who did you use?’
‘Sky and Mutiu.’
‘Good. Ex-soldiers are always better. I need them to do another job. A girl. I don’t have her details yet but tell them to be on standby. And this time it has to look like a robbery. Or even an accident. In fact, I prefer that. I want it to look like an accident.’
‘Baba, I only trust those boys with shooting.’
‘OK. Robbery is fine.’
‘Baba, please don’t be annoyed with me for asking you questions, but the boys are asking me why we carried out action on one of our own people. They are wondering what the driver did to you?’
‘He saw things he shouldn’t have seen.’
‘And the girl?’
‘She’s one of the things he shouldn’t have seen.’
36
‘Whose phone is that?’ Sisi asked.
‘Somebody who is about to make me very rich,’ Malik said.
The Russians and the Ukrainian girls had left and Malik and Sisi were alone in the office. Malik opened a couple of drawers on his desk and found a packet of wet wipes. He pulled one out and began to clean the phone.
‘Does she have a name?’ Sisi asked.
‘What makes you think it’s a she?’
‘Pink. Doh.’
She sat in a one of the chairs opposite.
‘Oh, yes.’
Malik held the phone up. The pink cover had little hearts etched into it. He peeled off the cover and tossed it into a bin behind his desk. The phone’s white case looked new.
‘I’m guessing the owner isn’t getting their phone back?’ Sisi said.
‘Nope.’
‘What are you up to, Malik?’
‘Nothing that concerns you.’
‘Who is the tranny for?’
‘A client.’
‘He asked for a tranny?’
‘Not exactly. But we are getting him one.’
‘What if he isn’t into that?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Malik. We agreed. No more of this. No more blackmail. Whose phone is that?’
‘Someone who no longer needs it. You have asked enough questions. If you don’t want to know the answers, don’t ask.’
‘Should I be worried?’
‘Only if you get in my way.’
‘Malik. You scare me when you talk like that.’
‘Good.’
‘Good?’
‘Yes. Good. Because that fear will keep you out of trouble.’
‘Malik, I can’t go on like this.’
‘Makes two of us. You want to know who the tranny is for? I’ll tell you. Ojo. Yes. Chief Olabisi-idiot-Ojo. The fool is going to become Governor of Lagos State. Did you know that? That moron would become a governor. That fool. A governor. This is my chance. Whoever controls him controls Lagos and that person is going to be me. I deserve it. I lost a good girl because of him.’
‘Is that the girl’s phone? The one he attacked?’
‘The one he killed.’
‘What are you going to do with the phone?’
‘It has nothing to do with you. What concerns you is to get him in bed with the tranny when she arrives. I’ll handle the rest.’
‘Blackmail. So we’re back to this.’
‘We never stopped. We just didn’t have a catch big enough.’
37
Ambrose walked ahead of Amaka down the dark, unlit corridor in his mansion. Yellowman walked behind them. Ambrose stopped in the middle of the corridor where moonlight poured in through a window overlooking the front yard. He turned to Amaka. ‘Did you bring it?’ he said.
Amaka looked at Yellowman. Light from the window cut across his body from the shoulders down. In the shadow, his neck and face were a pale grey. He held his hands behind his back where he stood a couple of metres away but still within earshot. She looked at Ambrose. ‘Can we be alone?’ she said.
Ambrose gestured to Yellowman and the tall figure withdrew into the shadow. Amaka waited to hear the door shut, then she turned to Ambrose.
‘I have a confession to make. I don’t have the memory card but he doesn’t know that. You just have to tell him exactly what I described to you and he’ll be convinced you’ve seen the videos. He’ll have no choice but to withdraw his candidacy. I can deal with him as a civilian, but if he becomes governor, he’ll be too powerful and he’ll have immunity.’
‘Immunity does not mean he cannot be investigated. Gani Fawehinmi vs Inspector General of Police. 2002.’
‘You’re a lawyer?’
‘No. I am a politician. But I know the law when it affects me. How did you lose the memory card?’
‘My handbag was stolen at Oshodi. It was in it.’
‘I see.’ He looked larger in the darkness. He leant on the window ledge and crossed his arms. ‘In that case, the information is useless. What if he calls my bluff? What if there is no video? I mean, I know the man is a dog, but the things you described are unbelievable even from me.’ Amaka was about to talk. He put up his hand. ‘And what if we want him to run? Have you considered that?’
He turned to the window. Outside, beyond the compound’s fence, empty plots of fenced-off land stretched out next to rows of houses in different stages of construction.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Everything you see belongs to me. Buildings, land, roads, everything. But one small boy can come and become governor and say that government has revoked my allocation and just like that I lose it all. That is power. All this land you see, the land on which this house is built, it is all allocation. This is how I have made my money, from government allocation, and I do not want to lose it. This is called stake. This is my stake. What is your stake in this? You say you don’t want him to be governor. You say because he’s a bad person; he does bad things to little girls. But I’m not convinced. There must be more to this. This is personal.
‘You say you can’t tell me how you got your hands on the things on his phone, but now that he’s running for governor you want to use the evidence to destroy him. I think you’re afraid that any time he thinks of his governorship bid, he thinks of you as well. You stole from him and now he wants back what you took.
‘Protection, I think that is what you really want. Am I correct?’ He peered into her eyes above the rim of his glasses. ‘My answer is yes. You can join our party. Now, normally we would take you to a shrine where you will swear before a babalawo, but that wouldn’t work on you because you, you know it is all bullshit. The second option is to get your hands dirty. That is what you will have to do.
‘You will be one of my moneybag men. You see, rigging is a leaky business. For every million you spend, only a few thousand gets to the intended recipients. That is why we lost the last election; our own people were stealing the money meant to buy us votes. You will personally handle the dispersal of funds. You will carry the bribe to the INEC officials who can either accept it or hand you over to SSS if they’ve already been bought by the opposition. Can you do this, knowing who your father is?
‘But even that only buys you membership. For what you really want, for my protection, you have to do something else for me.’
38
The crickets chirped from all directions. The moon was full beneath thick clouds, and a breeze blew warm air.
O
jo and Shehu stood by Otunba’s stretch limousine, which was idling in the middle of six other cars, armed men behind their darkened windows. The old man was alone in the back seat, his window down and his arm over the door as he spoke to the two men standing with hands behind their backs.
‘Shehu, are you staying here tonight?’ Otunba asked. ‘You can send someone to go and bring your things from your house.’
‘No, sir. But thank you for the invitation. Alhaja is expecting me home tonight.’
‘They can bring her here too. This is the safest place you can both be right now.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be alright, sir.’
‘You’ll be alright?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And what about you, Olabisi? Are you staying here?’
‘I will ask Matilda, sir.’
‘You will ask Matilda. All right. Both of you be here by seven am. We have a lot of work to do tomorrow.’ Otunba retreated into the dark interior of the limousine and the three-inch-thick bulletproof glass window slid up.
The gates opened and the cars rolled out of the compound. Shehu and Ojo remained standing under the dark sky, the sound of the crickets louder now that the cars had left.
‘Can you imagine him asking you to stay here as if you are a child,’ Ojo said.
‘He was only concerned for our safety,’ Shehu said.
‘No, Shehu. It is about control. See how we were standing like schoolboys reporting to the headmaster. He knows what he’s doing. That is what he expects would continue to happen when I become governor.’
‘You expect different?’
‘Forget it. You know what, Shehu, I want to take you somewhere really special.’