by Tope Oluwole
When Larry strolled past the entrance of the currency point, a brown-skinned woman with a floral print, silk scarf around her head, reached out and pulled him into the currency point.
Before Larry had a chance to react, she asked him, "How do I process?" Then she pointed to the Bit-Cash machine. Larry found himself surrounded by three young boys. One looked about five years old, the next about two or three, and the third sat in a baby carriage. Larry froze trying to hide his fear. After a long pause, Larry said, "Okay."
She pulled him by the forehand and nudged her boys out of the way. Larry felt himself move closer. Her perfume filled his nostrils, burning his sinuses. "How do I process?" She asked again.
Larry could feel the trickles of sweat roll down from his armpits even though the air condition was on. When he looked to the screen, Larry realized that the interface had just the bottom third of the screen visible. The text on rest of the display had been squished down.
"There is your problem," Larry said to her. He pointed to the screen. "The display is...cut off." She came closer and put a hand behind her ear, while waving down at her boys with the other. "You have to place your thumb..." Larry motioned with his thumb towards the reader. "...next to the display."
Her blank stare made Larry repeat his thumb motion, and then repeat much slower, "you have to...PLACE...your THUMB...on the READER." Larry moved his thumb over the reader and pressed down towards it, but without making contact. After seeing the grime layered on the display, Larry grimaced. He then pulled out a tiny sanitizer wand, and waved the neon-red stick over both his hands.
Her eyes opened wide and she smiled and nodded. Brushing by Larry, she pressed her thumb down on the reader. The currency point's operating system asked for her card. She passed Larry the clear green, microchip-embedded card, with her image in it.
Larry inserted the card. "Welcome Fatima Blanc," flash across the visible part of the display. Larry studied Fatima as she watched the screen. Fatima appeared older than Larry had first thought. She looked like she had seen life. Still, her unblemished skin showed she didn't abuse herself with suspect skin toning ointments.
Which account?" Fatima asked. Larry snapped out of his daydream to see Fatima staring at him, and her two-year-old scurrying around and through her legs. Larry, without replying, pressed the topmost button on the display with his knuckle. The operating system asked for an amount, which Fatima entered with the on-screen keypad. After a few seconds of processing, the display flashed, "Insufficient Funds," across the display. Fatima's face dropped. Larry paused, then said, "Try a smaller amount." Fatima looked back at Larry, her eyes downcast. Nevertheless, she entered a different amount. A few more seconds and "Insufficient Funds" appeared again. Fatima backed from the machine and began scratching her hair through her scarf, with a look of panic on her face.
"Let me," Larry said, and then tried again. After they both saw the insufficient funds message a third time, Larry pressed the cancel button on the display. As Larry passed Fatima's card back to her, he said, "I'm sorry, maybe..." He trailed off. Fatima's eyes darted around looking cornered and wanting to escape. After some time, Fatima took back her card.
Fatima forced a smile. Her oldest boy appeared to take it as a sign that something had gone wrong. He grabbed his younger brother and congregated around their mother's legs. Larry blushed, and without another word, turned around and walked out of the currency point. Fatima put her hands on her boys and stared at Larry. Her eyes began to water.
Larry walked back out into the hot New Lagos air, which engulfed him like a sauna. He hesitated. After about a minute or two, Fatima exited with her boys. She pulled the shade of the carriage down to shield the blazing sun from her youngest son. Larry spied Fatima.
"Where...where are you going to?" Larry asked. "Maybe we could share a hover-taxi."
New Lagos Terminus," Fatima replied, without making eye contact with Larry. "I can't even afford a ground taxi." Fatima pulled her two older boys towards her and pointed the carriage west. "Thank you sha." Before Fatima could leave, Larry pulled out one of his digital business cards and thrust it at her.
My name is Larry," he said. Fatima stepped and watched Larry for a moment, her eyes studying him. After a few seconds, Fatima plucked the card from Larry's hand.
"What is a Municipal...Auto-ma-tion...Analyst?" Fatima asked with a frown. Larry laughed. "Did I say a joke?" Fatima scowled.
Larry coughed his way out of the laugh. "Urgmmm, I was just thinking, I spend more time with machines than people. So, I don't really know how to..."
"...deal with women that do not behave like your machines?" Fatima asked. Larry turned red. "No wife, or girlfriend to train you?" Fatima continued. Larry blushed even more. "Fatima is my name," she said. Larry watched Fatima smile, wiping away all her despair and pain. "Thank you for stopping to helping me." Fatima prostrated slightly and then pushed the stroller off, beckoning her two older sons. "Ma-bo."
Larry watched Fatima stride down the street with her boys. He started to turn toward the opposite direction, back to his office, but didn't. He watched Fatima get smaller, and smaller into the distance, unless the city throng swallowed her up.
Larry hailed a hover-taxi and took a short ride back to the Ministry of Defense annex in Ikeja. The lunch time traffic was light, so he would make it back just in time.
The hover taxi landed in front of the gates of the Ministry of Defense annex. Larry swiped his municipal credit card through the meter reader on the side of the partition in front of him. The taxi driver grinned at the generous tip. "Thank you sa."
"You're welcome," Larry said, and opened the door of the taxi. He felt overwhelmed by the intense heat that blanketed him once he left the air conditioned sanctuary. The smell of boli, a baked plantain delicacy, wafted into his nostril, and made him sigh. Too bad he was allergic to plantain.
Larry scurried toward the security checkpoint where a large, but fit female guard in military fatigues sat in a windowed booth. Two military police robots stood with weapons drawn at either end of a security tunnel next to the booth. The sensor at the top of the booth already scanned Larry by the time he stepped through the security tunnel. The female guard smiled once she recognized Larry. She then reviewed a skeletal image of Larry one of her displays, and a thermographic view of him on another. A meter before Larry reached the robots at the end of the portal, the quard's display flashed, "APPROVED". The laser mesh on the other end of the portal vanished.
When Larry arrived back at his cube, there was a digital note waiting for him. It read, "Oga wants to see you." Larry frowned and then took the stairs one floor up.
He arrived at the terrazzo and wood-finished reception area. It was decorated with plush brown leather sofas and multi-channel displays, showing various news and financial feeds. Larry expected to see one of several young women at the executive office manager station, but none were present.
Larry shoulders dropped. He turned towards the office door of his general manager. When Larry approached the door he heard soft female giggling, and then a deeper male laugh. Larry walked straight towards a robot dressed in a black suit, shirt, and tie. When Larry got close enough, the robot put out its right hand. Larry stopped. The robot turned its head to one side, and said, "Oga, he has arrived."
The robot's hand lowered half a meter, so Larry proceeded forward. Without warning, the robot's hand locked on to Larry's shirt and held him in place. The robot appeared to be listening, and the blue light under its right ear flashed. Now the robot spoke with the voice of Larry's general manager. "Larry! Thank you for coming on such short notification. Your work with the environmental robots has been brought to my attention. His excellency and I are quite impressed with what you have been able to accomplish with such short tenure."
"Thank you sa," Larry responded, with his gaze down towards the robots chest, as if he were in front of the oga himself. Through the ajar door Larry could smell the aroma of fresh puff-puff with cinnamon.
"I have a favor to ask you Larry," the general manager continued. "I need to oversee some updates to the environmental robots I specified in my communique."
"Yes, sa. I read it," Larry answered. "However, environmental robots in civilian zones are prohibited from combat-related modifications. Unless, of course, such modifications are authorized by the governor during a state-of-emergency."
The robot continued. "Larry, you have nothing to worry about. These robots will be accompanying his excellency to compliment his security team during his visit to Abuja later this month."
"Is his excellency going to request more vaccine for New Lagos?" Larry asked.
"For reasons of federal security, I cannot disclose more. But let us just pray for his safety. You know how the northerners feel about New Lagos. They will do whatever it takes to see New Lagos, and its leader finished by this outbreak. Can I count on you Larry?"
Larry stood for a moment.
"Larry...," the general manager started. "Don't worry, your loyalty will be rewarded."
"It's not that sa," Larry said.
"Listen Larry," the general manager said, "hundreds of thousands of Lagosians are counting on his excellency to get more vaccine for the virus. His excellency is counting on me...and I am now counting on you."
CHAPTER 3
Blue Cheese
By 6:30 a.m., the Maiduguri Police had already canvassed the scene of the crashed vehicle with floating caution bulbs. Curious on-lookers, now out of their vehicles, brought the morning commute to a crawl.
Special Inspector Morefishco pulled into the scene in the passenger seat of a police cruiser driven by a young, Nigerian Police Force (NPF) cadet. The clean-shaven, Hausa man had been assigned to get Morefishco wherever his investigation took him. This was per Morefishco's orders from the Force Intelligence and Investigation Bureau (FIIB), with the cooperation of the Inspector General of Police and Maiduguri Police Command. A few NPF officers pulverized unauthorized mobile media cameras with scatter guns. Morefishco grinned as he watched.
Morefishco's police cruiser reached the first two caution bulbs, marking the entrance to the main scene. A corporal and a sergeant, looking past his prime, stepped in front of the police cruiser. The older man, his girth struggling with the limits of his faded, black uniform, banged on the hood of the cruiser with the butt of his scatter gun. The Hausa cadet stopped the police cruiser and appeared to recognize the older man as he came around to Morefishco's window.
"No tourists allowed! Show me your particulars!" The red-eyed sergeant demanded. Morefishco whipped out his identification card with its embedded crest. The sergeant snatched the card, and reviewed it. "Inspector More-fish..."
"That's Mo-ree-fish-cou, F-I-I-B," Morefishco said. "Usually, this pea-green suit with the shiny lapel pins are a dead giveaway."
The old sergeant looked at the bony White man with the American cowboy hat, who outranked him. Morefishco watched an overweight policeman ponder a way out of his arrogance, without losing face.
"I...I just needed to verify them, Inspector," the sergeant said. Morefishco paused for a moment, maintaining eye contact with the sergeant, and then nodded. The sergeant sweated as he swiped Morefishco's identification through a portable scanner. The corporal swallowed once the scanner confirmed Morefishco's credentials.
Both policemen pushed aside the floating caution bulbs to let Morefishco's police cruiser through. Once inside the perimeter, Morefishco got out of the police cruiser, and then followed the trail of burnt grass and bush.
To the left of the impact site a team of medical technicians were pushing carnal transport units towards their ambulances. Few municipalities in New Lagos could afford the newer hover-ambulances. However, the University of Maiduguri was now globally recognized for medical studies so their endowment allowed such cooperation with the local area government entities.
"Hold on!" Morefishco flipped out his identification as he approach them. Just then, a man who was older than anyone else, in civilian clothes, turned around from studying the charred remains of a vehicle, as did the younger NPF officer next to him.
"Inspector Morefishco!" The older man called out. He smiled and walked forward with a slight limp. The junior policeman frowned. The older man, dressed in a custom-tailored, three-piece suit, took Morefishco's hand and shook it. "Welcome to Maiduguri! I am acting Inspector General Haruna Ibrahim. We have been expecting you."
Morefishco immediately bowed himself to the elder man, even though as an oyinbo from the United States, he wouldn't have been expected to. "Good morning alhaji," Morefishco greeted Ibrahim. Ibrahim laughed.
"Ah-aah! No need for that, no need o!" Ibrahim gestured with his hands upwards. Morefishco lifted himself up. "How was your train ride from New Lagos?" Ibrahim asked. Before Morefishco could respond, Ibrahim continued, "The new mag-lev train is quite something, eh?"
"It's amazing what government can do when it puts its mind to it," Morefishco replied.
"And its hands out of it," Ibrahim finshed.
"Well, Nigeria is what America used to be, and America is what Nigeria used to be," the junior policeman interjected. "Then all the oyinbos flocked to New Lagos like rats when Nigeria was dashing residency to any one who could spell 'refugee'!"
Ibrahim interlocked his arm with Morefishco's and walked him towards the medical technicians and the carnal transporter. "Don't mind Inspector Majekodumi. He is not young enough to appreciate Aso Rock's position on immigration, and is not old enough to appreciate the historical irony, like you and I can."
You cannot even breathe in New Lagos, with all the guest workers, refugees, and immigrants," Majekodumi ranted. "There are more oyinbos in New Lagos than Lagosians. Before you know it, Maiduguri will be stinking of them too."
"People wanted Americapitalism. They got their wish," Morefishco said. He could now smell the charred flesh amidst the crisp morning air of the bush.
"I plan on returning to visit Ground Zero, U-S-A one day, once things settle down a bit." Ibrahim said.
Morefishco looked out to the western sky for a few seconds. "Amen."
Morning critters scattered before Morefishco and Ibrahim's footfalls. When Morefishco and Ibrahim reached the carnal transporter, Morefishco looked to Ibrahim. "May I?"
"Of course, of course!" Ibrahim replied. After grabbing a pair of gloves from one of the medical technicians, Morefishco pushed the lever to retract the cover of the carnal transport. He recoiled as the decay odor threatened to overpower him. Morefishco covered his mouth and nose with his hand. Majekodumi grinned.
"Is that not what New Lagos smells like?" Majekodumi asked. Morefishco looked around. No one else seemed to be affected by the smell. "Coming from New Lagos, I did not expect you would need nasal filters," Majekodumi said. At this Ibrahim clenched his jaw.
"Inspector Majekodumi!" Ibrahim said. "You will extend Special Inspector Morefishco every courtesy while he is our honored colleague in Maiduguri. Is that understood?" Everyone, including Morefishco, gave Ibrahim their undivided attention. "You can begin by providing him with all the data of this incident that we have so far," Ibrahim said.
"Yes sa!" Majekodumi replied. He came to attention. "Unidentified male, single vehicle accident. Body burnt beyond visual identification. No other details at this time."
"Where was the body discovered?" Morefishco asked. Majekodumi extended his hand back toward the path of scarred vegetation the vehicle had left in its wake. "Show me," Morefishco said. Ibrahim nodded to Majekodumi in approval, who in turn led Morefishco toward the charred remains of a hover-car, which was still smoldering. Morefishco began coughing as the fumes burned his throat.
"Take!" Majekodumi pulled nasal filters out of his pocket and passed them back to Morefishco. "You can see the random trail of the hover-car from the main road," Majekodumi said. "He was probably sleeping at the steering."
Morefishco nodded while observing the carnage. "Maybe." He noticed the gouges in the marsh were deeper in some parts of the trail of
the hover-car than others.
Ibrahim caught up with Morefishco. "But you do not agree with Inspector Majekodumi," he said. The men continued until they reached the hover-car. Morefishco stood next to the front of the hover-car where it rested at the base of a thick collection of palm trees.
"Well, it's not impossible," Morefishco said. "Except people that fall asleep at the helm usually don't make so many turns."
"None of the safety systems engaged," Majekodumi said, and began gesturing with a gloved hand at the disengaged passive restraints.
No foam residue either," Morefishco added. Majekodumi looked at Morefishco.
"How do you know?" Majekodumi asked. "It could have burnt in the fire."
Ibrahim received a call on his PDA. He took the call, and then waved farewell to Morefishco. Morefishco and Majekodumi watched Ibrahim walk in the direction of the sergeant and corporal that had let Morefishco into the scene. The breeze blew more fumes in Morefishco's direction, bringing his attention back to Majekodumi.
See that sticky black stuff all over the grass." Morefishco pointed to what could have been mistaken for elephant dung. "That's how I know." A ripple in the frame of the hover-car caught Morefishco's attention. Walking towards it he noticed the blackened carbon fiber pieces of the a-pillar. He pulled the driver's door off its mount, not having to work very hard. After getting on his hands and tiptoes, he glanced below the navigation control and into the footwell.
Morefishco twisted his body to let more daylight into the footwell. All he could smell was the combination of burnt rubber and plastic. Below the navigational controls were twisted carbon fiber, and a collection of homeless, color-coded wires. "Where's the black box?" Morefishco grumbled.
"Black box"? Majekodumi asked. Meanwhile Morefishco pushed himself off the ground, and then wiped his dress shoes with one of his gloved hands. When Majekodumi saw the flushed face of Morefishco, he snickered.