Easy Motion Tourist (21 page)

At the Lagos State Police Command Centre in Ikeja, on the mainland, an incident report officer took a call by hitting a button on the keyboard in front of her.

The caller identified himself as an undercover officer. His call sign and number checked out. The female officer greeted him by the name that flashed up on her screen, above a picture of his face. He was reporting a violent altercation in his assignment area; he’d been part of a group of men hired by a certain crook called Catch-Fire, in anticipation of an attack. He had no information on why Catch-Fire thought he was going to be attacked or who the aggressors were, only that the attack had been imminent.

The offensive happened sooner than expected. A group of gunmen stormed the house. Shots were still being fired. He had never seen anything like it, and he was still there, watching from afar. The aggressors were heavily armed with sophisticated weapons. He recognised a car snatcher that went by the name Knockout – he didn’t know his real name.

‘Any known affiliates?’ she asked, referring to Knockout.

‘Go-Slow, his partner, and Chucks of Matori. But they are not here.’

‘Any casualties?’

‘Not confirmed.’

‘Current status?’

‘Still hot.’

‘Are you requesting backup?’

‘No, just reporting.’

‘OK. Try not to get killed.’

She had been typing all the time, recording the information on a central database that grew each day but faster by night. She did a quick search to see if there were any patrols in the area of the gun battle; she would warn them to stay clear of the vicinity – warring criminals armed with machine guns were not worth any police officer’s life. Next, she checked the names she had typed against the ‘persons of interest’ column on the details of every police branch in Lagos. The record for Bar Beach police station flagged red. She clicked the row to see what the connection was. The name Chucks appeared on her screen. She saved the details she had recorded and cleared her screen for the next call.

Chucks rode in the back, between two policemen. Inspector Ibrahim sat in the passenger seat while Saliu drove. The officers discussed an upcoming Arsenal match while they drove to a motel room in Alagbado, on the outskirts of town.

‘Would you like anything from the kitchen or the bar?’ Ibrahim asked.

Chucks shook his head.

‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘No, sir.’

‘OK. Please, take a seat. I’ll be back soon.’

Two officers sat on adjacent chairs facing him. One of them picked up a thumbed copy of Vogue and flipped through it. The other played a noisy game on his mobile phone.

Ibrahim asked the sleepy girl behind the counter downstairs if he could smoke inside. She said he could smoke in his room or outside. In the little compound outside the building he fetched the packet of cigarettes he had sent an officer to buy. It was the first he’d had in six months. He closed his eyes and drew in the smoke. He had promised his wife he would quit. He made a mental note to buy a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste to keep at the station.

He took Chucks to the motel because he didn’t want word of his arrest to get out. He had been instructed to solve the case of the murdered girl and Chucks was his only lead. He would use him to flush out all his accomplices without arousing any suspicion. After his second cigarette, he checked the time. He called the police commissioner, hoping the man would be sleeping. At least then his phone would show that Ibrahim had tried to contact him.

‘Hello, Ibrahim, you have news for me?’

‘Sir, we have apprehended a suspect who was in possession of the car involved in the homicide.’

‘Have you caught the killer?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Call me when you have.’

Ibrahim returned to the room and his officers stood to attention. Chucks followed suit.

‘Please, sit down. How are you?’

Chucks tried to talk but his mouth was dry and his tongue seemed to have glued to his palate.

‘I hope you like this room. It was very difficult getting a hotel at this time of the night. Do you like this place? Should we go somewhere else?’

‘It is OK, sir.’

‘Are you a police officer?’

‘Sir?’

‘Are you a police officer?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So, why are you calling me sir?’

‘I am sorry, sir.’

‘Look, Chucks, I’m sorry that we tricked you in order to bring you here. You have to forgive me. Do you forgive me? You see, my boy Saliu that you have been bribing, he works for me, first. All the money you have given him has been paid into the account of the Nigerian Police Force. You know that bribing a policeman is an offence?’

Chucks swallowed.

‘We will come to that later. There are a few things you must know. First, nobody knows you have been arrested, except me, Saliu, and the officers here with us. That means I can release you if I want to and it would be like this never happened. Do you understand?’

Chucks nodded.

‘I want you to do something for me, just a little favour. Do you think you can do that for me Chucks?’

‘What sir?’ He hoped the man would ask him for a big bribe.

‘I want you to tell me about the girl killed in front of Ronnie’s Bar yesterday.’

‘Ehn? Girl? What girl, sir?’

‘You know what I’m talking about, Chucks. The girl killed for rituals yesterday.’

‘Rituals? I don’t know anything about any ritual, sir.’

‘Chucks, I’m sure you’re a reasonable man. I know you probably had a little part to play in it. It is not you I’m after, but the people you work for.’

‘Sir, I don’t work for anyone, sir. I swear I do not know anything about any ritual.’

‘Come on, Chucks, the car that was used to dump the girl’s body was found in your yard a few hours ago. You cannot tell me you don’t know anything about it.’

‘Sir, I swear on my life, I don’t know anything about any girl or any ritual.’

‘You don’t know anything?’

‘No, sir, I swear. I don’t know anything about any ritual or any girl. I only deal in cars. Ask Saliu.’

‘It’s a pity you don’t want to cooperate.’

Ibrahim stood and left the room and Sergeant Hot-Temper walked in through the open door.

‘Is this the bastard? Bring him.’

Chucks recoiled at the sight of this new person. He was taken down the corridor to another room. Hot-Temper told the policeman accompanying him to leave and took charge of the prisoner. He pushed Chucks into the room, stepped in behind him and slammed the door.

The furniture had been pulled back. The bed had been lifted off the floor and was leaning against the wall. A single chair stood in its place and loose rope lay at its feet. Police officers began rolling up their sleeves.

‘Customer,’ an officer said, ‘come and sit on your throne.’

Chucks balked. Warm urine ran down his legs.

‘Please, please, don’t do this. I’m begging you in Jesus’ name, please don’t do this.’

‘You don’t know me?’ Hot-Temper said. ‘I am Sergeant Hot-Temper. You must have heard of me. I am not like Inspector Ibrahim. Me, I don’t waste time. You will tell me what I want to know, sharp-sharp.’

They gripped Chucks, forced him to the chair and held him down. Ropes fell over his face and tightened around his body. He shook uncontrollably.

The men finished securing him to the chair and stood back to admire their work.

‘We are going to play a little game,’ Hot-Temper said. ‘It is called Know-your-mother. Are you ready?’

Inspector Ibrahim walked in.

‘What are you boys doing?’ He looked alarmed. ‘You don’t need to do this, he is going to cooperate.’

‘You will cooperate?’ Hot-Temper said.

‘Yes, yes. I will cooperate. I will cooperate.’

‘Oga, let us soften him up a bit,’ Hot-Temper said.

‘No need for that. Take him back to his room. He is a good boy. He will cooperate.’

Once he started, Chucks didn’t stop talking. Yes, the car was stolen, but no, not at his request. The car was snatched by two boys, Knockout and Go-Slow. Yes, he had collected stolen vehicles from them in the past. No, he did not think they were part of a bigger gang.

He paid them two hundred thousand for the car. He had told them he wanted nothing to do with the vehicle but they begged him to take it off them. He did not know if they killed the girl or used the car to dump her body but he would not put anything past them. He knew where they lived. He could take the policemen there.

‘What about the blood in the car?’ Inspector Ibrahim said.

‘I don’t know anything about any blood. I haven’t even inspected the car. If I’d seen any blood I wouldn’t have accepted it.’

Ibrahim believed him. He called the station on his radio.

‘Run these names on the system. Knockout and Go-Slow.’

The officer didn’t have to. She had been listening to the traffic on the radio in the communications room all night and had received the signal from the command centre. She pulled up Chucks’s updated record and gave the inspector a third name, Catch-Fire, then she told him about the gun-fight at Surulere.

Ibrahim asked the officer to stand by. He turned to Chucks.

‘Do you know any Catch-Fire?’

‘Catch-Fire? No, sir.’

Ibrahim studied him then he continued with his call.

‘What is the status at the location?’

‘Hot sir. Very hot.’

He turned a nub on his gadget. The radio went silent.

‘Chucks, you will do one more thing for me tonight.’

Trapped behind their van, the brothers chanted spells and returned to the battle. They could leave, crawl in the open gutter behind them and climb out down the road where they could snatch a car. But Knockout’s bill had swollen and he had to pay them tonight. If he was in the building, they had to go inside. They only hoped he was still alive.

Crouched against the wall, under jagged edges of glass, the girls snorted cocaine and took turns to raise their guns above the parapet and shoot into the street below. Catch-Fire had told them that these killers sent for him would kill them too, after raping them with the barrels of their guns.

A girl lay motionless on her back, on a bed of broken glass, gripping her left arm where blood from a gun-shot wound was soaking its way through cloth. She was breathing heavily through her mouth, staring up at nothing. Her sister, sprawled by her side, shook her and shouted.

Another girl, pressing bullets into a magazine, looked at them. ‘She need bandage.’ She rammed it into the gun. ‘Go ask Catch-Fire.’

The sister crawled through the door into the corridor, mouthing the Lord’s Prayer, and continued to Catch-Fire’s room where she stopped when she heard voices.

‘Shoot him, please, shoot him,’ Catch-Fire said from the ground. ‘Please, shoot him now.’

Go-Slow kept his gun aimed at his friend’s head. ‘Sharap.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Knockout said. His pistols were pointed at Go-Slow.

‘I came to see Catch-Fire. What are you doing here?’

‘I also came to see him.’

‘With guns and thugs?’

Knockout had often made his friend angry, so he knew what Go-Slow was like when he was in a temper. He recognised the look on his face and it had nothing to do with anger. He had only seen that look a few times: always when they were about to kill someone Go-Slow would rather they didn’t kill.

He held his friend’s gaze, slowly moving his finger to the trigger. He knew that if he was too quick, Go-Slow would notice and make his own move even quicker.

Something warm and hard pressed into his neck. Without dropping his hands he saw the gun out of the corner of his eye, and the girl holding it. The rest of them were crowded onto the corridor, sweating, looking vicious, and pointing their weapons at him.

He grimaced, expecting to die from the girl’s bullet or from his friend’s. But Go-Slow didn’t shoot. Knockout could still fire and take the big guy down, but why waste his last shot on a pal? He felt the muzzle press deeper into his throat. He smiled and braced himself for a bullet to tear through his neck, but not before he would swing round and shoot as many prostitutes as he could.

‘Everybody, freeze.’ The brothers, led by One-Nation, pointed their weapons at the girls.

Go-Slow scooped Catch-Fire from the ground and held him
in a neck choke. He pressed his gun hard against Catch-Fire’s head to make sure he got a reaction.

Catch-Fire’s body shook. ‘You are with them.’

‘I am not with them,’ Go-Slow said. ‘I am not with anyone. I just want to get out of this place alive. Tell your girls to drop their weapons.’

‘You want to kill me?’

‘Nobody is going to kill anybody. Just tell them to drop their weapons. Now. And you, Knockout, tell your men it is over. We are going to work this thing out.’

‘Go-Slow, you too?’ Catch-Fire said. ‘You are with them. You have also come to kill me.’

‘If you want to end this night alive, tell your girls to lower their weapons or I will shoot you myself. You too, Kanayo.’

The brothers, Knockout, Go-Slow, and Catch-Fire (who had Go-Slow’s gun against his temple), backed out of Catch-Fire’s house, escorted by the girls, who were still pointing their guns at the guns pointed at them.

A boy dozing on a bench on Knockout’s road, outside his family’s tyre repair business, heard a vehicle approaching and prayed it would drive over one of the rotten oranges he had stuck with nails.

The bus stopped in front of Knockout’s bungalow and six men with guns jumped out and ran towards the building. The door yielded to the force of a sledge-hammer and the men rushed in.

In another part of the city, another van arrived at the address they had for Go-Slow: a well-kept block of flats on a tarred road in Maryland. One of them walked to the building. He kept his pistol out of sight under his shirt. He found a sleeping
watchman behind the locked gate and rattled the chains on the padlock to wake him.

‘Yes? What is it?’ the old man said, yawning and stretching while he began to slap at the mosquitoes that had found exposed flesh on his neck.

‘I am looking for Go-Slow.’

‘Go-Slow? You mean, traffic jam?’

‘No. My friend, we call him Go-Slow. He told me to come and find him here when I arrive in Lagos?’

‘There is no one bearing that name here. You know his name? The one his parents gave him?’

‘I don’t remember, but he is very tall, and large. And darker than me but not as light as you.’

‘Oh, OK. There is one tall man who used to stay here but they chased him away a long time ago. He was not paying his rent on time. It has been long since he packed out of this building. He didn’t tell you he has moved?’

‘No. He gave me this address. I just arrived in Lagos this night. I am supposed to stay with him. Can you remind me of his name? The one that moved out?’

‘I think it is Ali, or Akpan, or Akin. It is something like that. It starts with A, but I can’t remember. But he must be the one. All the other men that stay here are very short, like me. When last did you speak to him?’

‘Just yesterday.’

‘Why would he lie to you like that when he knows they have driven him from this place? Anyway, I cannot expect anything better from a shameless man that refuses to pay his rent. One pastor is renting the flat he used to stay in. The man is not a nice man; if he was I would have taken you to him so you can explain
your situation – maybe he would let you sleep there till morning.’

‘No, it’s all right. I will be OK. So he left here a long time ago?’

‘Yes. If you have his number you can call him. Maybe his new house is not far from here. Maybe that is why he told you to come here. Call him. Tell him Baba Segi is greeting him.’

‘I’ve tried. He’s not answering his phone.’

‘Why is he doing this to you? I told you, he is a shameless man, if it is the same man we are talking about. Where does he expect you to sleep this night? Do you have any place you can go? Or can you manage here with me?’ The old man pointed at his worn mat on the concrete floor behind the gate.

‘It’s all right, I’ll be OK. Do you have any idea where he moved to?’

‘I don’t know, but if you come back in the morning, the building manager will be around, maybe he would know. Are you sure you don’t want to stay here with me?’

‘No, thank you baba.’

The man left to converse with his mates.

Once their car was out of sight, the old night guard went up to the building and pressed the bell to Go-Slow’s flat.

The men looked under Knockout’s bed and in his wardrobe. The bed was undone, there was semen in a condom left on the lid of a bin, and stew in a pot on the kerosene cooker that had not gone bad. Someone lived there, but there were no pictures on the walls or albums in drawers.

Outside, the boy watched. He dialled Knockout’s number from memory, waited till the call was answered, said ‘They are here,’ then deleted the phone’s call log.

The brothers got into their van last, after Go-Slow, Catch-Fire, and Knockout. The girls surrounded the vehicle. Kekere sat on pieces of glass and turned the key in the ignition. The engine did not make a sound. He tried again and got a click.

Catch-Fire, sandwiched between One-Love and Go-Slow, was shaking and crying. ‘Please, just let me go, please.’

Kekere tried again and the engine roared. The silencers had taken bullets. With two flat tyres and no windows, he began to drive. He struggled with the steering to keep the vehicle straight and he kept his head low, expecting shots.

‘We have to get rid of this car,’ Go-Slow said from the rear. ‘Yes,’ replied One-Nation. He turned to Knockout in the middle row, between the brothers Oscar and Romeo. ‘And this car will cost you three hundred thousand.’

Go-Slow’s phone rang. It was his wife. As he took the call, Knockout’s phone also began to ring. Go-Slow returned the phone to his pocket. ‘Chineke,’ Knockout shouted. ‘I cannot go back home. Some men have just gone to my house with guns.’

‘Police?’ One-Love asked.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it is Chief Amadi. He sent me to kill Catch-Fire. He has sent people to kill me too.’

‘Chief Amadi sent you to kill Catch-Fire?’ Go-Slow said.

‘Yes. He said we can join his business once we take care of Catch-Fire.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Who is this Chief Amadi?’ One-Love asked.

‘He is a killer,’ Catch-Fire said. ‘He tried to poison me today. We must kill him or he will kill all of us.’

‘Why does he want to kill you?’ One-Nation asked.

‘I was doing business with him before, ritual business. Human spare parts. I know all his secrets. That’s why he wants to kill me, and kill Knockout. He is a very wicked man. He will find all of you and he won’t stop until he kills everybody. We must kill him first.’

One-Love leaned forward and placed an arm on Knockout’s shoulder. ‘Friend, you did not tell us any of this. This kind of job is worth a lot more than we charged you.’

Knockout did not bother calculating what he now owed. His mind was on how Chief Amadi had made him look like a fool.

‘How much did he pay you to kill Catch-Fire?’ Go-Slow said.

One-Love turned to look at Knockout. ‘We would all like to know. How much did you collect?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You mean nothing yet or nothing at all?’ One-Love said.

‘I told you, nothing. He said I should call him after I have killed the boy. Maybe then he would pay me.’

Listening to them discuss his assassination made Catch-Fire uneasy. ‘You have to call him now and tell him you have killed me,’ he said, then recited a silent prayer to ward off bad luck from speaking about his own death. ‘Ask him where to meet him. We will all go there and kill him.’

‘That is a good plan,’ Go-Slow said.

One-Love thought about it. ‘Tell him you haven’t killed Catch- Fire. Tell him you have kept him in a safe place and he must bring ten million naira with him or else Catch-Fire will go to the police.’

‘How will we share the money?’ Knockout said.

‘When we have calculated how much you owe us, we will divide the rest equally.’

‘But will we kill him?’ Catch-Fire asked.

They all turned to look at him, even Kekere who was driving. Catch-Fire wasn’t going to get a share of the money, he probably knew that and he probably didn’t care so long as Amadi was killed.

‘We will kill him,’ Knockout said.