₦airaland Forum

***

Jennifer descended the stairs into the large living room where the invited guests had all gathered. She was wearing a black, knitted sequins dress she’d purchased on ebay a month ago and never worn yet. It came down mid-thigh and was tight at all the right places. Her feet were encased in four-inch heels and legs in striped paint-splatter knee length socks. She looked lovely even when she wasn’t trying. She could see Bayo and his fiancée Idara on the couch taking pictures with a SAMSUNG tablet. Theresa loved dancing. She and her boyfriend Tunde had already opened the floor. She hugged them all and made small talk with them before she headed to the kitchen to meet Andy who’d just returned with the birthday cake. There had been a little mix up at the bakery which Andy had to go straighten out.

Jennifer’s decoration was the first awe of the occasion. Everyone in the room knew of Jennifer’s knack for decorating, but she had surpassed herself tonight.

Okay, it wasn’t much for Chika’s birthday than it was for her date with Banks. She’d put her heart into it and she knew he’d love it. He always admired her knack for creating beauty. Hadn’t he let her paint his studio by herself?

She smiled at the thought as she entered the wide and clean kitchen. Andy stood with a delivery man signing a delivery voucher. The cake was on the kitchen table. It was a Devil’s food cake with milk chocolate frosting and blueberries. It had a single candle stick on top, and the number twenty-three which was Chika’s age was designed on it. It had definitely set his pockets back some.

“Wow, Andy! It’s beautiful! She’ll definitely love it!” Jennifer was excited and went closer for a better look.

“Looks yummy enough… Can’t wait to eat it…” Andy said chuckling. “Where is she?” he asked referring to Chika.

“She’s upstairs dressing up. Every other person is here except Banks. Bayo brought a case of spirits while Tunde thought it wise to bring some palm wine for you guys.”

That got Andy amused. “He said he was bringing the beer.”

“There is a cooler full of Becks if that is what you mean. The wines and the rest of the refreshments are in the deep freezer.”

“Banks should be here working the grill by now. But I’ll fire it up if he doesn’t get here on time like he said. Has the police called?”

“Yes. They are sending one patrol team.” Jennifer got a can of beer for the delivery man on his way out. “Thank you.” She said shaking hands with him before he left via the back door.

Andy gave Jennifer his full attention now. She always cleaned up nice. It didn’t escape him that she was showing a bit more cleavage tonight than usual. Her four inch white heels made her almost as tall as he was. She wasn’t inhibitive but she rarely threw herself out there to impress the men. Not tonight. She was dressed to kill and kill one lucky goof-head who was too blind to recognize and exploit it when the best things in life came knocking freely.

“Andy, you’re staring.” Jennifer interrupted. Andy smiled at being caught red-handed. “You’re suddenly more beautiful than I remember.” Jennifer blushed at his answer and smiled as the music switched to one of her favorites.

“Thanks Andy,” She said and walked to him. “Banks is my date tonight,” she said. “But I’ll give you my first dance because of how good you treat my cousin and I love this song.”

“I’ll keep those lovely feet warm for your date when he arrives.” Andy replied, took her hand and led her beaming out of the kitchen to the party slowly heating up in the living room.

***

Banks sat in the rear seat of the taxi as it drove along a dark, bumpy street. He’d bathed and changed. He wore a white stud jacket zipped up to his chest and blue jeans. The taxi’s headlamp was all that illuminated the broken asphalt single lane and its numerous pot-holes. There was an occasional trickle of pedestrians as they drove, but no other vehicles were on the road. The radio on the taxi was playing an old Damian Marley reggae track to which the driver was whistling in tune. It was distraction enough, trying to glean whatever meaning from the philosophical lyrics spewing through the cackling speakers. It was distraction enough from the numerous thoughts in his head, which he didn’t want to be thinking.

Especially Jennifer. Next to Andy, she was his best friend. Why she wasn’t as contented with that as he was beat his imagination. Why she wanted to complicate a good and reliable relationship with dates and romance was something he couldn’t understand. If he refused to attempt a relationship with every pretty skirt that came close to him, he’d be titled a gay. If he accepted them as they came like he used to, then he’ll be called a Casanova. However, this wasn’t about pretty girls coming at him, rather about one who’d been consistent for a couple of years now. She was the hottest in his entire faculty, rich and probably not just after his family’s money. She had the best cumulative grade point average among both faculties of Fine and performing arts. All the classiest guys he knew around school had asked her out. Her character was unquestionable too, and she’d set sights on him since day one. Everyone that knew both of them was rooting for her. All that didn’t mean anything. Just because their relationship worked on a platonic level wasn’t a guarantee that if he shifted gears and switched on some romance, they’d be a successful couple. He’d tire of her soon if he attempted it. He loved her, true. He just wasn’t in love with her. He wasn’t like most guys who developed imaginary sentiments when they found a desirable mate. They were cool to hang out with but most of such guys would laugh at him and call him a gay.

Banks took off his snapback cap and scratched his sweaty head as he stared out of the window at the neighborhood. There he went thinking about her again. Banks felt for the framed painting in his bag and looked at his wrist watch. He was still on schedule.

The taxi driver interrupted his thoughts. “Oga, e be like say na here I go drop you,” He said slowing down to a stop at a junction on the street. There were no houses were they’d stopped. Banks frowned at him. “Have we gotten to where we are going?”

The driver pointed at a dark, adjacent street that disappeared to the right. “Na that one be York street, me I no fit to enter that side abeg.” He said.

“Why? Wetin we come bargain for?” Banks asked in his imperfect pidgin. “No be number twenty-two York street I tell you, wey we agree how much I go pay you?”

“Oga no vex, abeg.” The driver pleaded. “Them dey snatch people moto for this side by this time, especially if you no dey stay around and them no sabi you. Look around! When the last time we see moto pass?"

Banks scanned the area and sighed. “So wetin we go do now?”

“Just pay me small something, or you carry your money go. If I bin sabi say na that side you dey go, I no for gree carry you.”

Banks looks at the dark, adjacent street again, trying to douse his anger. If that was York street, then twenty two would be within walking distance or something. Banks took out his wallet, slipped out a five hundred naira note and handed it to the driver. He alighted from the taxi, taking his framed canvas which was covered with well designed wrapping paper.

“Thank you oga! God bless you!" the driver quipped, reversing to drive away the way he came.

Banks crossed the junction into York street with the framed canvas under his arms. He remembered that his client had mentioned the name of a drinking bar close to his apartment. Rose’s bar, he thought. Judging by the eeriness of the street, there’d be at most one drinking parlor; that shouldn’t be hard to find. Still, he decided to call his client and alert him on his presence. Banks took out his blackberry and scrolled through his phone book as he walked past a dark junkyard at a corner of the street. There was a sharp bend on the street just ahead of him.

“Sorry, the number you just dialed is not available…” Banks ended the call with a mental sigh interrupting the computer voice giving him the bad news. Call network issues in Lagos was a rare occurrence but happened when you least expected. Stray odours of Indian hemp wafting through the air got him alert and made him take a second look at the junkyard to his left as he walked past it. He noticed a few glows from lit joints and could make out human shadows huddled together and talking in whispers. Banks straightened becoming self-conscious but continued at his pace. Fear was smelled on a prey faster than it was seen and he wasn’t about to be an easy target for any night prowlers.

Banks made it around the bend and the lights he saw in the distance was a welcome sight. So was the crazy dance music whose sound drifted towards him. He could see the residential areas now. Small bungalows, most of them unfenced, lined both sides of the street and were lighted by i-pass-my-neighbor generators. He could hear their engines noisily compete with each other. A few houses and kiosks were lit with candles or kerosene lamps. A police patrol cruised past him as he made his way past the first houses searching for the address he had. Soon, he saw a huge lighted signboard ahead which read ROSA’S BAR. Okay, not ROSE’S… that was where the dance music was coming from. His client’s house would be somewhere close. There were people hanging around the bar going about whatever they were up to.

That was when he noticed a familiar walk and scanned his memory. Hips out first in a seductive manner like most ladies but the dreads on her hair was what got his heartbeat fluttering. Then she turned and he saw her face, and his heart skipped a beat or two. Lade. What was she doing here? First thing he remembered was the last time he saw her, when she turned down his request to be more than friends with him because she was leaving to accept her admission into the University of Lagos. What was she doing here?

Lade was oblivious of her audience as she walked to one of the kiosks to buy a packet of cigarettes. She unwrapped it as easily as the old hand at it she was and pulled out a stick which she lit with a lighter she took out of her purse.

Banks was taken aback by that. Lade was smoking a cigarette in public dressed to kill near a pub in the middle of the night. He felt he must be reading it all wrong. She’d been his class captain in secondary school for crying out loud - the first female senior prefect in a mixed school for rich kids. He knew her father hadn’t been rich and had struggled to send her there. They’d finished college at the same time but she’d gone on into tertiary education while he’d paused to figure out what he wanted to study. They used to be ‘just friends’ – that female friend you wished was not just a friend who wouldn’t see you any other way. She was one of the book-smartest girls he’d ever known; okay except for Jennifer, but not by comparison. Jennifer again. Yet here she was smoking a cigarette, and in public for that matter, looking as at home as she could with this rough, low-caste neighborhood. There was no mistaking her. What was she doing here?

“Lade?" He called.

Lade turned to see a well-dressed guy walking to her. This one smiled easily like he knew her. She felt hot and spooked the next instant because she felt she knew him too. His smile became even more familiar the closer he got… and those eyes… then he took his cap off… Oh shit! It is… the tears came to her eyes. Tears of happiness, but there was no time to explain that. Banks was surprised at the show of emotions.

“Peter, it is really you?” She walks into his embrace and inhaled his cologne. His arms felt strong around her and she felt a strange feeling of being safe. Her hands encircled his neck and pulled him tighter to him. She still held her cigarette stick.

“Are you alright?” Banks asked with a twinge of concern.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just surprised and happy to see you again.” Lade broke the embrace. “My God! Look at you! You’re so big and handsome! What have you been feeding on?”

They hug each other again. “Wow! I’ve missed you so much Lade. What are you doing here?”

“I am uh... waiting to see someone. Not like a date, just uhm, a little work. And there is nothing special about the place, so I decided to have a smoke. You don’t mind, right?”

“No, it’s okay!” Banks agreed a bit too quickly that it was obvious he did. “I just never thought you’ll be one to indulge in that. You used to be Miss Mary back at college.”

They both laughed it off. A white BMW drove past behind Banks.

“So, what about you; what are doing here? I mean I figured you’ll still be at Ibadan with your parents.” Lade asked.

“We relocated. We live in Lagos now.”

“Wow, we’ve got eight years’ worth of catching up to do, Peter. Where are you going dressed like there’s a party around I don’t know about?”

Banks chuckled. “You’re not the only one working tonight you know. I have a delivery to make and I’m actually late.” Banks said looking at his wrist-watch. Lade took a half-step backwards. “Well, don’t let me slow your grind.” She said smiling, but they both hesitated to say their goodbyes. Before she could think of the possible blow-backs, she said, “I’ll be at the bar if you won’t take long.” The next instant she wished she hasn't, but there was no going back now, especially judging by his relieved smile.

“I won’t take long. I promise.” Banks replied. She nodded in agreement and they went their separate ways. Just like that. Banks moved on towards his delivery with a spring to his step. He could feel his heart slamming in his rib cage. He’d forgotten all about her. Their friendship had gotten to a point where their paths in life diverged – forever he’d thought back then, but here she was again. He’d asked her to be his girl back then. She’d insinuated he watched too many romance movies. She’d preferred being just friends with him because there were too many girls throwing themselves at him then, how was she supposed to believe that they’d be exclusive. Well, here she was again; and chicks were still flocking around him like he was a poultry farmer. Jennifer had even placed a tag on him. Jennifer.

CHAPTER TWO


Johnny, the man Sting murdered was Sting’s biggest rival in the local dope trade. It was little wonder why Sting made it to the top of somebody’s hit list already. A dope boss was dead, which meant stakes were about to be re-arranged and territories were up for grabs. Sting was the second biggest distributor and taking over from his rival would surely increase demand for his products. The attempt on his life earlier this morning was either for revenge or to tilt the odds in someone else’s favor. This was the exact reason someone out there was seriously vexed and out for his blood. However, Sting wasn’t one to nap. He’d taxed his pawns to sniff the air and smoke the rat out, Lade included.

Lade had been with Sting’s organization six years now and knew most of Sting’s ambitions, alliances and enemies. Her only friend Cindy had been with Sting for much longer and had coached her on how Sting’s game was played. Sting had found Lade to be clever and more subtle than any of the other girls he kept, and so he let her have a few privileges. He stopped pimping her around for cash and favors like he did the other girls. He’d learned that there was better use for resourceful females and that certain assignments will be far easier accomplished by sexy females than by gun-toting, egoistic males. He paid her commissions in cash and drugs. Some of his other girls were jealous, talking at his back of how ‘he had a soft spot for Nicky’.

Lade stepped into the cold night out of the under-populated bar. She was wearing a jacket over her evening dress and flat shoes tonight. She stood at five feet three inches without her heels. There was a light touch of make up on her face, her hair was tied to a ponytail tonight and she rocked silver ear rings which complimented her silver purse. She was beautiful and knew it. A group of drunk guys hanging around a car parked outside the bar whistled at her, but she ignored them. She took in the rest of her surroundings. Rosa’s bar was owned by Sting’s latest rival, an albino named Mandy. She’d been here once before to pick up some cash for Sting but that had been over six months ago. She doubted anyone here would recognize her or who she worked for. She was just another single girl hanging out around the bar looking to mingle. However, the bar looked depopulated for a Friday night. Either the night was too cold to stay outside and everyone had gone to bed early, or Mandy and the noisy crowd he gathered around himself weren’t about to show their faces, meaning something was definitely up with them.

The music playing was irritating – too loud to allow her think. She felt like a cigarette and looked around for a vendor. It was going to be a long, cold night for her. She’d need a packet. Or two… Her cell phone began ringing in her purse. She took it out knowing it had to be Sting checking that she was on point. In fact only Sting called her, as a rule. None of the other girls including Cindy owned a cell phone. Lade had learned to say, such was her life.

Chapter two would be ready later. Gotta get back to work.

***

Jennifer put in finishing touches to the sketch and dropped her pencil on the desk. She lifted her drawing book to admire her drawing. It was of a hen protecting her chicks from a hawk hovering around. Jennifer was only this good with her pencil when she was bored or anxious about something. Jennifer was sitting alone in an empty lecture room on campus. However, boredom wasn’t what she was feeling right then. This one was anxiety and she recognized it. Once, she’d almost been sure Banks would ask her to be his date to the school night, back in their sophomore year. He asked Clara instead. That night she began sketching a picture book with which she won the National Fine Art Competition last year.

At that moment, Banks was descending the staircase in a hurry to catch up with the rest of his schedule. He was carrying a roll of new canvases under his right arm. He was wearing a pair of beats by Dre over his ears and held his bag in his other hand. His supervisor had rescheduled their morning meeting to late afternoon and they’d been at it for the past three hours. It was almost dusk and Banks was exhausted. He’d have to drag the new canvases to where he could get a taxi to his studio. There he would drop the canvases, pick up tonight’s delivery and go pick his cash. He still hadn’t bought Chika a gift. He’d have to send something over tomorrow.

Banks entered a verandah and walked past a few lecture halls heading quickly for the nearest exit from the faculty building.

Jennifer saw Banks walks past and scrambled to put her materials back into her school bag. She swung the bag over her shoulders. She exited the lecture room into the verandah outside. She could see Banks walking ahead of her.

“Hey Banks!” She called after him.

Banks heard his name over the slow pop he was listening to. He turned and was surprised to see Jennifer hurrying to meet up with him.

“Jennifer!” He looked at his wrist watch. “What are you still doing on campus by this time? I thought you’d be helping out with Chika’s party arrangements.”

Jennifer took a deep breath to catch it. “Chika mentioned you lent Andy the Mercedes. So I figured you may need a lift after your meeting with Dr. Rose. I didn’t realize it’d take this long.”

Banks looked relieved. “Thanks Jen. You have no idea how tired I am right now, and I was wondering how I was going to drag these canvases out of campus to get a taxi.”

“What else are friends for?” Jennifer asked feeling pleased to be relevant. “Here, let me help you with the laptop bag.” Jennifer offered. Banks gave her the bag looking grateful.

They exited the faculty building and walked to where her HONDA ELEMENT was parked. Banks opened the back door and put the roll of canvases on the back seats. He shut the door, opened the front passenger seat and climbed in after Jennifer who was putting the bags in the back seats. She turned the ignition on and reversed out of the lot to drive away.

***

Lade’s room was even more disorganized than earlier. A distinct smell of dirty laundry and un-aired beddings hovered over the room. The curtains were drawn and the electric bulbs were off. Light flickering from the TV set was all that illuminated the bedroom. A foreign movie was showing on the TV. Lade held two remote controllers and lay on her stomach on the unmade bed and had a pillow wedged under her chest.

Her cell phone rang somewhere in the room and she sighed at the distraction. It was Sting, she was sure. She paused the movie with one remote controller and got off the bed and walked to the dressing table to take her ringing cell phone. She frowned at the caller but answered the call. “Sting, good morning!”

Sting was behind the wheels of his TUNDRA, driving slowly along a narrow street that led up to his house. One hand was on the wheels while the other held his cell phone to his ear. Lade heard him pause to take a deep breath. “What are you doing, Nicky?” She heard him ask, with a calm friendly voice.

“You gave me the day off, remember?” Sting could hear the frown in her voice.

“You’ll go to ROSA’s bar tonight. See if Mandy shows up. If he does, I want to know who he’s rolling with tonight. If you can, get close to his goons and get me something.”

Lade was confused. “Something about what?”

“Some stupid motherfucker thinks it’s a great idea to take shots at me. I want to know if that fool Mandy ordered a hit on me.” Lade frowned. A hit on Sting already! They’d known taking Johnny out was an ambitious albeit reckless plan and would have drastic consequences. Someone had linked Johnny’s death to Sting already. Lade wondered if she’d be recognized eventually. “Nicky, did you hear me?”

“Yes.” Lade replied. “A day off! I knew it was too good to be true.” She said.

Sting chuckled. “Babe, I no talk say make you go today. I said tonight, and I don’t remember giving you that off.” The line went dead in her ear. She went back to lie on her bed looking unhappy. She resumed her movie and settled back to it.

***


The Mercedes convertible slowed to join a queue along traffic. The red light was up and Banks was behind the wheels. Andy looked up from a celebrity magazine he was reading. He frowned at the line of cars in front of them and looked at his wrist-watch. Banks’ Iphone 5 buzzed. He took the phone out of his pocket and read the message. He chuckled as he put the phone on the dashboard.

“It’s Jennifer… says she’s in school with Chika and wants to know where we are.” Banks read.

“That reminds me. You drove Jennifer home last night.” Andy said smiling suggestively.

Banks laughed. “I was wondering how long till you bring it up. The script just seemed like something you conceived.”

Andy closed his magazine. “So, what happened?” He cast his net straight up. Banks grinned at him. “You don’t know already?”

Banks had his entire attention now. “No! Why would you assume…?” Andy said taking off his reading glasses.

“Nothing,” Banks replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Okay, you don’t sound like it was just nothing. Did you even go to first base with her?”

“Well, I thought she’d mention it to her cousin who wouldn’t waste time to tell you all about it.”

“Tell me all about what! Did you two do anything… worth mentioning?” Andy inquired. He loved a good love story.

“Well, she invited me in…her mom is in Florida, remember? We went up her room and…you know…” Banks shrugged with a smile on his face.

Andy slowly comprehended his meaning, then, “Liar!”

Banks frowned at him. “What! We were both tipsy and excited. It was kind of inevitable.”

Andy considered it and seemed pleased. The red traffic light turned green and soon they were cruising again. “How was it? Was it even worth all the effort?” Andy asked. “Does this mean she’s now your girlfriend officially?” He stopped when he recognized the mock look on Banks’ face. “You’re totally pulling my leg!”

Banks laughed. “Having fun at it too…” Banks replied as he drove.

“I’m sure you didn’t even kiss her goodnight! Even when you knew you could! Why? We arranged everything so perfectly!”

“Andy, don’t you ever listen to me?” Banks chided. “How many times do I have to say this… I’m not a character in your fiction stories and movie scripts?”

“That girl is in love with you. You both look good together.” Andy said.

Banks sighed. “I like her a lot too, but not in that way. We don’t have chemistry, just a million things in common. I don’t think about her sexually.”

“You still can if you want to. It’s not hard. Sure you’ve really looked at her, but duh, she’s got everything! Just think along the right elements and you’ll see the chemistry. Many people envy you Banks.” Andy said. “You own a convertible! Your mom is one of the wealthiest business women in this city and you are book smart too! The best part – your talent is a big business prospect. Most of these other girls will gladly leave their boyfriends just to be in Jenny’s shoes. Everyone knows she is the closest female friend you have. If I don’t know you well, I’ll agree with those who already concluded that you’re gay.”

Banks laughed and shrugged. “Someone once told me, that the difference between you and me lies in the difference in our definition of the ideal – the ideal situation, the ideal relationship, the ideal communication and the ideal transaction. I just think that there is more to life than a bevy of girls at your beck and call. Girls are complicated, and I’ve got a whole lot on my plate right now.” Banks said. “I prefer not to add to it.”

“Eventually, you’ll have to. Abi you no go marry again?”

“When I find her, I won’t be surprised at how much I can deal with, with the right girl.”

Andy stared out of the window in sober reflection while the convertible increased its speed along traffic. His own thoughts were on his relationship with Chika and couldn’t help but compare both cousins from what he knew about them and think of what his friend Banks was missing.

***

Sting walked to his TOYOTA TUNDRA which he’d parked in a lot just outside the supermarket. He was holding the grocery bag and walking confidently when suddenly he heard a gunshot. Sting ducked fast and a bullet whizzed past his left ear. Sting swallowed a scream in his throat and began to run as the second shot got fired. He found cover behind a Toyota Camry parked in the same lot. A bullet smashed a side mirror of the Camry he’d hid behind. He scanned the street from his hide out. He saw people around the premises running for their dear lives. He saw his assailant tuck his gun away and mingle with the crowd. Sting didn’t recognize him.

Sting bolted to his vehicle and entered it. He started the engine as quick as he could, reversed and drove out of the premises at top speed. He looked at his rear mirror after a while and saw that no one was following. He relaxed and reduced his speed. Then he took out his phone with shaky hands and speed dialed a number.

***

For Sting, pushing drugs wasn’t just a means to an end. He was a graduate of Yaba College and had better grades than most of his peers in society. He had never been destitute or so in need of cash like most people in the business claimed to have been once upon a time in their lives. He’d been born to middle class parents, but hadn’t fit in with their idea of society. Moreover, patience and contentment hadn’t been his strong suits. He revolted against their authority too many times to count and hadn’t surprised anyone when he chose to be an outlaw. His father had disowned him eventually.

It was less about the money and more about his disregard off society’s norms. As a teenage kid, he had always taken joy in breaking the rules. He’d begun with holding up a convenient store with a ski mask and a loaded pistol. With time, he’d met other ruffians and gotten himself from bad to worse – he’d sold Indian hemp on Yaba campus, moved bags across state lines, put up a fashion modeling agency that actually provided escort services for clients. He hated attention and enjoyed the allure of roaming freely with a kilo or two in his bag and his favorite .44 in his pants knowing he had the lion’s share in anything illegal going on around. Yet Sting had never seen the inside of a prison cell. One of the first things he’d learned was that most policemen were only brutal because they were hungry. They didn’t give a rat’s ass about the law, and if you fed that hunger regularly, they got a lot friendlier. Thus, even the commissioner of police and his immediate circle were in Sting’s very deep pockets.

His cousin and aide-de-camp, Spencer was not yet back from the errand to the girls' lodge but Sting felt good about roaming alone. He paused to pat his side bag as he walked towards the cashier’s counter pushing his shopping cart. The shelves and compartments in the shopping mart were fully stacked with groceries and Sting’s cart contained all he came to pick that morning. Sting was the only client in the supermarket – a drug dealer shopping for groceries like normal people without back up even though he was in his neighborhood.

“Oga, good morning,” greeted the sole attendant who was mopping the front part of the shop. She hurried behind the counter and took out a calculator while Sting offloaded his trolley. The attendant calculates his purchase and puts them in shopping bags. “It’s five thousand, three hundred naira sir.”

A man wearing sunshades walked into the supermarket - a bulk of a man, his muscular frame hidden beneath his tight cashmere and jeans. He was talking to someone over the phone in low tones. A tiny alarm went off in Sting’s head. His sixth sense was suddenly awake – those instincts that had brought him this far. He was sure he knew four-eyes from somewhere. He watched four-eyes till he disappeared among the shelves from the corner of his eyes. Sting smiled at the shop attendant as he reached for his wallet. “Have you ever seen that man before?” Sting asked, as casual as he could.

“No,” She replied after looking up in four-eyes’ direction. Sting handed her some cash while she hands him the shopping bags.

“Thanks, and keep the balance. See you later.” He takes his shopping bags and walks out of the supermarket frowning. He knew that Johnny’s body would’ve been found by his loyalists by now. His beef with Johnny wasn’t a secret and he knew he’d be the usual suspect. A lot was about to change.

***

Lade drew a short, thin line of the white powder on the tray with a thin, hollow cylinder made of a small sheet of paper. She put one end at the entrance to one of her nostrils and bent till the other end of the paper cylinder touched the white powder. She sniffed, dragging her make-shift snifter along the line until the coke line disappeared into her nose. The expected relief was slow but instant. The early morning dizziness disappeared, followed closely by the dull ache at the back of her head. She smiled and closed her eyes. She felt so clear-headed, it was like sitting under the air conditioning after a fresh skin cut at the neighborhood barber shop. She walked to the window and parted the curtains to let in some daylight into her apartment which was on the topmost floor of a three story apartment building. She looked downstairs from her window. There is not much activity going on outside.

She heard a knock on her door and frowned at the disorganized state her bedroom was in. she was still in her nightgown. “Who is it?” She asked as she stepped closer to the door.

“Na me, Cindy,” she heard a female voice reply from behind the door.

“Oh!” Lade throws a glance at the wall clock. It was still eight in the morning. Too early for visitors; not that she received any. The only people that came to check on her in her room were Cindy who was more of a friend than a visitor, Spencer who usually supplied her with the drugs and Sting her boss who dropped in occasionally and when he felt like. Cindy was welcome at all hours. The others weren’t really welcome per say, theirs was just…work.

Lade unlocked the door and opened it for Cindy to enter the room. Cindy was in her late twenties, plump and beautiful even without her make up. Her pajamas accentuated the curves on her body and her dimple was always there like a permanent fixture on her pleasant face. Usually. This morning however, she held a cold sachet of water to her head and had lines on her depressed face

“Spencer don show?”

Lade chuckled and locks the door after her. “He just left. There is some Calvin-Klein on the dressing table, help yourself.” After all the years with Sting and the girls, Lade still preferred to express herself in English. She had some education and held it over the rest of them like some special skill she’d acquired which they hadn’t; even though they all were Sting’s girls.

Cindy went to the dressing table and did a fatter line. Lade joins her and snorts some more. They lay in the silent glow of their reverie. Cindy does a second line while Lade goes to lie on the bed. Cindy pulls a chair and sits next to the dressing table.

“How are you feeling? You know… the whole… having to sleep with the guy… and watching them off him?”

“I didn’t watch! I’ll be fine! I think!” Lade replied a bit harshly. They were both surprised at her reaction and an uncomfortable silence ensued, Lade, because she’d never shouted at her friend Cindy before. “I’m sorry. Don’t know what that was.” She looked down at her hands and rubbed them together unconsciously.

Cindy sighs. “The guilt hurt for a while, but e go come to pass too…”

“I hope so… I don’t really like myself right now.”

The silence was shorter this time. “At least Sting brings you the best stuff.” Cindy said. “Omo! Straight from the source. E never even reach lab.” she thumbed her nostrils and sniffed and giggled at nothing.

Lade chuckled. “I got the rest of the day off too. I wonder what I’d do with it.

Cindy looked around the room. “Your room is untidy. It could use some cleaning.”

“I’ll do it later in the day. Right now, I feel lazy… like sleeping, or watching TV all day.”

“Your own better na,” Cindy scoffed. “Me, I go escort one Alhaji like that go one function for Abuja this evening. We go spend the weekend there before we come back.”

“How come you always get the best jobs? A full weekend of lounging, sight-seeing and shopping! Omo no forget to buy something for me o!” Lade said chuckling.

“Yet you de claim say you no gbadu this escort jaab.” Cindy said pulling out a drawer.

“Of course there are a few advantages, but the disadvantage plenty” Lade argued. “Oya check out wetin I do the other night na. What if e no bin work according to plan?”

Cindy found some indian hemp in the drawer. She tossed one at Lade who caught it neat. They both relapsed in silence and began rolling up the Indian hemp. When they were both done, they got to their feet to go to the kitchen. It was like tradition in Lade's apartment. No matter how untidy the bedroom was, she didn't smoke in there. Except on a few rare occasions when she was alone.

There was a sharp contrast between the bedroom and the adjourning kitchen in Lade’s self-contained apartment. There were two other adjourning doors in the kitchen. One was slightly ajar and led out to a balcony while the other was shut and led into the bathroom. The kitchen was clean, fully equipped and well-arranged unlike the bedroom. Cindy wasn’t surprised at the difference. She resumed the conversation. “All the same, the plan worked…you came home safe, got paid and earned a holiday.”

The refrigerator suddenly kicked in and began humming. A female voice somewhere shouted, "Up NEPA!!!" Cindy smirked at that.

“True sha… but what if something goes wrong the next time?” She snapped her fingers. “God forbid! I can’t wait to save enough money to pay off my father’s debt and quit all this shit.” Lade lighted her hemp and walked out of the kitchen to the balcony at the back.

Cindy was right behind her with a bemused expression on her face. “And what would you do when you quit?” Her tone had a twinge of mockery. She took the lighter from Lade and lit hers.

Lade took a dragged, swallowed and blew it out with a dreamy expression on her face. “Well, I’ll get a job, fall in love with someone and build a family… you know, get married and raise my kids.”

Cindy was quiet for a moment then burst into sudden laughter. “You dream a lot,” Cindy said. “I’m sure you know that Sting won’t let someone as pretty as you quit till you’re at least forty and ripe candidate for a wellness home. Have you ever seen anyone quit before?”

Lade grimaced at that. She sat on the vacant space on the kitchen table and took a long drag of her hemp which she blew out and watched ascend to the kitchen ceiling.

***

Banks darted out of the lounge bar into the light drizzle and ran to his Mercedes convertible parked at the lot outside. He was wearing a white beanie over his head, a gray t-shirt and a pair of blue denim trousers and black all-stars on his feet. He unlocked the convertible with his car remote and jumped in behind the wheels. Night had long fallen. Banks turned on the engine and the car’s headlamps come on. He reverses out of his parking spot.

“Banks wait!” It was Jennifer’s voice. Banks turned to see Jennifer hurrying under the rain to meet him. He stepped on the brakes and leaned over to open the front passenger door. Jennifer entered the car and shut the door after herself. “I’m glad I caught up with you. I need a lift home! It was either I catch up with you or I find myself a cab, and you know how much I hate taxis.” Jennifer said, brushing drops of rain from her clothes and shivering for a bit.

Banks shrugged. “Let me guess, Chika and Andy decided they would go to the club after all.”

“Yes! I had to leave my car with them.”

“Okay no wahala,” Banks replied and drove out of the compound.
About twenty minutes later, the rain was now pouring. The convertible drove slowly along the wet road. They were both quiet and watching the road ahead. Soul music playing over the car speakers and the low hum of the car engine were the only audible sounds. Banks threw her a quick glance as he turned off a major road into the street that ran through her neighborhood. “Is something the matter, Jenny?

She met his gaze briefly. “No, I’m fine! Why?” She asked.

“Well, you seem tense. Uncomfortable. Like something is bothering you.”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“You’re rarely this tongue-tied. We haven’t said a word to each other since we left the bar.”

“Banks… fine, but conversations are a two-way thing. You haven’t said a word to me either, so forgive me if I don’t speak out of turn.”

“Out of turn!” Banks frowned. Suddenly, she’d sounded upset, Banks noted. “Okay, what is this about?”

Silence.

Banks pulled up by the curb of the street just outside Jennifer’s mother’s house.

“I appreciate the ride, Peter.” Jennifer said, gathering her purse and making to alight. She only called him by his first name when she was pissed about something. He’d known her long enough.

“Jenny wait.” Banks said. He grabbed her hand gently to hold her back. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a boring companion tonight. I’ve been up and about since before dawn and I’m tired. Driving home at night is usually quiet time for me, after painting all day and partying half of the night.”

“I get it Banks. It’s not that.”

“Then what’s up? Didn’t you have fun tonight?” Banks asked. He knew all of Jennifer’s dispositions. Tonight’s was a rare one.

“I did! I…” Jennifer hesitated and sighed. She shut the door and settled back on her seat. “It’s just… we’ve been close friends for a while now. Yet this is the only way we ever hang out – a group-hang with our other friends.” She looked out of the window and squirmed in her seat. She folded her hands across her busty chest. Banks could make out the embarrassed frown on her face.

There it was from her lips finally. He’d heard subtle and even blatant suggestions from his friends on the same matter. He’d been treated to snippets of encouragements and tiny hints from Jennifer on upgrading their friendship status to a more intimate relationship. This was the first time she was saying it out straight. “You want us to do this more often… but just the two of us.”

Jennifer steals a glance at him first. Banks kept his face straight and his doubts to himself. She steepled her fingers, and put on a serious frown on her face. “It doesn’t have to be often, Banks. I know you’re a busy guy, with the studio and all. My schedule isn’t what it used to be either…but once in a while won’t be a bad idea. You’re not seeing anyone, neither am I. and since we see a lot of each other, why don’t we…?’

“I’ll like that, Jenny. It isn’t a big deal. Just… When will you be free?” Banks asked.

“Are you sure?” Jennifer asked trying to read him.

“Of course I am.”

“Okay, what about Chika’s birthday party tomorrow evening by eight?” She asked.

Banks hesitated. “I’m not sure about that… I have an errand to run. There is this painting someone ordered through the website. The address is in Mushin.”

“An art lover living in Mushin of all places,” she mused. Her easy smile was back. “How long shall that take?”

“Hopefully, not more than a couple hours...” Banks replied.

“The party will be till midnight. Mom is in Florida. We can still hang-out at the party after you make your run.”

“Sure we can. Sounds like a plan.”

“Thanks for the ride, Banks. I’ll see you tomorrow in school?”

“Good night Jen, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They hugged each other in the car. Jennifer alighted after the embrace and went to the gate. Banks watched her press the bell. After a few moments, the wicket gate unlocked. She turned to wave at him before entering the compound. Banks shook his head and drove away.

***

Lade could swear she’d only closed her eyes a minute ago, but the bedside clock in the motel room said it had been ten minutes since. She lay still listening to his deep breathing and occasional snore on the other side of the bed. She was still naked under the sheets. She could feel his limp organ resting on the swell of her waist and the damp stickiness from their recent coupling on her inner thighs. Coupling. How modest! Bleep, more like. Call-girls don’t couple. Not that she knew what that was. No, she’d never had the luxury of intercourse with a partner that cared as much about her needs as he did his. It was just another job, this one of more value than any she’d ever undertaken. She wasn’t here to just Bleep as usual; no, but for much more.

She slowly removed his hand from over her shoulder and carefully scooted to the edge of the bed. If he woke up now, the whole plan would be doomed. She slipped out of the bed as naked as the day she was born. She slipped on her panties. She hadn’t worn any bra. She took her gown and pulled it over her head.

The man on the bed was twice her age. She watched him sleep peacefully and felt a twinge of pity for him. His breath was deep and relaxed. She reached for her purse and opened it to check that her cell phone and the wad of notes she’d been paid for this tryst was still intact. She’ll have to account for that soon. She tiptoed to the door of the hotel suite and unlocked it. She opened it just a fraction to peep outside. Suddenly, both she and the door were pushed in. Two men stepped into the hotel suite and closed the door after them, both careful not to make any unnecessary noises. One was tall and ugly, made worse with a knife scar across his left chin. The other was of average height and more pleasant looking with a pierced right ear from which a diamond rock was embedded. He was also the first to draw his .45 semi-automatic.

“What the hell took you so long, Nicky?” Tall and ugly asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

“I dozed off for a minute while waiting for him to sleep off. I am sorry,“ Lade whispered back.

“Nonsense! Spencer here says the room’s been quiet for the past thirty minutes! You think we have all night that you doze off on a job! Go and wait in the car now!” Sting ordered.

Lade collected the car keys from Spencer and exited the suite in a hurry.

Sting and Spencer went the bed. The man sleeping on it hadn’t moved a muscle. “Spencer let us wake this fool up, shall we?” Sting said, pulling out his gun. Spencer moved in closer to tap his head with the nozzle of his gun. Lade’s client woke up grimacing at the pain. He frowned in surprise on seeing Spencer’s gun pointed at him. His looks up to the hand holding the gun and continued till he saw Spencer’s smiling face looming above it all. Spencer crossed his lips with his index finger. Lade’s client tried to sit up, but stopped when he noticed Sting standing at the foot of the bed. He looked around but didn’t see anyone else. The girl was gone. He smiled at Sting’s scowling face. “It was the girl, right? My eternal weakness!” He chuckled nodding in acknowledgement.

Sting turned to Spencer with an incredulous look on his face. “He thinks we came to share laughs. Shoot him in the face and let’s get out of here.”

Lade’s client’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t want to start a war Sting! Let me go and I’ll forget this happened!”

“Right…” Spencer replied, picking up a pillow to cover his gun’s mouth and fired point blank at the man on the bed. He fell dead from a single hole on his forehead.

“Good. Let’s get out of here while we still can.” Sting said. They both turned to exit the suite. Spencer took one last look around before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

I hope you tag your friends to follow. I also hope y'all enjoy.
CHAPTER ONE

Banks stared at the African woman clad only in a piece of loincloth around her waist, her breasts hanging off her torso like pawpaw fruits as she was bent over, scooping water from the stream in front of her. After a minute’s consideration, Banks touched the undersides of her pregnant belly with a brush to make it look even heavier. She wore colored beads around her arms and a pair of dangling ear rings made of shells. It was almost life-sized and a side-view painting. He heard the door into the studio open and turned to see Andy enter with a brown bag that had the shape of the bottle inside it.

“WOW! This is a copy, right? Damn! Boy, you’ve gotten really good at this!" Andy exclaimed on seeing it.

Banks smiled and turned to continue staring at the life-size painting on the canvas, still wet from his brushes feigning even more concentration than he had in that moment. He was especially proud of this one. It’d taken him two back-breaking days to get it all out of his head and onto the canvas.

"I thought you said it was going to be a beautiful girl taking a bathe in a stream surrounded by nature."

"I like this better. African Arts Press is going to do a review on it. Maybe a few galleries will be interested too." Banks replied.

"Or you sell it to your mom. I'm sure she has a client who deserves a nice business gift." Andy said in his characteristic bit-joking, bit-serious manner.

Banks dropped his paint brush in a basin of multi-colored water on a table next to the canvas-heavy easel. He walked to the sink on the far side of his painting studio to wash his hands. "When did the girls say they'll get here?" He asked, turning again to look at Andy.

Andy had taken out the bottle of Grant Whiskey from the brown paper bag and was carrying it to the refrigerator at a different corner of the large art studio. "I thought I’ll meet them here. Chika texted me while I was yet at home that they are on their way."

As if on cue, they heard a knock on the door which opened and the two girls entered. They both could've easily passed for sisters, even though they were only cousins. Both their mothers were twin sisters. Chika's parents still lived in Port Harcourt while their daughter had moved in with her cousin Jennifer who lived with her own mother in the city of Lagos, where they both schooled. Jennifer was more cultured and sophisticated, but while Chika was prettier, she was born in the largely middle class city of Port Harcourt, and as such lacked the sort of refining her cousin had.

They both wore body fitting evening gowns. Jennifer had a jacket on. Chika had a hand bag while Jennifer held a simple burberry purse. "Hey guys!" Jennifer exclaimed. Then she saw the painting on the easel and got excited. "Oh my god! Banks, this is awesome!"

Chika meanwhile frowned at Banks. She turned to Andy. "Jenny, can you imagine we were in a hurry to get here? Banks is still covered in paint!" She said glaring at Banks. Banks laughed her off and began putting away his equipment.

"He's a guy, he can be ready in five." Jennifer replied quickly on his side as usual. "But is this painting cool or what? Somebody buy it yet?" Jennifer asked Banks.

"Nobody has even seen it yet. I don't think i'm done with it either. There are certain ideas I’m still mulling over…" Banks said.

"Guys! The mall closes by ten! The place won't wait for us! Jennifer and I still have lots of shopping to do for tomorrow's decorations and stuff!" Chika announced.

"Then we go to Crash." Andy said. The first he opened his mouth since the girls entered the room.

"No! Too noisy! How about that bar we found about a month ago? I loved that place." Jennifer said.

"Well, this is seven-zero-five already! P.M! And you all know I don't like hurried shopping!" Chika said, drawing everyone back to her topic.

Banks turned his back at them and rolled his eyes in quiet exasperation. He took off his t-shirt to reveal tight back muscles and a body well-toned at the local gym. His jeans hung to his hips as he walked towards a makeshift office further inside the art room. Jennifer averts her gaze and smiled shyly when she noticed Chika and Andy watching her stare at Banks body disappear past a doorway with amused, knowing looks on their faces. Jennifer blushed fiercely.

Hey guys! I'm John Spurgeon - an avid, albeit silent reader of stories on NL. I'm a story teller and fiction writer, although I'm more into screenwriting and stage craft. OF ALL THE GIRLS IN LAGOS is my first NL story written as a prequel to a much longer series of the same title.

Writing prose for me has always been a means of escape (escape from a lot of things I'd rather only share with a shrink), until one of my stories (JETHRO) got adapted for screenplay. Since then, writing became a means to an end - developing plot concepts for filmmakers who don't have time to write, most of these plots so silly that i wouldn't have dreamed of writing it if it was left to me. However, my writing had relevance and I wasn't just writing to escape anymore. I was getting paid for it, and at the same time I was losing some of my passion for originality and honesty. I've dumbed down on writing prose for a while so writing this feels a tad too strange.

OF ALL THE GIRLS IN LAGOS is an attempt to get some of that old me back. If it's a failed project, then I promise myself I'd do better on the next one. I love writing contemporary literature, ROMANCE and a little ACTION, my favorite genres. I'm creating this post because of the honest criticism nairalanders always give. So bring on your soccer shoes and rugby helmets. I look forward to being kicked and head-butted. Thank you.

All rights reserved.
© 2015 by John Spurgeon
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

You can contact the author directly at;
johnspurgeon014@gmail.com

Social media links:
Facebook: @JohnSpugeon
Twitter: @JohnSpugeon
LinkedIn: @JohnSpurgeon

http://campfirewriters.

GENRE: ROMANCE/THRILLER


Will you still dote on an old flame who is no longer worthy of your company, just because you believe that since she was once good enough to be friends with, she still has it in her to be a better version of her present self?

This is a romance thriller about a young man with a bright future who, struggles to prove to himself and everyone else that the girl he's in love with is much more than a hooker and drug addict.

If I tag u twice, guess I saw u double

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10 FREE eBOOKS FOR THE TAKING

Hi NL peeps! Below is a list of bestseller e-books I am willing to give out for free:

MR. MERCEDES by STEPHEN KING
KILLER by JONATHAN KELLERMAN
FIFTY SHADES OF GRAY by E.L JAMES
FAKING NORMAL by COURTNEY STEVENS
TWELVE YEARS A SLAVE by SOLOMON THORNUP
THE STRIKER by CLIVE CLUSSER
THE MAZE RUNNER by JAMES DASHNER
PRIVATE L.A by JAMES PATTERSON
TO KILL A MOCKING BIRD by N.H LEE
FINDERS KEEPERS by STEPHEN KING
A GAME OF THRONES (BOOK 1-5) by GEORGE R. MARTIN
HUSH (epub) by JESS WYGLE
THE HUNGER GAMES (BOOK 1-3) (epub) by SUZANNE COLLINS
LORD OF THE RINGS (BOOK 1-3) by J.R. TOLKIEN


Quite an extensive list of quality novels every fiction writer/lover should have on his/her e-shelf as you can see, but here's the catch (of course there is a catch, albeit a simple one):

I just finished working on the first part of my novel titled 'LADE (OF ALL THE GIRLS IN LAGOS)' and I need it reviewed and criticized. It's about two hundred and fifty pages I'll love to receive via email at least a hundred (100) word review of the novel and as compensation for your time, I'd reply your email with gratitude and any ten of the above listed bestseller e-novels you choose. I hope this is fair enough.
Please email me if interested at campfirewriters@gmail.com and I'll send you the file to be reviewed. I wish y'all a happy week ahead.


PS: A GAME OF THRONES are five books already, THE HUNGER GAMES and LORD OF THE RINGS are both three books.

Below is an excerpt from the novel.


LADE (excerpt from the novel)


Luxury Resort, also known as Governor’s Park bragged an artificial lake, a park, a golf course, a restaurant and a museum. The lake was fed from the nearby Oludo River, one of the Atlantic Ocean inlets in the southern part of the city. Two army patrol trucks were stationed at the North and South entrances each and few plain clothed security men walked about unarmed but with walkie-talkies hoping to keep the peace and rules as much as they could.
Lade’s taxi pulled up at the southern gate which was closer to the lake. She’d never been to this part of Lagos ever, in her ten years living in the city. Business never brought her here as Sting’s trade was frowned up in the premises, and she rarely had her own time to explore. As such, she’d been thrilled when Peter’s text message directed her to the resort that evening. She paid her taxi man and alighted in a silver gown and red four inch heeled shoes. She wore the jewelry set Cindy had bought her and her natural dreadlocks were tied to a ponytail behind her. Lade looked around her surrounding to take in the beauty of the place. The adverts she’d seen on cable didn’t do justice to it.
The sun was yet to set that evening and the sky seemed clear enough for an outdoor date. The garden was very tidy and several couples were sitting on blankets on the smooth grass just close to the water. A flock of birds were flying low over the quiet water. The path to the restaurant was slopy, graveled and wide enough for two cars driving abreast. It led to a small parking lot outside the one story glass restaurant building. You couldn’t see inside from outside, but Lade could bet the insiders could view anyone walking outside. The thought of being watched crossed her mind and she looked around and saw Banks sitting on the hood of a Mercedes convertible with one hand poised behind him. He had parked in line of sight of the southern gate and smiled when she spotted him. She smiled back and walked towards him already feeling exhilarated.
Banks’ eyes never left hers as she made her way up to him. The gleam was already in his eye by the time she got it halfway – as if her beauty never ceased to amaze him. She shivered at the thought of being so desirable. Of course she knew she was, but… The hand behind him suddenly appeared with a single stalk of rose flower when she was a couple steps away. The shit-eating grin that lit up her face was one that had not been on her face in a very long time.
“Peter! A flower! Come on!”
“All yours! And don’t start this your forming.” Peter said and handed her the flower.
She took the flower with a smile and. She raised it to her nose and inhaled the fresh rose scent. “No one ever bought me flowers.” She said.
Banks alighted from the hood of the car. “Well, I’m glad to be your first,” he replied alighting from the hood of his car. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“I promised. Besides, I’ve never been to governor’s park.”
“Really! You’ve been in this city longer than I?” He asked, an incredulous look appearing on his face.
“Eight years, yeah, why are you surprised? And whose luxury car have you borrowed to impress me?”
Banks blinked. “It’s not a luxury car! It’s…just a two year old Mercedes benz.” He said shrugging.
Lade scoffed. “A convertible,” she said. “I’m not looking to be impressed by you, PB.”
Banks took out the car remote from his pocket and locked the car with a beep shrugging at her. “F.Y.I. the ride is mine. But I’ll do my best to be modest,” he replied with a mischievously grin at her amazed face. He took her hand. “Meanwhile, here we are. What would you like to do? See a movie? Early dinner at the restaurant? A few drinks? A walk in the park?”
Lade mused a bit, the smile never leaving her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out on a date. A real date. “How about…we skip the movie and do the rest in the same sequence?”
“Dinner and a few drinks and a walk in the park!” he shrugged. “Okay. Have I told you what a gorgeous lady you turned out to be?” He asked as he led her towards the restaurant building. “You’re so beautiful, Lade.”
And despite hearing it a million times from a thousand and one guys, Lade looked away to hide the crimson staining her fair cheeks. This wasn’t some guy paying Sting for a few hours with her. This was Peter Bankole, her college crush.

*

The date wasn’t a disaster, more like a prolonged visit with the in-laws, with the numerous guarded moments and accompanying awkwardness. Lade had her first plate of steaks and together with Banks, had drained a bottle of 1992 Chartreuse, while they reminisced about college and their teenage years. She had pumped Banks full of questions about his private life and school and learned about his talent and proclivities in art school. However, each time Banks sent the ball to her court and broached the subject of her life, she skimmed the topic off the top and quickly switched the conversation back to him.
By dessert time however, she was a mess and desperately needed a cigarette. She turned down her plate of salad because she wasn’t sure she could hold her cutlery steady enough. The slight tremor on her wine glass hand was noticeable. She was sure Banks was only pretending not to notice. She fled to the bathroom with her purse twice. The first time, she found herself an empty stall and had spilled half the contents of her purse in search of the folded cloth that contained a little quantity of white powder. However she couldn’t bring herself to take a sniff. She’d been afraid he’d notice. She’d been afraid she wouldn’t be lucid enough. She fought her need and succeeded. She splashed water from the sink on her face and dried up. Ten minutes later, she was back at the still vacant restroom stall. She just needed a little relief, she’d convinced herself.
The sun had gone down when they left the restaurant. Lade was as plastered as freshly poured concrete. Her smile was pasted and never wavered. She looked okay, but Banks was sure something was different after her second trip to the bathroom. She seemed high-strung – talking a bit louder and laughing a bit easier.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked for the umpteenth time.
Lade giggled. “I am. Don’t I look okay to you?”
“You do! Just making sure.” Banks replied.
“Dinner was great, thanks,” she said and leaned in to peck his cheek. She giggled at the look on Banks’ face.
Banks began walking in the direction of the bar but Lade pulled at him to stop. “I thought we said…”
“That wine was enough drinks for one night. I don’t want a beer to spoil its taste in my mouth.” Lade said giggling.
Her tongue seemed looser, Banks realized. He looked around them “Well, we’ve got a full moon and no clouds tonight. How about that walk, before we call it a night?”
Lade shrugged. “Of course!” She replied.
The air was cool because of the evening breeze from the lake. They walked hand-in-hand in silence. There were security lights placed at strategic positions to illuminate the walk around the circular lake. Few couples and groups were littered everywhere.
Lade took it all in. “This is the best evening I’ve had in a long time, Peter.” She said.
“My friends always talked about this place. This is my first time here too.” Banks replied.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah? I’m surprised you haven’t taken a picture with your phone yet.”
Lade shook her head but didn’t say anything. Banks pulled her close to him while taking out his blackberry. Lade leaned into him as she felt his arm encircle her waist. Banks opened his camera application.
“Give me your sweetest smile baby,” he said and took an accurate selfie. He looked at the picture and smiled in satisfaction. “Good enough for instagram?” he asked, passing the phone to her.
The picture was perfect. She chuckled. “I wonder what explanation you’d give your girlfriend.”
“There you go again.”
“What! You really want me to believe your cock-and-bull about Jennifer being just friends with you?” At her insistence, Banks had told him about Jennifer albeit reluctantly. She felt Banks stiffen against her and tense up. He removed his hand from around her waist and stopped walking. Lade stopped too and searched his face. His eyes were unreadable. “What’s the matter?” She asked.
“Nothing!” He replied a bit too quickly. “I…” He paused to think. “Well, I don’t seem to have any trouble believing you aren’t avoiding or omitting things about you.”
The smile faded from her face. The truth in his accusation almost stung. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just…your family’s sudden rise to affluence…your art studio…you’re a far more interesting topic than I am.”
Banks wasn’t impressed by her smart reply. They both stared at each other, standing by the lake with the moon high above them. Their eyes spoke volumes. Lade’s wished the ground would open up to swallow her. She hated lying to him but was having fun as it was with him. She wasn’t yet ready for him to judge her.
“So, what do you want to know?”
Banks went straight for the jugular. “What do you do for a living?” He asked. “And who is Nicky? That ugly guy called you Nicky. Before that, Jerry too.”
The M-moment. To her credit, Lade kept her expression straight above the raging inferno in her head. She even indulged a smile and looked around her as if searching for a place to hide from his quizzing glare.
“I dance,” Lade said. She cringed inward at the lie as she walked away from him towards a stone bench to sit down.
At its best, the lie represented how low she’d truly fallen. The last time they’d been close, she was leaving for tertiary education at the University of Lagos. She had bigger prospects back then, so how had she ended a dancer?
At its worst, the lie stank. She definitely wasn’t the Lade they both used to know - almost the inverse version. Yet the feeling was the same and so he went to sit beside her even though he knew she was lying.
“Dance! How come, Lade?”
“I don’t strip or climb poles and give lap dances or anything of the sort. No. I just dance professionally at CRASH. You know the place?” She gambled that he didn’t. And lost.
Banks frowned. “CRASH! I’ve been there a few times with my friends! My cousin Andy and his girlfriend love the place. I’ve never seen you there before.”
Lade shrugged. “Me neither. It’s a big place you know. And I never said I work every day.”
Banks just sat there staring at her. She returned his stare but looked away first. Banks got to his feet. “It’s alright,” he said in a gruff manner. “It’s not really that much of a big deal anyway. Come, I’ll drop you off. It’s getting late and we’ve got to get going.” He looked at his wrist watch. Lade hesitated and got a glaring stare from Banks. “Hurry up,” he said. “I’ve got other things to do at home.”
Lade was reluctant to get to her feet, but he didn’t wait. He was already retracing his way back to the parking lot. She’d lied so brazenly to his face and she knew he was walking away for good. The thought hurt like a stuck knife twisting in her chest. “Wait!” She called almost breathlessly, but he didn’t stop. “Peter wait!” She called again and hurried after him.
Banks heard her approaching footsteps and stopped, and waited for her to catch up with him. He turned to watch her approach. Fear and anxiety were written on her face like graffiti on a slum wall. What the hell happened to her? Why wouldn’t she just tell him about it? Why wouldn’t she trust him to be objective?
She was sweating reluctance when she arrived and he let her catch her breath. “I lied,” she began. “Almost everything I’ve told you about me is a lie.”
“I already know that,” Banks said, not giving her any quarters.
Lade nodded and looked down to hide the fact that she was blinking back threatening tears. “I am sorry. I’m really sorry.” She said in a quivering voice. “I am torn between my private shame and the fear of… of not seeing you again. The truth…you probably will not want to see me again.”
“Your lies are already making me think like that.”
She looked up at him and noticed his face soften a bit when he saw her misty eyes. She looked anxious. “I am not proud of the person I am. Or what I do for a living.” She continued. Banks regarded her with some curiosity but folded his hands. “But when we are together, I feel… worthy… like… like I can retrace my steps out of this thing…I am on. Like I could clean up my act and get my life back to normal. You used to be proud of me…of our friendship. But I’m not that person anymore and I lie because I’d hate to see you judge me.” She looked down at her feet again.
His heart was beating wildly too. She had all but confessed to his suspicions. What if Vanessa was right? Did she do drugs too? He refused the urge to check her arms for needle marks. “What about your father, and Godwin?” he asked instead.
Did she just stifle a sob? He looked at her more closely. He put an index finger under her jaw and lifted her chin up to see her face. The tears welled up in her eyes and his alarm meter shot through the roof. He knew the answer before she opened her mouth.
“There was an accident.” She said. “The car brakes had been tampered with. They…they…”
She started sobbing. The tears welled up Bank’s eyes too as he pulled her into an embrace. Her body shook with her sobs and he could feel his t-shirt soak up. He hadn’t imagined this. He was shocked to his roots. She had no immediate family anymore. Her uncle who lived up north was a no-brainer. He was one of those fanatic Muslim converts who never came back home. She was truly alone, he realized and his heart went out to her. He ran his hand up and down her back and listened to her cry. “I’m sorry Lade. I’m so sorry. Oh my God! Oh my God!” he kept muttering. He kissed the dreadlocks at the top of her head. She felt so soft and warm in his embrace and in that moment, he wished he could kiss all her troubles away, no matter what it was.
“Take your time, okay! I won’t leave you, Lade. I’ll wait. Whenever you want to talk about it…I’ll be here.” he said.
Lade stiffened when her foggy mind cleared enough to understand what he just said. He was taking a chance with her. She pulled out of his embrace and looked up at him with her teary and surprised face. “You’ll do that for me?”
“Yes,” Banks replied nodding. “But don’t ever lie to me again Lade.”
Lade smiled an apology and leaned in to give him a soft peck on his left cheek. She looked at him darting the tip of her tongue to wet her lower lip. Banks looked down at her lips – full and sensuous. The same lips that could part into the prettiest smile he’d ever seen. He remembered he’d always imagined what it’d feel like to kiss them and knew it was about time he found out. She brought her face closer to his and he leaned in to erase the rest of the distance that separated them. He had no more thoughts except one – pleasing her.
Their lips touched lightly and she breathed in the scent of his cologne again, his breath and his very being. Her heart skidded to a halt as the soft brush of her mouth against his turned her senses into a whirlpool. She closed her eyes when she felt his tongue creep out and when it touched her lips, she opened her mouth willingly.
She felt the spark of heat sear through her and her face flamed hot from the emotions that ran over her. She tilted her head and sent her tongue after his invader. She shivered at the first touch and her fingers slid up to grip his arms as she melted into him. Nothing in her experience with men prepared her for the sensuousness of his kiss. Her knees buckled with a strange weakness and she felt like a virgin having her first kiss. His fingers interlaced with her locks to coax her head closer to deepen his onslaught. She shuddered and wondered if she was giving him as good as she was getting.
Their mouths crushed each other’s and their tongues went to full blown war, both wanting to feast on what they had denied themselves. Lade clung to him as her head twisted to the right, then to the left, seeking the perfect angle to send her tongue deeper into his mouth and taste his core. She had her reply when she heard him groan into the kiss. The kiss ended abruptly and she quickly hid her flushed face and swollen lips in his strong chest, and attempted to catch her breath.
“Wow,” came a female voice close by. They both turned to find a Viewer couple with smiles on their faces. “That was hot to watch,” she said and smiled at her boyfriend who mouthed the word “sorry” at Banks and Lade. He tugged his mate after him and both went off in another direction.
Banks took Lade’s hands in his and kissed the back of her right palm. They smiled at each other like they’d just discovered a secret they both shared. Lade’s phone suddenly rang in her purse and the mood was gone. She unzipped her purse and took out her phone. It was Cindy calling. She smiled at Banks.
“My friend, Cindy. I have to take it.”
“Of course. Go ahead dear.”
Lade smiled at the endearment as she answered the call. “Hey Cindy!” Her smile disappeared the next instant and was replaced by a scowl. “Okay, I’ll meet you there on time…no problem…not now, bye.” She ended the call and looked up at Banks.
“Curfew?” Banks asked. Lade nodded. “I have to go, even though I don’t want to.”
Banks shrugged to hide his disappointment. The night was still young. Lade smoothed the crease on his forehead with her thumb and leaned into him for a quick kiss. Then, she rested her head on his chest and felt his hand encircle his waist. So they stood for a full minute.
Were they using each other? Or did a just rekindled relationship take a step closer in the right direction; an old friendship uninhibited this time, and by time. Banks’ head was a quagmire but he sighed in concession and again took her hand in his.
“Come,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No!” She said in surprise. “I’ll take a taxi. It’s…safer this way.”
Banks nodded reluctantly. “Then, I’ll drive you to a junction where you can get a taxi easier.” Banks said. Lade nodded. There was gratitude in her eyes and she realized that she was right about him. They shared love and passion, and she was the happiest woman alive that night.

10 FREE eBOOKS FOR THE TAKING

Hi NL peeps! Below is a list of bestseller e-books I am willing to give out for free:

MR. MERCEDES by STEPHEN KING
KILLER by JONATHAN KELLERMAN
FIFTY SHADES OF GRAY by E.L JAMES
FAKING NORMAL by COURTNEY STEVENS
TWELVE YEARS A SLAVE by SOLOMON THORNUP
THE STRIKER by CLIVE CLUSSER
THE MAZE RUNNER by JAMES DASHNER
PRIVATE L.A by JAMES PATTERSON
TO KILL A MOCKING BIRD by N.H LEE
FINDERS KEEPERS by STEPHEN KING
A GAME OF THRONES (BOOK 1-5) by GEORGE R. MARTIN
HUSH (epub) by JESS WYGLE
THE HUNGER GAMES (BOOK 1-3) (epub) by SUZANNE COLLINS
LORD OF THE RINGS (BOOK 1-3) by J.R. TOLKIEN


Quite an extensive list of quality novels every fiction writer/lover should have on his/her e-shelf as you can see, but here's the catch (of course there is a catch, albeit a simple one):

I just finished working on the first part of my novel titled 'LADE (OF ALL THE GIRLS IN LAGOS)' and I need it reviewed and criticized. It's about two hundred and fifty pages I'll love to receive via email at least a hundred (100) word review of the novel and as compensation for your time, I'd reply your email with gratitude and any ten of the above listed bestseller e-novels you choose. I hope this is fair enough.
Please email me if interested at campfirewriters@gmail.com and I'll send you the file to be reviewed. I wish y'all a happy week ahead.


PS: A GAME OF THRONES are five books already, THE HUNGER GAMES and LORD OF THE RINGS are both three books.

mizquote:
she was devastated.

her legs began to shake.

tears began to drip from her eyes.

Maggie was angry and sorry at the same time for her friend.

"mama, shey I tell you say make you no dey play without protection?"

she was confused.
she had never had se..x with any man unprotected.

she had always insisted.

no matter how much the men offered to pay she always stood her ground.

she looked at her friend and knew she was disappointed in her.

"Maggie, no be so o, I never sleep with any man without protection".

she then realized her period was approximately thirteen days late, she had never experienced delay in her cycle.

she didn't know what to do if she was truly pregnant.

she didn't believe she was pregnant.

she was a specie whose D.N.A was corrupt the worst she could do was bringing up a child of her kind of gene.

she was lost in thought.

her confusion grew as her thinking became distorted.

she heard her roommate saying.

"if you talk say you never play without rubber, then there's hope".

she stressed the last part of hope well

"it dey happen a times, your period fit delay because of too much stress, make we go buy pregnancy strip, make we use confam if Belle Don enter or not."


hearing the part she felt a bit relieved, she held onto the tiny hope of not being pregnant.

she ran to the toilet confused but she needed to do it.

to pray.

she prayed, for the first time since she was introduced into the line of business.

she prayed from her heart.

she asked God not to give life to anything in her stomach.

for she was poor and cursed.

she murdered her family.

she was a prostitute.

she had no money.

she explained to GOd the reasons why she shouldn't be pregnant.

as she talked she cried.

this wasn't her usual cry.

it was a cry of pain.

a cry of hopelessness.

a cry of frustration.

a cry of loss.

a cry of self pity.

she was crying for the person she had become.

she cried until all her tears dried.

she felt a sense of relief.

she had a feeling her prayer had been answered.

she washed her face and went back to her room feeling light


*******†***£******†*******††¥***"*"**"*******

thirty minutes later Maggie came back with the pregnancy test strip.

she didn't want to undergo the test for she knew she wasn't pregnant.

Maggie forced her.

she peed in a small cup.

Maggie collected it.

thirty seconds later.

the result came out.

two tiny bright red lines appeared.

she was indeed and undoubtedly pregnant.

Maggie shook her head.


the girl understood.

two hot drops of urine fell.

she became dizzy.

This was the best update #Opinion
But then ur plot graph has a lotta climaxes. Look forward to a resolution only to be hit with another high note, so much we no longer experience the valleys and set ups. #Jargon Way to go though.

5931EDBD

http://campfirewriters. is a blog site for writers about writing in Nigeria, specifically screenwriting, general prose and poetry. I hope you check us out. Thanks.

I think, but am I?

Cheated?

First of all, I'll love to apologize to my readers for the inactivity since recently. For the past eighteen weeks, I've been pre-occupied with a screenwriting project. I was contracted in mid September last year to create twenty six episodes for a new TV series, of which I was happy to oblige. I was given till New year day to turn in the screenplay (I'll create a post on the major problems with Nollywood, from a writer's perspective before the month runs out). Hence, all my attention was tasked in order to meet the deadline. There was no time to blog.

Like any other hurried creative endeavors, my output was chaotic but salvageable and my client was quick to go into pre-production. Trouble came with payment-time. I didn't have a written agreement with the client and so I ended up without my full payment.

Cheated? Definitely! Nevertheless, I came home with three distinctive lessons.

1. It's a safe bet to be of the position that the client intends to defraud you - the writer. These filmmakers all preach trust a lot. In Nollywood, trust is such a far fetched idea, that without concrete measures like written contracts and Memorandums of Understanding, simple scriptwriter-for-hire transactions will almost always end up in disagreements. As such, access to immediate legal expertise prior to the undertaking is in a writer's best interest. If they want to hire you to write, they should either give you a written contract or send them an M.O.U to sign.

2. As a professional, every job is an addition to your portfolio. It therefore stands to reason that any writing jobs which fall outside the brackets of your comfort, of which you're positive that the end product won't be the best possible version of your writing standards should be frowned upon. I was practically forced to turn in two episodes every week so as to meet my deadline. Initially, the client had asked for five a week and after much discussion, it was reduced to two episodes each week. By the time I got to episode ten, I got sick and tired of the entire process. Telling a story should be a savored experience, like tasting vintage wine. Connoisseurs could spend an hour on a half-filled glass of wine. Good writers take their time going through the motions of a story despite deadlines and a client's impatient anticipation.
A good instance is George R. R. Martin's postponement of the release date of Winds of Winter (Game of Thrones book six) despite pressure from HBO's optioning and his eager fans. HBO can go ahead to shoot season six of the movie without his input, the author is busy with creating Winds of Winter to the standard he envisaged it.
As such, uncomfortable deadlines should be discussed, and if can't be adjusted, should be steered clear of. Trust me, no one would ask about time frames and deadlines if you have sub-standard products in your resume. You'd simply get re-classified.

3. Compromise will always leave you dissatisfied in the aftermath. On a personal level, we love our clients and want to satisfy them so that they return with more jobs. We want our business relationship with the client to be transformational and not transactional. Nevertheless, the instant we allow ourselves to be served with bullshit for breakfast, don't expect to end the day without a running stomach. B.S is when you fulfill a client's expectations but he or she doesn't fulfil hers, no matter how plausible the excuse is. Always put your foot down and refuse to be taken advantage of, because (and trust me) if you let it happen once, say because of your love for your client, it is bound to happen again. Don't forget your writing is your business. If it's freelance, then you're self employed. You're answerable to self, and the self disappointment in the aftermath is worse than any berating you might've received from your boss if you worked for someone.

And that's it. Three lessons I learned from the WRITER-FOR-HIRE gone sour I recently experienced. If you too have gone through something similar, dear reader, why don't you share with us. I believe all we Nigerian writers are in similar boats regardless of which level or platform we operate from. It would do us good to share info and experiences we've had with each other.

flow1759:
You be correct.

Hi. I manage a network of freelance script writers. I receive movie script orders (ready-written or writer-for-hire alerts) using my small connection to filmmakers in Nollywood. I got a job order this afternoon for a comedy feature length movie script. I don't write comedy. Most good writers I know do not. I was told to reach out to flow on Nairaland. If you are the one, and u have a food comedy story in movie script format, I'd love for you to reach out to me on any of the following.
BBM: 5931EDBD
WhatsApp: +2348034845878.

Thank you. Anticipating a prompt reply because, like they say, time is money.

boyo123:
true bro.so can u link me to any of the movie guys you know,let them just take a look at my story.

Add me up on bbm 5931EDBD
or WhatsApp +2348034845878

I need a scriptwriter to collaborate with me for a TV series concept development. The concept has already been approved by a studio here in Nigeria. The time frame in which to finish the script is short (which is usual for our Nigerian movie studios) and this is why I need a second head to make the scripting move faster.

Please, I'd prefer a writer whose location is closer to mine for efficient and effective communication and supervision. I'm at Aba. Response from Rivers, Abia, AkwaIbom, Imo writers will be much welcome. The pay is moderate. Experience with scripting formats and software (especially Celtx) is a must. I may require a few pages from former scripts you've written. Writer may be male or female.

I may not have time to come on NL regularly to moderate your responses. You can get me on WhatsApp @ 08034845878 for prompt responses. You can also email me your interest @johnspurgeon014@gmail.com

Thanks.

I never done this before. Feel like trying it.

I slept like a baby. I had a dream in which I woke up to the smell of breakfast. I walked into the kitchen. My baby boy was cooking And he had the face of the man living next door.

More is less, so forgive the volume.

boyo123:
its not that easy bro.u were lucky to get thier attention.

You lose before you learn to gain. That's the way of life as a beginner. #JustSaying

boyo123:
guys .is there any chance of writers getting payed by movie makers on this forum, because i honestly think people, expecially nollywood movie makers can steal someones ideas .repackage it and make millions off it.

Well, only a bad businessman won't leave his house, because there's a lion outside. You can keep your writing and read it yourself or create/explore channels to sell your work. But trust me, you're not a writer till it pays you.

I'm not a script agent. I had fears similar to yours till I was faced with the option of finding a buyer for my scripts or getting a job and quit writing. I got my ass on LinkedIn and started connecting with anyone affiliated to movies, joined film forums and contributed to the discussions like I already owned my own movie studio. Soon I learned to sniff out the other wannabes like me. I pitched to the right people. Barely three months later, I made my first sale and got a retainership. I pestered my LinkedIn connects till they started responding. Now I'm pushing them to send me their plots to get developed. I don't even live in Lagos. My set up is such that I don't even have to go to Lagos or Abj.

This is not a success story...yet. I still have to spend to copyright movie ideas and scripts to avoid plagiarism. Writing on NL is fun. You can stay popular here. Or you can give popularity a middle finger and save ur creativity for someone that will pay good money for it. (Not shitting on NL writers. Have nothing but love for y'all).

Movie producer don't have time to write, that's a given. Movie producers can be contacted directly on social media and if you're making a whole lotta sense...why, they'll pay attention. Why haven't tried running against the bandwagon?

If you copyright your story, trust me, no one will touch it. Get a lawyer handy. Don't kiss ass. Your story is your business. You invested time, creativity, money even. Stay professional and confident you have something worth their time and money. If you really do, they'll introduce you to their colleagues.

Ayjos10:
hw sure are we dat u wnt abscond with d work without hearing frm u agn

You won't be sending me your complete script but a preview. Once a price is agreed on and the interested client approves your script preview, the client'll make an initial payment which I'll forward to you. You'll send in the complete script next, and make any subsequent changes required by the client. The final payment would be made after the script is edited to the client's taste. I hope this makes sense.

All I need at first is a synopsis and five-page preview of your romance-comedy script or short film script for approval. Once this is done, the rest of the process will follow.

Thanks for showing interest.

Inform a scriptwriter!!!

Hello guys, I've been an avid, albeit passive reader of stories and opinions on these writer threads for quite sometime. As such, I know good writers can be found on these threads.

I'm John Spurgeon Iheanetu, a freelance screenwriter based in Uyo although I service a few movie studio clients in Lagos via our social media links.

I recently had a request from a few clients for a short film scripts and romantic comedies. Honestly, these aren't my favorite genres. Not only will I not be comfortable attempting to write them, I might be wasting my client's time.

If you know a scriptwriter, or you're one, please contact me via email. johnspurgeon014@gmail.com

Send me a synopsis of a good, marketable romantic comedy or a short film script(s) and a five page preview of your script (preferrably in MS WORD format) to ascertain how familiar you are with script format. Also include the lowest possible price for your story. I'd forward the best stories to these clients to select, negotiate on your behalf and get back to you when they do.

I need this done like a week ago. Thanks