ANGELA


I reach out as he leaves the bed.

“Wait!”

He turns towards me, brows drawn together in a frown. I puzzle over the questions in my head as I look at him.

Why this case?

Why did strange men visit Hussaina and her mother?

“Yes?”

I say the next thing I think.

“You can sleep on the bed if you want.”

He stands at the other side of the bed, his face giving nothing away as he watches me.

“I know the floor is not comfortable.”

His lips thin. “I am not complaining.”

“I know, it is just…it will make me feel better.”

“I have been sleeping there for weeks Angela.”

I manage a smile.

“Okay.”

I pull pillow behind me and plump it with tight fists. I see him move from the corner of my eye. Soon the bed sinks with his weight. I place my pillow back in its place and turn from him.


***********************


EHOR FOREST

EDO STATE



The kidnappers led Senator Nosakhare Osarodion out of the forest, beams of torchlight dancing on the trees ahead of them as they fought the thick darkness that surrounded them. The senator was blindfolded and bare feet, his white lace native attire, torn and hanging loosely from his emaciated form like rags. He was led forward by one of the kidnappers, while the other followed closely behind him. Something poked into the soft over pampered feet of the senator and he whimpered in fright.

“Shut up there,” the fat kidnapper behind the senator growled, swinging the butt of his rifle into the back of the senator’s knees and causing him to stumble. “Ordinary stick na im dey make you cry like baby.”

“Sorry…sorry,” senator Nosakhare said, bound hands clasped and lifted upwards as if in prayer. “Sorry sir.”

The men continued their journey in silence, their boots making squishy sounds as they crushed leaves swollen with dew and light rain. They found themselves at the edge of the forest and approached the narrow road that led to the express. A Honda Element stood waiting for them on the road. It was empty. The kidnapper in front switched his gun from his right hand to his left one and fished for the keys in his pocket.

He opened the doors of cars and directed the second kidnapper to put the senator in the backseat. Nodding quickly, the other kidnapper shoved their victim into the car. The senator tumbled headlong into the car and landed in an awkward twisted heap on the floor of the car. He stayed where he was, mumbling incoherently as the car started and shot forward.

The kidnappers drove to the expressway and turned in the direction of the place they had described to the senator’s family. They drove for several minutes, eyes checking the rear view mirror and everywhere for suspicious movement behind them. They began to relax after driving without any incidence. The kidnapper in the passenger seat had a wide grin on his face. They had gotten through. Twenty million was theirs.

“Did you notice anything?”

The smile hobbled on the kidnapper’s face as he looked at his friend and driver.

“Notice wetin?” he asked in the same low tone his friend had used.

“It felt like someone was following us.”

Turning in his seat, the other kidnapper looked back and checked for cars behind them. He saw only pitch darkness. He laughed nervously.

“I no see anything.”

They finally arrived at the deserted filling station where they had ordered the ransom money to be dropped. They flashed their headlights on the Ghana-must-go sitting on the pavement.

“Na the money be that,” the passenger seat kidnapper said, his eyes growing bigger. “Make I go carry am?’

The driver seat kidnapper nodded, eyes showing worry as he looked at the bushes flanking their car on either side of the road.

“Yes. Go.”

His partner never made it to the bag. They were surrounded by the state’s anti-crime squad before they could reach their bounty. The police released Senator Nosakhare from the bounds that kept his limbs immobilized. The senator at once free, became a Christian again. He jumped and sang loudly in the dead of the night as his kidnappers groaned under the knees of red eyed policemen with fierce expressions.

Convenant keeping God, there is no one like you….Alpha and Omega, there is no one like you…


***********************



NADEN


I wake up suddenly, my heart pounding loudly in my ears. I try to remember the dream but my memory is a blank sheet. There is nothing there to remind me of the nightmare of a few minutes ago. I become aware of the weight on my arm and look down to find Angela sleeping, back drawn against my chest. I forget all about my nightmare as she moves in her sleep, pushing her backside into my groin. She mutters something in her sleep. I am torn between putting her back in her space and letting her sleep in my arms. As I bother myself about options, the room comes alive with the light from the screen of my phone. I stretch my hand gently and pull it from under my pillow. I squint at the screen.

My mother.

I check the phone. It is exactly three in the morning.

“Mum?”

“Naden, abeg help me pray,” my mother says, a sob catching in her voice….”I dream say dem kill Boma. Help me pray. Na only two of una I born o!!”

There is a clicking sound and the call ends before I get a chance to ask questions. Dialing her number immediately, I wait for several frustrating minutes before she picks. Her words are punctured and stretched by deep uncontrollable sobs this time.

“I dream….help me pray….na only two of una I born o!”

I finally let her go, but not without the assurance that I would pray for my brother. It is hard to sleep after her call.

Something has happened to Boma.

I know it.

THE OYELOWO MANSION

MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY


Martin Oyelowo was on the phone with the Assistant Commissioner of police who was calling from Kano when his wife walked into his study. His eyes swept over his wife’s figure as she approached his desk. He wondered where she had been. He had been disappointed to find her room empty earlier in the day when he had stopped there.

“Hello? Are you there?”

Martin decided he had learned enough from the Assistant Commissioner of Police.

“I will call you tomorrow,” he told the man, pulling his phone away from his ear. His hand lowered to the table, eyes going back to his wife. Now sitting primly in the seat across his desk, her lips were twisted in what could have been a smile if only it had reached her eyes.

“Where are you coming from?”

Damilola’s lips fell back into a line.

“Tosin’s place.”

“Okay.”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Martin watched his wife for some minutes. He tried to read her. She was worried. She had something important to tell him.

What was it?

Damilola told him.

“I cheated on you.”

The study could have been a graveyard. Nothing moved. No sound was heard. Even the voices that had been coming from the television seemed to have disappeared. Martin Oyelowo blinked twice and turned to stone.

“When?”

“Last year.”

“I see.”

Damilola lowered her eyes to her lap.

“Sorry.”

She stood up and left her chair. When she closed the door behind her, Martin Oyelowo drew in a deep steadying breath and came to life again.


*******************


UPSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION

DAMILOLA OYELOWO’S ROOM


Damilola was drifting off to sleep when the lights came back on. She turned, nervous, towards her husband. He stood at the foot of the bed for some minutes, watching her, a predator stalking his victim before the strike. She sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest. She was scared. There was something in her husband’s eyes that scared her. So when he began to advance towards her, she shrunk into the headboard of her bed. Her heart became a heavy spongy mass, pushing against her rib cage and cutting off precious air supply. Damilola tried to breathe, but instead found that she could not.

He reached one hand towards her. She jumped. Her voice, broken and whispery fought its way past her tortured throat.

“Wai...wait.”

He frowned and seemed to hesitate.

“What?”

Damilola saw the confusion on his face and became confused.

“I thought….”

He sighed.

“You didn’t think I was going to….”

He shook his head and then reached for her. His touch shocked her with its gentleness. Damilola stiffened, her eyes following the progress of his hands up her thighs.

He touched her just then. He touched her in all her secret places, drawing confessions that had nothing to do with former friends. Damilola forget fear and surrendered completely to the man she had pledged the rest of her life to. Their lovemaking was fast and intense. When he fell away from her body, he took her with him.

“I knew,” he said, fingers stroking her back as she cuddled against his body.

Damilola raised herself on her elbows and pushed damp hair from her eyes.

“You knew?”

Martin shrugged his powerful shoulders, eyes boring into his wife’s own.

“Yes.”

“How did you know?”

Martin cupped his wife’s left breast, thumb grazing her nipple.

“I have my ways.”

“Did you talk to Tunde?”

Martin’s lips turned in a half smile.

“He talked to someone.”

Damilola was horrified.

“He talked to someone?”

“Yes.”

Damilola bit her lower lip. The news of her cheating had already traveled far. She imagined the gossip and snide comments.

“Someone I sent to him.”

“It turns out your boyfriend has a loose tongue when he is drunk.”

“He was never my boyfriend Martin. We did not have sex. He just touched me….”

“I don’t…think that is necessary Damilola.”

Damilola swallowed. Martin’s face had become impassive. He leaned closer and kissed her breast. She watched the top of his head, wondering how much he knew, marveling at how much she loved him in spite of everything.


**********************


NADEN


I close the case file and reach behind me to massage my neck. Feeling a little better, I push the chair back and stand up. Angela is on the bed, back turned to me and concentrating on her phone. I leave for the bathroom to relieve my full bladder. I return back to the room to find Angela on her back. Her eyes are no longer on her phone. They follow me everywhere I go. I walk to the bed and pick up my pillow from it.

“Have you finished the address?”

I look into curious eyes.

“No.”

I grab the folded bed sheet at the edge of the bed.

“Naden?”

“Yes?”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Clasping the sheets against my side, I turn back to the bed. Angela sits in the middle of it, comfortably propped against the pillow resting against the head board of the bed. I nod at her.

“Go ahead. I am listening.”

“I think you should sit down.”

I take the spot where the bed sheet had been and sit directly opposite Angela. Her face scrubbed free of make up and her white oversized night shirt swallowing her frame up completely, Angela is almost a different person.

“It is about Hussaina.”

My guard goes up immediately. The old Angela is back. The T-shirt and lack of make up was a disguise after all.

“Okay.”

Picking through the facts of our case, relaying every event as if she had been a spectator herself, Angela makes a case for Hussaina, painting a pitiful picture of a girl suffering from the trauma of rape. Genuine concern causes her voice to tremble a few times. I find myself picturing the girl whose case I was paid to fight. My spirit sinks a little at the picture I conjure in my mind.

“So?”

I look at Angela and I am reminded of her father. The jaw is the same, the determined look so similar it is as if I am looking at him. I am hit by the realization that I am caught between father and daughter. Angela’s desire to help Hussaina stemmed from her own desire to rebel against her father. I dismiss the vision of Hussaina in my head and steam the flow of sympathy inside me.

“There is nothing we can do for her Angela.”

Looking disappointed, Angela leans back into her pillow.

“Is that it? You won’t even consider meeting her?”

I shake my head firmly.

“No.”

I stand up from the bed.

“Wait!”

I sigh inwardly.

What now?


*********************

EPISODE 11




ANGELA


Glowering at Barrister Shuiabu from his exalted position behind the dais, the judge is almost frightening in his anger. The court room is silent and the eyes of the fifty odd persons in the room are trained on the visibly quaking Barrister Shuaibu and the judge.

“Sir, but the prosecution is not bound to call every witness…the case of…Oforkete versus the state and Ihemegbulam Onye….”

“You have not brought a single witness Barrister Shuaibu,” the judge says, cutting him off. “And you submitted a list of three witnesses with your statement of claim.”

“Yes sir…but – ”

Shaking his head, the judge picks up papers before him and thumps them on the dais.

“Barrister Shuaibu, you have wasted the time of this court for the past two weeks. I wonder if you think we came here to play.”

“No sir,” Barrister Shauibu says, folding into half, his face sagging with embarrassment. “It is not my fault sir. Witnesses have refused to come to court.”

The judge shakes his head and begins to sort through the papers in his hand. As the court waits with bated breath for his next pronouncement, I remember my last visit to Hussaina and her story about receiving three strange men the previous day. According to Hussaina, the men had come in a car which in her limited vocabulary could be described as a hybrid of a Toyota Camry and a Honda, but she had been adamant about one thing – the car was big and the windows as dark as midnight.

Tinted, the car was tinted right?

Her slim shoulders rising in a shrug, Hussaina had fallen into a sullen silence, eyes staring into a secret place that neither her mother nor anyone could reach her. I had gone soon after that, taking the knowledge that men who were probably government officials were visiting her.

“….at the next hearing and parties shall submit their written address…”

I snap out of my reverie as the court seems to erupt with voices. I turn to Naden and see him closing his journal and reaching for the case beside him. Closing the case with a snap, he looks up. Our eyes lock.

“Ready?”

I pull my journal to me and leave my seat without a word. He is right behind me as we leave the court. In the car park, I head straight to Ahmed’s car and make myself comfortable at the backseat. He joins me ten minutes later after dumping the case in the boot of the car. We drive out of the court in silence. I try not to think of Hussaina but it is hard.

Did her refusal to come to court have anything to do with the visit of the men in the big car with dark windows?

What about the other two witnesses?

Did the men visit them too?



*********************


IKOYI LAGOS


Damilola sat in the living room of her friend’s duplex, legs crossed and nursing her favourite punch drink. Tosin Osiyejo, her friend of twenty years was on the phone with her son, angular face relaxed as she listened to something he said. Tosin laughed.

“Bawo, I am not playing with you. Find a girl who knows our tradition…you told your dad? What did he say?”

Bending over with more laughter, Tosin slapped the arm of her coffee brown leather sofa repeatedly, her slim body quivering with her mirth. Seconds later, she straightened and tried to sound stern with her third child.

“I am serious. I want an African daughter in law.”

Tosin ended the call with her son and apologized to her friend for the distraction. Damilola smiled and lowered her nearly empty glass to a glass side table with steel legs.

“No problem.”

Tosin remembered the last thing Damilola had said before the call from her son came.

“So he is talking about meeting with your husband?”

Damilola stopped smiling and sighed.

“Yes.”

Leaning back in her seat, Tosin jiggled her legs and studied Damilola.

“Do you want that to happen?”

Damilola looked down at her gold band on her wedding finger. Her husband had metamorphosed into something that once existed only in her day dreams. Could she risk losing that over a few seconds of madness, a mistake that she wished never happened?

She shook her head.

“No.”

Tosin, avowed truth teller and faithful wife wore a reproachful frown.

“Don’t you think you owe him the truth?”

Damilola toyed with her wedding ring.

“Nothing happened.”

“Well Tunde feels differently. If he felt the same way you did, I don’t think he will be talking about seeing Martin.”

Damilola looked up at her friend.

“He cheated on me too.”

“I know,” Tosin said in a soft voice. “I know.”

“Maybe I should just meet with Tunde and talk him out of meeting Martin.”

“No,” Tosin said, head moving slightly to the left as she made a clicking noise with her tongue. “Don’t. You will make things worse.”

Damilola threw her hands up in despair, gold trinkets running down her hand and clinking against each other.

“I give up. If Tunde wants to see Martin, so be it.”

Tosin’s legs stopped jiggling. Her eyes became intense. Her voice was persuasive when she spoke.

“Tell Martin the truth. Reach him before Tunde does.”

Damilola looked down at her wedding ring again and wished she could erase the encounter with her former confidant from her past. Now the ghosts were back to haunt her and she did not know how to face them.


**********************

Nmeri17:
Virgo dearie you'll say I'm always criticizing. I actually find yo story interesting that's why I'm hooked but why do I keep getting the feeling that these latest episodes were rushed I am certain I've seen better from u. Then the sex scene. rushy rushy and it was predictable shay u know. remember when I wanted to give spoilers?? the way it played out was exactly what i was gonno say!! make me cringe baby twist the storyline beyond my spoiler limits!! yur too impatient to disappoint us following the thread bury the hatchet. better unfinished than spoiling the whole work. I'm rooting for u

It's okay to criticize dear. However, the story has gone beyond what you read here. These are old episodes. I rushed the updates so NLanders can catch up with the latest episodes on my website. Still, your contribution is highly appreciated.

kaymolla:
Am a big fan of legal thrillers frm the likes of John Grisham and co so wen I came across dis....even though its Nigerian, I got hooked. Thanks Virgo for dis story...so loving it...#waiting

Glad to hear you are enjoying the story.

Jennimma:
Thank you Virgo for this update. It was...refreshing! welcome back too.

Thanks darling, and congratulations on your win.

crystalsaint:
following...I love naden...action man

Thanks for following.

ANGELA


I am aware of him in ways that make me uncomfortable. I am irritated by the fact that I allowed him push me to the verge of tears and beyond disgusted at myself for the wild thoughts dancing wildly in my head.

He has a nice body. You are Hot.

I ignore my inner voice and decide to beg for my freedom. It is either that or a bad decision. The minutes were ticking dangerously. I close my eyes and open them again.

“Release my hands.”

He takes the pressure off my hands. I massage my wrists slowly, aware of the hardness between my legs.

It feels nice, my inner voice says, panting with need. He obviously wants you just as much as you want him.

Stop it! I have a boyfriend.

Ha! Peter is your boyfriend now?

I bite my lower lip and frown.

Yes, he is.

No he is not. He is your human Love Machine. That was what you told Amina, remember?

I lift my head to look at him, but find myself looking at his chest and down the space between our bodies.

What is in there?

I draw in a deep breath and will my inner voice into silence. I succeed. Relieved, I lock eyes again with Naden, and as I do, I feel a sudden cold settle around my chest. I look down to investigate the reason for the cold and find my top open, my chest completely laid bare to his gaze. I attempt embarrassment and a little anger but nothing works. I give up and just breathe, but even that is hard. The electricity in the air seems to have taken up all the oxygen. Suddenly breathless, I make a slight movement and then freeze when I realize that I am not trying to get away from him but pressing hard against him, against the hard thing between my legs.

His face is an inscrutable mask but when he lowers his head, I read his intention clearly. I tense as his lips brushes tantalizingly against my own. His breath is clean and tastes of the vodka he had been taking while we sat outside. I part my lips and press against his lips to taste more of him. We kiss slowly, tongues lightly touching and withdrawing until need consumes me. I lose my restraint and let lust guide me as his hands travel all over my body. Our bodies become entangled and I find my legs wrapped around his waist, my body grinding against his own. I push my hands into his shirt and lean to trace the shell of his ear with my tongue. He releases a low moan that makes me tingle all over. I suddenly want him naked.

“Take off your clothes.”

He pulls away. I grab the hem of my top and pull the top over my head. I unclasp my bra and toss it aside. I turn to find him still in his shirt, a frown on his face.

“Are you sure?”

Dazed, lustful and unable to comprehend his question, I reach to pull him close and whisper something in his ear. I don’t know what it is, but whatever it is spurs him into action. He pulls his shirt off. I help him get rid of his trousers and the black boxer briefs underneath. I don’t have time to admire his body because I am falling back to the bed and yielding to the pressure of his legs between my thighs. I feel his fingers touch me at the juncture of my thighs and press against his hand.

His fingers begin to move slowly in teasing circles the same time his mouth lowers to my breasts. Sensations shoot through my body. I squirm against him and try to climax, but he is slow, so slow it hurts. I reach and stroke him. He says something about condoms and shakes his head. Reaching past me, he searches the drawers beside the bed, smiles a little and shows me something.

It is a condom.

He tears the foil off the condom in one easy rip and rolls it on himself. When he is ready, I lift myself off the bed and press against him, determined to lead. He falls back on the bed and I straddle him, lowering myself on him until his entire length completely disappears inside me. Feeling a little full, I begin to move slowly at first until I find my rhythm. I am aware of his moans but I am more focused on the vibrations coursing through my body. Sometimes I lean forward and grind against him, other times I lean backwards and thrust my chest out towards his expert fingers. He matches my aggression and tries to control my movements with his hands on my waist.

I am on the edge of a climax when he turns without warning and I find myself under his body. He stops moving for some minutes, his eyes burning into my own. I am restless. I strain against him to urge him on. He seems to smile even though his lips do not move. After what seems like eternity, he resumes his thrusting, pushing deep into me until I can feel him everywhere inside me. I sink my nails into the firm flesh of his buttocks and rock hard against him. His thrusts become faster and I spin with him, holding on to every kiss, every fevered moan until the waves rush over me and I shudder violently in his arms. It is not long before he reaches his own climax.

My breathing takes a while to return to normal and when it finally does, I find Naden rolling away from me and standing up from the bed. I refuse to feel the guilt pouring into places lust had been a few minutes ago. Naden returns from the bathroom and I leave the bed for my own shower. When I return back to the room, he is on the floor, on his makeshift bed, dressed in a black T-shirt and gray pajamas, his eyes on his phone. The sheets on the bed are straightened and inviting. I climb into bed and stare at the ceiling.

I had sex with Naden.

The notion is hard to take in but the dull throbbing between my legs is a mocking reminder of my abandon a few minutes ago.

I turn on my side and face the empty space beside me.

“Naden?”

“Yeah?”

His voice is cool, almost distant.

“This means nothing. We are not in a relationship.”

“I can’t remember asking you out Angela.”

I frown a little in the dark and try to interpret the lack of interest in his voice but I am too sleepy to be analytical. I pull the covers up my body and give in to sleep.



**********************


NADEN


I hit the send key after composing a reply to the text from Jewel and turn on my side to sleep but sleep evades me long after Angela stops moving on the bed. I give up trying to sleep and think about Angela’s statement.

This means nothing.

I play the words over and over in my head and then remember Jewel again.

Will you be my boyfriend?

My answer had been vague.

We’ll talk when we see.

I lie in the dark and think of the woman lying on the bed above me.

What have I done?

ANGELA


We sit in civilized silence by the swimming pool and review Hussaina’s case. Naden is saying something about bringing in new evidence at the next court sitting, but I am not listening. I am thinking about our dinner three nights ago. I am disturbed by the fact that my memory of events after the dinner is submerged in a hazy fog.

What happened after I left the table for bed?

I look at Naden as he leans to write something in his journal.

Should I ask him?

He looks up to find me looking at me and lifts his left brow in question.

“Do you have anything to say?”

I lean back in my chair and nod.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I am thinking about the dinner, the one you ordered days back.”

Abandoning his pen and relaxing backwards in his chair, Naden watches me coolly. His expression says very little. It is hard to guess what he is thinking.

“Okay, what about it?”

“Was I drunk?”

Naden is silent for a while. I frown at him.

“Yes or no?”

Exhaling and returning back to his upright position, he gathers the papers on the table together.

“Let’s go back to the room. I need to talk to you about that night.”

My thoughts uncoordinated and scattered, I pack my things and walk in the shadow of his slow assured steps. As soon as we enter the room, I organize my thoughts and face him.

“Okay, I am listening.”



********************

NADEN


I can tell she is nervous, but even that knowledge is not enough to assuage my apprehension. A part of me is tempted to hide the truth, to sugar coat the reality of what transpired that night or present a more digestible version of the conversation that had taken place between us, but I tell myself she has a right to know.

“You got drunk.”

Her eyes widen and then narrow.

“I got drunk?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Her lips thinning, she crosses her arm against her chest.

“I remember now," she says, nodding slowly. "You kept pouring wine into my glass.”

She cocks her head, a disdainful smile playing on her lips.

“I guess that was your plan, right?”

I shrug. “Yes.”

Moving with lightening speed, she charges towards me, but I am prepared. I catch the hand cutting through the air before it can reach its target.

“Don’t,” I tell her, looking into eyes brimming over with hatred. “I have warned you before.”

“You are just a….”

I watch her struggle for words.

“Bastard…idiot.”

I shrug. “Whatever. Don’t just put your hands on me again or you will regret it.”

She tugs her hand free with a violent pull. I let her go and feel a small twinge of wicked satisfaction as she staggers backwards.

“Idiot,” she tosses at me again, stomping off to the table where her phone is lying with the papers we had been working on. “I am calling my father right now.” She grabs the phone and spins round to face me. “I will not work with a shady character like you.”

I nod. “Good, be ready to tell him about your plan to sabotage our efforts.”

She stops tapping her phone to look at me.

“Sabotage what efforts?”

“Well, you confessed to visiting Hussaina several times to help her. Don’t forget to tell your father that part too.”

The hand clutching the phone returns to her side, and defeat enters her eyes. I begin to feel sorry for her until I see her take a step back, one hand lifting to swing something at me. I duck in time and turn to see her phone hit the wall behind me. Turning instinctively to avert the attack I know is coming, I prepare to face her, but I am not quick enough to avoid the inevitable crash as she hurls herself at me. Hard blows rain down on me from all directions. I deflect them and grab her hands. Losing what is left of my control, I jerk her forward so that our noses are only inches apart.

“This is the last warning I am giving on your wild behaviour. I don’t play nice.”

I expect her to shrink, to beg for release, but instead a low growl escapes her throat and she shoves her weight into me, forcing me backwards. I take control of the situation quickly and turn her around just as our legs hit the bed. We stumble into the bed, and I make sure to keep her pinned under me, her arms high above her head and imprisoned in my hand.

“Let me go,” she says through gritted teeth, a feral expression on her face.

“No, until you promise to stop acting like a child.”

Bucking wildly under me, she struggles to free herself. I tighten my hold on her and we squirm around the bed for some minutes before she stops struggling.

“Let me go,” she says again. This time her voice is unsteady. I see a slight sheen of tears in the eyes staring viciously at me. I exhale.

It was time to apologize.

“Sorry. I was wrong in getting you drunk, but I just needed to know what you were up to.”

She closes her eyes and then opens them again.

“Release my hands.”

I release my hold on her wrists. She sighs and massages them one after the other. When she is done, she lowers them to the bed, her eyes traveling past my face to my chest. The expression on her face is thoughtful. I find myself wondering what she is thinking. Her eyes return to mine briefly, and then we curiously look down at the same time and notice the same thing.

The buttons of her top have come completely undone and breasts moulded to perfection stand proudly in a black brassiere with lace at the edges. Her nipples are hardened and visible through the fabric of the brassiere. I remember her words from three nights ago.

Maybe we should just have sex.


***********************

EPISODE 10

THE OYELOWO MANSION

DAMILOLA OYELOWO’S ROOM


Awake even before the first light of dawn broke through the dark clouds outside the window, Martin Oyelowo lay behind his wife, inches away from her sleeping form, his eyes on the fine hairs of her neck. The flowery fragrance of her perfume filled his nose and brought back memories. He remembered their wedding night.

He remembered lying in bed and wondering if she was going to remain in the bathroom the whole night. Worn out from the five hour flight from Lagos and the drive to their hotel at Paddington, London, he gave up waiting and began to sleep. It was the light tapping from persistent hands that brought him back from sleep. He had turned to see his wife, shy and uncomfortable in a short red see-through night dress. It would be their first night together. Her first time.

He remembered the look of discomfort on her face when he took her, the gasp of pleasure when she finally got used to him. He made promises.

I will never hurt you.

I will make you happy.

He had kept his promises for the first few years of their marriage. Completely besotted and charmed by her naiveté, he spoiled her with gifts and gave her everything she asked for. In the house his father had given him as a wedding gift, they made their first child, a beautiful baby girl with wide curious eyes and a quick smile. He called her Angela. His mother called her Ranti. Everything was fine until his wife fell pregnant for the second time.

Acute Aortic Dissection.

The diagnosis had put a strain on his marriage. After several arguments, his wife had turned to his mother for help and had gotten it.

You must be reasonable Tolu. It is her life we are talking about here. You will have a son if God wills it. Maybe this is not the time for it to happen.

He had done his best to understand, but after the abortion, he found himself withdrawing from his wife. His affairs started shortly after and he had not looked back.

Until now.

He returned his attention to his wife and saw her turn slightly before growing still again. Her movement caused the sheets to slide down her body, exposing her curves to him. Martin eyed her body for some minutes, the desire to touch her growing stronger as he continued to watch her. At last, he sighed and drew close to her. He felt her stiffen as his body came in contact with her own and knew she was not asleep. His lips pressed into a thin line and brows knitted together in a frown, he thought about the last few days. He still thought about the tears on his neck and the question that plagued him that night came back to haunt him. He touched her shoulder.

“You are not asleep.”

His wife turned to him. Eyes framed with long dark lashes stared back at him.

“No, I am not.”

The two adults stared at each other, each noting how little the other had aged. Damilola remembered thinking how nice it was that her husband looked after his body as her hands traveled over his chest the previous night, while Martin thought it was odd how her breasts remained firm after all these years, and how her face had retained most of its youthfulness, except for the small lines around her eyes.

Martin Oyelowo lowered his head and kissed his wife. It was not the slow languid kiss of lovers accustomed to each other; it was the passionate, eager kiss of lovers getting to know each other.



*********************


While Martin Oyelowo was wrapped in his wife’s embrace, the Inspector General of Police sat alone with the President of Nigeria in his office at Aso Rock Villa, waiting as the president answered a phone call. As the inspector general watched the president, he saw a side of him many Nigerians never saw. Sitting hunched over his gleaming mahogany table in a plain white golf T-shirt worn over black slacks, and missing his mild-mannered mien, the president’s eyes blazed with consternation, lips turning down at the ends. The left hand resting on the table was clenched into a tight fist.

“And how come the governor has not asked the commissioner to do something about the situation?”

The president listened some more and then slammed his fist on the table.

“This is not the time for politics. Get him to do something…..I don’t want to hear any excuse. I have too much on my plate now...Look Eghosa, do whatever you can do….Call a press conference, do anything…I don’t care what local government he is visiting, something must be done. I will tell Rueben to prepare a statement.”

The president slammed the sleek black receiver on the cradle.

“Stupid people,” he muttered under his breath.

To the Inspector General, he said,

“Do me a favour, make sure your men find Nosa before the end of next week.”

The inspector general nodded.

“Yes sir.”

The president’s brow furrowed, hooding his eyes.

“What about your case?”

The inspector general remembered his friend’s promise and tried to sound confident.

“We are working on it sir.”

“Please do your best to keep that case out of the news. These people are trying to pull me down. You know what will happen if they get their hands on this story?”

“Yes si – ”

“They will twist things around and before we know it, their newspapers will carry stories about this government, and I am tired…very tired of hearing these stories.”

“Okay sir.”

The president dismissed the inspector general of police and prepared to meet with his new Minister of Defence, the one that had been rumoured to resign a few days after he appointed him. The president prepared his notes for the meeting. He would also meet with the military chiefs and try to resolve the conflict between them and the new minister.

The president scowled and scowled as he wrote. His was the face of a man determined to win. What the president did not know was that there was no connection between his political adversaries and the cases for which he had summoned the inspector general. If he wasn’t so occupied with finding a solution to the impasse between the defence minister and defence chiefs, he would have known that the cases were more connected to a certain powerful lawyer in Lagos currently in the throes of an orgasm with his wife.



***********************


In a corner of the hut in Ehor forest, a figure sat bound and covered with an old dirty sack. Under the sack was a distinguished member of the Nigerian senate, Senator Nosakhare Osarodion. Stripped of his respectability and reduced to a fearful mortal with the picture of his death flashing wickedly in his mind’s eye, Senator Nosa perspired furiously and forgot to call on his Christian God. He chose instead, his traditional gods.

“The king that is greater than the king of the land, Olokun, please help me. Ogun send me help.”

His kidnappers stood with their empty rifles outside the hut and conferred among themselves. The men crowded the woman and hung on her every word, their faces slack with surprise.

“So he is a PDP member?”

The question was directed to the only female of the group, an attractive female with a personal vendetta to pursue. Lydia, the female in question, nodded slowly, a frown on her face.

Boma, the unofficial leader of the group and boyfriend to Lydia stroked his day old beard thoughtfully.

“Apart from the announcement on T.V, did you hear anything?”

Lydia shook her head.

“No, I did not.”

“Are there checkpoints all over?”

Lydia thought about her boyfriend’s question for some minutes. She had seen two checkpoints – one at Oluku and the other at Iruekpen. The one in Iruekpen had been manned by stern looking policemen who checked the cars of motorists with practiced efficiency and refused to respond to her greetings. She thought about hiding this information from her boyfriend but decided against it.

“I saw two.”

Lydia told Boma the location of the checkpoints.

“Kai,” Cletus, the third kidnapper said, his pudgy face twisted in worry. “Na trouble person don find be that. Why you no mention say the guy na PDP guy na?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Lydia said, her voice sharp with irritation. “You think I follow everything he does?”

“But na your uncle na,” Cletus protested again.

“I don’t think this has anything to do with his party,” Boma told Cletus. “He is a senator, so the reaction is normal.”

“Osho don talk anything?” Cletus asked, anxiety straining his voice.

“No, but before I came here, I heard something on the radio about his party people releasing a statement and…”

Lydia’s voice trailed and her eyes stared unseeingly past her boyfriend’s shoulders.

“Lydia?”

Her eyes focused again on Boma, she shrugged, “and something about Abati talking about it.”

Cletus wiped perspiration from his forehead.

“Na wa o.”

Boma looked closely at his girlfriend and saw that she was hiding something.

“What is it?”

Lydia blinked. “Huh?”

“You are not telling me something.”

Lydia sighed. “It is just something I heard from Junior.”

“What?”

“He said he heard from a family member that my uncle is quite close to the president, and erm…that he is supposed to help him in 2015.”

Cletus looked at the two lovers, his confusion mounting.

“Help am do wetin?”

Boma decided to answer his friend.

“Help him with the election.”

“Oh,” Cletus said, the confusion clearing from his face. “Okay. I don understand now.”

The friends fell silent. Boma tapped his empty rifle against his leg, his mind going through the options left to them. Lydia and Cletus looked at him expectantly.

“I think we should make that call this night,” he said at last, looking at Lydia.

Cletus reached into his trouser pocket and brought out the phones they had confiscated from their victim. He handed the phones over to Boma. They drew plans for the evening. He would call the senator’s family for ransom and give them a twenty four deadline with the usual warning not to contact the police. They tried not to get too ambitious. One hundred million Naira was okay. Visibly shaking from excitement, Cletus added his voice to the decision. Yes, one hundred million would do. After all, it was chicken change compared to what the senator earned in Abuja.

Lydia left them just as the place began to get dark. She would return to them the following day for more briefing. Boma kissed her goodbye and watched her pick her way out of the forest. After this operation, he would ask her to marry him.

That evening as Lydia drove home in her red Honda Element, she heard the voice of the governor come through her car speakers.

I would like to assure the public that contrary to the statement released by the PDP in the state, I have an obligation to protect every indigene of Edo State and that obligation will be taken seriously. I reject the attempt to paint me as inhuman by the PDP. I will not play politics with a man’s life. Senator Nosa is one of us and as the chief security officer of this state, it is my duty to protect him.

As I speak to you, the relevant authorities have been contacted and efforts are being made to secure the release of our able senator. A word to senator Nosa’s kidnappers, we are not a kidnapper friendly state. Our position on kidnapping is clear from the provisions of our law. God bless Edo state. God bless the federal republic of Nigeria.

Lydia thought of her boyfriend Boma, her face softening as she remembered how good they were together. She briefly entertained thoughts of marriage to him and wondered if her desire for revenge would put him in trouble. She shook her head.

“Be positive Lydia. They won’t find him.”

Holding on that thought, Lydia drove back to her GRA residence a happy woman. Her plan had gone flawlessly. Revenge was sweet.



********************

DAMILOLA OYELOWO’S ROOM

THE BATHROOM


Damilola stood before the mirror in her bathroom and criticized her choice of sleepwear. The short satin and lace nightdress with its deep sweetheart neckline made her uncomfortable.

Who was she dressing for?

Damilola could not answer her own question. Instead she scowled at herself one more time and decided to go back to the room to find a replacement. She turned off the lights and left the bathroom. The sight in the room forced her to halt in her tracks.

He was here already.

Lying on his back, his phone held in front of his face, Martin Oyelowo appeared to be lost in another world but Damilola knew better. He was aware of her as well as she was aware of him. Forcing herself to overcome the embarrassment of being found in a suggestive little night dress that hadn’t even being her idea in the first place, she walked to the bed, berating herself for indulging in the five minute madness of lingerie shopping under the persuasion of Florence, her friend.

She sat on the bed gingerly, her back turned to him. She was conscious of every shift the fabric of her night dress made as she began to lower herself to the bed. Reaching blindly for the sheets, she pulled it over her body.

Damilola was beginning to relax when Martin cleared his throat.

“Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

She felt him move as the bed dipped. She stiffened, knowing for some reason that he was going to touch her. His hand settled on her shoulder.

“Damilola.”

She turned slightly towards him. His face was unreadable.

“I have rights.”

His words though tightly spoken were an echo of her dreams, but she did not know how to react. The dream had come true ten years late.

He tugged at the sheets.

Damilola held stubbornly to it. His eyes narrowed.

“Have you been with anyone recently?”

Shocked beyond words, Damilola stared at her husband, hands growing slack on the sheets.

“What?”

Unperturbed by her reaction, Martin shrugged.

“It’s a question. I need an answer.”

Damilola glowered at her husband.

“I am not you Martin. If I need another man, I would leave you…get a divorce to be with him.”

Martin’s lips thinned.

“I see.”

He remembered the sheets and looked down.

“Could you take that off?”

The change in discussion rattled Damilola. She became self conscious of herself and conscious of the need in her husband’s eyes. She wanted to deny him as he had denied her for ten years. Instead she said,

“Could you turn off the lights then?”

He did.

And then touched her.

And then she gave, and gave, until she was spent.

They separated afterwards without a word. Damilola slipped her nightdress back on and walked to the bathroom to release the flood that had been a trickle a few seconds ago.


********************


Martin Oyelowo questioned himself as he heard water run in the bathroom.

What had he done?

He remembered the wetness on his neck in the end.

Why was she crying?

He was transported back in time. They were young again. She was desirable and he was clueless how to respond to her emotions.


************************


ANGELA

I eye the phone sitting on the countertop as I step into the shower. I decide against returning it to him.

Why should I bother? I don’t owe him anything.

I hang the orange dress on one of the empty towel bars. My hands free now, I unbutton my shirt, shrug it off and then reach to unzip my skirt. My undies are next. Naked, I walk to the shower stall and proceed to wash off the disappointment of the day. Big guileless eyes haunt me as I soap and rinse my body.

Hussaina.

I rave silently at lazy judges.

“How long does it take to write a ruling?” I ask the empty bathroom.

Naden’s phone begins to ring. I sigh and turn off the water and leave the shower stall. The phone stops ringing as I reach for one of the towels hanging from the towel bars beside the shower stall.

I shrug. “It stopped.”

The phone comes alive again, light filling its screen.

Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof

Because I’m happy

Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth

A knock jolts me into action before I can think of ignoring the phone. I snatch it off the countertop, but not before looking down at the screen.

Jewel.

I open the door slightly.

“My phone,” he says, right hand held out.

I give him the phone. Our fingers make contact. I withdraw my hand and shut the door. I stand for a while, feeling the water dry from my body. At last, I tug my towel loose and look down at my body.

“It’s nothing Angela,” I tell the person staring back at me with hardened nipples from the mirror. “You are just Hot. It is not him.”


*************************


NADEN


I enjoy the surprise in her eyes when she walks out of the bathroom. Cloaking the surprise with a haughty expression, she walks past me and the table of food.

“I ordered dinner,” I tell her as she dumps her on the heap of clothes due for laundry. I uncap the wine beside the dishes and uncap it. I fill the glasses and hold one out to her as she stands beside the bed watching me.

Her steps are slow and hesitant when she decides to approach the table.

“Why?”

I answer her question with a smile.

“Because I want us to be friends.”

Suspicion on her face, she pulls the chair opposite my own and sits down. We take turns in filling our plates with rice, chicken and vegetables. Then, we eat in civilized silence. As soon as our meal is over, she makes to stand up from her chair. I point at her empty glass.

“You need me to fill that for you?”

I pour more wine into her glass without giving her a chance to turn down my offer. Her body rigid, she returns back to her seat.

“Thanks,” she says, picking up the glass and taking small sips. I look away from her and pretend to be engrossed in my phone. From the corner of my eyes, I see her study her glass for some minutes before raising the glass and taking big gulps from it. It is not long before her movements become slow and less controlled. I raise my head from my phone and give her a smile of encouragement.

“Want more?”

She frowns and shakes her head.

“Not sure.”

I pick up the wine bottle again.

“Just one glass.”

I refill her glass for the third time. She shakes her head.

“I am okay, thanks.”

I shrug. “Okay. I guess we are done with dinner then.”

She nods and rises to her feet. I follow her progress. There is a quizzical expression on her face. She lifts a hand and touches her left temple.

“I think I have a headache. I need to lie down.”

I nod. “Okay, but first we need to talk.”

*************************

ANGELA

I think we are in bed, but I am not so sure. He stays above me, saying different things at the same time. I struggle to keep up but my attention is divided between my pounding head and his moving lips. I pick up some words.

…going

Why…

…Ungogo

His words make me remember Hussaina again. Sadness fills me.

I should have gone to see her today.

His eyes are so soft…so understanding. I am at peace. I confide in him. I pull him close and whisper about Hussaina, sitting on a hard bench and squeezing Naira notes into her mother’s calloused palms. I tell him a lot of things. I have no control over the things I tell him.

So…

…plan

…behind back.

His face changes and I feel him pulling away, taking the peace with him. I hold on his shirt.

“Stay…hold me.”

His body is hard, yet inviting. I press against it and push my hand into a warm place. I find something. It is part flesh, part steel and nice to touch. There is pressure on my wrist. It hurts. I tell him to stop. He stops. I go back to touching the flesh steel thing. Up and down. Up and down, until it completely transforms to steel. I hear a sound, like someone in pain. I stop touching the steel thing and look into his eyes. I tell him about my bathroom experience.

“My nipples…so hard…Hot…we should….sex.”

Then I laugh and laugh until my eyes feel heavy. I close my eyes, blissfully free and at peace.


*******************


NADEN


My arms are now completely numb but I am too surprised to ease her body to the bed. I look down at myself. Most of the bulge is gone, but the memory of her hand slipping past the band of my slacks to stroke me is still fresh, and so are her words.

My nipples got so hard in the bathroom.

Silly yeah? I think I am Hot.

Maybe we should have sex.

I turn to study her face again. The woman in my arms looks nothing like the ambitious lawyer or backstabbing colleague she is. The innocence on her face is striking. It invites me to hope, to believe that she is somehow different and the past two weeks have been a figment of my imagination.

I lower my head to the bed and groan.

Getting her drunk was a mistake. A very big mistake.

ANGELA


We are sitting in court and waiting for the judge to arrive when the court clerk strolls back with a sheet of paper in his hand. Standing in the aisle separating the rows of seats filled with lawyers, he announces that some cases will not be heard today. I wait anxiously as he mentions the cases. We find ourselves on the list.

“Hussaina Abubakar, Civil society for the liberation of women and girls versus the Tanko Usman, Aliyu Nasarawa, Suleiman Bichi and the Inspector General of Police….”

Switching the paper to his left hand and using the right one to hitch up his oversized brown trousers, the clerk looked in our direction. I see Naden nod at him from the corner of my eyes.

“Your case is not holding today,” he says, turning and looking at Barrister Shuaibu who is sitting at his usual spot, face scrunched up in a serious frown as he consults his journal. “Your ruling is not yet ready. The case has been adjourned to next week….the seventeenth of March.”

I note down the new date in my journal. The brief silence that had greeted the clerk’s announcement is replaced by loud conversation as lawyers on the clerk’s list begin to reach for their cases. A lawyer saunters over to Naden, wig in the hand holding two phones. He and Naden exchange pleasantries. I get the perfunctory nod. I don’t care. I slip between them and walk to the car park to wait with Ahmed. Today I will not be visiting Ungogo.

Talk about a bad day.


*************************

NADEN


I step out of her way, my attention going back to the paper I had seen a few seconds ago as she cleared her journal off the table. The paper is still there. Barrister Ezekiel has stopped talking about the case and is now asking questions about her.

“She is pretty. How far?” he says, an eyebrow raised suggestively and in a familiar manner even though we only met at the last court sitting.

I give him a polite smile.

“We are working together on the case,” I tell him, reaching for the paper. I tuck it inside the breast pocket of my shirt and then shrug out of my robe.

“Of course, I know,” Barrister Ezekiel says with a laugh. “That much is obvious. What I want to know is, is she single?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak for her.”

I look down at my watch and tell Barrister Ezekiel I am running late for an appointment. He shrugs and gives me a cheerful pat on the back.

“See you on the seventeenth.”

I nod and hurry out of the court room. In the passage of the court room, I bring out the paper from my shirt and read it. It is an address for a house at Ungogo. I stare at the neat letters for a second and then understand Angela’s propensity for disappearing after every court visit.

She was visiting Hussaina.

Why?

I look past the paper to the car park. Figures move in and out of my vision but I am lost in my thoughts. Angela was about to jeopardize our chances of winning the case. I had to know how far she had gone. I come up with a plan. It is not a perfect plan, but it is the only one I can think of.


*************************


THE OYELOWO MANSION

OMOLAYO OYELOWO’S ROOM


The old woman was just finishing her prayers when her granddaughter knocked on the door. She rose from her knees to see the girl poke her head through the door.

“Grandma?”

Fausat did not wait for an answer. She closed the door behind her and walked into the room. She walked a vanity table, a green and brown Persian rug to the bed where her grandmother was now sitting. Throwing her arms around her grandmother as she sat down, she pressed her nose into the woman’s neck.

“Missed my grandma.”

The old woman laughed and patted the back of her head affectionately. The young girl was the spark that made her world bright. She loved her dearly. It was a good thing her daughter had decided to send her back home. The pictures had never been enough.

“I miss Angie too.”

Thin eyebrows drew together as the old woman feigned ignorance.

“Who is Angie?”

“Angela,” Fausat said with a giggle. “It’s the short form of Angela.”

“Ah,” the old woman adjusted the wide neck of her buba. “Okay. Is that what you call her now?”

“Mmm hmmm.”

The sound of gates opening and closing disturbed their conversation. The old woman smiled inwardly. These days he returned home early. Her smile stayed in place as she thought of the nights she had seen him walking to the other room.

His rightful place.

She half listened as her granddaughter brought up the subject of her cousin’s absence again.

Her work in this place was almost complete.


***********************


MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY


Martin Oyelowo had been in his study for one hour. Dressed in a plain white shirt and blue check pyjamas, he was doing his best to concentrate on the television where his favourite news programme was running, but his mind kept drifting to thoughts of his wife. He had spent all day wondering just how close his wife had been with Barrister Braithwaite.

Had they….

He shook his head, refusing to complete the question. The thought of another man touching his wife sickened him. His phone rang. He sighed when he picked it and saw who was calling.

“Hello Olga.”

“Martin,” his Russian mistress said, his name heavy and foreign on her lips. Gone were the days when she got his heart racing with excitement just by mentioning his name. These days, he felt nothing but irritation when they spoke.

“I did not see you at the club today.”

“I got busy.”

“Ah I see. You are very busy these days.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Martin Oyelowo frowned. “Why?”

“I mean you have work before, no?”

“Okay?”

“And now suddenly you are too busy, yes?”

Suddenly struck by the inappropriateness of his relationship with the woman he was talking to, Martin Oyelowo shifted in his seat.

“Things are hectic these days Olga. I barely have time for entertainment.”

“Okay Martin. So when do we see?”

Martin Oyelowo closed his eyes and entertained new fantasies. Brown flesh replaced white flesh. Firm full breasts replaced small pert ones. He opened his eyes again.

He wanted his wife.

“Martin?”

“Sorry Olga, but I don’t know when that will be possible.”

Left with nothing to say, the former lovers bid each other good night. Martin Oyelowo struggled with himself for a few more minutes.

His bed or his wife’s bed?

Still undecided, he prepared to leave his study, taking his phones with him and turning off the lights and television. He walked upstairs with slowly. When he got to the landing, he stood in the middle and contemplated his next step.

His face grim with resolution, Martin made his choice and walked in the direction he had chosen.


*******************

EPISODE 9


G.R.A BENIN CITY


They were in an open air bar called Time Out. The place, noted for its offering of brash scarlet women and rambunctious pleasure seekers was filled to the brim as usual. That evening, as a live band played a Makossa tune on an elevated platform with two female dancers writhing suggestively in matching red leather shorts and sleeveless black mesh tops, visitors and patrons alike were gearing up for a promising night of fun. In a corner of the bar sat three people, two men and a woman.

The group exuded a collective indifference that set them apart from the crowd of noisy revelers. No one watching them would have suspected that the men were kidnappers or that they had emerged from the leafy confines of Ehor Forest four hours earlier.

Recently ransomed and free, the woman wore a white peplum top over black jeans, her wavy brown weave loose and resting on her shoulders. One jeweled hand rested possessively on the better looking of the men, eyes checking for potential competition as skimpily dressed women, exposing large swathes of skin jostled for the attention of the men in the bar.

“I don’t like this place,” the woman complained, pink glossed lips pouting as she looked around the bar. “I don’t know why Junior suggested it.”

The fatter of the men, clean shaven and well dressed now that he had three million sitting in his bank account, grinned at the woman.

“Women, na wa for una o. Una no get patience at all. We just land here na. Cool down. Your brother go soon come.”

The other man smiled at the woman.

“Relax babe. The day just began.”

The tension on the woman’s face disappeared and a reluctant smile formed on her lips.

“Okay.”

Conversation stopped at the table and they listened to the buzzing around them.

Oga try me. My breast stand well well.

All night na ten k. Kpa kpa kpa na just three k.

Who you dey price two k? I blame you? Na condition bend crayfish.

Im say make I come ring road? I no fit abeg. Tell am say I dey run things for GRA.

The woman sighed and shook her head.

Why couldn’t her brother hurry?

She was getting tired of the place, of the oppressive odour of desperation and cheap perfumes. Worse, she hated the women that constantly stared at her boyfriend like he was some sort of tempting dish they could not wait to get their hands on.

“Na im be that?”

Distracted from her thoughts, the woman raised her head and followed the direction where the fat man Cletus was pointing. She sighed again. It was Junior alright. No one could miss the twinkling studs in his ears and the wild dreadlocks that stood like dried cornstalks on his head even if he was in a thick crowd. Today, he had opted for something less ostentatious and was wearing a dark brown T-shirt over black leather pants. He stood at the entrance of the bar, conspicuous and clueless as his eyes scanned the crowd.

The woman stood up and adjusted the hem of her blouse.

“I am coming. Let me go and bring him.”

The men watched her walk to meet her brother. Each wondered about the formal greeting that passed between siblings but said nothing about it. Soon she sauntered back to them, younger brother in tow.

“Meet Junior,” she said to the men, reclaiming her seat again.

Junior stood awkwardly and toyed with the stud in his right ear. The men extended their hands at the same time. Junior smiled shyly, but did not take them. He chose instead to give them a short wave.

“Hi.”

The woman pointed to the seat beside her and said without much ceremony,

“Sit down.”

Junior sat down, one hand still romancing the stud in his ear.

“So, did he come to the house today?”

Junior nodded at his sister. “Yes, this morning.”

“Do you know what he discussed with mummy?”

“The money…”

Junior paused and looked at the two men with his sister, wondering if it was safe to discuss the issue of her recent kidnap. He did not suspect for one instant that he was looking at his sister’s kidnappers.

“Go on,” the woman said impatiently, waving at him to continue.

Junior exhaled loudly and shrugged.

“He came to talk about the money he borrowed her for those people to release you.”

The woman scowled. “Idiot! It is not even up to twenty four hours and he is already disturbing mummy.

Junior nodded. “I don’t know why mummy collected money from him.”

The woman stared at her brother but saw something else. It was the picture of two adults struggling beside a bed, the woman wild eyed and holding to the edge of her red wrapper as the man fought to get it off. She heard their voices.

Nosa leave my wrapper, leave my wrapper. E no go happen you hear, e no go happen.

The woman’s eyes were soon fixed on her, alarm and shame in their depths.

Lydia, leave that place. Go to your room, go to your room now.

“Lydia?”

The woman blinked and the past slipped away with the question of what happened that fateful night after she had closed the door of her room and crept into bed, fearful for her recently widowed mother.

“Did you hear what I said?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“What did you say?”

Junior linked his fingers. She noticed a light sheen of pink nail polish.

Did he still do the things with those men?

“He is going back to Abuja tomorrow.”

The men with Lydia exchanged looks. Tomorrow was only a few hours away. Time was against them. They straightened in their seats and leaned towards Junior whose lashes were lowering flirtatiously much to the annoyance of his elder sister.

“What time?”

“I think he said his flight is leaving in the morning.”

Lydia made her calculations. They were good. By this time tomorrow, Senator Nosakhare Osarodion of Edo South Senatorial district would be whisked off the street on his way to the airport and taken to an undisclosed location by armed fearful looking men. Lydia saw the headlines in her mind and smiled.

Tomorrow couldn't come sooner.


***********************

NADEN


I see her approaching the bend leading to room and lean away from the wall. Her strides are short and lazy. Her face inclined to the side and fixed on the window of the room, she appears to be looking out for something.

For me.

She is just inches away from me when I make my move.

“Where did you go?”

A startled cry escapes her lips and she tries to shake the hand I have clamped to her upper arm. She stops moving when she recognizes me.

“What was that for?” she says tightly, wrenching her arm free and straightening her blouse. “You hide in the dark and play games now?”

I step into the light, the distance between us shortening. In response, she falls back and crosses her arms across her chest, eyes darker than the night surrounding us.

“Answer me.”

“Answer you and tell you what?”

“Where you went after leaving the court.”

“How is that your business?”

I am angry. First at myself for worrying needlessly over her safety in the five hours that she was gone and then at her, for being so stubborn and defiant. I grab her arm and yank her towards the door. Her gasp of surprise and indignation is loud.

“How dare you? Get your hands off me right now.”

I ignore her. I push the door open and drag her inside. As soon as I turn from locking the door, I meet a flying palm. It connects with my face before I have the chance to react.


***********************

ANGELA


I am surprised, just as he is, at the loud thwack that sounds across the room. I stare at him horrified as his face contorts into a dark frown.

What have I done?

I back away from him as he takes threatening steps towards me.

Angela apologize, I tell myself as I bump into the wall behind me. Just apologize.

My tongue refuses to move. I hold out a hand to ward him off but only succeed in pressing against his chest. He is close now. So close, I can see the white hot anger in his eyes.

“For. Your. Own. Safety,” he says, his words an ominous staccato… “Never. Ever. Try. That. Again.”

The urge to apologize dies a premature death. I drop my hands from his chest and hold my chin up.

“Okay, please step away from me.”

“Apologize.”

I find myself scoffing at his quiet command.

“Or what will happen?”

“Don’t push me Angela.”

I roll my eyes. “Plea –”

The words hang unfinished on my tongue as hands suddenly grab my arms and pin me to the wall. I fight back. Kicking and shoving with all my might. When nothing happens, I threaten to scream.

“Let me go or I will scream.”

I don’t wait. I open my mouth. I barely manage a squeak when his hand closes over my mouth. Without wasting another thought, I bite hard into the flesh of his palm.

“Shit!”

His hand drops away from my mouth. I make another attempt to scream.

“Stop it!”

Something in his tone forces the scream back into my throat.

I realize that my arms have been freed. I also realize that I am moulded against his body, my breasts flattened against his chest and hips locked to his own. I begin to feel something, but it is not anger. It is something else, something dark and forbidding. My nipples tighten before I can identify the weird feeling. A line joining his brows together in a frown, Naden looks down at my chest and then back at my face.

Exhaling quietly, he pulls away from me and walks to the door. The door slams after him, leaving me alone with my confusion.

What just happened?


*********************

NADEN



My hand still stinging in the spot where Angela’s teeth had sunk, I lean on the wall and throw my head back. The sky is dark but tiny stars wink cheerfully at me. I drag a hand down my face.

This is getting worse.

I had gone from losing my temper to laying my hands on Angela. Remorse fills me.

I should have controlled myself.

Done with berating myself, I remember her reaction after I released my hold on her arms.

She had been aroused just as much as I had been.

I shake my head to get rid of the disturbing thoughts that follow this realization. I think about the fact that she disappeared from the court this afternoon.

Where had she gone?


******************

THE OYELOWO MANSION


Damilola Oyelowo slept still, her heart threatening to burst free from her rib cage. She felt her husband’s hand move up her thigh and settle on her waist. She tried to control her breathing, to appear normal before he suspected that she was awake but she could not. Then, she hoped he would move away, but her hopes were dashed when his hand resumed its upward journey.

What is he doing?

Damilola stopped pretending to be asleep.

“Martin what are you doing?”

The hand on her arm stilled in its movement.

“Please I am trying to sleep.”

Damilola dared to face her husband. She sank back into her pillows when she saw how close he was. His eyes were thoughtful, his lips twisted as he watched her.

“I want to sleep,” Damilola repeated, adjusting the strap of her Satin nightdress.

Her husband looked down at her chest and she found herself reaching to pull the sheets to cover herself.

“Okay,” he said at last, moving away from her and lowering himself to the bed.

Damilola turned back to the wall and watched it for one hour, and then she turned and watched him sleep.


*************************


While Damilola Oyelowo watched the wall, Martin Oyelowo slept with his hands under his head, elbows pointing outward as he tried to understand the changes that had come over him. Suddenly, he was noticing the smoothness of his wife’s skin and the breasts that still retained the fullness of her youth. He was noticing things he hadn’t noticed in ten years and he did not understand why.

Nothing annoyed Martin Oyelowo like puzzles.

Martin began to plan his move back to his room, away from disturbing thoughts, like how much he wanted to sleep with his wife.

NADEN


The court is full and the air condensed with different odours. At the other end of the room, several faces are turned towards the voice of the lead lawyer representing the Plaintiff. I watch the lawyer adjust his slipping bi-focals as he bends to pick some papers from the table before him.

“My Lord….according to section two eight two, subsection one of the Penal Code which defines rape…” the sound of papers shuffling fills the air as the lawyer consults the papers in his hand. “A man is said to commit rape who save in the case referred to in subsection two has sexua –”

“Barrister Shuaibu,” the judge interrupts, looking bored and unimpressed. “I can assure you that we know the provisions of that section. Kindly proceed with your submission please.”

There is loud snickering somewhere at the back of the court where a group of lawyers who are waiting for their cases to be called up have gathered to amuse themselves at the expense of fumbling lawyers. Barrister Shuaibu blinks at the judge as if unable to believe his ears. I almost feel sorry for the man. The last twenty minutes had been difficult for him as the judge had found reasons to interrupt his argument as a result of wrongly used precedents.

“Sir?”

The snickering becomes full blown laughter this time. The judge, balding and missing two incisors gives Barrister Shuaibu a pitying look.

“Are you sure you are ready for this case?”

Barrister Shuaibu runs his left hand across his forehead and nods.

“Yes sir, I am.”

“I am not sure,” Judge Abdullahi says, adjusting his wig. “You have been wasting our time since we started. That is not the sign of a prepared lawyer.”

“I am sorry sir.”

The court is silent as the judge flicks a lazy hand in the direction of the flustered lawyer.

“Go on.”

Giving a low bow so that his head almost touches the table, Barrister resumes his argument, his delivery careful and eyes following every emotion on the judge’s face. I listen and take notes. Soon it is time for witness examination. The police officers are led from the back of the Court and led to the witness box. Barrister Shuaibu leads the examination, peppering his questions with several I-put-it-to-you.

In your statement on Oath, you said on the night of the twelfth day of December two thousand and thirteen, you picked Miss Hussaina up because you wanted to take her home. I put it you that you are lying and that your motive for picking her that night was to rape her.

You said she consented to the attack. I put it to you that this is false.

I put it to you….

…..I put it to you.

I get tired of the bullying and rise to my feet to challenge Barrister’s Shuaibu’s mode of examination.

“Objection.”

I turn to the judge.

“The questions are argumentative and do not seek to elicit any new facts my Lord. Counsel to the Plaintiff is wearying the Court by making the witness repeat facts already known to the Court.”

“My…my Lord…” Barrister Shuaibu stutters, looking baffled. “I don’t understand Counsel to the Defendants’ position. I am only trying to establish the truthfulness of the witness’s story. Most of the facts mentioned in their statements are questionable.”

The judge stops looks up from what he had been writing to shake his head at Barrister Shuaibu.

“He is right. Objection sustained.”

Shoulders drooping, Barrister Shuaibu announces the end of his Cross-examination. The judge asks if I have more questions for the policemen. I shake my head.

“No sir.”

The judge motions the Court Clerk forward and asks him to set a date for the next hearing. There is sudden movement as the next case is called. I gather my files into the open attaché case at my feet. I am closing it when Angela grabs her journal from the table and twists around the chairs to walk past me. When I straighten away from the case and rise to my feet, there is no sign of her anywhere.


*******************

ANGELA

Ahmed is dozing in the car, head thrown back on the headrest of his seat and right hand resting on the wheel when I reach the car park. I contemplate leaving my robe and wig in the backseat and continuing my journey to the gate but I change my mind after minutes of trying to come up with a way to open the door without waking Ahmed. I wrap the wig in the robe, roll it into a tight ball and stuff it inside my bag.

Outside the court complex, the taxi is still waiting. I apologize to the man who calls himself Sylvanus and hand him the paper containing the address. Sylvanus looks nothing like the Igbo man he claims to be. Face almost oval and nose aquiline, he looks to me like the typical Hausa man. His accented English compounds my confusion over his ethnicity.

“I have just one hour. Can we make it to erm...”

Sylvanus nods. “Ungogo. Yes, we can make it there on time.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

Sylvanus puts his car into gear, reverses and roars off in the opposite direction. As we pass the open gates of the court, I see Naden standing with Ahmed, face turned in the direction of the gate. I smile as we join the honking line of motorists at an intersection.

Let him try to stop me now.


***********************

Mutaino7:
aunty virgo hope all is well?

All is well. Sorry for the silence.

Jennimma:
Aunty Virgo,whatever is keeping you from updating,i release you from it now! Please dear,come and update. We miss you.

Sorry dear. I am back again.

Seun:
bump

Seun, your anti-spam bot can be pretty frustrating.

EPISODE 8


THE OYELOWO MANSION


MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY



The young doctor left Martin Oyelowo’s study, steps brisk as he closed the door with a firm click. He left his patient looking at the newly delivered containers of diabetes medicine on his desk. He picked up one and read the words on the label.

“Glucovance.”

Martin set the container back on the table. The result of his last test had excited the doctor so that he spent most of the meeting oppressing Martin with his optimism.

This is quite remarkable sir. I don’t know why but things seem to be improving real fast. The hemoglobin test shows your blood sugar is now at seven percent. This is a very positive sign sir…very very positive.

Martin Oyelowo had mixed feelings. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed by the news that his diabetes was almost cured. He thought about all the plans that he had made and wondered what the future held now that his health was almost restored. Spine ramrod straight and fingers drumming on his table, he closed his eyes for some minutes.

What now?

His eyes flew open. There was also the matter of his divorce and the lawyer that had been the arrowhead of everything.

Tunde Braithwaite.

Law school classmate, former friend and suspected love rival.

He picked his phone and dialed a number. His eyes were narrowed and thoughtful as he waited for the call to be picked.

“Good afternoon sir.”

In his usual manner, Martin Oyelowo ignored the greeting.

“What do you have?”

“He has a retainership with OandO and PPMC.”

The left side of Martin Oyelowo’s face lifted with a small smile….

“Good.”

He ended the call and pulled out a lion head embossed leather bound journal with a gold buckle and the initials MO at the bottom. He leaned back into the soft leather of his high back swivel chair and went through the contents of the journal. He soon found what he was looking for. He reached for his phone again. The latest call was longer than the first and Martin Oyelowo even managed a laugh at the end of the call.

“Thank you Gabriel and tell madam I have not forgotten my promise.”

Reclining back in his chair, Martin allowed himself to feel a small sense of victory. Tunde Braithwaite had been dealt a financial blow, and that was just the beginning. Martin was not in a hurry. He would wait and see what the man would do next. If Barrister Braithwaite continued to chase his wife, he was going for his jugular – his law practice. Martin Oyelowo hated competition, especially competition from former friends who wanted his wife.

Martin watched Channels News afterwards. The news presenter was a young man with a shadow of jet black hair cut close to his scalp, his red stripped tie was tight against his throat as he talked about the just concluded Centenary celebration in Abuja. A photograph of the president smiling broadly as he sat on a cream sofa, hand resting on the top of the sofa and resting on the upper arm of a man dressed in white flowing robes was in the background and captioned with the words,

President Jonathan and Gambian president Yahya Jammeh.

A call from Yinusa Ali distracted Martin from the news. He lifted the phone off his desk and leaned away from the desk to speak to his friend.

“I did not see you at the club yesterday,” Yinusa said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “What happened?”

Martin recalled the previous evening and his lack of enthusiasm for the usual boat club meetings with his friend. Somehow, he had found himself content to sit back in his study and count the hours until the next visit to his wife’s room. These days, he was beginning to prefer the soft mattress of his wife’s bed. Martin forgot about the phone call and spent seconds worrying about his recently acquired taste for sleeping in his wife’s room.

Maybe it was her bed.

Maybe he would order for one as soft as hers for himself.

Maybe

“Martin, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“So why are you scarce at the club these days?”

“I had some work to do.”

Martin’s statement wasn’t a lie. He had been spent nights going through the file of their case in Kano and figuring ways to win the case without soiling his hard earned reputation. The case was a sensitive one, no thanks the civil rights organizations determined to milk the fanfare generated by the case for all it was worth.

“Have you spoken to your people in Kano?”

“No. I will do that this afternoon.”

Yinusa Ali sighed loudly, generating static in the earpiece of his friend’s phone.

“We are already behind schedule Martin.”

It was Martin Oyelowo’s turn to sigh.

“Well, we are not exactly sleeping here.”

The Inspector General of police paused for some seconds before continuing,

“The president called me yesterday and asked questions about the case. He said he is under pressure…you know with the school killings in Yobe and the attacks in Adamawa, and all that. So he does not like the negativity this case is generating.”

Martin Oyelowo remembered reading something in the papers about the controversy the rape case was causing on Twitter. He felt vaguely annoyed by the fact that a few people with too much time on their hands could cause so much trouble just by writing whatever caught their fancy on a social network.

“I will see what I can do Yinusa. Leave everything to me.”

“Okay.”

Martins Oyelowo called Naden tare George next. As he listened to the phone ring, he looked sideways to check the table clock sitting on his desk. Eight o’clock. They still had one hour until the court sat at Nasarawa.

“Good morning sir.”

“I guess you are ready for the case today.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Is there anything you would like to discuss?”

“Yes sir.”

“What?”

“I want to handle the case myself.”

Martin Oyelowo frowned. “Why?”

Naden Tare George, current senior partner of Oyelowo and Co did not answer the question immediately, leaving his boss with a frown that grew darker by the minute.

“I am waiting.”

“We are having difficulties working together.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see.”

Martin Oyelowo cleared his throat and the frown on his face. He leaned to his desk and laid his hand flat on a white flat file, a speculative gleam in his eyes.

“Who do you work for?”

There was another pause at the other end of the phone. Martin Oyelowo smiled. And waited.

“You sir.”

“Good,” Martin said with a nod, one hand lifting the cover of the file to expose the papers inside. “As your boss, I have given the directive that you and Angela work on this case. I don’t care about your squabbles. All I want is results. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

Martin made to end the call but Naden’s throat clearing stopped him.

“Anything else?”

“Yes sir,” Naden said, his tone low and measured.

Martin’s smile grew wide.

Naden was unrelenting in a way that reminded him of himself. It was what had drawn him to the young man the first day he had met him at the Federal High Court in Ikoyi. Naden had faced him from the opposite side of the court room, tall, uncompromising and brimming with brilliance as he argued in defence of the man Martin was prosecuting…. In him, Martin had seen the son he never had. As soon as he left the court that day, he had begun investigations into Naden’s background. He was determined to have Naden work for him. The young man had steel in him. He was different from that spineless Reuben. Martin Oyelowo had fantasies of a third generation successor. A grandson who would inherit his wealth.

He went back to the conversation with Naden.

“What?”

“We might have to move out of this place.”

“The Prince Hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we have been…sharing a room and it is not quite convenient.”

Martin’s brows dipped.

“That is your excuse?”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, it is not enough,” Martin said with a shrug. “Find a way to make it convenient.”

Martin Oyelowo did not wait for an answer. He ended the call and dropped the phone back to his desk. He began to read the papers in front of him. The papers contained interesting information on the man he had just spoken to.

Naden Tare George had an interesting family.


************************

NADEN



I am still tensed long after she has gone to the bathroom for her shower. I decide to take a stroll to deal with the tension. Outside the air is cool and I drag in several lungfuls of it as I walk past several room doors in our section of the hotel. Some lights are still turned on and I see shadows move purposefully behind curtains. I keep walking until I reach the end of the shrub lined pathway before turning back again. I repeat the walk several times, my head working out solutions to the impasse with Angela.

In the end, I decide that sending her back to Lagos is the best thing to do.

Feeling considerably lighter, I retrace my steps back to the room. I am a little disappointed to see that the lights are still on when I reach the door.

If only she were already asleep.

I draw in a deep breath and prepare myself for the unfriendly air in the room. I push the door open and freeze for a moment.



********************


ANGELA



I grab the falling neckline of my night dress but it is too late. The surprise and discomfort on Naden’s face means that he has missed nothing. I want to kick myself. I should have known he would return back to the room. Now the lump I had imagined was under my breast had magically disappeared, leaving me with an embarrassing situation on my hands. I keep my eyes to the bed and slip the strap of my nightdress back in place.

I catch Naden’s movements from the corner of my eyes as he goes about setting up his make shift bed with several sheets and his pillows. The lights go off soon after and I lie back on the bed, my mortification increasing with every passing second.

What have I done?

I try to sleep away the embarrassment, forcing my eyelids shut until my eyes hurt but nothing works. Things become worse when Naden receives a call from a woman I think is his girlfriend. I listen in the dark to the conversation.

No…not in Lagos…you miss me? Okay….sorry…I don’t know….will call you.

I stop listening at some point.

I think I am going back to Lagos.



********************



NADEN



The image is firmly imprinted on my mind and not even the surprise of hearing from Jewel disturbs the memory of what I had seen a few moments ago. I am irritated at myself.

I should have knocked.

I shake my head in the dark.

This is not working. She has to go back.

Tomorrow morning, I will call Martin Oyelowo and give him a condition.

Call your daughter back or I will resign.



Meaning of Hausa words used in the story.

Ta wuche wurin nan – She passed here

Mu ne kawai ya so ya riki ta gida – We only wanted to talk her home.

UPSTAIRS THE OYELOWO MANSION



Damilola Oyelowo sat in the middle of her bed, her phone beside her as she conducted a rather difficult conversation with her lawyer. He didn't seem to understand her recent change of plans.

“Why?” he asked for the second time, his voice shrill as it came out of the phone speaker. “Are you sure you are making the right decision?”

Damilola sighed and asked herself the same question.

Are you making the right decision Damilola?

“I just going to call him this afternoon but I was caught up in a meeting with a client.”

“Don’t bother,” Damilola said, stretching her leg in front of her. “I will handle things myself.”

Barrister Braithwaite, Damilola’s lawyer and friend tried to convince her not to abandon her plans to divorce her husband but Damilola’s mind was already made up. They said their goodbyes not long after. Damilola lay on her bed, looking at the ceiling for several minutes. Even though she approached hope with caution, she admitted to herself that her husband had changed. Just last night, he had sent a box of expensive Swiss chocolates through his niece to her. These thoughts continued to occupy Damilola’s mind until someone knocked on her door.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

Damilola pulled the robe of her nightdress tighter around her body. It was her husband.

What did he want?

She opened the door. Martin Oyelowo stood before her in black cotton pajamas, his face contorted in a tight scowl.

“I am sleeping here.”

“Sleeping here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Martin’s scowl deepened.

“Because this is my house?”

Damilola’s heart picked a beat. The look in her husband’s eyes…it had been forever since he looked at her that way. Damilola’s hold on her door grew slack but she was reluctant to give in without a fight.

“This is my room.”

“Is this my first time of sleeping here?”

“No...”

“So, open the door.”

Damilola wanted to remind her husband that the only time he had passed the night in her room was the day she woke up to find him sleeping in the sofa across her bed but she changed her mind and released the door. Her husband brushed past her with self assured strides and made for her bed. She watched as he claimed her favourite spot. As soon as he made himself comfortable, he faced her with a curious frown.

“How long do you plan to stand there?”

The question forced Damilola out of the limbo she had temporarily fallen into. She hid her uneasiness and walked confidently to the bed. She climbed into it, turned her back to her husband and pulled the covers to her chest. Ten years had passed since she shared a room with her husband. She did not know what to expect. Damilola Oyelowo slept fitfully that night.



*********************


NADEN



As Ahmed drones on about beautiful parks and traditional artifacts, I find myself still thinking about the interview with the policemen at Dambatta. After confronting Angela during the interview, she had gone back to harassing the officers as soon as we resumed the interview again. I make a mental note to talk to her father about her behaviour as we pull a stop before the hotel gates.

“So, we will see tomorrow,” I tell Ahmed after he unloads the attaché case holding case files from the boot of his car.

I pull out the room key from the side of the case and begin to open the door when I realize that Angela is not behind me. I look back to find her discussing with Ahmed. I wonder briefly what their discussion is about before closing the door behind me. The air in the room is clean and welcoming. I abandon the case in a corner of the room and walk to the bathroom. I am under the shower in seconds. I stand under needles of ice cold water and forget annoying females and cases that confuse me.



************************


ANGELA



The sound of the shower running is the first thing that greets me when I walk into the room. I rave silently against the management’s refusal to move me to another room. It had been a male receptionist this time, but nothing I had said or done could convince him that sharing a room with Naden wasn’t something I wanted. I had gotten nothing but apologies and a flash of perfect white molars.

I am sorry but we are overbooked. Sorry….sorry. I wish I could help…sorry.

I kick off my shoes and dump myself on the bed.

“Stupid hotel.”

I sigh and reach to massage my feet.

“God, I miss Lagos,” I moan to no one in particular. “I can’t live like this.”

“Me neither.”

I abandon my feet and turn sharply to the man behind me. Clad in nothing but a thick white towel that hangs low from his waist, he tosses the blue shirt and black trouser he had been wearing only a few minutes to the floor and turns to scowl at me.

“You will need to stop crossing me so often. I can’t put up with insubordination Angela. I won’t put up with it.”

The height disadvantage and the irritation of being talked down at forces me to my feet.

“And I won’t put up with your gagging me unnecessarily either. I am a lawyer not your secretary.”

Naden stares at me for a while. I do my best to ignore the droplets of water that appear golden against his well defined body.

“Do you want to go back to Lagos?”

The question is quite unexpected. I look at him suspiciously.

“Why?”

“I am not going to answer that,” Naden says, turning his back to me as he searches inside one of his bags for something. Minutes later, he stops his search, white T-shirt and black check pyjamas trousers in his hand.

His left hand travel to the knot on his waist and then he pauses to look me straight in the eyes.

“Excuse me?”

I leave the room with my head held high up. In the bathroom, I stop before the mirror to remind myself of the things I had learned today.

The police officers at Dambatta had something to hide.

My father had taken up a low profile case for suspicious reasons.

Naden disliked me just as much as I disliked him.

Naden had a nice body.



********************

EPISODE 7



ANGELA



We are at a police station in a place called Dambatta. The air is hot and humid. The rusty ceiling fan spinning in laborious circles from an equally rusting hook emits the occasional squeak but does nothing for the hot air. I fight the urge to fan my face with my hand for the second time, determined not to lose my composure. Naden is beside me, a silver ballpoint pen twirling between his fingers. He shows none of my discomfort and I can’t help but resent his cool disposition. My shirt is stuck to my back like a second skin and a trickle of sweat begins its journey from the insides of my thighs, tracing a path to my ankle. I squirm in my seat to dislodge the droplet hanging from my ankle and then clasp my hands over my notepad, my eyes temporarily falling on the grainy wood surface of the table exposed by long strips of peeling wood veneer. The floor is bare and dirty with several holes running along its surface. A lone empty sachet of pure water sits undisturbed beside the table. My eyes drift to the stained aqua blue of the walls and I wonder briefly about the cost of rehabilitating the police stations before the sound of dry coughing makes me turn my attention to the somber looking men across the table.

“So you said you picked her up from Nasarawa?”

One of the men, a smallish dark skinned man with a pinched mouth and full unruly eyebrows nods to Naden’s question.

“Ta wuche wurin nan…” the man catches himself and mutters incoherently before continuing in broken English. “Yes, we find her that night on Achaba going to Ungogo.”

“And you offered to take her home, is that right?”

Two of the men nod while their partner, a skinny man with a scar on his upper lip stares blankly at Naden.

“Munyi niyyar raka ta gida ne kawai. She is not talking truth.”

Naden nods. “So there was no form of assault…no rape?”

“No rape,” the smallish man confirms with a nod. “We only help.”

The interview continues for another fifteen minutes. I feel the need to contribute after monitoring the nervous twitching on the right hand of the slim one of the group. I smile at the man.

“Mr. erm….I am sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Tanko…Tanko Usman. Corporal Usman.”

I nod and reach for the papers in my folder. I read through the papers in it.

“So you picked her up on the twelfth of November at your checkpoint when she was returning home at night?”

The men exchange glances and then nod together.

“Yes we do.”

“And you took her to …” I lift up the case review paper to find the location of the crime. “Jakara police barracks?”

The men shake their heads this time. The smallish man speaks on behalf of his colleagues, face slack and eyes darting around the station.

“No we don’t.”

I turn the paper toward him.

“Well, according to the Plaintiff’s witness statement on oath, the three of you picked her from Wudil under the pretext of taking her home, took her to the room owned by one of you, and then proceeded to rape her for a period of twenty eight days, sometimes allowing friends to rape her as well.”

The men look confused. They turn their eyes to Naden.

“I not understand,” says the self appointed speaker.

“Angela…”

I turn to see a quizzical expression on Naden’s face.

“These are our clients,” he says, his tone flat and authoritative.

I frown. “And?”

“I will need you to stop trying to intimidate them.”

I scowl. “I am not intimidating anyone. I am just asking questions.”

Naden’s eyes turn speculative but he does not say anything else.

“Can I go back to the interview now?”

I do not wait for his answer. I turn my attention towards the policemen and interrupt their quiet discussion in Hausa.

“Sorry about that.”

I get silence and suspicious glances for all my trouble.

“So you imprisoned…or should I say….detained Miss Hussaina, for a period of twenty eight days until she eventually screamed for help one day, attracting the attention of your neighbour who reported to a senior officer?”

No answer.

I shrug and consult more papers. I lift another one to the men after giving it a quick glance.

“That is the medical report. It shows that the plaintiff suffered several injuries as a result of her ordeal in your hands.”

The men look at Naden again. I feel myself beginning to get annoyed.

“I am talking to you sirs.”

The police men ignore me, content to keep their gazes fixed on the man beside me. The table vibrates under my hand and I turn to see Naden thumping the sheaf of papers in his hand, his lips thinned in a determined line. He lowers the papers back to the table and then rises to his feet.

“Angela, I’d like to talk to you outside.”

I balk at the command and keep myself firmly planted to my seat.

“Angela?”

I incline my head upwards. “Why?”

I get no answer except Naden’s broad back. I watch his receding form disappear through the open doorway of the room with irritation.

Who does he think he is?

The silence in the room forces me to my feet and outside to meet Naden who now has dark shades over his eyes. I shade my eyes from the blinding afternoon sun with my hand and breathe in air heavy with the smell of charcoal and goat droppings. I deliberately keep my eyes on the road beside the station where a donkey is currently dragging a wooden cart piled with firewood and a little boy with wide curious eyes.

“I think you need to let me handle this.”

I cross my arms against my chest.

“And I am supposed to just sit there without saying anything?”

“You are attacking them. We won’t achieve much if you continue to attack them.”

“I am trying to get their side of their story.”

“More like picking holes in their story.”

I drop my arms from my chest and give Naden an incredulous look.

“You buy the nonsense they were feeding us with?”

Naden turns to look at the road as a trailer honks. Two children run past the station, barefoot and happy. They wave at us as they disappear down the dusty path at the end of the road where a cluster of houses sit on dry arid land.

“We represent them Angela,” he says, turning back to me with the same deadpan expression. “It is our duty to find evidence that will help their case.”

“Even if they are lying?”

“Did you read the statements from one of the witnesses about seeing the alleged victim in the company of these men some days after her purported kidnap?”

I remember the document and turn my nose.

“It still changes nothing. Not all witnesses are credible.”

“Just let me handle them. This is a very sensitive case.”

Naden’s statement makes me remember my initial reservations about the case.

Why had my father taken it up? What did he stand to gain?

I cock my head at Naden.

“Because the Inspector General is involved?”

Naden’s left hand goes into his pocket as he draws himself up, “because it is important to your father to win this.”

I have more questions but I know asking Naden will be a waste of time. I spin on my heel without another word and walk back into the derelict building with blue, yellow and green strips painted slapped clumsily on the side of it. There will be other days.



**************************



SOMEWHERE IN EHOR FOREST, EDO STATE



Boma sat on the bed in a corner of the mud hut and smiled at the girl sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest. The girl was young and had an oval smooth face. She was crying at the moment, tears dropping to the bodice of her black floral printed dress. She clutched a phone to her right ear.

“Yes mum…I will…”

She hiccuped and dragged a hand down her face.

“Okay…”

Boma stopped smiling, rose to his feet and approached the bed. He stretched out his right hand and growled.

“Give me the phone.”

The girl extended the phone to him, hand appearing to shake. Boma grabbed the phone.

“You know what to do. Bring the money tomorrow to Iyamu…Textile Mill….or something bad will happen to your daughter. Tomorrow o! Five o’clock sharp.”

Throwing the phone to the bed, Boma climbed into the bed. The girl did not cringe back in fear; neither did she continue her crying. She pressed the heel of both hands to her eyes and stopped the tears. Boma reached a hand out to run a lazy finger along the line of her jaw. She smiled and dragged herself into his lap.

“I hope you are happy now. You made me scare my mother.”

Boma laughed, his eyes glowing with humour and affection.

“You know you are doing this for us, don’t you?”

The girl kissed him and pressed her breasts into his chest.

“I know.”

“Good, because we have spent all the money my brother sent to me.”

They began to kiss, slowly at first and then the sound of dry leaves being crunched under approaching feet broke them apart before they heard the clearing of throat at the doorway. Cletus, Boma’s friend and partner, strolled into the hut, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Na wa for una o! Person no fit leave una for one second before the thing begin hungry una again.”

Lydia, Boma’s recent squeeze and prodigal daughter turned kidnapper’s accomplice beamed brightly at Cletus.

“We were not doing anything.”

Cletus, big boned and hairy, stood by the door and scratched his stomach.

“So how far?”

“I spoke to my mother,” Lydia said, running long fingers through her braided hair. “She will pay the money tomorrow.”

Cletus found another spot on his chin to attack.

“Correct girl,” he said after some seconds of scratching. “I hope say she know how much she suppose send?”

“Twenty million,” Lydia answered with a shrug. “She will pay it.”

“Correct girl,” Cletus announced again. He turned away from them towards the window, head angled low as he checked the sky. “Night don dey fall,” he said, turning back to them. “When we suppose leave this place?”

Boma checked his newly acquired Patek Phillip wristwatch for the time.

“Seven. Make sky dark small.”

Cletus hung around and discussed soccer.

“Mehn you for see wetin Arsenal do Sunderland today. See as Giroud just dey score goals anyhow.”

Boma raised an eyebrow. He was an ardent Chelsea fan who loved to poke fun at his Arsenal supporting partner in crime. “No be just Sunderland dem play? Why dem no score when dem face Bayern na?”

“Comot dia, if no be dat red card wey dem give us, we for win that match.”

The men argued, bragging about the match records of their respective clubs. Lydia sat in the background, a faraway look in her eyes. She was thinking about Boma’s next victim. She had an uncle. He was a rich politician who owed she and her brothers for taking their father’s land. It was payback time.

Later that evening, when the sky had darkened considerably, Boma, Cletus and Lydia walked out of the forest, using the trail that led to the expressway. Lydia wore a wig that covered most of her face, a shapeless dress hiding her slim figure. They found their way to The Sage Hotel in GRA. There, Boma called his mother in the bathroom and assured her of his safety. He hung up when she began to cry and beg him to return back to Bayelsa. He stood for several minutes after the call, head hanging with remorse. After leaving Bayelsa, he had vowed to abandon the life that caused his mother pain. Then he had met Lydia and his plans had changed.

Boma made another vow.

After this operation, I will stop.



********************

Jennimma:

umm...voting starts by 10am and ends by 6pm,dear

I just realized. Noted now.

Jennimma:
My dear aunty virgo,please i am contesting for miss nairaland and i would love for you to vote for me. the first stage took place yesterday and i came 3rd. second stage is today. please i need more voters,thats why i'm appealing to you and fellow readers to vote jennimma. i would post the link here soon. thank you for your votes. i love y'll
here is the link www.nairaland.com/1982159/miss-nairaland-december-2014-contest.

Virgo,i'm one of your biggest fans o. Thank you very much

Okay dear. I will vote when the thread is open for voting.

tunery004:
Nicely done......waiting for the next episodes...... Grt job

Thank you.

Nmeri17:
oshe!! water and oil co-inhabiting like a couple on a three week honeymoon make the Angela girl no kukuma go carry belle as she no straff her friend with beneFEET and the bobo no gree straff im runs girl. deep calling onto deep hmmmm Virgo na only u waka kam??

Lol. I don't know what to say to this, but thanks for making me smile.

NADEN

We disembark from the plane and follow the line of passengers to the domestic terminal of the airport. Twenty minutes later, I am heaving the leather duffel bags holding my belongings out of the terminal while Angela walks ahead of me, smart in a black dress, hands full with a wheeled luggage which she drags with her as she leads the way to the car park where Ahmed, the driver we had spoken to before the one hour flight is waiting. Ahmed finds us just I begin to call him. Dressed in a clean white Kaftan, Ahmed is soft spoken and polite. He relieves Angela of her bags and leads us to a dark blue Hyundai not too far from where he found us. I choose to sit with Ahmed in the front seat while Angela sits at the back.

“The hotel is not far from here,” Ahmed says as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot into the road outside the airport. Ahmed is right. Our journey to The Prince Hotel is over in minutes.

“This place is called Nassarawa G.R.A in case you get lost in the city.”

I thank Ahmed for the information even as he cautions us about being security conscious.

“Have there been any attacks?”

Ahmed shakes his head to Angela’s question.

“No but it is always better to be careful.”

We are greeted by the sight of heavily armed policemen when we get to the gates of the hotel. They perform their routine security check and then wave us through. The welcome at the reception is more warming and a smiling receptionist confirms our names from a black computer monitor and hands me a single key.

“Enjoy your night,” she says, eyes moving to the stocky white man that had joined us.

I stare at the key and then look at Angela. Her face is the very picture of confusion. I turn back to the receptionist to begin to complain but she is still attending to the white man who has his own complaint.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had to leave my keys so my room can be made? This is just wrong. I need to see the manager of this place.”

The receptionist spends some time placating the white man and soon he is reasonably appeased and accepts her apology and offer to send cleaners to his room. As soon as the man turns his back, she turns to us with her perfect hostess smile.

“Yes? You missed the way? Your villa is at the Plateau sector.”

“Villa?”

Pushing back the braids threatening to obscure her round face, the receptionist smiles kindly,

“Yes, villa.”

I realize that villas are rooms and nod at the receptionist in understanding.

“Please can I have my own key?”

I turn to see Angela leaning across the reception desk, a strained smile on her face. The receptionist’s smile slips.

“Err…excuse me,” she says, checking her monitor again. Fingers tap lightly on the black keyboard sitting in front of the monitor and smiling eyes rise to us again. “Sorry but the room was booked in your names.”

“Excuse me?”

I look away from Angela’s startled face to my phone. I am about to call my secretary. She had been the one who informed me about the ticket reservation. Surely, she knew better than to make mistakes like this.

“Our manager was the one who informed me about this reservation.”

“Please can you check who paid for the reservation?”

My phone is pressed against my right ear as I wait for my secretary to pick her call. The receptionist consults her monitor and answers Angela’s question.

“Payment was made by Barrister Martin Oyelowo.”

I pull the phone from my ear and forget to listen for my secretary’s voice. Angela is angry. She makes her displeasure known with a string of curse words. Her swearing draws a frown of consternation from Ahmed but she does not notice it. She is too busy whipping a white and brown leather wallet from her bag.

“Please get me another room.”

The receptionist’s smile is fixed but her eyes are unrelenting.

“I am sorry but we are fully booked.”

Angela swears again. I decide to take charge of the situation.

“Is there any way we can get any room at all? No matter how small? I will pay.”

“No sir, I am sorry but there are no rooms available.”

I step away from the reception desk and thank the receptionist. Angela’s face is stormy but she grabs the handle of her bag and asks the receptionist to point the way to our room. The receptionist turns sideways and motions to one of the security men manning the foyer of the hotel. The man hurries forward. She gives him instructions and he snaps into action, grabbing bags and marching like a soldier past the reception desk. I remove three thousand Naira from my wallet and hand it to Ahmed. He protests the sum and returns two notes back to me. Waving us goodnight, he promises to keep in touch. I turn and walk to catch up with Angela and the security guard.



*******************

ANGELA

“…ninety nine, hundred.”

I finish my counting and pull away from the wall. Checking my reflection once more in the mirror, I leave the bathroom. The darkness startles me for some seconds and I wait, door handle in hand until my eyes adjust to the darkness. I look at the bed. Apart from the pillows, the bed is empty. I creep towards the bed and climb into it. I check the left side of the bed first.

Nothing.

I swing to the other side.

He is lying on his side, body rising and falling as he breathes deeply. I keep my eyes trained on him for as long as I can to make sure he is really asleep. When he remains still, I move to the center of the bed, careful not to make any sound. I pull the soft duvet over my head and hide away from the nightmare that had caught me unawares. I had planned to get close enough to Naden to study him but nothing prepared me for this.

My father had turned the tables on me the second time.



*******************

NADEN

I hear her moving on the bed and think about her father.

What is the man up to this time?

The last thing I wanted was to share the same space with a woman who thought herself my sworn enemy. I breathe in deeply and prepare myself for the worst three weeks of my life.

Damilola Oyelowo stared at her husband’s niece, unable to process her words. Her eyes fell on the box once again.

“He did what?”

Fausat craned her neck toward the room, eyes fixed past her shoulders.

“Can I come in?”

Damilola stepped aside and let her in. She closed the door, one hand struggling with the edges of her robe as she hurried after Fausat who was now lowering her glass of juice to her bed stand. She turned to Damilola and brandished the box like a weapon.

“Loo…look at what you got for Valentine.”

Damilola wrapped her arms around herself.

“What are you talking about?”

Leaping sideways into her bed and falling with a loud whoop, Fausat made herself comfortable on her bed and patted the space beside her.

“Come sit down Auntie and let’s see what unk…uncle got you.”

Damilola was slow to react. She didn’t know what surprised her most, the young girl’s lack of propriety or the box in her hand. She drew in a deep breath and walked to join Fausat on the bed, on the same spot the young girl had pointed to her.

“Open it,” Fausat commanded, handing her the box.

Still numb, Damilola reached for the box. Fausat began to clap, body heaving off the bed every time her hands made contact.

“Open it….open it…open it,” she chanted, eyes bright with anticipation.

Damilola opened the box without any difficulty, and then gasped when she saw the dazzling gift that sat in it. Fausat reached into the box and fingered the glittering necklace adorned with numerous white diamonds and a single yellow diamond in oval shape.

“Wow! Are those real?”

Seconds later, the girl released her own gasp.

“Oh my God! They are real.”

Woman and girl touched necklace with reverent fingers, each thinking different thoughts. While Fausat head filled with thoughts like,

Oh my God, if only Tanya could see this. Shit! My uncle is rich. I should take a picture….Tanya will never believe it without a picture. Will she let me take a picture?

Damilola only thought one thing,

Why?

“It is so beautiful,” Fausat said at last, withdrawing her hand from the box. She looked up at her uncle’s wife with a smile. “Do you like it?”

Damilola shrugged without thinking.

“It’s okay.”

“Sweet,” Fausat said, jumping from the bed and grabbing her drink from the bed stand. “Let me go tell uncle you liked it.”

Damilola started to protest but Fausat was already out of the room with a few strides. Damilola sighed and went back to the necklace in the box.

Why?

Outside the room, in the hallway that led to the staircase, Fausat began to modify her auntie’s answer, a mischievous grin on her face as she approached her uncle’s study.



********************

MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY

The knock distracted Martin. He swore under his breath and glared at the door.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

Me happened to be no one else but his niece Fausat. She walked to his table, without any hint of fear or awareness of the frown he wore purposely on his face. Martin sighed inwardly. She was like his mother – unafraid and always ready to approach him despite his aloofness.

Fausat leaned across the table and stared at the papers before him.

“Are you working?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“What do you want?”

Fausat looked up from the papers to smile at him.

“Well…”

She stretched her well and batted her lashes at him.

“Auntie says she loves the necklace, that it is beautiful, and tha…thank you, and I love you.”

Martin’s frown deepened but Fausat continued to smile. Then suddenly, she whipped around and skipped to the door, managing the surprising feat of not spilling her drink. Soon she was out of the study and Martin sat alone. His frown cleared. He knew his wife’s declaration was nothing but the figment of his niece’s imagination, but he couldn’t help wondering,

Does she still love me?



*********************

ANGELA


It is past five. I should be home, checking my luggage to make sure nothing is missing and everything I need for the three week stay in Kano is already packed but instead I am in my office listening to Agatha speak glowingly of Naden.

“You know, I was almost losing after today’s case. I was so angry. I even yelled at David. Poor boy,” Agatha said with a laugh. “You should have seen the way he jumped. If not for Naden, I would probably still be upset by now. I know I shouldn’t even admit it but he is actually intelligent. I don’t know…how does he do it? He always seems to know the right precedent for every case and offhand too.”

I shrug. “Anyone can do that.”

Agatha laughs and shakes her head.

“You just hate that guy.”

“I don’t….well, not that I hate him but I am not carried away by the whole act. I don’t trust him.”

Agatha leans one hand on the arm rest of her chair and plays with her curls.

“He is not bad at all. Dude just strolled in and saw me losing my mind. He didn’t even act bossy or anything. He asked what was wrong and I complained and he just said pulled Nicholas Banna versus Telepower from the air. He even quoted some part of the judgment given by Justice Niki Tobi in the case. He is super with the law. Now, I can’t wait to meet that silly Maxwell again. Hopefully, he will ask Agbalajobi for an adjournment so I can disgrace them both with this case.”

“Okay.”

Agatha stops frowning and goes back to praising Naden.

“He is just good.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay enough. It is not as if anyone could not have helped you. I am sure Reuben could have helped if you asked him.”

Agatha releases an incredulous laugh.

“Since when did you start supporting Reuben?”

“Since Naden came on board.”

“Ah I see. So your plan, how are you going to execute it with all the animosity between you two?”

“I don’t know yet. Traveling with him is the first step. I will wait for other opportunities.”

“Are you sure this is even necessary?” Agatha asks, wearing a skeptical look. “What if he really has nothing to hide and you are just been paranoid.”

I shake my head.

“No, I am not being paranoid. I know my father. He never does anything for nothing. There must be a reason why he made this guy senior partner and gave him a house and a car.”

“Maybe he just likes him.”

“Trust me Agatha. My dad does not go on a spending spree just because he likes you. He planted Naden here for a reason. I have to find out what that reason is.”

Agatha gives up on the argument and shrugs. I smile, and then look at my wristwatch. It is six o’ clock. I consult the slip of the flight information the firm’s travel agent had sent me. I have two more hours until the flight to Kano. Movement from the other side of the table makes me lift my head up from looking at the slip. Agatha is on her feet, hands straightening her black knee length skirt.

“I should leave now. It is getting late.”

I reach for my own bag at my feet and lift it to my desk.

“I am leaving too.”

Agatha waits for me by the door as I sweep my phones, diary and car keys into my bag. We walk out of my office together. The corridor is empty. The other offices are empty too. I can’t help but look sideways at the door of the senior partner’s office. Resentment flares up again, but I bring my emotions under control.

Patience, Angela. Patience.



***********************

EPISODE 6


NADEN

The bed shifts and I open my eyes to see the woman I had spent the night with staring down at me with a smile on her face. A wild tangle of hair sits above her head like a crown. Her face is smooth and flawless like the rest of her body which she exposes unabashedly to my eyes. I look down at large firm breasts topped by perky brown nipples and remember my disappointing performance the previous night.

“You are awake,” she says softly, eyes tilting as she smiles. I return her smile. I remember her name. Jewel. Last night I had thought it was an odd choice and told her so. Jewel leans into me and brings her face close to my own. “Maybe we can continue from where we stopped.”

I study Jewel for some minutes. She is beautiful, but in a superficial way. Something about her bothers me.

“Or don’t you?”

Jewel does not wait for an answer. She picks my left hand and presses it against her breasts. The skin under my hand is soft. I splay my fingers over the fleshy orb and feel myself stir. A moan leaves Jewel’s throat. I look up at her. Her lips are pursed, the curve of her neck exposed as she throws her head back. I keep my eyes on her until I feel the fires burn to embers. Jewel realizes my lack of enthusiasm seconds later.

“What?”

Jewel is disappointed. Hurt fills her eyes.

“You don’t like me?”

I feel remorse but I move away from her towards the edge of the bed.

“Sorry. I am not in a good shape today.”

“That was what you said last night,” Jewel says, gathering the sheets to her body when I look back at her. I stop before the toilet door and apologize to her again. She receives my apology with a smile. I leave her plumping one of my new pillows with slender hands.

In the toilet, I lean on the white bowl shaped sink basin and think about the call that had been responsible for my loss of libido and concentration.

“How far?”

Boma’s voice had been clear and devoid of guilt or remorse. Something snapped in me and I had excused myself from the rowdy gathering of Henry and his friends who had chosen to congregate at my house for the second time in less than a week. Reuben had been in the crowd, flanked by Jewel and another female friend. I had taken the conversation with Boma to the back of the house and let my anger loose.

“Dude, is something wrong with you? How can you be so wicked? Do you have any idea what you are putting your mother through?”

“Naden you don start again, cool down abeg,” Boma said, cutting me off in his usual off hand manner. “No dey talk to me like small pikin abeg.”

I had lost reason and abandoned decent language.

“You are acting like a fuc.king delinquent, so yes I will talk to you like a fuc.king child.”

“See guy, no make me vex.”

“And what will happen if you get angry, you stupid selfish mother.fucker.”

Boma had been silent. In the silence, reason had crept back in place, chastising me for my use of language and reminding me of the opportunity presented by Boma’s call.

“Where are you?”

Boma’s answer was curt, vague.

“I am somewhere.”

“Where is somewhere?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I think you owe me the truth.”

“Abeg I no owe you anything. If I wan tell you I go tell you, no dey use any yeye lawyer sense for me abeg.”

“Okay fine. Suit yourself.”

Boma had fallen quiet for a while before giving a gruff answer.

“Udo. I dey Udo.”

“Where is Udo?”

“For Edo.”

“Okay.”

“Any other question?”

“No.”

“Okay, I need you to help me with some money.”

I wanted to refuse, to turn Boma’s request down on the excuse of his outlaw status but my mind had thrown up a picture of him as a little boy running around in a blue shorts and giggling wildly as our mother chased him around for his evening in the small two bedroom apartment at Iyana Ipaja where we lived until we moved to Bayelsa.

“How much?”

“Hundred K.”

“Sorry, I can’t help with that.”

“How can you say you don’t have hundred k? Dem no dey pay you again, abi na so lawyers poor?”

I had found Boma’s taunt galling but refrained from responding to it.

“Are you done?”

“No. Okay, give me eighty.”

I gave Boma the same answer. The back and forth continued until we settled at fifty thousand Naira. I was to pay the money into an account owned by a certain Roy Emmanuel at First Bank. I promised Boma the money would get to him the following Friday.

Today.

I pull myself wearily from the sink and walk with heavy legs to the frosted glass that encloses my shower area. Unlike my former house, the taps here rush with clear sparkling water at the slightest turn of the faucets. Shower for me is short. When I go back to the room, the bed is empty and Jewel is nowhere to be found. I look to the cupboard where her clothes hung earlier and find them there. I dress for work and stroll into a clean living room. Gone are the empty beer cans and newspaper that were last night suya wrappings. Jewel is busy wiping down my flat screen LG television. She has taken the liberty to dress in one of my old Nike shirts, an olive green T-shirt that was once a favourite. She turns and gasps when she sees me.

“That was scary,” she says, wringing the small white towel in her hands as she walks to me. “Are you going to work now?”

“Yes.”

Jewel stands and continues her wringing.

“It’s Valentine. Don’t you get a day off?”

“No.”

“Oh okay.”

“So, urm…are you going to have your bath so I can drop you somewhere you can pick a taxi?”

Jewel widens her eyes as if surprised by my question. Then she smiles.

“Oh….erm…okay, let me get dressed.”

I watch her walk with a jiggle to the room and mentally cross her name from my contact list. I know I will not be seeing her again.



***********************



THE OYELOWO MANSION

DOWNSTAIRS IN MARTIN OYELOWO’S STUDY


Martin Oyelowo was in a fix. He stared at the blue velvet box in his hand, undecided what to do with it. He should have known better than to follow Yinusa’s advice. Now the damn thing had become a nuisance and distracting him from focusing on his plans. He thought again of drinking with his friend at the boat club a week before.

“Your wife wants a divorce?” Yinusa Ali blinked at him, disbelief and surprise on his face as he brought back the glass he had been raising to his lips to the table.

“Yes.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Let her go maybe.”

“Ah Martin, don’t make that mistake please. How can you allow such a thing happen?”

“Why should I force her to stay with me?”

Yinusa leaned back into his seat.

“So who do you want to marry? Olga?”

The mention of the Russian wife of the president of the boat club had brought a smirk to Martin’s face. Olga had not been much of a challenge, in fact, she had been willing to do more than sleep with him. If he ever proposed, he knew what her answer would be.

Martin shook his head.

“I am not marrying Olga.”

“So why do you want to divorce your wife?”

“Did you not hear me? She says she wants a divorce. Do you expect me to beg her?”

“Yes beg her,” Yinusa Ali said, leaning forward. “Martin if that woman leaves you, you will be sorry.”

Martin scoffed. “I can always replace her.”

Yinusa gave his friend Martin a fatherly smile even though he was only a year older than him.

“Look let me tell you something,” he said, touching Martin lightly on the arm. “You see, a woman who has been with you from the beginning, knows you and understands you better than any woman you meet today. See, my first wife Hauwa, that woman has been my strength…my rock in fact. You know I divorced Halima recently?”

Martin nodded. He had been the first person Yinusa had called after divorcing the third of his second wives after only a year in marriage.

“Yes, you told me.”

“That woman would have killed me Wallahi. Do you believe the extent she had gone in exposing some of my secrets to my deputy? Women these days have no loyalty my friend.”

Yinusa Ali made a face. A man who always prided himself about being loyal to his friends, he loathed disloyal people, just like the Deputy Inspector General of police who would not stop thinking of ways to bring him down.

Martin sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Well, I am not begging her to stay.”

“Good, let her go,” Yinusa Ali said, a lecherous smile on his face. “Maybe I can make her my second wife. Your wife is beautiful for her age. Who knows if she can still bear children?”

Martin tried to laugh but found himself vaguely annoyed by his friend’s statement. He entertained a mental picture of his wife with his friend the same way he had been with other women and found out that the thought disturbed him.

“What do you want her for?” he said, hiding his emotions behind a jovial mask. “She is past her prime.”

“Don’t worry. You just let me have her for one day. Wallahi, you will see wonders.”

Martin laughed this time but the sound was humourless. Yinusa Ali sensed his discomfort and went back to giving him advice.

“Buy her something Martin. It is Valentine next week. I can introduce you to someone who sells good jewelry in London.”

Martin looked at the box again and decided that it was time to get rid of it. He pulled himself out of his chair and walked to the door of his study, his mind conceiving an idea as he went. The house was silent as usual. Martin climbed upstairs and crept stealthily towards the door of his wife’s room. He got there in minutes and began to carry out his plan. He was bent at the waist, the velvet box slipping from his hand to the floor when he heard shuffling behind him. Martin straightened immediately, almost losing his balance. His niece Fausat stood behind him, looking apologetic and curious at the same time. She held a tall glass of what looked like orange juice in her hand, over sized T-shirt swallowing up her lanky frame.

“Sorry Uncle.”

Her eyes were fixed on the box he was now clutching against his chest. She walked to him.

“What’s that?”

As his sister’s only child touched the velvet in his hand with reverence, Martin Oyelowo’s plan changed again. He stretched the box towards her.

“Give this to your auntie.”

He did not wait after that. He walked back to his study to begin his day. He had calls to make. The first was to the hotel in Kano.

********************

Charmin1:
It's good to have you back Virgo.

It is good to be back dear.

Jennimma:
Virgo,this is mind blowing.

Thank you.