He woke up the next morning with a blinding headache. He hadn’t slept much and he needed painkillers. He rummaged through the dresser and cupboard. There was nothing, so he sent Ada a text. She knocked about ten minutes later and walked in with a pack of analgesics.

‘Good morning, my husband,’ she said as she handed him the plastic pack.

‘Someone is in a good mood today,’ Abel said as she fetched a bottle of water from the fridge, poured and passed it to him.

‘What happened? You had a fight in your sleep?’ She settled into the couch.

‘No. I didn’t sleep well, at all. My mind was wandering.’

‘I hope it didn’t wander into my room. I was stark naked.’ She laughed.

‘Don’t worry. It didn’t.’ He flicked the remaining drops of water in the cup at her.

They were quiet for a while and then she spoke.

‘See I have been meaning to ask you something,’ she began, leaning towards him, so close he could see the top of her breasts. She must have felt his eyes on her because she leaned back again.

‘Yes?’

‘Well, it’s over three months now since Soni disappeared and I pray every morning for him to come back and be father to his son and a husband to me. But with every passing day I realise that we may never see him again. I know so many people who have been swallowed whole by this city.’ She got to her feet and began to pace. Abel had noticed that Ada liked to pace whenever she had something she felt needed to be said.

‘I am talking of young girls, mothers, fathers on their way to or from work and school. Abel, these were ordinary men, good people. With Soni, it’s a lot different. We know what he did, we know he had enemies and if they have kept him for this long without asking for money they will never let him go. So, I need to ask you; if Soni doesn’t come back, what happens to us? Are you going to stay on with us? Will you go back to Asaba? He has legit businesses and you can help run them. You are a smart and intelligent man. But I need to know. My family has asked me the same question and now I am asking it of myself; if my husband never comes back, what happens?’

She had stopped mid-stride, one foot in front, the other behind, as if poised for lift-off. Her face was partly in the light and partly in shadow, framed, as it were, in a penumbra of anxiety, and it gave her a surreal aspect. She was bouncing on the toes of her right foot and breathing fist from her mouth as if the effort at speech had sapped her.

‘Ada, I don’t know,’ Abel began tentatively. ‘I like to make plans, but this time I have no idea what to do. I agonised over how to tell my mother but somehow, circumstances sorted it out. As to what you ask; let’s wait and see what happens, especially with the story now in the papers. But just know that whatever happens I will be here for you and Zeal.’

Ada did not speak; she just stood, her bosom heaving as she bounced on her feet. There was a knock and Abel asked the person to come in.

‘Good morning bros. Iyawo good morning,’ Santos greeted as he stepped into the room. He had more magazines and newspapers. ‘It’s now in the serious papers,’ he said handing them over to Abel. ‘And it is all over the internet.’

That was when Abel remembered his appointment with the journalist, the mysterious publisher who had called from Excel magazine to say he knew where Soni’s whereabouts.

He showered, had breakfast, listened to CNN for a while, then texted the journalist at about 10.45am.

Just leaving Lekki now. Are we still good for noon?

There was no reply and when it was almost 11am Abel got into the car and asked Santos to head to Ikeja. He was close to the gate when a message came in.

Pls call me. It was the journalist.

He told Santos to park while he made the call.

‘Sorry, I couldn’t call. No credit,’ he said breathlessly as if he had been running.

‘No problems. So, what’s up?’

‘We can’t do noon. I have a meeting with a client for noon. It wasn’t planned but I have been chasing this deal for a while. Let’s do 4pm.’

‘Same place?’

‘No. A different place. I will text you and remember come—’

Abel cut him off before he finished.

They drove back home and he watched a movie, Happy Feet, with Zeal who was home because Ada wanted to avoid what she said would be a circus at his school.

‘I don’t want people looking at me. You know they all read soft-sell papers and then pretend they don’t.’

‘Hypocrisy of the rich and famous,’ Abel said.

‘Well, you are one of us, now,’ she told him, and Abel felt something give way in the pit of his stomach.

His reverie was broken by the buzz of a text from Calista.

Arrived safely and been gisting with my mum since I got home. I sent you a gift, something to upgrade you into the 21st century. An aide will drop it off. Can you imagine; one day gone and I am in tatters. Miss you, Mr Dike.

Abel read the text a few times, then sent a reply.

The past few weeks have been heavenly because of you. Miss you more, Miss Adeyemi.

A while later, he called Santos and asked him to get the car ready for his Ikeja appointment. They left the house at 2pm. It was a bright, sunny day and Abel knew that without traffic they would be in Ikeja in an hour.

As they turned on to the Third Mainland Bridge from Osborne, Santos cursed and swerved to the right, but it was obviously too late. Abel felt the impact and then they were skidding. Santos fought to keep the BMW X5 straight. He won, bringing the car to a rest by the edge of the kerb, just.

They got out of the car to inspect the damage. A danfo bus had hit them from behind, shattering one of the tail lights. The bus was now sitting in the middle of the road, its passengers disembarking in a hurry from fear of being run into by an oncoming vehicle.

As Abel and Santos approached the bus, the passengers all pointed in the distance. Abel followed their lead and he could just make out two men, one in shorts and the other in buba and sokoto, running as if the devil was chasing them. It was the driver and his conductor.

‘They said you will arrest them,’ one of the boys who had just got off the bus said and Abel burst into laughter, the tears coursing down his face as they inspected the damage before continuing with their journey.

He knew why they were running. Where or how in God’s name would they find money to fix a BMW? Fear had given wings to their feet.

—

When they got to Ikeja, they parked at Mama Cass on Allen, and while Santos waited, Abel took an okada, the ubiquitous motorcycle taxis with demoniac riders who, because they got into nasty accidents on such a regular basis, had been designated a special ward at the orthopaedic hospital. The riders were usually young boys, always high on something, or old men with poor eyesight who drove bikes as a side gig. They weren’t the most adept or careful riders.

‘Abeg, don’t drive too fast,’ Abel said as he perched behind the driver. He had already given him the address for his rendezvous and negotiated the fare.

The driver mumbled something as he handed Abel a dirty helmet, which passengers were required to wear by law.

The location was an open-air beer parlour. Plastic chairs were arranged four to a table; all of it branded by one lager or the other. A big-screen TV hung precariously from the wall and as Abel sat down and ordered a beer, he began counting mentally to see how long it would stay up before it came crashing down.

He had counted to 560 when someone settled into the seat beside him.

‘Mr Dike? Don’t look at me, please, just pick up your glass if it’s you,’ the voice said and Abel reached for his glass.

‘You are Mayowa, right? And you said you know something about my brother?’ Abel asked, speaking with his lips hovering over his glass.

‘Yes.’

‘OK, what do you know and what do you want?’

‘I don’t want anything. I just want to help a young man like myself,’ he said. ‘I think I know the people who took your brother. I met someone who can help you find them.’

‘Why doesn’t he go to the police?’

‘Police? Why? I thought you wanted to find your brother?’ Anger and impatience crept into his voice.

‘Yes, I want to find my brother.’

‘Then why are you talking about police? I am only trying to help. I heard something that will benefit my fellow man and I decided to help.’

‘How much do you want?’ Abel asked, turning ninety degrees to look at the guy. If he was paying, he needed to see who he was paying.

He was surprised: Mayowa didn’t look like much. He was a thin man with beady eyes. His face would have been handsome but for the ravages of time and circumstance. He looked to be in his late thirties, about Abel’s age.

‘Everything is not about money,’ he said. ‘Can I order for a beer?’

‘You can order for ten,’ Abel blurted before he could stop himself. He waved the waiter over.

The guy gave Abel a look that conveyed both irritation and resignation as he asked for Gulder. He was either shameless or really in need of a drink.

‘Bros, everything is not about money,’ he repeated, his tone softening, all talk about Abel not looking at him gone. He poured his drink, took a large swig that emptied half of the glass and then smacked his lips and rubbed his palms together. He was thirsty.

As Abel looked at him, he could see his life story written all over him. This was a blind mouse, like millions of others nosing their way through the underbelly of Lagos, hoping for the lucky day when they would score some cheese. Most of them came to Lagos with a vow, like Eva, to make it or die trying. Most of them died, trying.

He could see the grime around the collar of the long-sleeved shirt he had folded to the elbow, revealing gaunt arms that ended in bony fingers with dirt underneath the nails. His shoes were tucked under the table, out of sight, but Abel could guess that they were dusty from tramping through the streets, looking for the ‘hammer that would bring the Hummer’.

‘See, let’s stop beating about the bush; what do you know and what do you want for it?’ Abel asked, laying his cards on the table.

‘I met someone who knows something and he is the one who wants something too. Me, I have human sympathy. Today it is you; tomorrow it can be me. No need chopping from somebody’s bad luck.’

Abel ignored the platitude. ‘Is the person here?’

‘Yes. He is watching to make sure you came alone.’

‘So, are we going to meet him?’

‘Yes, but we have to agree first. Then I will send him a text and he will reply.’

‘So, how much?’

‘He said one million naira.’.

Abel did not betray any emotion as he turned to him and asked: ‘Have you ever seen one million naira before in your life?’

Mayowa swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. It was almost hard to believe that he was just drinking beer. He seemed to be choking on something solid.

‘Bros, it is help, I came here to help,’ he said, looking Abel in the eyes.

‘And what will he give us?’

‘He said he knows who took your brother and he knows where to find them.’

‘So, how do we do this then? Even if we could pay, I don’t have a million naira with me here.’

‘How much do you have?’ Mayowa’s eyes glinted.

‘About ten thousand naira.’

‘Hmm, I am not sure that will work o. This kind of transaction is cash and carry. The man is scared and he wants to use the money to travel.’

‘Where?’

‘Abroad. He is taking a big risk in talking to you, you know.’

Abel told him he would pay 500,000. Mayowa asked for 800,000. They haggled and though Abel waited for him to send a text message, Mayowa did not. They finally settled for 600,000.

That was the first inkling Abel had that something was not right, but his brother was missing and how could one ever be sure what was real and what was not? It was all shadows. He would rather he did something than give in to his doubts.

‘You will drop advance payment,’ Mayowa said.

‘Advance?’

‘Yes. The man has to know that you are serious.’

‘But you said I should come alone and I did. Why does he want advance payment?’

‘The man has to know that you are serious,’ Mayowa repeated as if he was talking to an idiot who wasn’t paying attention and had difficulty understanding simple things.

‘I told you; I have only ten thousand naira here and we haven’t paid for our drinks.’

‘There are ATM machines; you are a Big Boy. You must have an ATM card.’

Abel paid for their drinks, then walked with Mayowa to a bank on Toyin Street. He withdrew one hundred thousand naira, which was his limit and gave it to him.

‘The man would have preferred two hundred thousand naira,’ Mayowa said as he pocketed the money. Then, looking up with a smile and rubbing his palms together he asked, ‘Nothing for the boys?’

‘What?’

‘I am just a messenger. Won’t you find me something for transport?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Bros, this money is not for me. It is for the contact. I am not charging you but I spent my money to get here just to help a fellow man.’

Abel gave him five thousand naira out of what was left in his pocket.

‘I will text you at night to give you directions as to where we will meet again. God bless you.’

Abel watched him walk away, his dusty, worn shoes clinking against the macadam as he crossed the street. Then Abel flagged down an okada that took him back to Santos at Mama Cass.

When he got home, there was a package waiting from Calista. Inside was a Blackberry and an embroidered tie-dye top from The Lighthouse. There was also a card that had ‘To my Main Man’ on its cover. Inside, Calista had written, ‘A Blackberry for you, caveman. Lose that old phone.’ Abel smiled as he pulled the phone from the pack.

‘You are the only thirty-seven-year old I know who doesn’t have a smartphone or a Facebook account,’ Calista had teased him that night as they left La Casa. Abel had been asking how she coped with her Blackberry beeping all the time.

He inserted the battery into the phone and plugged it in to charge. Santos would help him sort it out the next morning. For now he waited, jumping every time his old phone beeped, but he did not receive a text message from Mayowa. When he got tired of waiting and called, Mayowa did not pick up. The next time he tried, an automatic message told him the phone was switched off.

‘Maybe he has drunk himself into a stupor,’ Abel consoled himself.

He didn’t have dinner. He ate some biscuits and drank a beer. He was lying in bed and reading when Ada knocked and entered.

‘Do I put on the light?’ He said yes. ‘You didn’t eat dinner?’

‘No. I usually don’t eat dinner, actually. You are going to make me fat.’

‘Well no one would say I was not a good wife,’ she said, settling into the couch.

‘No one would say that,’ Abel agreed.

Ada noticed the Blackberry pack and reached for it.

‘So, we have a Blackberry now? I always wondered when you would ditch that phone.’

‘Calista sent it to me, but I will miss my old reliable.’ He kissed his old handset.

‘You should take it to Onikan.’

‘Why? What’s happening in Onikan?’

‘The museum. It’s an antique.’

Abel sat up. ‘Is everything OK?’ There was something about her that didn’t seem right, despite her jokes.

‘No. I’ve been having these nightmares. I thought I could sleep here tonight.’

‘Sure. I will take the couch,’ he said, getting off the bed.

‘I don’t stink, Abel.’ She rose and crossed the room to his bed.

‘Is this a good idea?’ he asked, feeling himself react. He just couldn’t help the effect she had on him.

‘Just create some space for me,’ she said as she got in. ‘It’s a large bed.’

Abel switched off the room light but left his reading light on. He had his book open but he couldn’t concentrate. Ada was lying beside him and he could hear her inhale and exhale. He had moved close to the edge of the bed to create some space between them but there was no denying the electric charge on that bed. Tired of trying to concentrate on the novel, he put off the lamp and crept under their duvet. Their feet touched and he pulled away.

Ada was asleep, her breathing even. Abel listened to her breathe, watching the rise and fall of her bosom from the light that came in from the bathroom. He was a man impaled on the flagpole of desire.

She stirred and reached out for him. ‘Don’t leave me, please,’ she whispered, and pulled him close. Abel was not sure whether she was speaking to him or lost in some dream.

—

It was already bright when she awoke in a panic. The clock said it was 6.45am.

‘Oh my God, Philo. I don’t want her to know I slept here,’ she cried as she jumped out of the bed.

‘You can take the connecting door,’ Abel told her.

‘Oh my, I hope I didn’t lock it from behind.’ She turned the key in the lock. The door yielded. She pulled it open and there on her bed, were Philo and Zeal. Abel turned around and bit into his pillow.

Ada avoided him the rest of the morning and when Philo served him his breakfast, he could have sworn she had a knowing smile playing around her lips. Or maybe he imagined it, his guilt making him paranoid. Still, he didn’t like the fact that Philo had seen Ada leave his room clad in her nightgown. Nothing had happened, he knew, but who would believe it? Even he had a hard time believing it.

Santos helped him transfer his contacts from the old phone to the new one, then helped him set up his email accounts, Blackberry Messenger, Facebook and Twitter.

‘Bros, you are now connected.’ Santos handed him the phone.

Abel thanked him and sent a text to Calista.

What’s your BB pin, darling?

Wow, someone has been upgraded, Calista replied.

Santos was out to buy fuel when Ada came downstairs to sit beside him.

‘Zeal is driving me crazy. He wants to know why he is not going to school.’

‘He can go back tomorrow.’

‘I wanted him to sit out the whole week. But yes, I will take him,’ she agreed. ‘You sorted out your Blackberry?’

Abel nodded. ‘Santos helped out.’

‘And where is he?’

‘I asked him to fill the tank and buy me some stuff from Shoprite.’

‘OK. You need to change all your passwords, you know. I don’t trust Santos. Let me show you how.’

She helped him change them and left to make lunch.

Abel dialled Mayowa’s number for the sixth time that morning but he didn’t pick up. He sent a text: Mayowa, waiting to hear from you. What’s the next move?

He didn’t get any reply, so later that evening he sent an angry message: Mayowa, what’s going on? Suddenly, you can’t take my call because you have money in your pocket.

That elicited a response. Pls don’t insult me, Mista man, I told u I am only trying 2 help. d man said d money you dropd is 2 small and how doz he know u will pay d rest. He said I shd send u dis acct no.

Abel looked at the account number and felt like strangling someone. ‘Bastard!’ he screamed.

Ada came out asking what the problem was and as he told her the story she started laughing.

‘Abel, he has “jobbed” you,’ she said, wiping her tears on her sleeve.

‘Jobbed me how?’

‘The money is gone. He screwed you. That’s what 419 guys call local. You are his mugu.’

‘It can’t be. I will get him.’ Abel reached for his phone sent him a text.

I don’t want to pay any money into the bank. Let’s meet somewhere and I will hand over another 200,000 naira. Then when we are done, I will give him the rest.

The reply was instant. I will call u 2moro 2 let u know. Let me spk 2 d man 1st.

He didn’t call back or text that day nor the next. Seething, Abel told Santos.

‘Bros, the man has jobbed you,’ Santos told him ‘You don fall mugu.’

‘It’s not possible,’ Abel insisted. ‘He is the publisher of a magazine.’

‘Publisher?’ Santos burst into laughter. ‘Bros, that money is gone. E don go. The man don do you local,’ he said in pidgin.

Abel could not, did not, would not accept that he had fallen prey to a conman. This was a story he had read about for years; how conmen would promise a million things and deliver nothing. He never thought it could happen to him.

‘Santos, see his office address is here in the magazine. We will go and see him tomorrow.’

‘OK. You want to go with police?’ Santos asked in Igbo.

‘Yes. I will call Umannah and tell him to send us one of his men,’ Abel said, suddenly feeling in control.

‘OK, and how much did you give him?’

‘One hundred thousand naira.’

‘And where is the receipt?’

‘Well, he didn’t … Erm, I didn’t ask for a receipt.’

‘Oh, so you will tell police that you gave him one hundred thousand naira just like that and you didn’t ask for a receipt. Who was your witness?’

‘It was just two of us at the ATM on Toyin Street. A Skye Bank ATM. I remember.’

‘Clap for yourself, bros. See, if you involve the police, they will just chop from two of you. That guy won’t even sleep in the cell for one night. That’s what police will call; your word against his. You will say you gave him one hundred thousand naira and he will say you are lying. Police will ask you for your witness, you will say it was just two of you. Police will say the onus of proof rests on you. Have you heard police quote the law before? Don’t let police quote law for you, bros. You won’t like it.’

The more he thought about it the more he began to realise that Santos was right: he had been had by the dirty, stinking conman posing as a journalist. He thought he had read him well that day as a man on a hustle but his concern over his brother had switched off his alarm system.

‘Two things you must know is this,’ Santos said, switching to English like he always did when he wanted to sound intelligent, then messing up his grammar in the process. ‘Two things can make it easy to job somebody. The first one is greediness. If a man is greedy, you can job him just like this.’ He snapped his fingers.

‘The second thing is desperation. If a person is desperate for something, just like you who wants to find his brother. You can do anything and guy man can job you just like that. It’s like a woman that is desperate for a child; any fake prophet can fuck her.’

Abel glanced at Santos for a moment, amazed at how his mind functioned and wondering why, if he was such a fount of wisdom, he was still working for Soni and earning eighty thousand naira monthly.

‘OK, so what do we do? Just let him go with the money, just like that?’

‘Ehen, bros. Now you are talking. We will go and see him and if we catch him, I swear, he will vomit that money.’

When Ada brought him dinner, she set the food down and said, ‘Food is served, Uncle Mugu.’

‘Very funny.’

‘But how could you have been so gullible?’

‘I was desperate. I thought he was telling me the truth. I didn’t realise he was leading me on.’

‘Beer or wine?’ She opened the fridge.

‘Just water, my sister. I am tired of everything. Everybody in Lagos is out to get you. And you know, after I gave him the money, he turned to me and said “God bless you.”’

Ada sat down and regarded Abel like a mother addressing a dim child. ‘So, what next?’

‘Santos says we should go and see him. Make him “vomit” the money.’

‘Tough guys. You should take it easy o.’

Abel ate with appetite. When he was done, he went upstairs, showered and got into bed with a novel. His phone buzzed with a message from Calista.

Abel waited a while and then a file came through. He accepted and opened it. Calista was topless with just her hand shielding her breasts.

About two minutes later, his phone buzzed, and when he picked it up, there was a picture of Calista topless, her breasts hanging low, like ripe fruit, but her face wasn’t showing.

‘Bad girl,’ Abel muttered, as he enlarged the picture.

—

The office was off Olowu street in a big two-storey building that was a riotous warren of offices and residences. There seemed to be a million burglar-proofed doors festooned with stickers from the religious to the political and the unapologetically commercial.

Apart from the rash of stickers, Abel noticed many drooping wires hanging from doors, eaves and roofs like tired, emaciated snakes.

It was the sort of building that made Lagos what it was: a city bursting at the seams with people. Mayowa’s office was hard to find and they had spent close to ten minutes walking up and down before they finally found a door with an Excel Magazine sticker.

‘It must be here. Now the dog will vomit that money,’ Santos said as he turned the handle and pushed at the door. It didn’t open.

‘Knock. Say you want to place an advert,’ Abel told him, while he stepped out of sight, down the stairs.

Santos knocked but no one answered. ‘Bros, nobody is here.’ Abel was walking up the stairs when Santos motioned at him to wait.

‘Who are you looking for?’ a voice asked. Mayowa; he would know that voice anywhere.

‘Is this Excel Magazine? Santos asked. Mayowa replied that it was.

‘I want to place an advert.’ Abel knew that if Mayowa didn’t bite Santos was likely to say something that would give them away.

‘Is it product or public announcement?’ Mayowa rattled the chain to get the door open.

‘Em, na advert for house.’ The door creaked open. ‘Na you be the publisher editor?’

Mayowa answered, then uttered a sharp cry as Santos struck him. Abel bounded up the steps, slammed the door shut behind him and latched it using the chain and padlock that was still dangling. Blood streamed from Mayowa’s nose.

‘Santos stop. How many people are here?’ he asked Mayowa as he pulled him up from the dusty rug and propped him against the wall.

‘Only me.’

‘Where is your artist? We want to place an advert,’ Abel mocked. He asked Santos to look around the office.

‘Nobody is here,’ Santos confirmed when he returned to the room.

It was a small place with just two rooms; Mayowa’s office and an outer one that served as reception area.

Abel studied him. His shirt was already stained with blood but it was clearly new. He had on a brand new pair of shoes and there was a gold chain on his wrist.

‘Where is my money?’ Abel punched him in the face.

‘I don’t ha—’

Santos kicked him hard in the stomach. Mayowa gagged and sank to the floor.

‘Where is the money?’ Santos asked again.

‘I spent it,’ Mayowa said, curling into a ball. Santos directed a well-aimed kick to his head.

‘So, you think you can job my bros?’ Santos asked, kicking him with every word.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ Mayowa was crying, the pain making him slur.

Santos stripped Mayowa of his wristwatch, phone, bracelet, shoes and necklace. He placed the shoes on the table and stuffed the rest in his pocket.

‘I thought you are a publisher; why did you do this?’ Abel asked, stooping to hear him.

‘Bros we are all hustlers. Who doesn’t want to hammer like your brother?’

Abel regarded him for a while, then straightened. Mayowa looked like he had been run over by a car. His left eye was already swollen and he was bleeding from his nose and mouth. His new shirt was dusty and bloodstained. He didn’t look good.

‘Santos, let’s go.’

Santos shook his head. ‘If he starts screaming thief, we are dead. Let’s tie him up and cover his mouth.’

They gagged Mayowa and tied him to one leg of his table with his belt. As they made to go, Santos said, ‘Bros, give him one for the road.’

Abel looked from Santos to Mayowa. There was fear in the publisher’s eyes and a silent plea too, but Abel remembered how he had strung him along; how he told him about the mysterious stranger who knew Soni’s whereabouts; how he had taken the one hundred thousand naira and then asked for something for the boys; and how he said ‘God bless, you’ and crossed the road, probably whispering to himself and smiling at how easy and gullible Abel had been.

Anger bubbled to the fore. He lashed out and kicked Mayowa in the gut. Mayowa screamed as bloody snort bubbled out of his nose, tears clouding his eyes.

‘That’s my bros,’ Santos said as they headed out. ‘Leave the door open, so someone will see him.’

Abel was tingling all over and his heart was pounding. He felt alive. He hadn’t been in a fight in years. Not that what had happened back there could be termed a fight, but it had been good to give as good as he got. He had lost one hundred thousand naira but that wasn’t what it was about. It was the insult of being had by a man purporting to help. He felt good that he had stepped up to the plate and said, you don’t mess with me.

‘Bros, I didn’t think you could do it.’ Santos said as they made a right at the roundabout that led to Allen and Opebi. There was respect and admiration in his voice.

‘Why?’ A sharp thrill coursed through him; he had acquitted himself well in the eyes of his younger cousin.

‘Bros, you na gentleman. Na we be street boys.’

Abel smiled to himself as they waited at the traffic light, pleased to have done something tangible. True, he was a gentleman, and all his life he hadn’t been in more than three fights because there was something about hitting and hurting another human being that made him recoil.

But that afternoon Abel had been ready to kill. Something had snapped in him and all the impotence he felt since arriving in Lagos and not being able to do anything to find his brother had bubbled over into rage in Mayowa’s office.

‘Where’s that Fela CD?’ he asked, rummaging in the glove compartment.

‘It’s here.’ Santos fished it out of the side pocket of the door.

Abel slotted it in and selected track six, ‘Palaver’.

—

He showered when he got home and was surprised to find his hands shaking. His knuckles were bruised. Now in Lekki, with the adrenaline rush gone, he was suddenly back to his old self – the analytical, rational man.

He wondered how Mayowa was and whether someone had found him and freed him. It wouldn’t be nice to leave him tied up for long in that state. He and Santos had done some damage. Abel was suddenly overwhelmed by fear; what if he didn’t make it? What if they had done much more damage than they had planned to? He thought about that last kick and rolled out of bed.

He pulled open the cabinet and poured himself a Scotch. He downed it in one gulp and stood up, remembering that Mayowa’s phone and things were still in the car. The phone could be traced to Lekki if someone called and it rang. He went downstairs, dismantled the handset and took the SIM card to the kitchen, where a bemused Philo watched as he fried it to a cinder over the flame from the gas cooker. He went back upstairs and dropped the empty hand set in the drawer of his dresser.

Abel sat down on the couch. Where had all that rage come from? He knew now, with the excitement gone, that he had lied to himself in the car. It wasn’t about the money and it wasn’t even about the insult of having been conned. Something was changing inside him. Living in Lagos, he was beginning to act in ways that were completely alien to his personality.

He drank some more Scotch, then switched off the light. Sleep didn’t come, so he put on some music and lay there in the dark, praying that Mayowa would not die.

Morning brought no respite. He had a hangover from drinking too much, too fast the night before. The box of painkillers was still on the dresser, so he popped two caplets in his mouth and tried to sleep again, but it was no use.

He showered, hoping that cold water would help ease the hangover and clear his head. He had breakfast with Ada, who was full of questions about their visit to Mayowa, but Abel only let on that they had given him a few slaps and warned him off.

‘Wow, I hope he won’t come after you guys,’ she said.

Abel looked up from his plate. He hadn’t even considered that. He had been so sure that Mayowa would be so scared he would never make contact again.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, affecting bravado he didn’t feel. ‘We made it known that we weren’t people he could mess with.’

‘Good. I didn’t think you had that in you, Mister Lecturer.’

Abel could feel the respect in her eyes and at that moment he realised what his brother had seen in her. Beyond her obvious beauty, Ada was a woman who could be counted on when things got hairy. Abel had seen her take charge, her analytical mind working. She knew what kind of businessman Soni was. She had always known that the situation in which they now found themselves was a possibility and she had been prepared for it, although she hadn’t figured that Soni would have his brother as next of kin. Without him in the picture, Abel was convinced that Ada would have taken charge completely. He understood, also, that when she asked questions about what to do, she was not really asking questions but directing him in ways she thought they ought to go.

‘Well, I guess a man has to do what a man has to do,’ he said, flushed with pride despite his misgivings.

‘That’s the kind of man I like,’ she said and rose as Philo came to clear the dishes.

—

Things returned to normal.

Zeal went back to school. Abel and Ada went swimming at the club and watched movies at the cinema. In the evenings they sat on the balcony and drank wine. Santos handled the clearing and sale of the goods with the buyers paying into a new account Ada had advised they open so they could have access to cash unencumbered by legalese. And though he waited for Mayowa to call threatening fire and brimstone or worse, nothing happened.

With school reopening in two weeks, Abel wrote a letter to his head of department explaining his situation and asking for some time off. He despatched it by DHL.

Ada had been right: the news cycle was done in one week, but they bought the papers anyway just to be sure. Abel was surprised at the way the magazines had moved on as if the previous week hadn’t happened. He had expected a follow-up, but there was nothing.

Santos told him Excel Magazine wasn’t on the stands and for a moment, Abel regretted having taken Mayowa’s phone. He could have called the bastard, even if to issue a threat. But it was probably all for the good, he reasoned; a clean cut.

To ease the tedium of his days, Abel finally agreed to a date with Ada’s friend Helen. They had dinner at a Korean restaurant in Victoria Island. She talked about her late husband and her son, who was some kind of child prodigy. At nine, he spoke four languages, could play the violin and piano and was already taking guitar classes.

‘He will take care of me when I am old,’ she said, maternal pride lighting up her face.

Ada was right; Helen read widely and loved movies. She was big on Toni Morrison and Salman Rushdie, and liked movies by Pedro Almodóvar, of whom Abel had only heard.

‘We should go see a movie, sometime,’ she told him as he walked her to her car.

‘Yes, we should,’ he agreed as he gave her a peck.

He called her up two days later, more out of courtesy and because Ada made him. They went to see This is War, an action-comedy that left them laughing hard with tears in their eyes. They had a drink afterwards and when he walked her to the car she surprised him with a kiss.

He liked her and enjoyed talking to her, he told Ada, but she didn’t do it for him.

‘I thought it was women who talked and thought like that?’ Ada told him, surprised. ‘I thought men just stuck it wherever they found a hole.’

‘Well it has to be hard enough to stick someplace.’

‘Sad. She really likes you.’

Abel’s head of department called the next day to say he could take one month off without pay. Abel thanked him and later shared a celebratory drink with Ada.

Things continued in that quotidian manner until Tuesday morning, when Santos sauntered into the dining room during breakfast.

‘Philo, get another plate for Santos,’ Ada called out, but he hadn’t come to eat.

‘Abel, we need to talk.’

They both looked up in surprise. Santos never called him Abel, always ‘bros’.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ada asked.

Santos was whistling and picking his teeth. ‘Ada, excuse us.’

Her jaw dropped.

He placed a soft-sell magazine on the table. The screaming headline and rider made Abel die a million times as he read it.

WHO KILLED MAYOWA? Excel Magazine publisher found beaten to death in his office!

Ada snatched the magazine from the table and read the caption. ‘Is this why you have lost your manners?’ she said to Santos in Igbo as she turned the pages. She read the story out loud and each word was like a stab in Abel’s gut.

Abel was breathing hard by the time Ada was done. He thought he would throw up.

‘So, what do you want now?’ Ada asked turning to Santos.

‘Fifty million naira and the X5,’ Santos said without missing a beat.

‘After all these years.’

Santos nodded. ‘Yes, after all these years.’

‘We can’t get fifty million naira from the bank,’ Abel finally managed to say. He was a mess. His hands were shaking again and he didn’t trust himself to get up.

‘Yes, you can. We have over seventy-three million in the new account we opened. Just make the transfer to this account.’

Abel picked up the piece of paper with Santos’ account number, his eyes burning with tears. He and Ada would have to sign the cheque.

Ada looked from one man to the other. She rose and told Santos to get out of the house and go to the police. Santos staggered to his feet, his face a mixture of rage and confusion. This was not in the script.

‘What will you tell them, eh? Let me hear it,’ she asked advancing upon him.

‘I will tell them everything!’

‘Then why are you still here? Go on and don’t come back. You no longer work here. Go to the police but remember we have the money and we have the lawyers and we can fuck you up.’

She flung a teacup at him, raving mad now, with eyes blazing and hair in disarray. She looked to Abel like a deranged Medusa with a full head of hissing snakes.

Santos ducked again as another teacup flew at him, and ran to the door. ‘You don’t know me, Ada. You don’t know me. You are playing with fire,’ he said from a safe distance.

‘But at least you know me and you know what I can do,’ Ada screamed and threw another teacup. It shattered against the door.

‘Witch! Wicked woman!’ He ran out as she advanced.

‘Open that gate and let him out,’ she yelled at the gateman. ‘If I see him in this house again, you are dead. You hear me?’

Abel was standing by the dining table and watching Philo clean up the debris when Ada strode in and walked straight upstairs.

The blinds were drawn and the room was shrouded in darkness when he stepped into her room. He switched on the light. She was slumped on her pink couch, her head in her palms, crying softly. Her whole body trembled from rage as he settled beside her and pulled her to himself.

‘What are we going to do, Abel?’ she wailed. ‘What kind of wahala is this?’ He held her close as sobs wracked her slim frame.

Abel realised at that very moment that he had rounded a bend and there was no going back. So many things had changed and he had to change along with them. A man was dead and he was culpable. He had to fix that and fix the Santos problem too. He knew who to call.

‘Everything will be alright,’ he said, and he had never meant anything like he did those words.