Taiwo bets on the hyena and loses.
He spits and watches the celebrations of those who won. Bastards. How could a dog beat a hyena? It boggles the mind. They carry the limp animal away, but the night is young. Hyena men, despite their name, have always walked with other animals. Usually monkeys, snakes and other small mammals. The men and boys come to gatherings like this, nomadic, with their womenfolk and children a few miles away in a camp, although the whole family unit takes part in the domestication of the animals.
Dark night, but clear, and only a whiff of a chemical smell on the wind. Taiwo is at a table, one of those round ones old men sit at to gossip. He is the only one sitting. His crew, about twenty men and women, are scattered around a pit dug through what used to be a basketball court. The lights that would have been illuminating night games are now focused on the animal fights. There are four hyena men, wiry, of good cheer, wearing animal skins, charms hanging off them, high on mushrooms and khat, which they picked up from the Somalis on their travels. The pit is four feet at its deepest point and the bottom is smooth, swept clean so that the animal footpads can gain the best traction.
The dog bout was unplanned. One of Taiwo’s men had an Alsatian that he swore could take the hyena. Turns out he was right. Doesn’t matter. Ten per cent of his winnings will automatically go to Taiwo, no matter the source. Every drug transaction, every extortion, every murder-for-hire, every kidnapping, all of them send ten per cent to Taiwo if it happens in the Rosewater area. If a villain crosses the border from Nigeria seeking criminal asylum, it is twenty per cent.
The ones Taiwo hasn’t found a way to plug into are the organ traffickers, and the problem vexes him. He gestures and a boy pours him more whiskey in a shot glass.
The next bout is a snake versus a mongoose. Everyone knows the outcome of this, so it’s more of an entertainment bout with no bets. Uncanny how the furry, super-fast little mammal goes straight for the snake, a predator with no idea that its time has come.
The problem with the organ trafficking is that it’s not done by professionals. Anybody with minimal pain tolerance can have a conspirator cut out, say, the liver or a kidney. Wormwood grows a new one, then the old organ can be reinserted in the abdomen, where the alien will again reattach it to something and heal the wound. The carrier now has an extra kidney or liver plus a brand-new pot belly. They cross the border into Nigeria, get a surgeon to cut it out of them into a dry ice box, get paid, then hop back into Rosewater. The entire process can be over in forty-eight hours.
Taiwo is contemplating killing the traffickers on the return leg as a lesson when he sees himself approaching on foot. There are three layers of bodyguards between Taiwo and the outside world, but they do not stop this man. They do, at least, search him, which goes without incident.
Kehinde. His identical twin brother.
Taiwo turns to the boy holding the whiskey. “Get another chair.”
Kehinde looks as though the shadows stick to him. His eyes glow and he smiles, showing the gap in his front teeth, eji, that Taiwo sees in the mirror. Eji is a sign of beauty among the Yoruba, but Taiwo doesn’t deceive himself. He and his brother look too brutal to be handsome. Kehinde is trim, walks with a grace and muscularity that Taiwo hasn’t had in a couple of years. He can’t think of anyone he hates more than his twin brother.
God, I hope I don’t have to fight him again. The last time took months to recover from. For both of us.
Kehinde takes the chair from the boy and sits down beside his brother so that he is facing the pit where the mongoose is playing with the serpent. Taiwo stares at the whites of Kehinde’s eyes, checking for the telltale green tinge that would mark him as an alien, but it isn’t there. He scoops up some sand with his hand and throws it on Kehinde’s leg, standard check for ghosts in Yoruba folklore if a person who hasn’t been seen for a long time turns up. Kehinde isn’t an extraterrestrial and he isn’t one of the dead.
“Where have you been?” asks Taiwo.
“Enugu prison. Some bullshit charge, but I was detained without trial, then they lost the arrest paperwork or something. I walked away during a riot.” Kehinde’s voice is relaxed, unhurried. “You’re fat. You’re not looking after my body.”
“Oh fuck you. And talk to me with respect. I’m twenty minutes older than you.”
“Omokehindelegbon. I am the older twin who comes out second. I sent you into the world like an outrider, or have you forgotten our traditions as well?”
“What do you want? You want your share of the city back? Because things are different now.”
“So I see.”
“Are you here to fight?”
“No. But I will tell you this: I’m going to kill your people. I’m not going to accept their surrender. I am going to kill them, your entire operation.”
Taiwo laughs. “You’re going to kill me?”
“I can’t kill you. Omo iya ni wa. You’re family. No, I’ll just kill everyone around you. Then I’ll take what’s mine.”
“Brother, my men aren’t the lot they were before you left. They are seasoned soldiers, trained by a special forces guy. They are decorated war heroes like me.”
Kehinde places his elbows on the table and picks up the shot glass that Taiwo has forgotten about. He drains it and throws it into the pit. The mongoose has the snake’s head in his mouth, in a death grip. It is startled, but does not let its prey go. The spectators look up, puzzled.
Kehinde says, “Given enough time, all honours become meaningless. What is meaningful is the one thing that you want, that you’ve always wanted.”
“And what’s that?” asks Taiwo.
“To be better than me.” Kehinde rises and wipes his mouth against his right palm. He raises the arm and spreads the fingers out. Then he makes a fist.
There is a brief whistle, and the pit explodes in light and flame. The shock wave knocks Taiwo over and sets his ears ringing. Windows in selected buildings shatter, which, to Taiwo, means their snipers are killing his snipers. He sees Kehinde walk away, black-clad armed men gravitating towards him and buzzing about like hornets, accepting nods from him. They shoot survivors and stragglers before disappearing into the night. In the pit, the flames from the rocket attack have subsided and there are only the dead, no wounded.
Taiwo stands, surveys the scene. He is irritated to find his heart racing and his breathing fast.
He summons reinforcements, then he calls the mayor’s direct line.