Ambrose stood in the middle of his floodlit compound and watched the gates open. Yellowman and Babalola were on either side of him; a dozen or so armed guards lingered around. The truck that had been rumbling on idle rolled into the compound filling the air with its diesel exhaust.
Two men climbed into the back of the truck while Ambrose and Babalola watched. It was loaded with sacks of ‘Best Quality Golden Rice.’ The two guards in the truck picked up a sack and passed it to two others waiting outside. The men placed the heavy sack on the ground in front of Ambrose and Babalola. They continued unloading the truck, taking more bags into the house.
Yellowman reached under his jacket and pulled out a sheathed dagger. He removed the blade and stooped down by the sack, and with one motion sliced it open. Grains of rice fell onto the pavement. He dipped a hand into the rice and pulled out a brand-new AK-47 assault rifle, without its magazine, holding the gun by the barrel. The weapon was the stockless variety. He stood up, and presented the gun to Ambrose.
Ambrose gestured to Babalola. ‘Give the gun to Doc,’ he said. ‘Let him feel it’. Yellowman flicked a grain of rice off the body of the rifle, and, still holding it by the muzzle, handed the weapon to Babalola.
‘What are these for?’ Babalola asked. He took the weapon, surprised at how light it was, and held it away from his body as if it posed an immediate danger.
‘For the election. We are no longer playing games. We have to match them naira for naira, gun for gun, bullet for bullet.’
‘Why are you letting me see this?’ Babalola said.
‘Because you have to know what it will take to get you into office. You are part of this; part of everything it takes to get you elected. Give the gun to Yellowman.’
Babalola held the weapon out to Yellowman, who removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and flicked it open. With the cloth covering his palm, Yellowman gripped the top of the gun’s barrel and walked away with it.
Babalola watched him leaving.
‘Why did he do that?’
‘Your prints are on the gun. In case you get any stupid ideas, or you are misled by anybody, that gun would be discovered next to a murdered member of the opposition.’
‘That is blackmail.’
‘Yes, it is. But is it not better than taking you to a shrine to swear an oath?’
‘Prince, this is not what I signed up for.’
‘No, it is not. But everything has changed now. You will become Governor of Lagos State, and guns and blackmail are all part of the machinery that will get you there.’
Another vehicle pulled up behind the gate and honked.