Yellowman pulled up under a mango tree by the Lagoon. Illuminated windows dotted the night sky across the water that was dark and still in the night, and across the road the mansions of Oyinkan Abayomi Drive slumbered peacefully behind tall fences topped with electrified wires.
He focused on the black gate two buildings away. The windows of the house behind the fence were dark and the floodlights in the compound were on. He imagined Amaka sleeping. The police officers attached to her ambassador father were oblivious to the danger she was in; oblivious of the man sent to protect her from it, sitting outside in a car, chewing bitter kola nuts to stay awake, ready to take a life to preserve hers.
He split another kola nut in his palms and placed one half on the passenger seat, next to his Uzi and two spare clips. He bit a chunk off the remaining half and his eyes caught a glimmer in the mirror.
Crouching by the fence, one of Area’s men watched through the gap between the fence and the gate, his pistol raised. He strained to see the face of the person in the car that had parked across the road right in front of the building.
Two headlights appeared in the distance behind Yellowman. He kept his eyes on the mirror and picked up his weapon. Watching the car approaching from behind, he cocked the sub-machine gun in his lap.
The police patrol vehicle slowed as it got closer. The officers inside looked at Yellowman’s car. Muzzles of AK-47s peeped out of their windows. Yellowman watched them. They wouldn’t see through his tinted glass. The patrol car continued before stopping a few metres away by the black gate. Keeping his eyes on the car, Yellowman lifted the Uzi from his lap and tucked it under his chair. He did the same with the spare clips from the passenger seat. The police van idled in the middle of the road, emitting dark smoke from its exhaust pipe. Yellowman lifted his shirt and pulled out a Glock 42, pulled back the slide, and tucked the pistol underneath his legs.
The police van stayed in the middle of the road. The engine revved. Black smoke shot out of the exhaust. The engine revved again and the van started moving forward.
Yellowman watched till it had disappeared out of sight. He wound down his window and listened to the diesel engine turn right onto Bourdillon Road, then looked at the house again. Something glinted on the ground in front of the gate.
He tucked his pistol under his shirt and retrieved the Uzi and spare clips. He put a clip into each pocket of his jacket, then checked both ends of the road. He got out of his car, held the weapon under his jacket, and crossed the road.
He kept his eyes on the gate as he crouched down to pick up an empty shell from the ground, and sniff it. He put it into his pocket and searched around him. His eyes fell on a spot in front of the gate. He walked over, crouched again, and touched it. It was wet. He rubbed his fingers together and sniffed them. He pulled out his Uzi and aimed it at the gate, backed up towards his car, got inside without taking his eyes off the gate, and started the engine.
The lookout behind the gate lowered his pistol. He kept close to the ground as he crept towards the house.