On one of four flat-screen monitors in his bedroom, Malik watched retired Navy Commodore Shehu Yaya walk through the gate into the compound of his duplex in Gbagada. The guard closed the gate behind Shehu and for a moment both men stood close to each other in the one-metre space between the closed gate and the nose of Malik’s white Range Rover, neither talking nor moving.
Malik watched the two men in their little impasse, then he stood, picked up a kimono housecoat from a papasan chair and threw it over his naked body.
The bulletproof front door opened and Shehu swung round. Malik was in the doorway in his kimono, his legs, arms, and chest covered in thick black curly hair. A black pistol dangled from his right hand. In his other he held two phones, one white, one grey. ‘How did you find my place?’ he said.
‘Come on,’ Shehu said. ‘You and I both know that Ojo is not the smartest man in Lagos.’
‘Even then, he knows better than to give out my home address.’
‘Does he? Like he shouldn’t have brought me to your little sex house last night? You give him too much credit and it’s not fair to him.’
‘If anyone other than Ojo had brought you, I would not have allowed you enter The Harem last night.’
‘But we both know our friend is about to become the third most powerful person in Lagos.’
‘The third?’
‘Oh yes. He would never wield as much power as the man who puts him there. And combined, they would never be as powerful as the man who knows what it took to get him there.’
Malik nodded at the guard who was standing aside, unsure what to do.
‘Come in,’ Malik said.
A deep-pile cream rug covered every inch of the floor. A solitary beige armchair sat in front of a 52-inch flat-screen TV on a stand in the middle of the room. There was a single white leather-bound chair at a glass dining table large enough for six chairs. Opposite the stairs, there was a mirror-panelled bar with two stools.
‘What would you like?’ Malik said walking behind the bar and placing his pistol and the two phones on it. From underneath he fetched two shot glasses and a half-finished bottle of Cognac and placed them on the top.
‘Louis XIII,’ Shehu said. He stood a metre from the bar. ‘I would normally say no to alcohol this early, but it’s not every day you get a sip of a half a million naira brandy.’
‘Cognac.’
‘I have never known the difference.’
‘Do you mind?’ Malik said. He fetched a glass ashtray and a cigar from behind the bar, placed the ashtray on the top and held the cigar between his fingers.
‘Please, go ahead,’ Shehu said. He searched his pockets and brought out his packet of Consulates, put a cigarette to his lips and searched his pockets for his lighter.
‘You organise girls for your friends in the force,’ Malik said.
‘When they drove you from the Navy you became a pimp. I know who you are. The Harem must have made you jealous.’
‘Jealous?’ Shehu smiled. He shook his head and placed his hands on the bar.
Malik picked up the pistol and pointed it at Shehu’s face.
Shehu stood still. He stared into Malik’s eyes. Seconds passed. Malik squeezed the trigger. Click. Shehu flinched. An orange flame burnt upwards from the muzzle of the lighter-gun. A moment passed. The tiny flame danced between the two men, the constant hiss of the gas lighter the only sound in the room, then Shehu leaned forward and dragged the flame into his cigarette. Smoke rose between them.
‘Why are you here?’ Malik asked.
‘The girl. Florentine. You told him she’s alive.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she?’
Malik removed the unlit cigar from his lips. The end was still sealed. He looked behind the bar and got his gold-plated cigar cutter.
‘Is she?’ Shehu repeated.
‘Why?’
‘Because if she is, and you are hoping to use her as some sort of insurance or leverage, that complicates things for me.’
‘So what if I’m using her as a bargaining chip?’
‘When I was a young boy of about twelve, my father told me something that has guided me ever since. He said, if you must have an enemy, have a wise man as your enemy, because a stupid enemy would do something stupid that would harm you and harm himself.’
‘She’s not the only one.’
‘Yes, I know. You told him about another girl looking for him.’
‘She’s the dangerous one. She’s a lawyer. Her father is an ambassador.’
‘I am taking care of her.’
‘How?’
‘How else?’
‘Have you ever taken care of anyone?’
‘Are you joking? I’m a military man. I saw active service in Bakassi. Do you think one silly girl in Lagos would be any problem for me?’
‘He asked me to take care of her.’
‘When?’
‘Last night.’
‘See what I mean? He’ll make a big mess of what should be handled quietly, and then when the caca hits the fan, he’ll call in his father-in-law and we will both end up in the bottom of Lagos Lagoon. That is why I’m here. To clear up this mess before it gets to the old man.’
‘What do you suggest we do?’
‘Let me have the girl you have, and let me take care of the other one.’
‘Then you have all the hands.’
‘This is not about hands, my dear friend. It’s about staying alive.’