Two men pulled Malik to his feet. He touched his bloodied mouth and winced. The officers shackled him with rusty handcuffs. Another bent down by the open door of the Mercedes and picked up the phone that had dropped onto the floor. He took it to Ibrahim. Sergeant Hot-Temper continued to aim at Malik’s head.
Ibrahim looked at the phone. ‘Who did you call?’ he asked.
Malik sniggered. He looked around at the officers aiming their weapons at him and smiled at each of them. He winked at Hot-Temper.
‘Put him in the front,’ Ibrahim said.
Two officers pushed Malik into the police van. Ibrahim got in after him and the rest of the officers climbed into the back. Bakare did not look at Malik as he turned the van to face the queue of vehicles that had formed ahead on the road. He drove the wrong way a while, then, when he could, he turned onto the other carriageway and carried on the Lekki-Epe Expressway.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Malik said. He brought his hands to his face to catch blood dripping from his mouth.
Ibrahim stared straight ahead.
‘You’re making a big mistake,’ Malik said, gurgling a mix of saliva and blood. ‘You haven’t told me what you’re arresting me for.’
Malik looked from Ibrahim to Bakare and back.
‘Look, guys, I really don’t want to get you into trouble. Let us talk and settle this thing, whatever it is. I can make it all worth your while. I will give you one hundred K each.’
They rode in silence, passing the Lekki Phase 1 roundabout.
‘Look, I can make you people rich. All of you. Two hundred K each.’
‘Sharap!’ Ibrahim yelled at the top of his voice.
Bakare glanced at his boss and continued driving.