Easy Motion Tourist (10 page)

Knockout and Go-Slow walked backwards down the corridor and into the night. Catch-Fire and the girls spilled out onto the road after them. The boys that were playing football stopped to watch. Eremobor saw the girls were holding guns and he sank down below the window and contemplated speeding off without his boss.

Go-Slow got into the driver’s seat of their car. He drove slowly at first, looking into the rear-view mirror, then he floored the throttle and the car bounced on the uneven road.

‘Fuuuuuuuck!’ Knockout said, banging his fists on the dashboard. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking Shit. Bastard. Me? Knockout? Fuuuuuuuck.’

‘Cool down,’ Go-Slow said. He strained the engine, charging at potholes as if they weren’t there.

‘Fuck. Catch-Fire is dead. He is a dead man.’

‘Cool down.’

‘Fuck. Let’s go back.’

‘And do what?’

‘Fuuuuuuuck.’

‘Let it go.’

At the Ojuelegba flyover, Go-Slow finally eased off the throttle and slowed to a crawl. He drove round the roundabout twice
then he pulled up on the kerb. He got out and crossed the road to reach the overgrown enclosure under the bridge. He unzipped his trouser and began whistling as he peed.

A disabled man on a wooden board with squeaky metal wheels rolled out from beneath a shelter of cardboard and wooden planks. Go-Slow ignored the man and looked around. He pulled out three pistols from his belt: his, Knockout’s, and the one they had seized from the girl who tried to rob them. Without speaking, he handed the guns to the man who then rolled himself back into his shelter, propelled by callused palms that pulled against the rough ground. When he got back into the car, Knockout was silent. He drove to Matori, the motor vehicle spare parts centre of Lagos, and stopped in front of a dilapidated colonial era building with rows of second-hand motorcycles chained together in front. A fading sign said: CHUCKS AUTO DEALERS AND AGENT. DEALERS IN ORIGINAL SPARE PARTS, GENERATORS AND TOKUNBO MOTORCYCLES.

Across the road, on the flat roof of the adjacent building, a man lying on his belly, with a twelve gauge pump-action shotgun by his side, watched them through a pair of military issue binoculars.

They walked up to the building and Go-Slow knocked on the wooden door behind a second entry-way of iron bars which were in turn secured by heavy-duty padlocks at four different points. They waited for an answer. He knocked again – still no response. Knockout banged on the door with the side of his fist.

‘Who is that?’

‘We are looking for Chucks,’ Knockout said. ‘We have a delivery for him.’

‘He has travelled.’

‘Travelled? When?’

‘I don’t know. Go away.’

The man on the roof adjusted his binoculars. He fetched his phone and made a call.

A boy in worn khaki shorts and an oversized singlet dotted with holes laboured with the locks, making clanking sounds, then stepped out to meet them.

‘Oga said I should bring you,’ he said. He looked like he had been woken from sleep.

‘Where is he?’ Knockout said.

‘I’ll take you to him. Is that the car you brought?’ He pointed at the stolen SUV and started walking towards it.

‘What is going on here? I thought you said he had travelled?’

‘Yes. He’s back. I’ll take you to him. Let’s go.’ The boy opened the back door, pulled himself onto the seat, and closed his eyes.

The criminals exchanged looks. Go-Slow shrugged. They got into the car and Go-Slow started the engine. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked the boy.

Head slumped back and eyes shut, the boy pointed the way: ‘Go like this. Take the next turn left, then turn left again and drive to the front of the Glo kiosk.’

They exchanged looks again. Go-Slow shrugged. They followed the boy’s directions and ended up on the next street, behind a row of closed shops.

By now the boy was snoring. Knockout reached back and shook him. ‘Hey. Where is he?’

‘He will soon come.’ He shifted and continued sleeping with his mouth open.

A tap on the window jolted the crooks. Knockout went for his gun and remembered they had ‘deposited’ their weapons.

Chucks stood by the window holding the pump-action in
one hand and a phone in the other. A pair of binoculars hung from his neck.

‘What are you boys doing here?’ He drew his fingers over the door where he thought he saw a dent, then he leaned back to look at the tyres.

‘Bros, what’s going on?’ Knockout said.

‘This is a very bad night. Those foolish Iron Bender boys were supposed to deliver twelve cars tonight but they have all been arrested.’

‘They did not settle the police?’

‘I don’t know for them. Maybe the bribe was not enough. Maybe the officers they bribed were not the ones out on patrol tonight. Maybe their ashewo girlfriends cursed them, I don’t know. But the information I have is that they have all been arrested, and once the police start to torture them they might give me away.’

‘Damn. Well, it serves you right; those boys are not professionals at all. I warned you.’

‘Look, if I have a big order, those boys can deliver twenty cars in one night. What can you do? You bring me one car in two months. You expect me to wait for you when I have customers waiting for me?’

‘All I’m saying is that those boys are amateurs. They are not clean. We, we do neat jobs; no police problem at all.’

‘Whatever. So what have you come to see me for?’

‘We came to deliver this jeep.’

Chucks was still inspecting the car. ‘I don’t think I can take it,’ he said. ‘Town is too hot right now. Those boys will soon start talking. I can’t handle any delivery today.’

‘So, what do you want us to do with this car?’

‘You can return it to the owner. If I were you, I would lay low till things settle.’

Go-Slow had been watching him and had seen the way he looked at the car. ‘What is the best price you can give us?’ he said.

‘Well, I really don’t want to do any business today, but because it is you boys, I will use this one for spare parts. It is too dangerous to drive it out of town tonight.’

‘How much?’

‘Well, one hundred thousand.’

Knockout spread his fingers at him. ‘Fuck you. This car is worth at least two million.’

‘OK, go and sell it yourself.’

‘Two hundred thousand,’ Go-Slow said.

Chucks hissed. ‘OK. But please, no more business till I contact you. Town is very hot right now.’

‘And a motorcycle.’

Go-Slow and Knockout puttered along Third Mainland Bridge on a second-hand scooter. Go-Slow was driving. Knockout held him tight from behind.

‘It’s because of that man that Catch-Fire embarrassed us like that,’ Knockout shouted over the passing flow of air. ‘He didn’t want us to talk in front of his new oga.’

‘Let it go,’ Go-Slow shouted back.

‘He must be the one that brought that car. Did you notice how Catch-Fire tried to block him? He didn’t want us to see him.’

‘I didn’t notice anything.’

‘What’s that kind of big man doing with a common thief like Catch-Fire? He must be the one he’s doing the business with.’

‘Let it go.’

‘He is the one we should be talking to.’

‘Kanayo, let it go.’

The boys who had been playing football raised their fists, chanting ‘Baba Catch-Fire.’ The girls did not cover their bodies and the boys did not stare. Catch-Fire did a little dance to a song the boys sang for him then he waved at them and waved his girls back into the house.

Amadi was sipping brandy and watching the game on mute. The sound system had stopped playing.

‘My Chief, sir, I am very sorry about that embarrassment,’ Catch-Fire said.

‘Who are those boys?’

‘Just some stupid thugs like that. No need to worry about them, sir.’

‘What was the business they brought?’

‘Nothing, Chief. Not our business.’

‘I did not ask you if it was our business.’ Amadi realised he had to take care of the two clowns as well.

‘They look like reckless guys.’

‘Very reckless,’ Catch-Fire said.

‘I might have a job for them.’

‘Those boys? They cannot be trusted, Chief. See how they came here and caused trouble for no reason? We cannot be doing business with people like them. They will just be causing problems up and down. No, Chief. They are not good for business. They are too reckless.’

‘Yes. The job I need them for is very dangerous, they might not survive it. I’ve been looking for someone to use for the job. Not our business. Something else. You understand?’

Catch-Fire knew that Knockout, at least, would retaliate. ‘They would be very good for that kind of job,’ he said.

‘Write their numbers down for me. What are their names?’

‘The big one is Go-Slow; I don’t know his real name. The midget, they call him Knockout but his real name is Kanayo.’

He had just learned that tonight. He planned to make an anonymous call to the police to give them this tip.

Amadi folded the sheet of paper on which Catch-Fire wrote down the names and numbers. He slipped the paper into his pocket then he lifted his brandy.

‘To more money.’

‘More money,’ Catch-Fire said. He searched the stool for his beer and raised the bottle to touch Chief Amadi’s glass. He took a sip from his bottle.

‘Chief, please, take one of these girls home. Any one.’

‘Another time, my friend. Another time.’

‘Or two, sir. Take two. I’m telling you, they are very good. And clean. No HIV. Take three.’

‘You tested them yourself?’

‘No, sir, ‘is not like that. I am not sleeping with all of them. Only one is my girlfriend and she is not even here. Any one you want, I promise you, only you will have her.’

‘You are not drinking your beer.’

‘It is warm. I will get another bottle. Please, sir, have more brandy.’

‘No, no, no, no. It is late. I really have to be going.’

‘Ah, Chief, you are angry with me because of those boys.’

‘Angry? Why? Finish your beer and see me off.’ Amadi stood up.

‘OK, sir.’ He downed the rest of the beer in one gulp.

The dark sky was just beginning to break into patches of grey when Go-Slow stopped in front of a bungalow on King George V Road in the heart of Lagos Island. Knockout got off the scooter and the criminals shook hands, agreeing to meet at Tarzan Jetty later that night.

Knockout held his share of the spoils in a nylon bag that also contained, in wraps of paper and cellophane, the heart of the girl he had butchered. He watched his partner turn round on the whining machine before leaving the way they had come, then he turned to his house.

He had inherited the building from his father who had inherited it from his own father, and so on for four generations. He had once shared it with two other brothers who had since secured the necessary forged papers to fool immigration in Nigeria and in Germany. He liked to think that most of the big families in Lagos still had family homes close to his in the shanties of Lagos Island – even if the once proud homes were now divided into rooms rented to the people the city didn’t care about.

He walked down the side to the backyard where a wire fence stretched from his wall to the wall of the adjacent bungalow, five feet away. He undid the latch lock on the tiny gate and stepped into his back garden.

‘Whisky, Gaddafi.’

Two pure-bred Dobermans ran up to him from their open cage and jostled for his fingers to rub through their black coats. Unlike many such breeds, they still had their tails. He was shocked when he discovered Dobermans aren’t born with stumps; he couldn’t understand how anyone could chop off a puppy’s tail shortly after birth. What kind of person would do that to a dog?

Knockout unwrapped the parcel and tossed the meat at his dogs. He had been excited since the thought first occurred to him to feed his dogs a human heart. He watched the beasts nervously sniff at their meal, nudge it with their wet noses, look up at him unsure, then sniff again. The thrill built in him; he couldn’t wait to watch them feed on it. One dog snatched the meat and growled, clenching it in its jaws. The other fought for it and Knockout chuckled. Then his eyelids retracted as a thought landed in his head. Shit. Why didn’t he think of that before?

He had to get the meat from the dogs. He dived into the tussle and quickly learned that dogs, in the end, would always be dogs.