Easy Motion Tourist (26 page)

We lost the car again. We had followed it off the roundabout but were stopped by security personnel at the gated entrance to Lekki Phase One. They wanted to know who we were visiting. Ade gave them a name and they waved us on. Several cars were now between us and the green car. We saw Amadi indicate off the road but by the time we got to the turning he was nowhere to be seen.

Ade drove slowly, looking down each side road. We got to the end and discovered that it was a close. Ade did a three-point turn and ahead of us, at the top of the street, we saw the green car reappear and turn onto the main road. Ade stepped on the accelerator.

The gang chartered taxis to Epe and found a buka where they would wait for Knockout to return. Catch-Fire had told Knockout how to get to Amadi’s bungalow in the bush; an okada would take him the rest of the way.

When he could see the building, Knockout asked the motorcycle driver to stop. He continued the journey on foot, his pistol in his hand, his senses alert.

The building looked empty. Knockout walked up to it. He
dusted his clothes off and walked round the bungalow searching for a way in. Metal bars protected the doors and the windows. He returned to the front and banged on the door. No one answered. He dialled the Chief’s phone one more time but it was still off. If Amadi failed to show up, he would take Catch-Fire to the police himself, he thought as he sat down on the floor in front of the door.

Several roundabouts later the Peugeot turned off the expressway and down a narrow untarred road that led to an even narrower sandy one. We had left the city far behind and were now driving through what looked like a village, complete with thatched buildings and goats roaming free. We were the only two vehicles on the road. Ade let Amadi gain on us, and as much as I didn’t like it, I saw his point. Now, more than before, it would be obvious we were tailing him.

The car slowed to zigzag through the sand, looking for firm ground underneath for the tyres to grip. Ade turned down a path to someone’s compound. We couldn’t see the Peugeot but we could hear it and it sounded like it was struggling.

‘Where is this place?’ I asked.

‘Ajah.’

‘Are we still in Lagos?’

‘Yeah.’ He shifted into reverse just as the owner of the house appeared from his half door. As we backed onto the dirt road I tried to calculate how far ahead of us the green car would be, but what really bothered me was where he was going, and who might be there.

We drove four yards forward then the wheels started spinning and spraying sand.

Knockout heard the sound of an engine and stood up. A car appeared on the road leading to the house. Catch-Fire had described all of Chief Amadi’s cars to them. This was one of them. He drew his pistol.

Amadi pulled up close to the door then killed the engine. He looked at Knockout’s weapon and got out of the car.

Knockout pointed the gun at Amadi and took a couple of steps backwards. ‘Don’t try any games,’ he said.

Amadi walked to the boot of the car and opened it.

‘Come and help me with this,’ he said.

Knockout approached slowly. He took one look in the boot and withdrew. ‘What is this?’ He brought his gun back up, level with Amadi’s head.

‘What does it look like? Put that thing away and help me carry her inside.’

Amadi went to the house and began to open the locks on the door. Knockout stood by the trunk. Was he about to witness a money ritual?

‘What are you waiting for?’ Amadi said. ‘Let’s get her inside.’ He reached in and placed his arms under Amaka’s armpits.

‘What about my money?’

‘Get her legs.’

Knockout hesitated. He tucked his gun into his belt and grabbed Amaka’s bound legs. Together they lifted her out of the car and half-carried, half-dragged her to the house.

They stepped into a narrow corridor with three doors off it. Stacks of heavy-duty car batteries were lined up against one wall, all connected by thick cables that led into a metal box. Amadi was in front; he kept them moving towards a door that he pushed
open with his back. They carried Amaka inside. What looked like a hospital bed stood in the middle of the room. Aluminium cabinets lined the walls.

‘We are putting her on the bed,’ Amadi said.

‘Untie her.’ He turned and walked to a cabinet by the wall, took a syringe and returned to the bed. Placing his fingers on her neck, he found a vein and pressed the needle into it. Her body shuddered. He returned to the cabinet with the spent syringe.

Knockout looked at the girl before him. Her face held his eyes. His hand glided over her. He put a finger under her nose and felt her warm breath. He placed his palm on her breast and squeezed. He thought of rescuing her from the hands of this evil man. He undid the cloth used to bind her feet then turned her on her side to work on her hands tied behind her back.

His body jolted suddenly and his muscles contracted involuntarily. Amadi kept the taser pressed to Knockout’s neck, sending fifty thousand volts through the crook’s little body until his feet gave way and he collapsed.

Amadi walked back to the cabinet and picked out a sterile knife. He shoved Knockout’s body away from the bed then he knelt across him. With his fingers, he felt between his ribs then he lifted the blade and brought it down in a strong blow that tore through Knockout’s chest cavity and lodged in his heart. He pulled the knife out and stabbed again. He continued until he had exhausted himself then sat away from the dead body and wiped away the blood that had sprayed onto his face. He turned the butchered corpse over, took the gun tucked into the belt, then stood up and spat onto Knockout’s lifeless body. ‘Bastard,’ he said.

Ade’s car wailed as he tried to get us out of the sand and we attracted the attention of some teenage boys. They were mostly bare-chested, skinny, but toned, and they had planks and sticks.

‘Ade,’ I called his attention to the approaching gang. He handed them some money and they began to dig us out, placing their planks under the rear tyres so we could reverse out of our trap. The boys pointed out safe paths to take and we were off; but the green car was gone. Ade drove fast at the edge, close to grass, onto another sandy road; the forest grew larger around us. He slowed down and gazed ahead, then without warning, he downshifted and the car leapt forward.

We followed the road to a compound and pulled up behind the Peugeot. The trunk was open, as was the door to the house. We went inside. I led the way. A door in the corridor was open. I went to it and called out Amaka’s name. Nobody answered. Suddenly, a loud bang erupted from inside the room. Ade yanked me away from the open door and onto the ground. He had a pistol in his hand. He signalled for me to stay down, then he crept towards the door, fired two shots into the room and withdrew. There was no response. He stood up and approached the door holding his gun in front of him. ‘Drop it,’ he said. Silence.

I thought of Amaka. I got up and joined him at the door. A
largish man – it must be Chief Amadi – was holding her to his body. He had a knife pressed against her neck. Her eyes were shut. He had a gun in his other hand, pointed at Ade. A bed and a bleeding body on the ground separated us.

‘Let her go, you bastard,’ I said. I ran at him and he fired. I dived the rest of the distance, crashed onto the bed and rolled to the ground before reaching him. I saw Ade fall backwards. He had been hit. The man dragged Amaka with him through a door.

I scampered to my feet and followed. The next room was like the first – a crude kind of surgical suite. I dashed past an operating table in the middle and sidestepped a trolley with medical instruments set on top of it. A door leading out of the room swung shut and I bounded towards it. Two shots splintered the wood. I ducked, waited a couple of seconds then launched through the door. It led to a passageway and on to an open door at the end. Beyond that I could see the forest. I ran forward hoping his next shot would also miss its mark.

I stepped into the backyard and saw only trees. A branch snapped back to hide a flash of colour. I ran towards it. My feet sank into vegetation. I grabbed at shrubs and pulled. Amadi levelled his gun at my head. I fell forward and he shot. He had Amaka with him: her torso drooped over his arm. He fired two more shots. I hid behind the nearest tree and he started to move again but Amaka was slowing him down. By now he was dragging her by her neck. He looked over his shoulder, tripped and Amaka fell away from him. I bounded forward and launched at him. We rolled around in the foliage. He elbowed me in the neck. I coughed, choking. He pushed me off and reached for his gun but I caught his leg and dragged him backwards. He grazed the side of my face and I grabbed his belt, pulling him onto his back.
I forced my hands under his shoulders and looped them back to clasp my fingers over the back of his neck. With all the strength I had left, I pressed his head forward and straightened my elbows. I wanted to dislocate his shoulders if I could.

Amaka staggered to her feet. She put a hand to her head. She looked like she was going to fall.

‘Run!’ I shouted. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold him. He pushed with his feet, rolling his body until he was on top of me, crushing my back into the thick undergrowth. I couldn’t see Amaka.

‘Run,’ I shouted.

He headbutted me. The pain seared through my face. He freed himself and rolled into the bushes, crawling towards his gun. Amaka was trying to steady herself, her hands searching empty space for support.

‘Run!’

But she just stood there, looking at him, not me. By now he had picked up the gun and was climbing to his feet. I rolled over and kicked his leg as hard as I could. He fell and his gun fell away.

‘Amaka, run!’ I shouted again. I jumped onto him and felt his fist in the side of my belly. I wrapped my arms around him before he could manage another punch. Amaka picked up his pistol, almost falling over as she did. She held the gun in both hands and tried to aim. The pistol waved dangerously from my head to his head and back.

‘Drop it,’ someone shouted. I turned to look but I didn’t loosen my grip. It was Inspector Ibrahim, dressed in his uniform, holding a sub-machine gun, which was aimed at Amaka.

‘No!’ I screamed. I let go and launched at him.

He let out a burst of shots before I wrapped my arms around his
legs and tackled him to the ground. He had shot her. I screamed so loud that I didn’t hear the sound of my own voice. I was on top of him laying my fists into his face. Someone caught my arms from behind and yanked me away. I kicked at him then the barrel of a gun pressed against my temple. I didn’t care. I kept kicking. They dragged me away. Ibrahim was getting to his feet. I lurched forward then a pistol was placed sideways against my head and a shot was fired. My head felt like it had exploded, then there was silence. I couldn’t hear a thing. I saw Ibrahim stand upright and straighten his uniform.

‘You bastard!’ I screamed ‘You bastard!’

He spoke to the person holding me. I couldn’t hear but I read his lips: ‘Let him go.’

I did not want to look but I turned to see what he had done to Amaka. She was still standing, pointing her gun at Amadi. He was sprawled face down, his head at her feet, a tiny pistol in his open palm, blood turning the leaves red around his body.