CHAPTER TWO.

        PRESENT TIME – REAL-TIME.

On the long and broad concrete walkway of the Kainji Dam, he cuts the appearance of an angel of death. Darkly. Still, but for the breeze teasing the tails of his long coat. What is missing at the moment was a fedora. Ed pulled gently, kind of lazily at a cigarette, and puffed into the humid air in a failed attempt to create rings of nicotine.

He looked sideways to the other two who waited expectantly. It was eight o'clock at night.

"I think we should call them now," he snorts irritably looking down towards the turbulence below them.

"What's the mode of transport?" One asked.

"Dark," Ed said into the wind, looking at the full silver moon. The man therein smiled down at him.

For a man his age, Rotimi Magazo had a wonderful gait. Like a boy of twenty. At sixty-five he was a man of many parts; he had his fingers in many pies hence his nickname. Spider. Like the arachnid, he controlled an empire straggled like the buttress roots of the African baobab. Right at the centre, he manipulated other empires owned by others who are not any wiser; the organized labour, National Assembly, cement production, lifting of crude oil, electricity distribution, transport, rice production, tomato and palm oil processing, market women leaders of various states, education (public and private), State legislators, The Presidency and domestic terrorism. The last was only whispered.

Yet, he was not known in public. His was a power hiding in plain sight.

He could be the casual beggar sitting on the corner of Martins Street in Lagos, the Fulani herdsman trekking with an AK-47 and his cattle, the grime-coated bearer of an RPG-7 chasing the Nigerian soldiers from their trenches up north, the frustrated pensioner hustling for an overdue pension on a long queue of old citizens, the idle fisherman mending a broken cast-net at the banks of a creek South-South, the Executive Officer in a massive office ensconced in a tall sliver of glass and steel in Lagos Island. Even his name was a deception to endear him to the West where he had many business concerns. Magazo was "here, there, and everywhere" as they say.

Many years ago, a notable journalist from the Tribune whispered and went ahead to publish a damning word. Two words actually. Words attributed to him. THE CABAL. The reporter vanished and was never found. Truth be told, Rotimi was one of the youngest members of the Northern power base formerly called The Kaduna Mafia. Yet, amidst all this intrigue and mystique, Magazo had a weakness. The voluptuous Ijaw girl he met on one of his forages in the creeks while inspecting an offshore oil rig.

A problem child he saddled himself with. He married her and immediately divorced his fourth wife; Fatimah.

After this marriage, those who were close to him began to see the humanity in him. A man they had seen as mean, evil, and greedy.

Magazo had an inner conflict. Was it love he was feeling or lust? In any case, it was clear to him that he loved that young body from the South. He hoped he would be liberated from the curse and the mental scars of the Sharo. Forever. With her, he did not need the rawhide whip that made him a sadomasochist. He only had to imagine her large breasts and the well-rounded backside to come in his pants. Tare-emi was his aphrodisiac while making out with other women and that made him viciously protective of her. She was just fifteen.

The angry sound of a chopper's engine can be heard in the dark sky. The weather is chilly due to the crazy harmattan up north. The aircraft hovers noisily above the white mansion as two men are being lowered into the compound from a rope ladder. One of the men grabbed the railings of a balcony and swiftly disappeared through the French windows of a bedroom. The chopper pilot fired bullets into the gatehouse as the other man landed in the yard and proceeded to the far wall. He quickly pasted what looked like plastique on the wall and moved back to depress a detonator.

The noise from the chopper drowned the explosion and a large hole was created. The chopper moved away into the darkness. The man saw two large dogs baying as they race toward him. He slowly reached for a side-holster and took two clear shots. The animals collapsed in a grunting and gurgling pile in front of him. That was when the front door opened and a tall man came running with a female on his shoulder.

Out through the hole in the wall, they boarded a black Toyota Sienna XLE and sped into the haze.

A muezzin's cry came up behind the tail lights. The sound of the car engine; is an accompaniment for the Minaret's call to prayers. It was dawn. The tactical had lasted exactly five minutes.

            CHAPTER TWO

         THE PAST: A REFLECTION

Maliah Akpan had been the same for the past week. Wretched and worn thin by her bereavement. Not many in their teens could bear the reality of the gruesome murder of both parents in one night, and as witnesses to the fact. Her eyes were blazing red just as those of the murderer. In a blue Toyota wagon, she got ready for the long journey down South; Akwa-Ibom, for the funeral. Relatives accompanied her as the car drove out of her father's former quarters. On a busy thoroughfare, she asked her uncle to stop when she saw a classmate approaching.

"It's well, my dear. The Lord will always keep you safe and use you for His purpose," the girl consoled quietly with her hand resting on the roof of the car. Maliah snorted holding her nose delicately. It appeared as if there was a terrible pong in the air. She nodded weakly and looked through the shield of the car. The other passengers wrinkled their noses in unison. It was quiet for a few seconds until Maliah exploded in a scream.

"Murderer !!!!" She cried pointing through the car shield towards the left curb. Movement froze along the main campus road. Momentarily. Then the girl by her side of the door stepped forward to get a clear view of the couple walking slowly toward them on the other side of the road. Maliah came out of the car and was about to dash into the traffic when the girl grabbed her. Relatives disembarked to restrain her.

She broke down in tears and uttered many swear words and curses until she passed out and was supported back into the car. They felt that death does bring hallucinations.

Like a time warp; the couple regained animation and walked away slowly, showing their consternation. They both shook their heads in sorrow as the vehicle moved off.

The girl took a long appraising look at them and walked slowly away from the scene.

Dowdy in a sack-like gown. It was so misshapen it was ridiculous. Like someone's maltreated servant.

The male registered a few details about her. Her unkempt hair, grotesque make-up, and the thick roll of fat round her waistline. Yet, her features were arresting, especially the expressive eyes. Lean and well-sculpted face. She was a bundle of contradictions.

"Who's she?" KO asks with a mischievous smile. Susie giggled.

"They call her the Skunk. She's the cream of her department. A straight-A student."

It was his turn to show mirth. His expression became speculative.

"I don't like that look, KO," she grumbled.

"Afraid of competition, Susie?" In a Vin Diesel voice.

She hissed and looked away. Susie spat with irritation...

She moved through the muddy environment with exceptional grace, one of someone born in the hinterlands of the West. Where grime and slurry are acquainted with the local colour. The folks dined amid cattle excrement with the air of the cultured and finicky. She blended with the setting of the abattoir; her flip-flops splattered mud on her long dress with the tempo of castanets. Then she arrived at the stall of a butcher. Ordinarily, one would easily conclude she had an interest in the strips of beef on the grimy and blood-soaked table. In low tones she made her request known.

"I need three bladders, my brother." With confidence.

"We don't sell those."

"I didn't see mama Iyabo and I thought you might be able to help me," she said meekly with her eyes wandering.

"Go in that direction, where they do the slaughtering," he indicated some men several yards away. She thanked him and moved in the direction indicated. The female stooped momentarily to scoop a cluster of cow dung into a black plastic bag without a flinch of nausea. It was niftily done and most of the people were oblivious of the move.

With that, she disappeared into the beef-eating throng.

Yet a hoodie was with her like a long shadow. In the mud. Shifting sides of beef all the way. He watched as she secreted the bladders into the black plastic bags and shrugged broad shoulders. He eventually settled for a huge tail. Probably loved cow tail delicacies. Can be quite delicious in egusi soup with cassava foo-foo.

One foot after the other, she left the bed and shuffled into the tiny toilet. She let out a long stream of ammonia and released an embarrassing fart like a car with a damaged exhaust. She sighed and reached for the douche bottle. She inserted the hose and depressed the plunger to rinse out her vagina. With another sigh she walked out of the closet to hurriedly wear a shapeless frock; something picked from the sidewalk at Oshodi in Lagos State. She daubs makeup. Like warpaint. It was clear beneath the frock that she wasn't wearing a bra, the way her heavy breasts hung. She grabbed her bag and made for the door but froze suddenly, turned inwards, and it sunk in. Sighed and returned to the toilet. From a large aerosol can, she squirted a liquid into her armpits and clothes. Wrinkling her nose, swallowed nausea, coughed and she was ready for the day.

But not before a roll of thick cloth round her waist. Her name was Ifenkili Kosisochukwu Igbudu. Her frenemies call her "Ikee," preferably from a distance.

The class was silent as expected since the female lecturer was teaching right from the podium. A curious sitting arrangement in the horse-shoe plan of the lecture hall could however go unnoticed. It was clear that the graduate students left the whole of the left wing for a particular student. Moreso, many of them had hand towels and kerchieves to their faces. Perhaps a stink was in the air-conditioned hall.

The lecturer, in her drift, would punctuate her flow with looks directed toward the left wing. A female student, looking downwards with a purposeful gaze at only the lecturer.

"Regarding the application of theory and econometrics in specific settings. The principles are there to be applied to certain scenarios or situations. For instance; service quality dimensions, customer satisfaction, and loyalty in e-commerce. Your potentiality and acquired skill will be tested in government agencies, financial institutions, consulting firms, and non-governmental agencies …."

A female student from the cluster closest to the isolated section glanced up and gave an OK sign to the student in Coventry. She didn't respond.

"What do you see in that pig?" A female whispered harshly.

"I like her anyways."

"Yeah, and you're sitting far away." The sneer.

"Because, I don't want distractions," the dubious response.

"Fine, the more reason you should be sitting with her up there."

"Ssshh! Focus, please."

"You can't even be truthful to yourself. It's the smell … the smell is the distraction."

"You're not a new student, so live with it, Sade."

"Like you do. Why does she even stink that way?" 

"Mind your business." She snapped.

"Maybe she has VVF. You're simply using her. I wonder how you guys could stand her." Verbal prod continued.

"Try it out one of these days. The finals are around the corner. I'm tolerating you because this is merely a revisional class. One more word from you and I will move," she stated firmly.

"Move, I want to see you use that perfumed hankie sitting close to her." She sniggered.

"Focuses on developing your technical and analytic skills alongside your practical experience of how these skills are used to resolve or solve real-time and modern financial issues. Remember this, it encourages the application of economic analysis to specific problems in both public and private sectors e.g. the labour markets, education, health care, etc. Some of us here will end up at the Federal Bureau of Statistics, Ministry of Finance, and consulting offices not to mention budgeting." The lecturer's voice.

A male student strolled into the hall and made his way toward the lone student. The movement froze the lecturer. He sat quietly beside the pariah. The girl merely looked at the new arrival. Briefly. She focused on the now slightly irritated lecturer.

"Mr. Kazeem Olanbiwonnu. I'm not aware that you registered for the course."

K.O grinned down at the lecturer.

"It was a last-minute entry, madam."

"And is that a standard practice in this university?" She said staring at the floor of the podium.

"Pardon the intrusion, madam. Several calls were made."

"Yes, especially to the Vice-Chancellor." She stated and dropped the whiteboard marker on the edge of the lectern. She briskly left the hall. Class dismissed.

"Why did you crash in on my class?" Her eyes were furious.

"Let's leave here, please."

"And if I refuse?" She hissed.

"Is it going to be like that?" He asked coolly and looked towards the doors of the hall.

At this time, the hall was nearly empty. Just inside the hall, Susie was standing like a terrifying fixture in torn jeans and a slashed T-shirt. The stragglers disappeared through the tall windows, giving her position a wide berth. Her eyes followed his. The girl sighed.

"So that's the way it is?"

"Exactly." He smiled down at her.

She was reluctant to board the metallic blue Ferrari Roma. K.O grinned knowingly while Susie watched with undisguised irritation, snuffling like a fly-infested dog. Bangles rattling and bubble gum snapping.

"Relax, the pong can be washed off, Ifenkili," he said holding the door open for her. He noticed her slight surprise at the mention of her name. He closed the door and moved quietly into the depths of the campus. She turned to look at him as he hugged his pal; Mega, who was now wearing a huge gold cross around his neck.

Susie jumped into the tan bucket seat and was ready to go. Even the casual campus pedestrian wrinkled his nose at the abattoir fumes being fed into the road like car exhaust. Some gaped at the figure sitting in the passenger seat of the convertible while standing stunned on the curb.

They were like; 'The Skunk in a Ferrari? Wonders will never end.'

In his plush living room, the two assessed each other silently. Behind them, like a backdrop was a silent wall-to-wall TV and a surround slow jam.

"It's the simplest of all emotions or desires. Any idiot can fuck; could be well or bad or passably. Do you want to fuck? Why do you like me, K.O?" She sneered.

"Your intelligence." He managed despite himself.

"It shows just by looking at my fat and stinking body." She stated.

"I could see through all the layers," he said with a chuckle.

She frowned her incredulity. "Really? And sex is not on your mind right now?"

She screwed her face.

"No, I'm just intrigued by your genius and calculative mind, not to mention the bovine smell." He wrinkled his nose.

"But you will fuck me when I'm washed and scented." She pried speculatively.

"I'm feeling something else …... it's confusing at the moment." He moved closer, his lips descending.

"Why did you kill the Akpans?" She said silently. And moved back two paces.

He was lost. K.O. shook his head as if to clear out a cloud of confusion.

"Who?" He asked with hooded eyes.

"Professor Offiong Akpan. You want to deny it?" She said moving closer; like a dare.

Looking down at her, his expression went through a relay but the most prominent was that of admiration. He could see her mindless courage. She stared back at him without flinching. And she got what she never expected from a killer.

Ifenkili suddenly found herself in his powerful arms being ferried up the gold-plated staircase. Slowly.

With her old frock and roll of rag in a sick little pile on the marble floor, K.O ran his fingers through the dandruff on her scalp. Leaning on an elbow, he couldn't help but admire her body on the white sheets; her fantastic breasts, and the curious bulge of her shaven Venus mound.

The only sound above that of the air-conditioner was her sobbing.

"It's all right, Ifenkili. We will talk later. Look, my father would be visiting tonight and …"

In that instant, she stopped crying and turned to favour him with a hurt look, coming on her elbows.

"You want me out of the way after you have satisfied your …."

"I want you to meet him. So be in good humour for the old man." He grinned at her.

She was stunned.

"Why? Is it because I freshly lost my virginity?"

"I told you earlier. There is this chemistry between us I still can't explain." He said silently.

"But you can comprehend the physics," she stated quietly.

"Now, you are ready for my father," he said chuckling.

"I have nothing to wear, K.O," she snuffled.

"Susie will fix that immediately."

"Susie's sense of fashion is questionable, to say the least." She giggled.

"Look, K.O. she hasn't been to a decent salon in ages. How can we turn her hair into a perfect curl or weave in ten minutes? I forgot to get a wig. You spent too much time banging her. You know Otunba is a stickler for time." Susie spoke in her usual rapid mode.

"Now, you want to tell me something about my father, just wrap the damned thing up in a silk scarf, turban style, or something. Father is old-fashioned and won't even notice."

"Ok. I'm sure your maid has a scarf," she said balefully.

When she emerged minutes later, the transformation was astounding.

"Behold, the final layer! Thank you so much, Susie." K.O. rejoiced standing to admire Ifenkili in a blue dress. And at that moment, they heard the chime at the doors. Otunba had arrived.

The massive front doors of the white, gold, and green mansion opened and father and son exited into the short, sheltered walk to the driveway.

"Are you sure this time, Kazeem? She seems a little rough at the edges." The old man in an attempt at discovery.

"She's Ok, dad. She was a virgin two hours ago," he said with a smirk of satisfaction.

The old man slapped him on the back chuckling boyishly.

"Now, I get your point. Like an uncut and unpolished diamond. She's intelligent, I can see that."

"Yes, Otunba, and I have the jeweler's tool."

"Yet, I saw a stubborn streak in those eyes. Exactly what Mega had told me about her. Be careful, son."

"Yes, father. Just the way I like them. So, Mega is still your informant?" Both laughed.

"Well, since kindergarten. Let me rush home to my young wife. These women are my cross to bear," Otunba said with a loud laugh.

"The pits for me was the day he went into the hall, walked straight to her, and tore her script telling her to come to his house in the evening to write the test. It was so shamelessly done. So shocking. Everyone was speechless. And like a masochist, I decided to accompany her to the professor's house just to see how the drama would play out," he was saying with a pained expression. Ifenkili was wearing a look of incredulity.

"Jesus! You sure know how to rub your own nose in it."

"I guess I'm a junkie for punishment. I stood by a mango tree in the front yard and watched as he came to the door and let Bisola in. I thought his family had traveled or something. I was by the tree for almost two hours, then decided to go home as it was getting rather late." He exhaled and adjusted his position so that he was now facing her on the sofa.

"The next morning, I visited the hostel and, asked what transpired and her response was too cool for my liking. She told me she had returned minutes before my arrival. When I prodded, she told me to forget it. And that was it. That was when I realized I had lost her to the old man. To me, it was unbelievable and my self-esteem was worse hit."

"What did you do?" She leaned closer.

"The most unbelievable thing…... I attempted suicide."

"What?" She almost screamed.

"Yes, and they nearly killed me," he blurted carelessly.

"Who?" She asked with a frown. A long silence prevailed. Too long.

"You belong to a cult," she stated rather calmly.

He sighed eventually.

"No. I work for the government and please, keep it to yourself." He implored.

She giggled musically.

"You expect me to believe that bullshit?" She suddenly became serious. He smiled at the reference.

"DSS. Department of …..."

"I know what it means. So that division recruited someone like Susie?"

"It's called adaptation. The campus is a little society of all sorts of people even oddballs like Susie."

"Are you serious?" She leaned further. He nodded.

"They have selected me for something bigger than us, and the failed suicide drama made them reveal themselves. They've been watching me since my undergraduate days."

"Am I supposed to be scared?"

"No. Just feign ignorance and you'll be fine."

"So, that was why you killed Maliah's family," she stated silently.

"I could have died, Ifenkili."

"That was your choice. You didn't give them any choice, did you?"

"Akpan was the target, his wife was incidental. It was a test at tidying up my personal affairs." She shook her head as if trying to dislodge the madness of his argument.

"Am I also a test? The ultimate test at enduring the stench of humanity!!" She yelled, beside herself with anger.

"Right now, I'm lost for words." He sighed and left the seat and walked toward the curtains. The tiny bleep of red light on the base of the gold bracket caught his attention. It was flush with the wall. K.O. sighed in anger and frustration. He turned towards the living room.

"Let me show you a place. It's been a long while since my last visit." His eyes told her she would be wise not to refuse.

With the new affair, the whole university became apprehensive, especially since Ifenkili was always in the company of Susie; who looked like a freak from a Hollywood futuristic movie depicting the possible extinction of mankind. And Ifenkili always looked like she stepped out of the pages of ELLE. What the campus didn't know, at least not initially, was that at least four beefy secret service operatives were always present in the mix of other students as the duo walked through the university. Armed.

All she needed to do was to whisper that she was being stared at lasciviously and strange things would happen.

There had been scenes on campus in which male lecturers would wake up in strange beds right next to the impressive Senate Building wearing nothing but brassieres and panties. Ifenkili became a desire they couldn't satisfy. It was that bad.

It was two in the morning when she signaled Susie that she was ready to leave. A few students were still studying in the classroom. Ifenkili left her seat and four other figures did the same simultaneously but immediately went ahead and through the doors. Other students left through the large windows inspired by a sudden sense of self-preservation. As the two females crossed the threshold, Susie felt a buzz by her left ankle and pretended to stumble.

"Ikee, let's go back in, I need to attend to my leg," she said apparently in pain.

A frown of concern appeared on Ifenkili's face as she massaged the ankle.

"Let's walk quickly to that hedge and hide," she whispered. Her companion promptly complied. They hid and watched for about twenty seconds.

Two young male students moved quickly to the doorway of the open classroom, one stooped as if to retrieve something.

That instant, Susie vanished from beside her, and Ifenkili was shocked to see her kick the boys into the classroom. It was too fast, she almost thought she had imagined it. Susie's hands flashed silver. And all she could hear from behind the hedge was the gurgling sound from the classroom.

Susie stepped out with gleaming eyes and lips that exploded with bubble gum. The silver blades disappeared in the pockets of her jacket. She turned and deftly removed a black string just inside the classroom, closed to the door and folded it.

"Why did you kill them?" Ifenkili asked with her hand to her mouth. Her hazel eyes seemed to pop out in the near-gloom. 

Susie giggled behind the hedgerow.

"Let's get out of here," she said pulling her along. In a half-sprint.

Now out of breath, she repeated the question.

"Are you not fucking my friend?"

Ifenkili nodded.

"You would have killed him." She produced the black string. Ifenkili could see the string in the glare of the security light.

"It's a curse placed on a cheating lover or wife. You crossed it once hence I made you go back inside to neutralize it."

"I have heard of it. Who could have sent them?" She was goggle-eyed.

"Your phantom admirers, of course. I wonder why I protected you both," Susie mused looking at her own feet on the sidewalk.

"How do you mean?"

"I wanted him, now you have him," she said with an obvious grudge.

"I see. Were you also fucking him?"

Susie nodded and sighed. "The assignment is greater than my desire. He must be kept safe. Always. And that includes you now."

"Why are you….?" She was saying as they got to a grey mini-van.

"Not now, Ikee, for the good of the mission and yours," she cuts her off irritably and climbs into the van.

"Let's go." She turns the ignition. Ifenkili boards reluctantly.

"We can't stay here all night." Bubble gum exploded.

"I listened to a tape yesterday, Susie. Looks like your boy needs a little lesson on secrecy. He's talking too much. We have to separate him from Ifenkili or whatever she calls herself. Can't have him trusting too easily," Ed was saying preening himself on a long sofa. Again.

"So, what are you suggesting."

"Take care of it. He's your dick, isn't he?" Ed sniggered.

"Ppffff. Not anymore, not since little Ms. Bovine," she grumbled.

"The more reason you should." He blew sharply into those nails.

The strange dichotomy between the ethnic groups concerning marriage rites is diverse in greed and seemingly cruel depending on the side that must do the honours of the groom. In transactions involving communities like the Ibo, serious squabbles could erupt the moment the groom's side sees the marriage list. Usually very extensive and long; it is embedded in jokes, for instance, if you're to glue A4s breadth to breadth, the list would take up to half of a ream!

When the list came after the second knocking of the door, the Olanbiwonnu family laughed amongst themselves. They saw the whole amount as small change. Even the more ridiculous demand for cosmetics and intimate apparel for the bride's mother who was partly of Annang extraction, added to the giggle among the Olanbiwonnu females. The expensive traditional requirement for marriages can be such a laugh if you're wealthy.

Eventually dawns the day of the traditional marriage, it appeared as if the whole of Lagos was in attendance; the original indigenes of Lagos State. They were distinct. The noisy nature of the Western state. The ngbati-ngbati people, according to the Easterners. To a great extent, the In-laws were showed deference, expectedly, in the presence of royalty and great wealth yet, joy and a soupcon of arrogance were inevitably in the air on the side of the bride's family. 

As the bride danced slowly and rhythmically, no one noticed the slight bulge in her midsection. She got to the position of the groom, knelt, and gave him a drink of mmanya nkwu; palm wine, from the stylized gourd; mpi. It is a rite of recognition and acceptance. The crowd cheered. Kazeem swelled with pride. And unexpectedly, the drummers from the west stole the show with their performance. In fact, they concluded the ceremony. The village had never heard such an assemblage of sound coming from the grand iya-ilu and the bata drums. Even the feast afterward was excessive. To the poor, it was a waste of money. To the Igbudu clan, it was exaltation to say the least.

At the district station of the DSS exactly a week after the wedding at the Ikoyi Registry, K.O breezed into the office of the Station Head with a slight frown.

"Kill that expression, Kazeem. I'm not going to apologize. You know the nature of your job," she said coming to embrace him.

"Congratulations, anyways. You look responsible now."

"What! So, I have been irresponsible," he feigned annoyance.

"Well, that would not be entirely correct. I know you are responsible for breaking the hearts of several field agents, Susie for instance. Man, she's so broken she threatened resignation and fled to the north. Which brings me back to the reason I had to pluck you away from your wife's titties." She made funny eyes at him.

"Language, Erika. What would the boys say?"

"Let's cut the shit, K.O, you're off to Abuja," she was saying as she picked a folder from her desk and slapped his chest with it.

"Move it. She's waiting." She added with mystery.

"Who?"

"Susie." She stated placidly.

"Wicked." He slammed the door.

"I think we've got something…." K.O said silently behind his Apple laptop computer. He was looking at the flickering indicators rising and falling with each syllable of vocal strength.

"Record it," Susie said pawing through a notepad.

'Yes …. I'm using the ISBN of my book …. I want something I can reference easily,' filtering from the computer in a thick northern accent.

'Sir, distribute the two billion dollars in amounts not bigger than twenty million dollars in all the dedicated accounts …. yes… numbered accounts…... Mr. Reese, your commission is assured, not to worry, okay?' The voice, now wheedling.

From his position, he could see the rather careless way she sat, with her over-sized blue denim cutoffs opened wide at the crotch through a leg. K.O stole a few glances at her shaven vulva and became restless. Susie smiled knowingly yet continued reading.

"Is it not too early to lose focus, K.O?"

He sighed and grunted pretending to concentrate on the tapped voice from the computer.

" Is he moving the funds?" Susie looked away from the notepad. Her crotch wide like the middle page spread of Playboy magazine.

"Yes. And the private bank gets a commission," He husks. Thick with emotion or lust.

A drive down the Third Mainland Bridge reveals what many, especially the rich, would call an eyesore. The floating ghetto of Makoko right on the Lagos lagoon. The world's largest floating village.

They secured a parking space along Tokunbo Street and walked leisurely in the general direction of the water city of Makoko.

Right on a canoe, they could see the garbage on the murky water and other emissions from the canal the city uses for its bowel movement; a conduit for the waste. Aside from the stench, floating timber and unsightly nature of the environment, it is still reminiscent of a gondola ride down the canal in Venice. And the couple loved it somehow. They held hands. Kazeem's face was a study in pity as he gazed at the people and was amazed at the level of adaptation and possible acceptance of their poverty and watery terrain. He could also see what he read as a strange joy in these people. Could this be a product of the churches on stilts whose pastors would probably preach counting things all with joy? On a Sunday like this, Ifenkili can never be found around here. Lately, he has come to notice a certain vanity in her, a love for wealth which she tried to hide but not from him. Was it him she loved or his wealth? That was subject to debate.

Stuck in what one would call a traffic jam; there was a stoppage. Susie bought Kokata; a peanut and sugar candy while at it. K.O smiled as she ate with delight in spite of their environment. Is this the blending which was a part of the training or an expression of empathy? He couldn't tell but he could see the appreciation and surprise in the eyes of the vendor in the floating market canoe when she bought three-thousand-naira worth of candy.

He was further confused. Was it a sympathy purchase or the craving of her sweet-tooth? Her relish was obvious. Yet, despite this stench, she never once wrinkled her nose. Strange from someone who never could stand the Skunk. Ifenkili.

Sometimes he discovered he just couldn't even begin to fathom out the full scope of human behaviour. Look at the church in the midst of this squalor; in the face of the much-touted salvation, he strongly suspected yet another source of the mindless exploitation of the poor. It's a dog-eat-dog world.

"I think the government shouldn't bring this place down for a sand-fill for the rich folks. I feel it could be made better. For instance, like a mega city on steel and concrete supports over the lagoon. Nigeria should use this great resource; this people and not ruin them via political expansionism which is oppressive to say the least." Susie said between mouthfuls.

"That would be really great and rewarding," Kazeem observed, watching a boy manoeuvre his canoe with surprising skill.

"You know what I see, Susie? I see the future changing from this place. This visit. Let's go to your hotel, girl from the north." Susie giggled when he said that. A speculative look came to her face.

'More than two hundred thousand people live here. The population expanded from a fishing village in the nineteenth century, built right on the Lagos lagoon. Life is tough here. There is a borehole supplying water, living on water is the culture. All we do is fish. As a child, I would follow my father in his canoe for fishing. It was the only skill I could learn at the time. Now, the kids go to school, we have a school now. The men work the boats while the women run the market. They process and sell the catch. Pollution and poverty are the major issues in Makoko,' a young man was saying in his iPad. YouTube. He shook his head sadly.

Susie was sitting on the divan her feet flat on the seat and her knees touching and drifting sideways; opening and shutting the view of her crotch in a very short dress that rode to her buttocks.

"Why do you keep doing this, Susie?"

"What? Surely, you don't expect me to walk on eggshells just to adjust to your presence simply because you're now married. I'm in my elements here. This is my space, you share or take a walk," she said making a click with her tongue. Irritably.

"Alright, what you're looking for, you'll get."

"Game on!" She teased leaning out from the seat.

The bleating from the kraaled sheep and goats that rent the air, giving accompaniment to the clucking by the scores of local chickens wandering around the large compound suggested the abode of a man of importance by village standards. The home of Mazi Igbudu.

Silent conversation could be heard from the large verandah. Then laughter. Sarcastic.

"Okeke, when a man experiences hunger, he suddenly begins to see visions of how to get food. Hunger is a very terrible thing, my brother." Loud crunching of kolanut followed.

"You're my elder brother, why mock me like this? Why must I suffer when I have someone like you."

"Are you suffering, Okeke? Look at the protrusion of your stomach like one my nanny goats." Laughter. Rapid kolanut crunching.

"I do not need stories just to get the next meal from you, my brother," the voice grumbled.

"I see that your daughter will pass through a storm in her marriage."

"Are we going to talk about the necessary sacrifices and libations or not?"

"We need to perform some …."

Loud derisive laughter followed.

"Okeke, the voice of the gods! Before you leave, you'll get something. Trust me. How's your farm this season?"

"The gods are faithful to their servant."

"Yes. Father is happy wherever he is now. Our unity, and you following his tradition, I'm not doing badly either."

"You're right, brother."

"Have more kolanut." More rapid crunching.

"Tell Akudo to bring more ngwo-ngwo and palm wine," Okeke advised amid kolanut munching.

When they were done and exhausted, he fell off her buttocks and laid by her blowing a gust of breath into the frigid air of the room.

"You're still the best, K.O," she said snuggling closer to gently pull the hairs on his chest.

"I should go before you befuddle my head with crazy sex."

"It's more than just sex to me. I think it is soulful," Susie said stretching languorously in bed.

In a trice, he was off to the bathroom. The sound of the shower running could be heard in the room. Susie left the bed quickly to examine an object slightly obscured by the curtains. A digital camera with a red flickering indicator. She moved away just in time for him not to notice as he came into the bedroom vigorously rubbing his head with a towel. He was naked with a huge erection.

"See what I mean?" He said helplessly. And she moved in on him.

"I think it understands me better than you do, Kazeem. You're mine," she said the last part with a mean expression, reaching for his fresh construction.

"This is a violation, Susie."

"Since it's mine, there is no violation." A loud whisper. And she knelt to take him in her mouth.

From the parted white lacy curtains of the bedroom window, Ifenkili saw his Ferrari negotiate the bend in the driveway with unnecessary speed and burst of energy. She looked towards the luminous wall-to-wall clock and shook her head with irritation. The soft clucking sound from the lit open doorway of the nursery made her leave the blinds and silently approach the light, leaving the partial gloom of her bedroom.

She looked into the beautifully carved cot to see the restless movement of her pretty child. She marveled at the uncanny resemblance with her husband. A dead spit. Ifenkili, with a strange smile in her eyes, gently stroked a fat cheek repeatedly until it became still in sleep. Sometimes it's surprising the kind of bond and understanding mothers have with their babies even this early in their development. Must be spiritual.

She heard his careful movements in the bedroom and quietly left the nursery.

"Hey," he offered silently.

She was silent.

"I thought I should check up on you and the baby." Guiltily.

"We are fine. Thank God for his mercies."

"Ok then," he said turning to leave.

"Must you bring her fragrance into my bedroom, K.O? To rub my nose in your filth?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He snarled at her. She was now leaning against the magnificent headboard of her bed, her hands folded across her belly. With the posture and appearance of a mother scolding her child.

"A little bird tweeted and later sent me a rather graphic sex tape. You were both captured in a way I never could imagine, not even in strangest of dreams. How old is this marriage and you insult me like this?"

 He sighed. "What tape, Ifenkili?"

She laughed suddenly. Unexpectedly.

"You want to watch and get horny again? It's in my phone sent by a strange number," she indicated the bedstand. Kazeem remained just inside the room. Frozen. Like a thoroughly chastised schoolboy, one hand behind his back, standing before the school principal.

"I know how carelessly the rich treat people they feel are beneath them but I, Ifenkili, will not take this insult. I was what you wanted, am I now worthless to you?" She screamed beside herself with anger, forgetting the tot in the nursery.

His face crumpled in remorse.

"I…I …." He began.

"You're sorry or you just don't believe the proof on my phone?" She reached for her iPhone 11 Pro and threw it violently at him, it hit the door and landed on the thick-pile carpet of the bedroom.

"Get out!!" She screamed. Again. The baby whined from the other room.

"Get out. Go back to your whore!" Suppressed yell.

Kazeem sheepishly left the room.

She heard the gentle throttle of the car engine as it parked in the driveway. The old man obviously did not. The extra load of milk to her breast as she gives suckle to the infant was entrancing. Enchanting. Otunba's gaze was riveted on the tit. He imagined the feel of it when the tot unconsciously squeezed it with tiny hands.

"Do you want a feel, chief?" She said silently with a sparkle of mischief to her hazel eyes.

Otunba swallowed a lump. His Adam's apple bobbed visibly.

"That would not be proper." He managed.

"You're my father, it's only exploratory …. a discovery, nothing else to it." Still in the same vein. The man leaned forward from the stool and gingerly cupped his hand on the bare breast.

"Feel it, sir," she sighed. And at that moment her husband walked silently into the nursery. For several seconds, his father was oblivious of his presence until he saw the look in her eyes. Eyes that were saying now, you've got your comeuppance. And the leer vanished from the old man's face.

The older Olanbiwonnu mumbled something and got up to take his leave of the couple.

"So that's the way you want to play?" Kazeem sighed heavily.

"You haven't seen anything yet, you bastard." she sneered with a baleful look.

"You want to play father against son. I hope you enjoyed it," he stated gravely.

"I gave you a part of me I vowed never to give an idiot like you, yet you reward me with adultery. She may be able to give you sex in a way I wouldn't but you slapped my love back at my face. You will pay dearly," she said with eyes brimming with tears. Emotional.

"I came to tell you that I'll be travelling on an assignment. When I return, I don't expect to see you in this house," he spat irritably.

"Don't worry, by the time you return, you will see nothing," she said with an emphasis on the last word. Kazeem froze and frowned in confusion as he was turning to leave the nursery. He shrugged and left the bedroom.

"I see you followed my instructions, Susie. Well done." Ed said from a huge boulder, one of many fronting the sea, serving as wave breakers.

"One of my most trying assignments, Ed. Yet, it was satisfying. The guy could really bang a girl. He's got tremendous staying power." She giggled.

"Yes. I watched the footage. It's in the cloud. I'm nursing a fascinating idea, something to keep him in check just in case he gets way over himself in the future. Power is a great perverter of purpose."

"Please, Ed, do be careful you don't shoot us in the foot," she advised gently.

"Noted." He replied, searching for dirt under his fingernails. 

It's been two hours since he began his surveillance of Boko Haram activities in the area. His lips were perched in the heat though the harmattan was chilly as ever. The sudden climatic change was telling on him. Even in light burnoose-styled garment, Kazeem was far from being comfortable hence irritable as he followed his lead in the billowing desert dust coming strongly from Niger Republic. 

Susie had managed infiltration into the fresh circle of the ISWAP and had secured transmission from time to time. Including video footage in the cloud. He couldn't help but smile at her importance and proficiency as a field agent. He was on time to see Farouk rounding the corner of an adobe hut. He followed stealthily. The walls of a mosque were a few metres from him. His ears pricked to catch any sound from the hopefuls. 

The men watched calmly as the cell-leader moves among the mustered men with eyes that seemed carved from red hot coals. Madness was etched in those features. Susie, dressed in a brightly-coloured hijab, appeared sane enough speaking Hausa to the other females in the camp as they prepare the midday meal of corn and millet paste with groundnut soup and chunks of veal. They were mostly girls and some were expectant. The turbaned leader suddenly pushed two men out from the line and spoke harshly in his native tongue. The men knelt before others. 

Quranic verses were read with all solemnity after which a man with a long gleaming knife approached their position. The men were restrained. And like sheep, they were decapitated separately. Hot blood geyser into the hot sand. Their heads were placed on their bodies. It was a merciless execution with a perfect blend of acceptance on the part of the victims and the rest of the camp. The leader spoke once again in admonition against a betrayal of faith and purpose. 

"Wasu mu za a gwada su da yammacin yau," he was saying when a man came to whisper in his ears.

"Mai kafirci yana cikin mu," he concluded with the air of mystery.

 He clapped suddenly and a large pickup truck revved its engine to cause a stir; some of the men began to round up some girls into the truck, Susie inclusive. She calmly allowed herself to be herded into the vehicle. Even when a dynamite vest was strapped on her, she remained calm as expected by other faithful. She simply knew that the end drew near.

Kazeem saw their approach and ducked out of sight. He watched the vehicle park by the mosque and as the girls were led out of the truck. Susie stood out with the strapped-on explosives. She was goaded to walk through the doors. Some persons were observing the third hour of prayers.

Like the walk of a somnambulist, Susie took the long-short walk into eternity.

Kazeem heard the damning sound in his position inside the adobe hut just across from what remained of the mosque. He broke down and cried silently at the sound of the Takbir. Allahu akbar!!!!

They met on the long hallway of the academic block. He called her but she hastened away. He caught up with her with long strides and reached for her shoulder.

"Get your hands off of me," she yelled spiritedly.

"Ifenkili, please listen to me," he said kneeling by her and holding her thighs.

"You have nothing to worry about anymore. She's dead. I miss you and my child. It's been over two years, please come back to me." His voice was mournful.

"Because she's dead?"

"No. The madness is cured."

"Exactly. If she were still alive, we wouldn't be having this conversation, right?" She raged.

"Please, understand ….."

"Understand what? You have collected the bride price. Have you not? My parents are expecting you to come for your daughter when you're ready. As far as I'm concerned, we are done!" She made to move but he restrained her.

"I do not share that sentiment. My father demanded for the bride price when he saw the destruction of his property. He was livid with rage. You're still my wife, Ifenkili."

"How? The basis has been destroyed," she responded as interested students move past them with various shades of amusement in their faces. Trouble in paradise?

"We are not divorced. The registry, remember?" He stood now and placed a hand on her shoulder. She sighed.

"You have ruined the mood for my defence. My research work is more important right now. Not all of us can buy the panel's approval," she delivered gravely and detached his hand from her shoulder with an irritated swipe. She walked rapidly away, the clicks of her shoes on the floor marked the gravity of her departure. Perhaps permanently.

Kazeem stared at the stiff figure till she disappeared through a room off the long hallway, then he turned and angrily punched a nearby wall, cutting the skin on his knuckles.

Sitting before what one could easily refer to as a sea of panelists; professors, doctors, research fellows, et cetera, Ifenkili was emotionally troubled by the encounter on the hallway.

"Good morning once again, Mrs. Olanbiwonnu, could you please tell us about your work." The woman right in the middle of the arc of the academia. Twenty of them.

The name, Olanbiwonnu provoked strange thoughts and her eyes dilated and all she could muster was "I started out on this project with certain contextual conflicts…."

"Please, do tell," the woman gave a prod.

The dons faded out into …. the past. Like a merciless and crazy flashback.

The uniformed security guard was staring at the large breasts of the 'madam' through the transparent nightdress, especially the size of the nipples. Like grapes. He kept nodding like one of those little dogs some people place behind the backseat of their cars in the 80s.

"I will get you the bread, madam. Any other thing?" He asked speculatively as he collected the proffered thousand naira note. His eyes kept darting from one protruding nipple to the other.

"Make sure it's Agege bread." She said calmly, sensitive to his amorous appraisal.

"No wahala, madam." He walked quickly to the gates and exited. The moment he left, she moved light-footed into the gatehouse and made a beeline for the key-rack and pulled a ring containing two keys.

She ran towards the van parked by the side of the outbuilding serving as living quarters for the servants. The key in the ignition started the van instantly, she revved it and left it idling. On her way she picked a 25-litre gallon of fuel and hauled it into the main building. She sloshed the fuel all over the house and ran up the stairs to drag down three large Louis Vuitton suitcases, and made for the van. She returned to the house and came down the stairs with her baby inside a baby carrier.

Feverishly, she raced into the kitchen and turned on the gas stream from the huge cylinder by the window and the burners of the cooker.

She eventually drove the van out through the open gates and parked by the road.

As if in a trance, she walked to the opened front doors and flipped a trail of fire from a cigarette lighter. The lighter landed in the large reception of the mansion. The swoosh of the flames was instant.

Ifenkili snapped her head and shoulder back as if from the fear of being singed by the roaring flames; the conflagration of the grand Olanbiwonnu mansion.

The dons squeezed their brows in confusion.

"Mrs. Olanbiwonnu, you were saying …." Another prod.

Ifenkili sighed heavily.

"I want to put on record at this time that I do not want to be so addressed, the marriage ended two years ago," she said gravely. The panel examined the black hard covers before it and nodded almost in unison.

"Noted, Ms. Ifenkili."

To the casual pedestrian on the bridge, and the curious driver at moderate speed on the Third Mainland Bridge, she was prepping for a suicide, especially since the bridge had an interesting history as a takeoff platform for such rituals. A dive into the Lagos lagoon. Ramotu Kasamotu stared at the rusted roofs of Makoko with a hint of despair. Of wasted years. The memories were hard and bad.

Of nights with feet nearly touching the water at high tides, days without fares for a canoe ride along the watery streets of her life's journey. The stench and garbage like nightmarish flotsam. She couldn't believe she would write that ghetto; with the threat of a demolition, as part of her beginnings. It was horrible. Right from age seven, her neighbours had called her Oyinbo Sabo. She wanted to move far away from the community and never hid the fact. She thought Sabo in Yaba, Lagos was distant enough.

To the people, her pretenses and dreams were rather misplaced in the face of their harsh reality. It was a life of quiet acceptance, almost like a religion.

She almost vomited just by these memories. Ramotu now had the courage to flee in her seventeenth year. She had implemented the first stage of her plan. The second was the simplest; her name. Ramotu was too local. Whoever heard of an Instagram slay queen with that lousy name?

As she picked a small bag that contained her life's belongings, she knew she was going to be called Tinuola Williams. She was dark and lovely. You can envision her on the runways of New York and Paris. She thumbed a ride right on the narrow concrete walkway of the bridge and departed. Permanently. Except by providence, as a part of a Foundation in the future, trying to rescue the community, she had seen the last of Makoko. Yet, she wasn't going to deny the unforgettable beauty of the setting sun when viewed from the bridge. It bathed the community with a golden glow. Almost magical.