The driver looked at Kalu, and it was a boy, a teenager with yellowed eyes and a scar on his bottom lip. He glanced down at the money and his eyes narrowed, then he kicked off and started his engine, throwing a smile that was almost a snarl back at Kalu.
“Oya, let’s go,” he said, his voice like gravel, and they shot off, the bike leaning wildly as the boy slipped it between buses and other bikes, then sped down a narrow side road with potholes and red mud kicking up at their ankles. Kalu didn’t dare look back. He didn’t want anyone to see his face; he needed to be a back vanishing into the city.
“Continue going,” he urged the boy. “Dey go, dey go.”
The boy drove madly, like he was in a video game, like he’d been waiting for a chance to drive as if he was in a video game. The wheels dug up the ground and splattered it as they turned off the side road onto another main road, then the boy jumped the curb, sped across a stretch of concrete under a highway, bumped down on the other side, and cut across four lanes of traffic. Kalu had stopped breathing—it was entirely possible that this escape was going to kill him before the hunters got their chance, but he said nothing because at this point there was no way those men could still be following them. Even Kalu didn’t know where exactly he was. They sped down a narrow road lined by video shops, turned left at a food stand, then the bike pulled into a mechanic’s yard and parked behind a wrecked lorry, the engine turning off. The driver turned around and took the money Kalu had been clutching the whole ride.
“You have officially disappeared,” he said to Kalu, licking his thumb as he started to count the money. His fingernails were thick and square.
Kalu swung his leg over and got off the bike, his knees liquid with terror. “Where are we?” he asked.
“My brother’s yard. He does car repair.”
Kalu looked at the boy, still on the bike but with his feet planted on the ground and his torso leaning back, totally relaxed as he counted his money. “What’s your name?” Kalu asked.
The boy didn’t look up. “Felix.”
Kalu leaned against the lorry and his panic climbed back up his throat, dissolving into shaky relief. “You just saved my life, Felix.”
Felix side-eyed him. “Nobody was even shooting at you.”
“What?”
The boy shrugged. “It’s not that serious.” He unzipped a red running bag that was buckled around his waist and carefully put the money in there.
Kalu blinked and decided to ignore the easy dismissal of his running for his life. “You drive very well.”
Felix brought out a cigarette from apparently nowhere and lit it. “I’m the best,” he said casually, and hissed a plume of smoke out from the gap between his two front teeth. “Who were you running from?”
For a moment, Kalu thought about telling him the truth. Everyone knew Okinosho; it was almost impressive to have someone like that take such a personal, if homicidal, interest in you. He squashed the idea almost as quickly as it came up—it was too dangerous. “My business rival is trying to get rid of me,” he lied.
Felix tapped some ash off his handlebar. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I need somewhere to hide.” Just being under the sky made Kalu feel too exposed; he needed to be tucked away somewhere safe, somewhere they wouldn’t know to look for him. He needed to charge his phone, pray it was working, and call Ahmed.
“For how long?” Felix asked. “You get more cash?”
“I don’t know how long, a few hours? I need to charge my phone.” He didn’t answer about the money even though Felix could probably see it right there in his pocket. They were alone in a place Kalu knew nothing about; the boy could decide to just rob him.
Felix took a drag of his cigarette and flared the smoke out from his nostrils, watching Kalu’s discomfort rise. “Not all of us are thieves even if we’re poor,” he said, and there was a cutting judgment in the look he gave Kalu. “I don’t need to steal your money; are you not going to just give it to me if I continue to help you?”
Kalu deflated with shame. “You’re going to help me?” he asked.
The boy dropped his cigarette and ground it into the sand with his sneaker. “Are you going to pay me?”
Kalu nodded, the money distorting his pocket.
Felix shrugged. “Okay now.” He sat upright and started the bike again. “Let’s be going.”
Kalu climbed on uncertainly. “To where?”
Felix grinned, feral. “I know a place nobody will look for you.” He gunned the engine and sand spun up in a dust as he wheeled around, and they shot back onto the road.
thirteen
Saturday, 4:24 PM
It was the sound of shoes against the tile of his floor that got through to Ahmed first. He raised his head slowly, the coffee table cutting into his back, his hands locked together with laced fingers. He had been praying…he thought he had been praying, maybe, after he’d wept, or during. His name rang against the walls of his house.
“Ahmed?”
He frowned. He’d expected Thursday’s voice, but that wasn’t him—it was a woman’s voice. Instead, Aima walked into the large parlor, concern rippling over her face as soon as she saw him sitting like that.
“Ahmed?” She rushed to his side, crouching to put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on? What happened?”
Her palm felt warm through his shirt, heating the chilled flesh underneath. Seun was on the sofa behind her, but Aima hadn’t even noticed him yet. All her attention was fixed on Ahmed. He let his eyes travel dully over her shoulder to where Ijendu was standing by the doorway behind the sofa, the large cushions blocking Seun’s sprawled and horrifically still body from her view. Ahmed said nothing, and Aima put her hand to his face.
“Ahmed.” Her eyes searched his. “Are you okay?”
He couldn’t look away from Seun. It seemed wrong, to have left him like that, naked and with dried semen splattered on his stomach. He should have covered him.
“What’s going on with him?” Ijendu asked, confused. “I’ve never seen Ahmed like this. Is he high?”
“I don’t know,” Aima replied. She tried to turn his face toward her, and while he didn’t stop her, Ahmed’s eyes remained fixed on Seun. Aima turned to see what he was looking at. When she saw Seun, Aima screamed.
“Blood of Jesus!” She scrambled back, losing her balance and falling over.
“What? What is it?” Ijendu rushed over and looked around the sofa, then gasped at the sight of Seun’s body. “Holy shit.” Ahmed watched her struggle with her shock and listened to Aima hyperventilating on the floor beside him, whispering prayers and pleas. Seun looked entirely too dead for them to think for a moment that he was asleep or unconscious. His eyes were open and glassed, his head fallen to the side.
