He peered down at his watch. It was 11:58 p.m. They had only a little while longer to wait. Everything should work smoothly.
At midnight, all the lights in the housing estate went off. The streetlights flickered briefly, and then expired like tired eyes succumbing to sleep. On a normal day when electric power went off, the standby automatic generator that serviced the entire estate would come on before the residents even noticed the outage. The high price they paid to live there was no secret and their comfort was a priority. That night, however, the generator did not go on within seconds. It would not go on for another thirty minutes.
“Razor, oya!”
The two men jumped out of the bus, leaving Cobra behind. They got to the gate of the mansion and pushed it gently. It slid open with ease. There was no one at the guardhouse to stop them; there were no fierce security dogs waiting to maul them. Everything was as Scorpion had been told it would be. Get into the house. She will be alone. Finish her!
They entered through the unlocked door. In front of them, in the hall, was a staircase leading upstairs. They let their eyes adjust to the darkness and then to the opulence of the passageway. Thank God for the full moon that ushered in natural light, Scorpion thought, realizing also that his tattoo no longer itched. His eyes did a quick scan of their surroundings. Hanging on the walls were several portraits and photos of the couple who inhabited this haven — the radiant smiles of the handsome, bespectacled dark-skinned man and his attractive white wife bore down on him. It occurred to him just then that this hall was far bigger than the cramped rooms that whole families inhabited in his neighborhood. This had always upset him somewhat, this unrestrained waste. It was not right!
“Vincent?” a nasal female voice called out from the top floor. It was foreign. “Vincent, is that you?”
There was movement on the top floor. From where the two intruders stood, they could see a beam of light bounce off the upstairs walls and settle unsteadily on the stairs. Scorpion pulled out a long, curved knife from the waistband of his jeans. He looked at Razor and watched him uncover his own weapon — a crude nine-inch blade.
Two menacing silhouettes began a determined ascent of the stairs.
“Vin... Oh my God!” she screamed.
Scorpion felt the meat between his thighs stir, as if it was a man in coma shocked back to consciousness, some larva from the underworld crossing back into life.
“Oh my God! Oh my God... help!”
Her scream excited Scorpion all the more; made warm blood gush down to his penis. As the horror-stricken woman backed away into a room, he dropped his knife and began to unbutton his jeans. This will not take long, he thought. There is enough time for this. Maybe enough time for Razor too.
The news report was tucked away in a small corner on page twenty of the Lagos Gazette. Corporal Gabriel was surprised that the killing of the wife of a big man was given such a small mention in the papers. He was more surprised, though, that no one yet, not even the nosy journalists, had made the connection that in the last three months there had been six other violent robberies in the wealthy island suburb. All of them had happened in areas that usually had good security and around-the-clock power supply, yet on the nights of each raid, they had suffered electricity failures and the expensive private security officers had been nowhere in sight. The only difference with the last raid was that someone got killed. Not just anyone, but a white woman. And yet, the sensation of this had been buried on page twenty.
It bothered Gabriel that this death could have been prevented. He knew that his command post had been on duty just outside of the estate that night and had come in contact with the gang committing these crimes. He was certain that his sergeant had waved their bus into the estate. Shortly after the bus was allowed unhindered passage, the same sergeant had made them leave their post and drive to another location. When the news broke about what had happened in House 8A, Lugard Drive, Gabriel knew it was not just a coincidence.
“All these killings, it is very unfortunate,” his sergeant had said to him when Gabriel went to him to discuss his suspicions.
“I believe we have a lead, sir,” Gabriel pressed.
“There’s no lead,” the sergeant replied, looking Gabriel dead in the eye.
“That bus—”
“I said, there is no lead,” the sergeant repeated. “It was just a bus.”
“Yes sir,” Gabriel said. He had recognized the threatening note in the man’s tone. “I will leave you now.”
As he made to leave, the sergeant’s voice rang out, stopping him. “All of you have been doing a good job,” the man said, his voice more cheerful. “I have sent something to each of your homes. I’m sure by the time you get home, your wife will have received your share.”
“My share of what, sir?”
“You will see when you get home.”
“I don’t understand, sir. What is it for?”
“Call it motivation,” the sergeant responded, smirking. “I have to keep my boys happy so you can all work better.”
Gabriel nodded slowly and left. It was not until he was outside that he realized that he had not thanked the sergeant. He wondered if the fat fool noticed or if he was too steeped in his smugness to be aware. Gabriel’s suspicions only grew. He was sure it was not just some random coincidence.
When he got home later that evening, Idara, his wife, had made his favorite dish for dinner and she had made it with big pieces of chicken. Gabriel could not recall the last time he had seen chicken cut so large, not even at parties.
“What is all this?” he asked.
“Can’t a woman cook for her husband?” Idara replied. “Come, sit, eat.”
“You know what I mean. Can we afford this?”
“You don’t have to worry. Your boss is a good man, he sent this for you.” She showed him an envelope with money in it. “He sent N20,000 to us. I could not believe it!”
“What have you done?”
“Nothing. I used five thousand to shop for food and some things we need in the house.”
“Why? That money is not clean,” Gabriel snapped.
Idara stared into the envelope and shrugged. “Some of the notes are not so dirty.”
“Damnit! Don’t act like you don’t know what I am saying. That money is hush money. Somebody died, Idara—”
“And so?” she cut in. “Darling, open your eyes! People die all the time. You are lucky enough to be assigned checkpoint duty on the island, and yet unlike your other colleagues you refuse to take advantage of your position. I am the only officer’s wife who is poor.”
Gabriel had always known his wife was unhappy about their lack of money and the finer things in life. For a long time after they got married he had been unemployed and she had been the one who’d suggested that he join the police force. She had alerted him when the police academy began accepting new intakes and had pushed him to go. For a while she had been happy, but it did not last for too long. His salary never came on time and the minimum wage they had to survive on barely got them through the month. When he was assigned checkpoint duty, she had been ecstatic. But Gabriel was not like the other officers — he preferred to do things by the book and would not take a bribe.
“Things will improve,” he said.
“When?”
“I am on to something, Idara. I have been following the strange robberies taking place in some housing estates on the island.”
“That is not a formal case,” she said. “You shouldn’t worry yourself about it.”
“I think I know who the perpetrators are and I may be able to solve it.”