Securing The Bag (The Lagos Hustle)

A Nightmare births a Dream

::::::::::::

JECINCTA

The next morning, I didn't wake up with a hazy memory, wondering where in the hell I was. Even as I blinked slowly at the dull dark green walls which was a sharp contrast to my aquarium themed light blue wallpapered room walls, I was immediately reminded of the Nightmare I had lived the night before, the sequence of events moved in reverse...from retreating to bed to drinking tea in the parlor, to the car ride, to the hotel, to the dead body with a million cuts... (not just any dead body, Mr. D's body)....to hiding in a cramped toilet with Fuoyo and Kanaku...trying not to cry while Mr. D cried out in pain.

Jesus! I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to get rid of the image. I consciously tried to find reprieve in denial. Maybe Mr. D had survived...but even as I forced the thought I knew he was dead. The nightmare had been all too real.

The blood had been too fresh, too much to have come from one person, too red, too thick.........I swung my legs to the side of the bed, suddenly feeling numb. Mr. D was really dead. And there was really nothing I could do about it.

I knew the name of his killer, he hadn't committed the act, but the man called Kenekelis had set things in motion.

Surely he had to pay? The killers wouldn't just go scot-free...The police would trace it somehow. But what if they didn't?Mr D didn't deserve such an end, I had to do something....maybe find a way to tell the police a certain Mr. Kenekelis was responsible, surely when they dug around they'll find out more about him and make the arrest? The question now was how I was going to go about leaving a tip for the police. The Nigerian police weren't really known for their diligence, witnesses were usually their main suspects and any tip would have to be anonymous. I almost climbed back into bed to cry. I was scared but I didn't feel so alone anymore. If I had been alone with Mr. D there was every chance I'll be dead as well. But by some strange coincidence or fate, Fuoyo and Kanaku had been there. And when it mattered most, Kanaku had been there to keep me quiet else I would have surely been discovered. And after that Fuoyo had been there to keep me moving when I had frozen up. Who exactly were they, they seemed to hate me at first but yet they had watched my back. Maybe with their help, we could figure out a way to tip the police.

The apartment was a little empty and didn't offer much worth snooping around for, Fuoyo was in the parlor, fast asleep on the couch, one leg was hanging high over the backrest, while the second was stretched out in the opposite direction, dangling on the floor. His right arm was across his face while the left dangled on his side, resting on the floor. He slept like my kid cousin used to sleep after a day of rough play and I smiled a little, imagining how he would kick and hit anybody he shared a bed with.

Kanaku was nowhere to be found and I noticed neither was the car.

The flat was on the ground floor and so the only view to enjoy was that of the fence and clothesline. I realized I was really restless as I walked through the small apartment, there was nothing to eat asides plenty of cereal, and a crate of egg in the fridge. I wasn't even hungry but I was restless. I turned to my phone but not even twitter could keep my mind engaged. There wasn't any news on the internet yet about the murder and I quickly lost interest. I felt like taking a long walk to clear my head, but I couldn't. I was too scared to leave the apartment. I didn't even know what the killers looked like and they were on the lookout for me.