Hard Man

22

"You're not God. You're not the judge of my life, don't sit there and act like you are. That was where I was when you met me. That was where I was when you came for me."
— Des

Babalola's gaze was on the TV playing in front of him, but his attention was not. It was one of those days where he felt overwhelmed by the weight on his shoulders. He was taking on an organization whose connections ran so deep, there was the probability that he would lose his life in the process. After busting them five years ago, he had relaxed, thinking they were completely annihilated or handicapped. But during those years, they had been preparing to come back stronger than before. He could still hear Busari's voice in his head as he relayed his fears to the wife. He was just an unfortunate scapegoat.

His phone started to ring and Babalola reached for it. When he loooed at the screen, it was Damola. He didn't want to disrupt his thoughts, but if he didn't take Damola's calls, his friend would just whine and whine about it like a little baby. Babalola took his call.

"Hello Damola."

"Am I disturbing you?" Damola asked. "Because I don't understand why you're answering so quickly?"

Babalola sighed. He didn't know why people thought he was the most aggressive of the duo, Damola just had better surface charm. "Did you call to fight me?"

"First, are you home?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Is there something—?"

"Benson left Lagos today. I just met a mutual acquaintance who told me that."

"Okay. What does that have to do with me?"

Damola was silent for a few seconds. "Baba, he's coming for her. He said he won't leave until he's spilled her blood."

Babalola chuckled. "I'll paint the whole city red with his blood if he comes within a few feet of her."

"Baba, do you remember what King Halal used to tell us when we were young and training?"

Babalola sighed, taken back to the good old days where he didn't have to worry about anything but how to hold the sword when fighting. Damola had always been by his side. "That man says a lot of things."

"True," Damola agreed. "But there's one he always repeats, it stood out to me, and I've always applied it to my life, it's always worked."

"What is it?"

"Never underestimate your enemy, no matter how small. Overestimate them, so you can prepare adequately. The first step to losing a battle is underestimating an enemy," Damola said solemnly. "Don't underestimate Benson. He's a dirty fighter. I know he can't take you down, but that woman doesn't need to be a scapegoat. He's a scorned father looking for revenge, he's not afraid to die for this cause."

As Damola talked, Babalola heard footsteps on the stairway and looked up. Chioma was alighting the steps, her attention on her phone, so she hasn't seen him yet.

"...So I think you should take adequate measures in ensuring her protection is top notch, because Benson would leave no stone unturned. It's either you tell her the danger she's in or you keep her with you at all times..."

"Okay." It was the first word he'd spoken since Des appeared and she looked up with a start, shocked to see him sitting there. Babalola wanted to dismiss her, but for some reason, he held her gaze. She froze at the foot of the stairs, her mouth falling slightly open. It took all his willpower not to look towards her lips.

"I'll talk to you later, Baba. Once again, if you need me, I'll be there."

Babalola grunted and hung up. He lowered the phone down, his gaze still on Des. Now that he was no longer on the phone, his full attention was on her. She was dressed in shorts that displayed her perfectly carved legs, and a cute shirt. Her eyes narrowed, reminding him that she was still upset. After he'd called her Des, she remained quiet for the rest of the ride. As soon as they reached home, she bolted out of the car and into the house. He wondered why the name upset her, since that was what everyone else called her.