Chapter 25 BACK TO BASE

S E G U N

I've been watching Dipo from the corner of my eyes and I've got to tell you --- something's gone wrong with him.

He's fidgety, jerky and fitful. Maybe even spastic.

I could go on and on with the adjectives, but it won't take away the fact that something's not right with him. Now it's my duty as a best friend and brother to find out what's eating him up, because he looks like it's constipating him big time.

"What's up, bro?" I incline my head towards him and give him my undivided attention for all of five seconds before I put it back on the road.

That's enough time for me to notice how his left leg bounces on the chair. That's a red flag if I ever saw any.

He says nothing for a few seconds and just when I'm about to ask him again, he angles his body towards me and in a low tone, speaks. "You shouldn't have left Eve alone at the beach house, Aureliano."

Now I'm not sure if I was supposed to hear that, or if he said it mainly to himself, but what I do know is it sounds like he's spent some time ruminating on the words before they came out of his mouth. He's got that furrowed brow thing going on, on his face.

And then it dawns on me the name he called me.

Not 'The king.'

Not 'dude.'

Not 'bro'

Aureliano. He called me by my Mexican name --- Aureliano.

He hasn't called me that since we were in University, some eight years ago.

Something's definitely up.

I must be going paranoid, but he made it sound like Eve was in danger at Femi's beach house. Time to set the record straight. "She wasn't alone, alright. Ebere was there as well as Fiku and Femi. She can hold her own you know, she's not a chi ----"

"Yeah, I know, but -----"

"Dude . . . what is it?" I glance at him briefly before putting my eyes back on the road. He just shrugs and clams up. When he's in this mode, just forget having any sort of conversation with him, 'cause you won't be able to get anything out of him.

But my interest is piqued. "Come on bro, why did you say I shouldn't have left her back at Femi's beach house? Don't trust Femi around her?" I laugh at this, but it dies in my throat when he doesn't laugh along. Instead, he says nothing, just stares to the side at the passing cars.

I sigh and let him be as I retreat into my thoughts. Holiday time is officially over. I just dropped Eve off at home after two long weeks away from each other. Yes, we talked every day, but it wasn't the same as physically being with her.

I'd be lying if I tell you I was swamped with work. I know I said she wasn't needed at the site, but truth is the replacement engineers came to Nigeria a week ago, and we needed her expertise as a Project Manager, but I didn't want her getting encumbered anymore by my drama.

I had an agenda up my sleeves.

I needed to see Roxy.

She wants to take Stacy back to the States with her and I kinda have a problem with that. I missed out on Stacy's formative years which was wrong, and now I want to spend some time with her, if Roxy will let me. But she's being such a bitch about it, saying she's her mother and a young female child must be with her mother.

True. But where the fuck were you when your new born daughter was struggling to feed?

Where the fuck were you when she was repeatedly asked at school to bring both her parents for open day, and all other school shit?

Oh, and let's not forget when she took her first steps. Who do you think she ran to when they faltered and she almost fell?

Definitely not you, that's for sure.

And what did you think her first words were?

They sure as fuck weren't 'mama.'

Go figure, Roxy.

Your ass was nowhere to be seen to be a fucking mother to your precious daughter, as you like to call her now.

You were probably hoeing your way around the globe.

But you know what --- it hurts to admit it, yup, even to myself, but I wasn't any better. Now I'd like to get to know Stacy . . . as a dad.

But only if she'll let me.

Yeah, I said it.

I'm still new at this father- daughter relationship, especially being a father to a daughter that's already 7 years old and counting.

What the fuck would I even get to say to her, anyway?

First time we were left together, we said all of two words to each other.

Me: Um . . . so . . .

Stacy: Bathroom break.

And she'd shot up from the seat and run out of the sitting room as fast as her legs could carry her.

Ego deflator, I'll tell you that for nothing.

So yeah, I suck at being a father, but I'm pretty sure Eve will make a much better mother than Roxy.

Actually, there's no comparison.

Eve comes from a well-structured background, while Roxy . . . naah, no point going into her non-existent family. Knowing her, she'll want to use Stacy as a bargaining chip against me.

Why'd she dump Stacy on Dipo in the first place, anyway?

Shame suddenly surges through me when I remember all I put him through in the past.

The sneaking behind his back to go see Roxy, even messing around with her under his very nose.

Shit!

I was a mean motherfucker back then, maybe still am, but one thing's for sure ---- any man try that shit on me with Eve . . .

He better run.

"Drop me off here, bro." I break off from my ruminations to see Dipo already removing his seat belt and practically jumping out from the car. He slams the door shut, leans on the window to tell me something, but then thinks better of it as he shakes his head, straightens up and walks away.

Who put a stick up his ass?

I shake my head and drive off; replaying the conversation I had with Roxy.

It seemed she'd doused herself with a whole bottle of musky perfume as she walked into the restaurant. As she got closer, I imagined bees attacking her. The mental image made me smile. Unfortunately, she thought I smiled because I saw her. This put an added bounce in her steps as she sashayed towards me, drawing the lecherous eyes of almost every man seated in the restaurant.

Sorry guys, her boobs are fake.

She'd sidled up to me, wanting to peck me on the lips, but I dodged. Kiss missed its mark and settled on my neck.

Double fucking ewww.

I almost crawled out of my body at the feel of her lips on my skin.

When she saw she couldn't manipulate me with her wiles like she initially could, she sat back and became mean.

Two can play that game.

"I'll make sure you never see Stacy again if you so much as think of taking her away from me." She tried to talk, but I shook my head. "Don't even think about trying to lay one on me, queen of white demon." I'd finished, smirking at her.

Her eyes had widened imperceptibly. "You wouldn't dare."

"Is that a threat, 'cause from where I'm sitting, it looks very much like one." So I'd leaned in close to her, almost gagging at how strong her perfume was. "I've got some evidence lying around that can put you away for a very, very long time, so I'd watch my words if I were you."

I expected her to throw a bitch fit, but except for the brief narrowing of eyes, she'd done the exact opposite. She'd always known how to cut her losses and tuck her tail in-between her legs when the going got rough, so I wasn't surprised when she'd acquiesced. A triumphant smile creeped onto her face then, setting me on edge. "Alright! But I would like to come see her from time to time."

And then I knew, I just knew she was up to something. What that something was remained to be seen. Throughout the rest of our lunch, we ate in silence, and just when I thought I was home free, she pulled the carpet from under me. "So . . . you and Eve, huh?!"

I'd raised a brow, wondering where she was headed with her statement. "Me and Eve, what?"

"Oh, you know." She'd shrugged then, an innocent look on her face. "You both look so cute together."

It was my turn to narrow my eyes. She was up to something, I felt it radiate throughout my body. "Yeah, so?"

"You know, you and I made a good couple back then." She'd looked wistful, and I just had to clear her on her misplaced statement.

"You and I were never an item, we were just -----"

"Freestyling, yeah I know, and I messed it up." The first genuine look was pasted on her face and I almost believed there and then, people change for the better.

"You know, with women, what you see isn't what you get." She'd smiled coyly then, and I knew she was trying to pass a message across. "Just saying." She shrugged. "You might want to be more careful . . ." She'd leaned towards me then, a glint in her eyes and added. ". . . and vigilant as well."

Damn!

Shit just got real.

E V E

A savory, tangy smell of food rides on the wind and sails into my nostrils, making them twitch. With the smell, comes the breaking of twilight. I watch as it steals prettily across the sky, bathing everything in it's warm glow. Ordinarily I would gaze at it in wonder, but I prefer to gaze instead at the man whose laps my head is currently on.

Aurey came back not an hour later after dropping me off at home. I'd barely taken a shower when he called and said he was outside waiting for me. Dad had smiled knowingly, but kept quiet when I went downstairs and announced I was going out. Thankfully, mum hadn't come back from the market yet, so I was able to escape her backlash. She hadn't called me all throughout the time I was at the beach house. I knew she was angry I went off with Aureliano instead of trying to get back with her precious Mr. Faseun.

Wonder how she'd react when she finds out he's Aurey's dad. Nevermind that, I wonder how dad will take the news. Sure he won't like it one bit.

"Baby, I missed you." Aurey's left hand is cradling my neck so tight, I think if this continues, my breath will get cut off. He threads his fingers with mine and bends low to breathe me in. He's acting clingy tonight and that makes me wonder.

We just finished making love and he was aggressive to the point of being almost hurtful, in the same vein I discovered I might be a narcissist, because it was probably the best sex I've ever had.

Now he can't seem to get his hands off me. What gives?

I try to ease his hold on me by adjusting my position and making small talk, but he seems deep in thought when he keeps mumbling his replies. He lets go of my fingers and settles his hands in my hair instead. They touch and caress, lightly, relaxing me to the point of almost making me fall asleep, but as I'm drifting off, he tugs hard on it and I yelp in pain. He mumbles an apology, gently removes my head from his laps and walks off to stand beside the window.

I watch as he leans against it, staring with unseeing eyes outside.

Something is obviously bothering him.

I get down from the bed and pad bare feet to him, but instead of reaching out, I stand warily, watching him wage an inner battle in his mind. His fingers are clenched on either side of him and his jaw is set.

What on Earth could be bothering him?

Just as I'm about to ask if he's okay, he suddenly turns round and fixes me with an odd look. "Princess . . . were you okay back at Femi's beach house?" He sees the puzzled look on my face and rushes to rephrase his statement. "I mean, did anything untoward happen to you? Were you bothered or molested in anyway?"

This time I rear back like I've been slapped and shake my head like I didn't just hear that. "Tell me, please. Did something happen? Femi try something on you? I know he's a terrible playboy, but he'll never try anything on you, knowing you're mine, so what exactly could Dipo have meant?" His voice drops an octave lower as he looks away, suddenly deep in thought.

Whatever seems to be bothering him is eating him up inside.

Wait!

He mentioned Femi and the word 'molest', in one sentence. "What do you mean by 'Did Femi molest me'? Do you trust your friend so little? You think he's going to pull a move on me, or are you just being unnecessarily annoying right now?" I'm beginning to get angry. Not good.

"So it's not Femi. Then who . . . " He stops speaking as his eyes seem to grow bigger. "That bastard! I'm going to kill him." And he lurches away from me, picks up his recently abandoned tee from the floor, grabs his car key and rushes out.

Hold up!

What just happened?

Who's the bastard?

And then my eyes widen as it suddenly dawns on me.

Nathan.

*

Glossary: White demon: Slang for cocaine.

THE INITIATION

Seven years earlier

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

A U R E Y

No amount of talk could have prepared me for the real thing.

I'd only heard about it amongst the guys, never personally experienced it, but as I stare down the muzzle of the Ak-47 high impact shotgun, it feels like I'm staring at the grim reaper himself.

Russian fucking roulette.

"You pass this test, you get to see the boss." Sting sing-songs as he presses the gun to the side of my head with a smile, showing gold teeth.

I don't blame him. I'd be smiling if I was on the other side of this somewhat, gruesome-looking picture.

I'm shitting buckets of sweat at this point as I feel the pressure against my cranium. He pulls the trigger, and . . .

Click.

I get to die another day.

I slump forward in relief,, only to hear Sting's laughter cackling above my head. "That shit wasn't funny." I wheeze, trying to catch my breath.

As I straighten up, I see him wiping imaginary tears from his eyes and snorting in the process. I watch him from the corner of my eyes as strength seeps back into my muscles. "Hey! I don't make the rules you know, I just follow orders. I shit my pants when it got to my turn, but you did good, you passed the test, so go on in."

I nod as I lurch forward, grateful to still be alive. His raucous guffaws can still be heard trailing me as I walk into the cave.

Sick fuck.

As I move deeper inside the cave on wobbly feet, it seems like I've fallen into a hole and turned up in another era. Ancient-looking torches are placed on either side at every twenty paces, lending a medieval look to the cave. Dark tendrils of shadow creep out from all sides at places where the light of the torches don't reach, making it seem like wisps of fog.

This right here is some sixteenth-century shit. Only thing missing would be some jango-type villain, complete with Sancho boots and a bent bowler hat, hiding in the corners, waiting to strike.

Hold on a minute. Why would he want to strike me?

Unless they've found out I'm here to collect information and rat on them.

Earlier on, when Abdul told me about the meet with 'The boss', I'd almost called Tracy to call the whole thing off, but I'd borrowed steels of nerves from god knows where, and decided to go through with it.

When I arrived at the cave on the outskirts of Michigan, I didn't think I'd gotten the correct address texted to me, but when I saw Sting at the entrance, grinning like a maniac and waving me over, I knew I was at the right place.

Fresh sweat breaks out on my forehead as I turn wary eyes right and left, straining them to see any shadow intending to jump out from the corner.

My steps suddenly become measured. Stealthy.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

They become sloppy, jerky. My palms become clammy. I'm like the drunken master now. One wrong step and it could all go down the drain.

The roof of the cave unexpectedly dips, making it difficult for me to stand straight, such that I have to bend low at the waist in order to move forward. Movement becomes limited, so I begin clawing my way forward, feeling the rough, crater-like surface of the cave beneath my fingertips.

And that's when I feel the temperature drop --- it starts from my legs and sends cold chills radiating throughout my body.

Brr.

I pull my jacket tighter around me, and hunker down like a hunchback. The air is so thin, my windpipe begins closing up, so I suck in large gulps of air like I've been deprived of it for a long time, and keep crawling forward. Some paces in, the cave becomes very narrow and the roof low, that it makes moving forward almost impossible. Somewhere above, bats screech, the flapping of their wings sounding like volcanic eruption, making this whole situation seem even more eerie.

How weird is it that I'm almost three thousand feet underground, and I don't know if I'll come out of this alive.

Yet . . . I keep moving, acting like an insect that I'm not, crawling around in the dark with no sense of direction and no visibility ---- nope, not even the light of the torches can penetrate this area.

Good thing I'm not claustrophobic.

As suddenly as the walls narrow, they widen, almost making me loose equilibrium. I flail my hands around like a blind man, until I see a pinprick of light not far off. I straighten up, heave a sigh of relief in the process, and keep moving towards it. The closer I get, the wider the arc of light becomes, so I quicken my step towards it.

Light blooms as I step into another section of the cave. I put up a hand to stave off the blinding light, but it seems to be permanently etched in my mind, even with my eyes closed. A terrible contrast I'm faced with now, for where before I was plunged into darkness, now it's like fairy land in here, with several gas lights fixed to the ceiling.

Are they trying to blind me, or what?

"Take a seat, Aureliano." A loud voice booms from all around me, unsettling me momentarily, but I shake off the fear and stand tall.

At first I don't see the chair, but when my eyes finally get used to the bright light, I see a plain, wooden chair in the middle of the cave, so I stride towards it, pull it to the side and seat on it.

Alright, fuckers, now what?

And then nothing. I'm left all by my lonesome self, for, I don't know --- ten, twenty, thirty, maybe even forty five minutes. Just when I decide standing up and braving going back to the narrow pathway, footsteps begin echoing everywhere.

See, that's the amazing thing about being inside a cave, you get to hear when even a pin drops.

No shit!

As the footsteps get louder, I try, but fail miserably to act nonchalant, so I jump up and stand behind the chair and grip it for dear life.

Great tool you've got there, man, you're gonna finish whoever's coming with it.

I ignore my mental ranting and grip it even tighter. Something comes into view; a man, from the looks of things, although he looks like the human version of a weasel. He says nothing, except to place something which he removes from under his arm, onto a table I'm also just noticing. It's at the far edge of the cave, towards the entrance he came through. He begins bringing out some instruments from whatever it is he put on the table, and arranging them. After a few seconds of silence, he whips round to face me.

"Bring the chair over here." I'm not sure if he's talking to me, because he's still intent on arranging whatever stuff's on the table. His back is to me, and he doesn't even turn around, doesn't even bother to look at me again.

Alright, weasel, two can play that game.

So I decide to act dumb.

After a few seconds, he stops what he's doing and turns round and gives me a haughty look. "The chair. Over here. Now!"

I don't know what it is about his words that galvanize me into action; he has authority attached to each syllable. Unfortunately for him, I'm immune to constituted authority of any kind.

Still, I decide to listen to him, but I do it in my own way, by grabbing the edge of the chair, and dragging it across the floor, where it makes a screeching noise as it bounces and slides on the uneven floor.

Weasel doesn't even bat an eyelid. All he does is lift a brow and instruct me to sit down, which I do, because I'm out of steam at this point.

"Remove your shirt." He says suddenly.

I look around me, wondering who he's talking to, but seeing no one else in the cave except two of us, I look back up at him with confusion. That's when I see the tilt of his head and the smirk on his face.

"It's just the two of us here, buddy. Want to see the boss?" He arches a brow, waiting for my reply. I nod dumbly and his smile turns into full-blown. "Well then, this stamp has got to go on your chest before you can see him."

That's when I see it.

He's holding a long, slim metal rod with a wide round end at the tip. Looks like an alphabet is inscribed on it, can't really be sure from this distance, but that's not what's got me alarmed. It's glowing red.

At first, I can't figure out for the life of me what he means by it's going on my chest, but then my eyes widen, as understanding flits into my mind.

I shoot up straight from the chair. "Oh, hell naw! That instrument of torture will not be branded on my chest, no sir."

This time the smile slips off his face, revealing a cold mask of ice in its place. "That was not a request, dimwit, it's an honour." He waves the rod about and a wisp of smoke floats around it. "You see, the boss is very particular about who he sees. If he chooses to see you, it's because he believes you've got something special in you. But I'm beginning to believe he might have made a mistake with you." He bends his head slightly to the side, as his eyes flick from my white trainers to my distressed jeans, up to my white rugby top, then he shakes his head. "You better not make the boss believe he made a mistake, otherwise you'd be leaving here in a body bag." He finishes as he arches a brow and then laughs up riotously. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to scare you." He raises a hand to his forehead, like he forgot to say something. "I meant to say you will find yourself at the bottom of the sea, as food for the fish."

I get it. He's trying to scare me, but it aren't happening anytime soon.

"Think I'm scared, man?" I grin, as I whip out a gun that I might or might not have stolen from Sting.

Now I've gotta tell you this: Never, ever used one of this in my entire life, but hey --- there's always a first time, right?

The smile slips off his face, yet again, and is immediately replaced with a crater in-between his brows.

"Who's smiling now, weasel?" It's my turn to smile.

"Interesting nickname, although I've been called worse. What say you hand me the gun and get this show on the road. The boss doesn't even have to know about it. I get it, you're scared, you've never been in this kind of situation before, I understand that. Let's make a deal --- I promise to hold your hand while I tear into your chest, not to worry. It'll be a pleasure-pain kind of therapy."

The more he talks, the more I realize how sick he really is. My hand wobbles as I continue pointing the gun at him, but I don't back down, can't back down.

On seeing this, he wields the rod like a weapon --- two arms wrapped around it, eyes trained on me, feet flexed apart. Immediately he does this, I see movement from the corner of my eyes. In a flash, five men come out from all sides of the cave. They've all got big ass guns slung round their necks . . . and they're trained on me.

Quite sure there are about twenty or more men in this cave, hiding around and waiting for some shithead like me to make a stupid move.

Way I see it; I've got two options;

1.) Shoot my way out of here, guns blazing, like Scarface, which will definitely take me to an early grave.

Yeah, no, I'll pass.

2.) Sit the fuck down and have them tag my chest like a fucking dog that I'm not. Take the pain like a man. Can't be worse than what I've already gone through, surely.

Slumping in defeat, I give weasel a nod, one that makes me feel like I've just signed my death warrant, and he slowly straightens up.

Point taken.

When they come close to me, I decide to hand one of them the gun that's still in my hand, before they force it out of me. Weasel flicks his wrist and they disappear the same way they came.

He turns to me, smiling smugly. "Chin up, Scarface!" And before I can utter a word, he sends the rod at lightning speed into my chest.

*

Glossary

Russian roulette: The practice of loading a bullet into one chamber of a revolver, spinning the cylinder, and then pulling the trigger while pointing the gun at one's own head or another's head.

Scarface: Name of a movie Al Pacino acted as a drug Lord. (Old, but scintillating movie)