Page 45

“I'm getting off,” Alex said, turning off the engine and unlocking his seat belt.

He swallowed a surging denial. They couldn't leave things like this. “Alex—”

“Go home, Timi. Trust me, I'm goo—oh God! ”

A face had popped up at Alex's window. Weather-beaten, and barely visible under the bushy afro, brows and beards. And mouth grinning so widely, Timi feared those lips would tear to the back of his skull.

Triple T. The man he thought he'd never meet.

Why was Alex meeting up with him? Hadn't he called off Operation Fish Out?

“I dey suspect say na you dey this fine car,” his voice filled the interior as Alex reluctantly lowered the window.

He sounded like a porcupine was stuck in his throat.

“Boss, boss. Money good o. Your oga dey allow you cruise him car?” He stopped checking out the LM and did a double take when he jammed gazes with Timi.

Then, his grin got so wide, Timi was sure his teeth would fall off.

“Aaaaah! Bigger boss! Why you no reason us your coming? We for arrange red carpet!” He leaned backwards and whistled towards the direction of a familiar grey Corolla parked metres ahead. “Lapo! Tente! Show, show. Today don better for una.”

Two younger boys, dressed in all black like Triple T and Alex bounced over, then burst out into hails that rapidly turned ridiculous.

“Booosss! We see your hand o. The money take care of every every, come remain over excess! Only you na you! Every other you is a counterfeit!”

Timi's grin must have matched theirs from the ache on his jaw. “Na una I suppose thank. Wetin una do for me…” He shook his head. “I no know which Kanayo ritualist brother I go kill for you people.”

Their smiles wavered for a moment, then wild laughter erupted.

“Boss, na Clem!” Tente hollered. “If you wan bad, be bad!”

“Na Pete Edochie own I fear pass,” Lapo said. “That man fit ritualise himself.”

The laughter eventually died, and Timi soon found out what brought them to this side of town.

Alex, who had kept his resignation from them, had carried on with smoking out Sporax Media. As he sat squashed between Tente and Lapo in the corolla, with Triple T driving and Alex riding shotgun, Triple T detailed every step they'd taken to uncover their identity .

“We first construct better yarn with physical evidence. Then, follow the delivery guys wey dey drop the evidence. Come trace every post's ip address. These people just block everywhere. But you know wetin finally point us in the right direction?”

“What?” Timi asked

“Food!” Triple T laughed, joined by Tente and Lapo.

“E be like say, one of the staff dey use one of their delivery guy bring food for their main office. Or maybe na her boyfriend, who know? Every time we follow am, e dey always drop food for this estate. This na residential estate, so why person go dey order for food at the same time every day? Na so we mark the man wey dey always come collect the food from gate. And the rest dem talk say, na history.”

“So, we dey go there now?” Timi asked.

“Gbam,” Triple T said. “We for don show since, but we bin wan know who the oga pata pata be first. Na until four days ago we sabi. Around the time, your…errr…video begin circulate and Oga Alex—”

“Triple T…,” Alex cut in.1

Triple T glanced at him with a smile. “Ah. No vex, boss.”

However, Timi had already grabbed whatever Alex was preventing him from saying. “Triple T, who be this oga?”

“Na that Yoruba singer wey dey rap Igbo like mad. Ruk—”

“Rukky Tunde,” Timi whispered.

Agu's long-time mistress, who, ironically, was also a close friend of Dame B. Whose disgrace at Timi's hand had unfortunately been caught on camera and trended for months. And who, probably, was the reason Alex had stormed Agu's house.

Oh, Alex, what have you done?

“E be like say you sabi her,” Triple T said.

Timi met his gaze in the rear-view mirror and nodded mutely.

Triple T turned into a narrow street leading up to an imposing black gate. “Ah. Na people who know you reach house be your real enemy. But she really hate you o, Baba. Wetin you do?”

Timi tripped over his words. “I—”

“Which house?” A new voice barked from the security post Triple T had stopped beside, even after scanning the temporary barcode.

Lapo ended the call he'd been making and poked his head out. “House 14. They'll call you.” He turned to Timi with a grin. “Her cook na our guy.”

“Treat people well, these madams no go hear word,” Tente added.

The security man withdrew, and a few moments later, the boom barrier lifted.

As they'd estimated, Rukky was still in her white Range Rover, recently back from a meeting, when Triple T drove into her gated compound. Once again, let in by this resentful cook.

Her standard three bodyguards, either too relaxed from a long absence of threat, or just terrible at their jobs, weren't fast enough. And soon Tente was packing up semi-automatics.

He didn't have to wonder anymore why she needed that many guards.

Rukky, as Sporax Media, was one of the most hated persons in the industry.

She always seemed ahead of everyone, spilling tightly guarded secrets with a precision that felt almost paranormal.

A spirit, she'd been called many times. The spirit's conjurer he now knew.

The awoken bodyguards fought back for control, and soon it became a black blur of flying limbs and muffled grunts.

The buff guards had some great moves, but they were no match for Triple T who charged in like a bull, or Alex, who flitted, swerved and head-charged in lightning-quick graceful movements.

His sinewy muscles glistening with sweat, eyes blazing with intent, full sensuous lips thinned in concentration.

Timi couldn't remove his eyes. The gravity of his emotions snuffing out the remnant of Timi Lawson and yanking out this brand-new person who saw feelings and tasted the colours enveloping a particular man in a burst of a startling realisation.

Nothing about Alex was temporary. He wasn’t the distraction he’d spent months convincing himself. They could never be the friends he was hoping they became. And Timi was irrevocably fucked .

From the corner of his eye, the guard left standing careened towards him. He dodged the incoming blow and brought the man down with a hard palm-swipe across the side of his neck. A trick Paulo had taught him.

Panting, Alex caught his gaze for a brief heated moment, and the man who had told him he liked him and kissed him senseless shone through, then Timi blinked, and he was back to stoic Alex.

Alex joined Triple T in gathering up the unconscious men, tying them with ropes and propping them against the wall like disembowelled antelopes in an abattoir.

Tente appeared at the craftsman-style front door and gave a thumbs up. “All clear.”

Sporax Media was a living room on the ground floor converted to an open-planned office space, demarcated by plywood, with each section occupied by desktops. Tall picture windows, providing natural lights and air.

Tente and Lapo had rounded everyone up, where they all sat on the floor in a corner. They wore matching expressions of fear, except Rukky whose eyes sparked fire.

Alex pulled out his phone, and everyone's eyes in the room rested on him. Even without saying a word–looking all sweaty and tousled with his messed-up face–it was clear who ran the show. And it was to him, Rukky directed her first words.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

How far had Alex kept himself from Agu's business? She knew about everyone who worked closely with Agu, yet she stared up at him blankly.

“Aunty, you no go shut up, abi you wan make I tie your mouth?” Lapo said.

Rukky got up. “Do all of you know who I am? Do you know what you've done? By the time I finish dealing with— ”

She sat back down when Tente charged, but Alex raised his hand, and Tente retreated.

Alex snapped a finger at a staff. The girl got up, eyed Triple T and the boys warily, before scurrying towards Alex like he was a safer option. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. But that was the summation of him. Breathtakingly complex.

Once the girl got close, Alex handed her his phone and nodded towards a cubicle. She immediately fell into the chair and began typing.

“When you're done,” he said, “share on every handle. No mistakes.”

The girl jerked her head. “Yes, sir.” Not sparing a glance at her boss for approval.

With Timi's attention on them, it startled him when a soft, disbelieving voice called from where the staff huddled.

“Timi?”

Timi closed his eyes. Unlike Alex and co, he appeared conspicuous in his grey chinos, white t-shirt and sneakers, but he'd hoped his face cap and mask would protect him from instant recognition.

But why hide? Whatever Alex had planned today surely involved Timi. Agu would know sooner or later what they did and why they'd done it.

He turned to find Rukky gazing at him with tightly furrowed brows, feathery lashes blinking in confusion, and stared back.

“So, you're the one behind this?” she breathed, slowly rising to her feet. Even with her frazzled appearance, she appeared stunning. Gleaming olive skin, delicate oval face, surgically enhanced body visible beneath the silk dress she had on.

Her ire rose at his continued silence. “How dare you, Timi Lawson?” The staff behind her stirred, shock replacing apprehension as they gaped at him. “You dare bring men to threaten me? Have you forgotten who I am? Wait till my husband hears about—”

Timi sniggered, pulling off his mask. At her low gasp, he smiled.

“Husband, Rukky? Ain't you getting ahead of yourself? But, please, go on. Call him. I would also like to say hi. Or better still…” He brought out his phone and turned the camera on.

“Why don't I go live? Let everyone see ho w terrible I am for threatening Rukky Tunde, the face behind Sporax Media.”

She backed into her staff, her arm shielding her face from the camera flash.