Page 7

Timi straightened and allowed his desperation to guide his next words.

“I came to you because I want to disappear, sir. And while disappearing, I want to make enough money to see me through the moments before I disappear again. My life has been a series of acts and scenes. Why not make money from it?”

Agu studied him, then signalled to one of his men. The man soon returned with a glass containing a dark liquid.

“Drink,” Agu said .

Timi drank. Resisting the urge to squeeze his face at the bitter, tangy taste. If this was his last drink on earth, so be it. Timi Lawson had to mean something other than the adopted rural weirdo of Dr Jude Lawson.

“You're a strange one,” Agu said. “People usually only want money to fuck, eat, drink, travel.”

“It’s the same thing, sir,” he replied, dropping the glass and wiping his lips with his wrist. “People need money to be who they presently aren’t.”

“I like you, boy. And you have the looks, the height. I’ll help you.”

He braved looking at Agu in his beady eyes. “But…?”

Agu smiled. “Smart. Well, I consider my rates fair. Fifty percent of the gross earnings from whatever project I give to you. Thirty, from your own hustle. For seven years.”

Timi had been prepared for this. Agu's projects weren't small fries. And all he needed was a foot in, then he would show every director he was the best thing since cable TV.

“Sounds fair, sir,” he said.

“I would also want your story, of course.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Your story. I want it.”

Timi tried to look perplexed. “But I introduced myself earlier on to—” Two burly men appeared, gripping his arms and lifting him to his feet.

“Wait, sir, please…” he'd shouted.

Agu eyed the glass he twirled between his fingers. “As I said earlier, Timi Lawson , the reason you're still here is because I recognise a part of myself in you. If this is an audition, don't you think we're in the wrong place and time?”

Timi barely heard his words. His brain still stuck on how Agu had said his name. “How—how did you know?”

Agu smiled again. “Timi Lawson is convenient. Not much thought put into it. A name without root. A perfect cover. Like your disappearing wish. And only someone who has gone through some hell would have your kind of gut.”

So, there, in that red-lit room, Timi had braved rehashing his story. The first time had been to the man who gave him a name, and the second, to the man who made him a name.

One was dead, and the other sat in front of him now, his breath escaping in noisy wheezes.

“I thought the gist blogger person released the greatest shocker for today,” Agu puffed. “The gods must have chosen to honour me. My greatest asset and greatest fighter together under my roof?”

Timi shot Hulk standing beside him a bewildered look. But the man kept his expressionless face in Agu's direction.

Fighter?

“Sit,” Agu said. “I'm eager to hear this story.” He poked the man beside him. “Get some incense. Alabi won't kill me with his Bensons.” Then, he laid Oku across his lap.

As Timi sank into a chair facing Agu, equally eager to understand what the hell was going on, Hulk spoke stiffly. “I'd rather not.” He glanced at Timi. “May I leave you to conduct your business?”

“Wait,” Agu butted in. “And leave me with questions?” He shot Timi a look. “I thought you had your Dagger.”

“I thought so too,” Timi said.

“I'm his personal assistant,” Hulk said.

Agu burst into laughter. “Oh, brilliant. A convenient position to hide under. Personal assistant,” he wheezed.

Timi and Hulk quietly watched the man choke on his mirth, till he realised he was alone in the joke.

“Wait, you're not joking? This man here is your assistant?”

Timi found himself enjoying the whole debacle. “Apparently.”

Agu gaped at Hulk. “You rejected my offer to play assistant to a...mere actor?”

“I did,” Hulk replied, and quite snobbishly, added. “May I leave now?”

“Does he by any chance know what you—”

“I'd appreciate if you kept our dealings private. If there are no more questions, I'll—”

“Sit down,” Timi said quietly .

A tense silence descended, where both men's eyes bore into his skin like lasers.

Timi kept his face forward, heart rate speeding up.

Whether Hulk obeyed or not, he was ending the charade here and now.

His heart gave a little stutter when Hulk's form sank obediently into the chair beside him. He fixed his gaze on Agu.

“Tell me, Agu, what's the play here?”

Agu regarded him with a finger tapping his lips. “I'm aware people sometimes call me a deity, but I assure you, I don't read minds. What play?”

Timi scoffed. “Our contract ends, and you send your people to invade my privacy? Why?”

Hulk stirred in his seat. “No one sent me.”

“No one asked you,” Timi hurled back.

“Son,” Agu called quietly. “Rationality over emotions. Don't forget. Why the hell would I secretly send a spy, then reveal I know them when they show up with you?”

Timi grudgingly admitted he had a point. “Baffles me too,” he muttered.

Agu’s man returned with a lit incense, spreading the welcomed scent of coconut. Agu threw back his head and took a long inhale.

“Between you and him, I can't even tell who has offended me more. You, thinking I'm that sloppy. Or him, belittling my offer by becoming your assistant. What's happening to young men these days? Tell me something, son, how much did you offer him?”

“Enough to make the job worthy,” Hulk replied, before Timi could get a word in.

Agu lowered his head. “I see. So, what brings you to Agu today?”

Whether Timi believed them or not, Agu was clearly done with the subject. He nodded in Hulk's direction. “You may leave.”

They could do whatever. By tomorrow, nothing of today would matter.

When Hulk got to the door, Agu called out. “While you're here, Alexander, why don't you make yourself useful?”

Hulk paused, hand on the handle. “My presence here is my usefulness. You want your own hours; you wait your turn.”

Agu chuckled, almost fondly. “So stubborn. ”

Despite Timi's efforts to remain unaffected, Hulk kept getting more intriguing.

He clearly wasn't like Agu's men who believed the sun shone from his droopy ass.

And Agu didn't treat him with that superior air he effused around people he considered lesser than himself, Timi included.

It had been such a long time since anyone sparked something in him besides polite interest. Heart sinking, he realised he wanted to know the man's story almost as badly as he wanted to disappear.

“I see the Internet has come for you again,” Agu’s voice dragged him back into the room. “And on your day.”

Agu’s man had also left the room. Indicating the meeting wouldn't be as casual as he’d hoped. The queasiness descended heavily.

“The Internet comes for anyone,” he said. “It's…sensitive and without standards.”

Agu laughed for a full minute, before saying, “Interesting rumour though. Very interesting.”

Timi studied him. Agu knew his story alright, but he didn't know it all. Had he dug deeper? Was he cooking something? It would explain why he spoke in that mysterious tone.

“You don't look worried.” Agu peered at him. “Quite frankly, you look like you expected it.”

Timi shrugged. “I expect shit like this all the time. Why should their lies bother me?”

Agu smiled. A humourless baring of painfully white teeth he'd also bragged had been fixed for millions of naira. “Ah. It's alright,” he said. “Thank the gods you have me. Because I have just the perfect solution to bury it all.”

Unease coursed through him. “Thank you for the offer, Agu, but no need. I came here to touch Oku.”

“Ah. But you haven't heard it yet.”

“Coming from you, I'm sure it's brilliant. But the rumours and your solution don't interest me, Agu. I'm here to–”

“When you came to me seven years ago, did you imagine yourself as you are today?”

“Yes.” No .

“Well, I didn't. My imagination has never been confined to the borders of my reality. And you, my friend, are destined to rise above local fame.”

“South Africa, Egypt, Rwanda, Morocco and Co can testify to this rise.”

Agu scoffed. “Africa's recognition? Useless as its political leaders. I'm talking beyond the borders, son. The big wood. Holly–Wood. The food I've been cooking for so long just got served.”

An old ambition stirred. When he was younger, bumping shoulders or even stealing a peck from Denzel Washington seemed to him what paradise was.

Then, he'd met him, and his perception of heaven had become narcissistically fancier.

He wanted to be the one the world dreamed of bumping shoulders with and pecking.

He wanted to be so famous, every trace of him disappeared.

And therein, lay the problem. Coupled with the slow unravelling of the true nature of Agu's businesses.

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.

How he'd survived these seven years without morphing into a ball of misery and guilt.

With every person forced into prostitution, or kilo of white powder making its way across Asian and European borders, or people's dreams crushed and burnt, Timi's fame increased.

He rode on Agu's corrupt wings, eyes wound tight. Sandra Bullock style.

He thought of breaking their agreement several times, courage and honour pumping him up like adrenaline pills. He would, then, remember the past he’d shared, and the lives Agu had destroyed, and be smacked with the difference between wishing for death and actually facing it.

Timi Lawson was a coward. But at least, he could finally stop benefitting from this cowardice.

“Sounds huge,” he said. “Pretty sure Nonso and a host of others will tear themselves to pieces for the role.”

“Ha, but here's the thing, this is you, Timi. This role, the story…the years have been setting you up for it. You have the looks, the charisma, the skill. And above all, the glowing approval of one of the best Hollywood directors.”