Wedding Ops (Fiction Micro-series) Entry 5

Mayokun drove up the shady drive-in. Upfront, there was a road block made up of three large cubes of grey concrete with chalked-in graffiti.

“Park here,” Flavian said. She pulled over a few feet from the blockade. Two uniformed men stood beside a small grey kiosk on the other side, guns hanging from their shoulders.

Their heels knocked and their hands went up in salute when they saw Flavian .

“We walk from here,”He said to Mayokun as his hand shot up in response.

“You should have told me,”She murmured,”I’d have dressed more appropriately.”

“It's a relatively informal location. No pressure.”

“Right.”She murmured tucking her blouse into her jeans and trying to keep up with him.

Soon they came to the front of a house. It was a two-story building with earth tones and wood trimmings. A water fountain was set in the compound next to a wild garden. There was no water in the fountain but somewhere, she could smell damp grass.

They climbed up a few stairs to the front door—twin wooden doors that brought back memories she had pushed into the rearmost parts of her mind. Now she lightly grazed over the memories in her mind. It brought a taste to her mouth. A salty taste that she found hard to swallow. She cleared her throat, exhaled and looked over Flavian’s shoulder at the door. He had a key in the lock. He flushed the handle and the door opened.

“I thought you’d use some face-recognition technology or something,”She whispered,”Well, that was disappointing.”

Flavian ignored her.

The reception area was a dimly-lit large space with a courtyard in the middle. There was no furniture in sight. The floor was grey terrazo and in the center of the floor where they stood was the coat of arms—the horses held up a shield, standing on a lush green tuft, on top of the shield an eagle stood proudly looking into the distance.

Flavian walked to a door on the far right side of the hall and held it open for her, “Please.”

It was a stairwell painted with cream gloss.

“I guess an elevator is out of the question.”She murmured.

They took the stairs up.

“I think I’m dead.”Mayokun panted has she held on to the wooden banister on the fourth floor.

“Mental note: Fitness. Zero.”

“Four is usually my limit. I'm a stallion on two,”She wheezed.

His expression had grown more serious since they drove through the gates but now his eyes glimmered lightly from amusement.

“Come on. A few more flights.”He said, bounding off the stairs.

They made it to the sixth floor and walked along a narrow corridor girded on both sides by offices.

He knocked on the door at the end of the hall.

“Enter.”

“Agent.”A man sitting behind a small desk acknowledged Flavian. His glasses sat on the tip of his long nose. His perfectly round head was shaved clean and shone healthily even in the dull light. He wore a shirt and a skinny knotted tie.

“Who is this?”The man nodded towards Mayokun.

“My Uber,”Flavian responded as he walked towards the inner office.

“Beg your pardon. Agent. Your lack of protocol can endanger us all. Who should we expect next? Your laundry man?”

“Buzz me in, Olu.”

“Well, I need to check her in properly—”

“Olu,”A voice came from somewhere in front of the ranting secretary.

“Madam?”

“Get her a visitor’s badge— ” He quickly picked up a receiver and listened to the rest of his instructions.

“Ma.”He responded over and over.

“Ms. Lawson will see you, first,”Olu said grudgingly to Flavian when he hung up.

A loud buzzing sound echoed and the door popped open off the locks.

Olu handed Mayokun a badge. He was tall and lanky and the helm of his trousers seemed to run away from his ankles. They flapped as he went back to his seat.

Mayokun sat in the leather arm chair. Two large metal cabinets flagged the man on both sides. He stared into a computer screen. Next to the computer screen was a telephone, a strange machine, a stapler, a box of loose memo sheets, a mug and a small cup of paper clips.

The phone rang.

“Ma,” He said at the end of the call.

“You may go in,”He said to Mayokun still sulking.

Mayokun walked into the office. The only light in the room came from a projector. There were photos on the wall—a satellite image of something she couldn’t make out and the silhouette of a man.

Mayokun strained her eyes in the dark. Ms. Lawal was a short woman, with a tight pony tail.

The image of a man appeared on the screen, he was dressed in black native, safari style. His fleshy neck piled on the collar of the shirt. “That’s your target. Morris King,” She was saying, barely noticing Mayokun, “Don’t get excited, it’s an alias.”She said drily, “His real name is Makinde Lawson.”

”Business man. Dabbles here and there. He made a fortune during the military era from pharmaceuticals, oil and timber. He currently sponsors seasonal small cell groups which cause unrest during elections. Off-season, he sponsors a small insurgent group called the Alakia boys. Alakia has recently been absorbed by the Walata group.”

Walata.

Mayokun gasped.

“Should I be here?” Mayokun whispered to no one.

Ms Lawal continued speaking, “Walata is planning an attack. We do not know where,” She paused, then picked up pace like she was suddenly in a hurry, “Arial surveillance is completely ineffective as they have moved locations to the caves within the Jambila region, shrouded in thickets of vegetation. King is a paranoid man. He uses an old Samsung B319 cell phone. He keeps the names of the key persons on the phone. In notes.”

”B319 kwa,”Mayokun chuckled.

“Do you have some insight?” Ms Lawal asked, her eyes pierced in the dark.

Mayokun shook her head.

“We need that phone. It never leaves his front pocket. I need it to be as natural, hiccup, blood, and drama-free as possible.”

“If there’s a pocket involved, we will have it. I’ve seen Ms. Ladiran work. She doesn’t miss a beat.”

“Good. Target is in South Africa for a wedding. His niece’s. Ms. Ladiran you will find your way to South Africa, expenses, extraction are all on you for now, to avoid any suspicion. When you are successful you will be reimbursed. Understood?”

“Ah!”Mayokun exclaimed, “On me, how?”

Flavian shot her a look. “Understood.”She said, “But first I need one thing from you. Call it my sign-up bonus.”

“What?”Ms Lawson crossed her arms.

“I need a partner.”

“Right?” Flavian said.

“ Agent—“Ms Lawal started.

“ Not Flavian. My real partner. My cousin, Fali. She is being held for ransom by someone.”

”That’s not a problem, Ms. Ladiran,”She said, “You’ll have your partner. However, we would appreciate discretion. The circle is us three. No more.”

“That will be all,”Ms Lawal said abruptly, walking out of the light of the projector into the darkness and out a back door.

Her voice called out, “Training starts 4AM.”

The door shut behind her.

“Training ke?”Mayokun looked at Flavian.

“This is going to be fun.”

She could hear the mirth in his voice.

To be continued (tomorrow)

Wedding Ops (Fiction Micro-series) Entry 3

Hustle Town

​​​​The key to a friendly robbery is stealth. Mayokun watched as the bride, groom and their bridal party gyrated to a familiar  tune from the 90s. Obesere—yes, that was the sound. The singer’s quick tempo had set the room on fire—bank notes flew like confetti, soft wisps of  dry ice covered the floor, giving the dance floor an ethereal, celestial look. The bridesmaids had broken up into dancing pairs, throwing their shoulders forward and back, and leaping around, straining their restless legs against the shiny fabric of their dainty dresses. Mayokun pretended to take photos of the dancers from her seat; through her phone camera lenses, she scouted. Guests gathered around the newly weds throwing bills at the couple. The notes got caught in curls of hair, in tulle, stuck on the bride’s sweaty face, some gathered at her helm. Mayokun watched the “sprayers” closely. There were the one-time sprayers who had changed a thousand Naira into smaller notes; there were those who threw higher bills of cash but with a civil flick of the wrist, wiggled their bodies in slow lazy sways and went to sit; there were the ones who reveled occasionally in the act, going back only when their favorite track came on, with a new wad of cash to throw at the newly weds. Then there was the odd uncle who didn’t dance, but moved in a quick two-step shuffle to the couple, sprayed and went back to his seat. He usually was generous.

​​She remembered when she was younger, she’d pay a friend to go in between all those dancing legs and gather some money. The dry ice would have been the ultimate cover. Her job was to look out and rescue. On Saturdays, they made a little under two thousand Naira, party hopping across the mainland.

​​The cardinal rule was never steal from the poor—they took things too personally. The lynching, the rubber tyres, the kerosene and matches appeared too quickly—they lived for the day of the thief. 

​​She remembered walking through Tejuoso market as a little girl, holding on to her mother’s hand. The mob dragged a woman along on the floor, tore off her clothes until she was dressed in a long off-white shimi. Even though Mayokun was four, she could sense that death loomed. That night she cried herself to sleep. The poor woman didn’t deserve to be harassed so much because she stole one small mackerel. She never knew what happened to the woman but she knew when the rubber tyres appeared, mother grabbed her and made a dash in the opposite direction, the mob sounds and the woman’s yells in the distance. 

​​“Don’t ever steal from the poor” Mother had said that night, as she unwrapped her wrapper and unfolded several crumpled notes of money, a few odd potatoes, a few onions, five fingers of okra, a little bag of powdered milk and a tiny bulb of sugar tied in a transparent nylon. At first, when she’d see mother pilfer, she thought her eyes played games. 

​​Then at night, mother would place the goods on a round wooden tray, balance it on her head and walk the streets, selling as much petty stolen items as possible. Mother soon adopted her sister’s baby, Falilah, who was only a year younger than Mayokun—when Aunty Peju ran off with a Ghanian man to Cotonou in the late 80s. She died a year later from an illness. By then, mother had gotten her own retail shop selling provisions. They moved into a one-bed apartment and by then, Falilah and Mayokun had became inseparable. 

​​Mayokun looked away from her screen at her target. He chatted calmly with two other men dressed in the navy blue-red caps and white natives of the day. He was dressed regally in a brilliant white agbada, his short-sleeved  buba exposed his wrist and a brown strapped leather watch with a gold face. The watch was tightly bound to his wrist. That surely was a problem, what happened to good old chain watches? 

​​A good target for a friendly robbery was someone who was deep in conversation—still not too deep, a person engaged in friendly banter or even the uninterested party, usually a man whose eyes would easily follow the gentle roll of her hips. Women were another production. The older they got, the harder it became to steal from them. She chose not to engage in the battle of the sixth sense with women. Old pervs, any day. 

​​Mayokun made her way to the prize—go big, girl. She had to get Falilat back tonight. 

​​“Mayokun,” A voice said.

​​She looked to her left. It was that guy again—Flavour. Florian?

​​It was crunch time. She balanced on five-inch heels and stepped around him, pushing her long curls out of her face.

​​“Hi.” She said hastily. There was no way she was sleeping with Otunba.

​​“It’s Flavian”

​​“Yes, Flavian. How have you been?” Her eyes fluttered to the door, through which the target had walked through.

​​“Great. You? Good thing no IV’s are required at Siji and Mayowa’s wedding. Vibrant pair”, He threw his head in the direction of the couple and their howling, gyrating mob, “Which one of them do you know?” There they were again. Those eyes.

​​“Siji” She said quickly. In the distance, the target was talking to someone. 

​​“Really? How do you know Siji?”

​​“We went to school together.”

​​“Really? What school?” 

​​“Primary school.” She said through her teeth. 

​​“No kidding! I was in the same primary school. What set?” Her heart thumped. She breathed deeply to calm herself. 

​​“I don’t remember that far back. I hated school. I was bullied, blocked all that out now,” She said in a breath.

​​Mayokun watched the target walk back into the room, flanked by three men keeping up with him, his agbada rustling as he threw its arms up his shoulder. 

“But you remember the anthem?”He was grinning now.

“At all. I know the tune on a recorder though. Lyrics have never been a strong point. A few of us girls learnt it and played it when the governor visited,”She watched as the target made his way to his seat.

​​“No joke” Flavian said drily, “Girls, huh? That’s odd, considering Siji and I went to a boys-only boarding school in Nairobi.”

​​The anger spewed,“Yeah, so what if I party-crashed. I’m not the married person preying on single girls at weddings. Please leave me alone.” She hissed.

​​She pushed by him and stalked towards the door, tilting past merrymakers. She flung her hair over her shoulder, smoothened her skirt and picked up pace. In the crazed haste, her elbow rammed into someone. 

​​“Yee!” The person exclaimed. Mayokun looked just in time to see the plate of vegetables fall out of the waiter’s hand into the lap of a seated older man. 

​​“Dear Lord.” A voice said.

​​“Oh no! I’m so sorry sir.” She stumbled slightly in her shoes.

​​The older man stood to his feet, offered her an arm till she was steady, then flicked his clothing so the food poured into his plate from his buba. 

​​Mayokun curtsied. “I’m so sorry sir.”

“​​No problem, my dear. I probably will never wear it again anyway. Not with all the Aso ebi my wife has lined up for me until the end of time.” He laughed. 

​​Mayokun smiled. 

​​“Sir, I would offer to pay for dry cleaning but—”

​​“Not to worry yourself at all, young lady. Please. You are my guest. Any money to be paid comes from my account, as the father of the bride. It doesn’t stop,” The old man said with good-natured laugh.

​​Mayokun hesitated. 

​​Father of the bride?

​​The man tapped her shoulder, “Ti e na a de o! Soon we will celebrate yours!” He excused himself, threw his agbada over his shoulder and walked away with three people waiting to help him with his outfit. His wife appeared and followed, hysterical at the mess. 

​​Mayokun sighed, she pulled her phone out and put it to her ear, straining through the loud music to hear it ring. 

​​”Oga Matthew, abeg pick me at the Chicken Republic down the road.” 

​​“Just stay on the road, I can’t turn off the engine of Fali’s car.”

​​”No problem.”

​​Her heart tugged. She missed that crazy girl driving that crazy car. 

​​She slid into her purse the wallet and brown leather watch she had swiped from the old man and made her way out of the venue. 

​​He was a kinder target than she cared for but it wasn’t time to be sentimental. She needed to get her cousin back. 

​​Just then her phone beeped. She glanced at it. A message from Fali. She opened it quickly.

​​A photo stared back at her. Her cousin was gagged, her hair disheveled, eyes wide. A silhouette framed the photo in the back looming over her. 

Less than 24 hours. The text said.

She glanced at her watch. Eighteen hours really.

She needed a miracle. Some magic. She knew just who to call.

​​To be continued…

Wedding Ops (Fiction) : Entry 1

Wedding Guest

“Falilat!”Mayokun snapped above the rumble of a near-by generator into her cell phone,“Where are you?” She wiped the sweat trickling down the side of her face with the back of her hand. It was mid-February and she could feel herself drowning in the aso-ebi-gele-unfriendly-humid Lagos heat. More guests were arriving in the navy blue fabric colors of the day and from the tent venue, she could hear the band playing rambunctiously after a brief pause during which they announced the arrival of a surprise performer. Time was running out. Mayokun peeped through the tent flap as a hostess held it up for an elderly guest. Neck stretched, eyes strained, she glimpsed chandeliers speckled with gold lights, and in the distance a rush of white stood in front of the famous nine-tier cake made by Modesta cakes—the whole of Lagos hadn’t stopped talking about it for the past hour on social media.“Fali? The bride and groom are already cutting the cake. Where are you, jo?” She took a decisive step towards the tent, but a large body dressed in black filled the space between her and the tent. Her scowl eased into a charming smile as the security man blocked her view.

Fali muttered that she was on her way. She had just found a parking spot somewhere up the road. It after all was Otunba Kujore’s fifth daughter’s wedding and Lagos rippled with unrestrained excitement. The onilus gathered in droves, the beggars lined the street, the police trucks dotted the area. The security men stood at all entrances to the event—all of them decked in bulky strap-on bullet-proof vests, a radio piece hung from their ears to their cheeks, the butts of their huge guns tucked in the crook of their arms.

“Just hurry”, She hung up and slipped her phone into her oversized purse. Mayokun eyed the security man, he was tall with bulky muscles taut against the sleeve of his short sleeve shirt. She eyed the gun on his side and stared past him into the tent auditorium. The gust of conditioned air leaked through the tent flaps on occasion, licking the sweat from her skin. From the entrance, she could see chandeliers hanging, all glittering in gold against the white canopy walls. She spied a few waiters dressed in crisp white shirts, black slacks and wine waist coats balancing sparkling glasses of champagne on silver trays. Her tongue tingled from imaginary bubbles from a sip of the sparkling gold liquid.

Mayokun turned to the security man again, her eyes narrowed and a coy smile on her face.

“Oga boss.”

His full lips remained unsmiling.

“Do you have your invitation now?” He raised a brow over the edge of his spider sunglasses.

“No. But I promise you I am on that list. Bimmy just forgot to scribble me in. I swear.” Her laugh rung hollow. A few women glided by them waving their invitations in the man’s face.

He stepped aside and let them by, then stepped back into position.

Her reflection in his sunglasses was flattering—her bosom looked triple their size in her glimmery navy blue off-shoulder dress which she had worn a few times to different weddings. It bore a striking resemblance to the aso ebi of the wedding and only if you owned the original would you know hers wasn’t. A large costume necklace sat precariously where her breasts met, an oversized purse under her arm and her lipstick-puckered lips pouted.

She turned her head to the side using the glasses as a mirror.

Now all she had to do was make it past this wall of muscle.

“Oga, please just this one time. We came all the way from Ikorodu for this. Please.”

“That’s a long way to travel without your I.V.”He said drily.

She ignored his condescension.

“Yes, well, an oversight. Please now. Think about your own wife, now, Oga,” She whined,“if she had to travel all the way for a wedding only to be turned away at the gate. Oga, please now.” She smiled.

“I don’t have a wife.” He shrugged.

“It’s no wonder,”She mumbled as she turned her face to the side and coughed.

“There you are, darling.”

Just then, she felt a hand rub the small of her back.

She smelt him first, it was an intense fragrance that made her think of a heavily aromaticized chewing stick—a woody, spicy scent. Affluence. It made her giddy. The fragrance filled the back of her throat and she swallowed.

“Let’s go in. I found the IV.” The man handed the invitation to the guard. He looked at it. She looked up at the stranger.

He was about a foot taller than she was. He had a short beard cut close to his chin which rose to his sideburns and faded into his hairline. He was dressed in the navy colored buba and sokoto of the day. A silver necklace glimmered and peeked from beneath the neckline of the buba.

“So you are Mr and Mrs. Flavian Obade?” The security man’s brows lifted above his glasses.

“Since 2013.” The man rubbed Mayokun’s arm, looking into her bewildered face momentarily and back at the guard.

The security guy stepped aside. Her knight held the tent flap as Mayokun wobbled in—her feet coming alive after standing in heels for almost half an hour.

“Na wa”,She hissed at the security man when she was well out of earshot. More people came in after her. The knight was still stuck holding the flap for more guests. A waiter came her way, “Some canapés, Ma?”

“What’s this?” She poked the heart shaped pastry.

“Fried sugared dough.”

“Puff puff?”

“Yes.”

“These rich people sha. Next time, leave the puff puff round biko.” She complained as she picked four picks of puffpuff and waved him away. She caught her breath as she looked around, everything glittered in hues of gold and navy, the guests sat in rows of brilliant, navy blue fabric. The men wore mustard caps with a strip of grey and the women wore mustard geles in the new mushroom wrap-around style.

The decor was a combination of blush pink flower center pieces, some hung from the ceiling, some sprouted from the floor, some crawled along the walls. Waiters fleeted around, trays with velveteen navy napkin and curvy goblets sparkling with gold liquid floated by. Mayokun grabbed one and headed off into the reception area.

“Um…you’re welcome.” The voice said.

She turned around at the sound of his voice. She had completely forgotten about him. Her knight.

Her married knight.

“Oh thank you, Mr…Ohb..” She held out her hand, which he took.

“Call me Flavian.”

She felt uneasy under his gaze, and the full intensity of it. His eyes were large, the darkness in them left her feeling bare— like he knew.

“Your wife must be seated already. Thank you again.”

She turned to go but he held on to her hand.

“Is that all?”He asked.

“Yes, it is. I’m not sure what you were expecting.” She chuckled uneasily. His eyes tapered slightly at the ends and they seemed hooded under his lashes and brows.

“At the very least your name?”

“Why?” Somehow her hand was still in his, and it seemed relaxed and willing to be there.

She looked around, and removed it quickly like his hands held coals. Any moment now, some woman would shove her head at an angle and call her husband-snatcher and ruin everything she and Fali has planned.

“Don’t you have a Mrs. Fabian to get to?”

“No, I don’t. And it’s Flavian.”

The nerve! His wife was at the party and he was here, trying to be cute. Insane, these Lagos men.

She pressed irritably, “The invitation card was addressed to you and a spouse.”

“Your name?”He asked her again.

“Mayokun.”

“What do your friends call you?”

“Mayokun”, She tapped her foot impatiently, threw back her drink and looked around for Fali. Just then her phone began to vibrate. It was Fali. “It’s my cousin,” She excused herself.

Flavian. He sounded like a bottled water brand. She threw a glance at him. Tall drink of water. Married tall drink of Flavian water more like.

“Where are you?”Falilat asked.

“I’m inside.”

“How did you get in?!”

“My E cup”, Mayokun chuckled.

Fali hissed.

“Better get that push-up I recommended. Walking around like TD board. This Lagos, shine your eye and buy a push-up.” She muttered into her phone.

“Shut up and get started. I parked near the primary school. Some guys are watching the car for me.”

“Thought you said if you turned off the engine it wouldn’t start again?”

“Yup. Paid one of them to keep it running. So let’s make it a quick one. I’ll work outside.”

“Make enough to buy us a new car.”

“Amen. Later.” She slipped her phone into her oversized purse.

Flavian was momentarily occupied with a chat with an elderly couple.

Mayokun turned to the reception swarming with old dignitaries and their trophy wives. The younger crowd were distracted by their screens looking for the right pose, the right pout for a selfie and refreshed their pages for more like updates. Mayokun slid into the crowd, holding her empty glass in one hand, her oversized purse under her arm, she squeezed by two older gentlemen, who made all the space they could for her while momentarily confused and enthralled by her bosom. Her fingers slid effortlessly into the pocket of the taller man, as he had a better view of her neckline. In a moment, she was gone. The tall man whispered something to his shorter friend, a smirk on his lips as they watched her walk away. He wouldn’t realize his wallet was missing until later when he ordered his driver to stop and buy him some garden eggs and groundnut on their way home, by then Mayokun and Fali had discarded the seasoned leather wallet on some bush path in Ikorodu, along with numerous others.

“How much from today?” Fali asked, as she turned off the road into their neighborhood.

“Seventy thousand naira. Five hundred dollars.”

“Kai! This cashless Lagos nonsense. Remember when we could rake like 250 grand from one party.”

“I know”, Mayokun hissed.

But neither girl was aware of the lone car that followed them back to their home.

The driver watched as they sang along with their radio. Mayokun threw her hands up in a celebratory dance to Olamide’s textured voice oozing from the speakers.

The tailing car eased in behind them with little sound once they were parked. The driver leaned over the passenger’s seat, drew a pistol from the glove compartment and opened the door.

to be continued…