Easy Motion Tourist (28 page)

‘Thank you. That would be helpful,’ Amaka said. ‘There’s another thing you can do for me.’

‘What is that?’

‘There is a man, Malik…’

‘Amaka,’ I said.

She turned to me. We looked at each other while everyone waited. Even on a hospital bed, she still had her unyielding look; the look that says, ‘There’s nothing to discuss. I’m having my way.’ I held my ground in the high stakes game of ‘first to blink’. This was not the time to worry about Malik or a dozen other Amadis. She could have died. She needed to rest and recover.

‘It can wait,’ she said, still looking at me. Then she smiled and held out her hand.

The doctor returned to check her with his stethoscope and to look under her eyelids. He said she had been drugged with something that sounded too strange for me to remember, but she was OK now and could go home. She needed to rest and drink a lot of water.

Inspector Ibrahim assigned a police car to us. Amaka, Aunty Baby, and Flavio went back to the hotel with me to pack up my things; I still had a flight to catch.

According to the ticket Sally had emailed to me, my boarding time was in a few hours. Lagos traffic necessitated setting out
early. I didn’t want to leave but Amaka insisted I go.

Aunty Baby and Amaka talked all the way to the airport while Flavio kept nudging me and nodding towards Amaka, and grinning.

I had not spent a moment alone with Amaka since she regained consciousness. Everyone followed me to the gate. I wanted to say something to Amaka but I didn’t know what would be appropriate, or even acceptable.

‘I can curl my tongue.’

‘What?’ she said.

‘I can also sleep with one eye half open. And I once won a spoon race in primary school.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Someone told me that if I had a talent I would stand a better chance of being noticed by you. I’m sure I have an impressive talent hidden away somewhere. Maybe one day I’ll discover it and then you’ll notice me.’

‘You already have a talent, Guy Collins.’

‘I do?’

‘Yes. You are good at tracking down killers and rescuing Amaka.’

She put her arms around my head and pulled my lips to hers. We kissed in the crowded departure lounge, oblivious to watching eyes.

‘Now that you’ve saved me from the evil dragon, are you going to come back soon to claim your princess?’

We kissed again.

Ibrahim still had to write his report before he could finally go home to his wife and kids. He had always had his suspicions about Amadi: the way he courted him and went out of his way to shower him with unrequested gifts. The dollars from the Victoria Island Neighbourhood Association meeting were still in his pocket, but there was no way he could have known that the man was killing people. Who would believe him anyway? It wouldn’t be too hard to find out that the police inspector and the dead killer were friends and they would assume that Ibrahim was his police protection. And the fact that he was the one who shot the man would only be interpreted as disposing of the evidence.

Before Amadi’s body was taken away, Ibrahim removed his wallet, money, and phone from his pockets. It was the phone he was interested in most of all; it would have his number on it, and calls from him, evidence that he was close to the suspect.

He locked himself in his office and left instructions not to be disturbed. He stared at his notebook for several minutes, rolling his pen in his hand and wondering what to put in his report. The more he considered the problem, the more he realised that the solution lay with Amaka. She alone, as far as the case was concerned, could prove that he knew Amadi. Mshelia would understand his predicament, but Amaka would wonder why he wanted her to lie when it came to writing a statement. But she owed him her life; if it came to it, perhaps she would remember that. He made up his mind: he had never met the suspect before. Before he committed anything to paper, he wanted to test it out
on someone. He called the commissioner of police.

‘Hello, Ibrahim? Any news?’

‘Yes, sir. We have found the culprit, sir.’ He held his pen tight in his free hand.

‘What? You have to speak loud. I’m at wedding.’

‘We have found the culprit, sir.’

‘Who?’

‘I do not know, sir.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sir, we followed a lead. The suspect abducted another lady and we trailed him. We ended up exchanging fire and he was fatally wounded.’

‘He is dead?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What is his name?’

‘Sir, I do not know, sir.’

‘What are you saying? How can you not know?’

‘Sir, there was no identification on him.’

Ibrahim listened to the noisy music on the line, resentful that while he had foregone his sleep, the man who had been on his neck all day had the time to attend a party.

While he waited for the commissioner to walk away from the noise, Amadi’s phone began to ring. He picked it up and looked at the screen: ‘Boss.’ It stopped ringing then it started again. He lowered his phone and answered the call. He heard music playing. He lowered the phone and put his own back to his ear, then he lowered his and listened to Amadi’s again. To be sure, he placed both phones to his ears. The same music played through both phones. He ended the call on Amadi’s phone and listened to the live band playing while he waited for the commissioner.

He wrote into his notepad: ‘I did not mention Amadi.’

Amadi’s phone began to ring again.

The police car dropped Amaka at home. Aunty Baby and Flavio wanted her to stay with them but she insisted on going back to her place.

She filled her bathtub, picked a CD from a rack, then shed her clothes, slid into the warm water, and closed her eyes. She lay there until the water turned cold, then she climbed into bed and tried not to think of anything. But she couldn’t stop thinking of Chief Amadi, the bungalow, her girls. And Guy Collins. She couldn’t get him off her mind.

Later, she turned in the bed and buried her face in a pillow. She did not like feeling like this; it made her feel vulnerable.

She tossed and turned until she could only stop herself from screaming. Guy promised to call once he’d landed. She struggled to sleep but she was kept awake by her thoughts alternating between longing for him to call and wishing he wouldn’t.

She kicked the sheets away in exasperation and got out of bed. She checked the time again, got dressed and snatched her car keys off the dressing table. She left her phones behind, something she never did.

She did not have a planned destination when she climbed in her car; she just drove, trying not to think of Guy. At the Awolowo roundabout where she had three choices, she flipped a mental coin and turned left onto the bridge to VI.

She came off the flyover onto the Lekki expressway. The sun blinded her and she flipped the visor down and hissed at forgetting to take her sunglasses. She was close to the home of some family friends but she did not want to turn up without calling first – and she had left her phones at home. She had done it in defiance;
a statement that she was in control. But now, the act itself felt like confirmation that she wasn’t. Why was she afraid, anyway? He liked her, and she liked him too. She really liked him. She shook her head and smiled. She did a U-turn at the next exit and tapped the accelerator pedal to force the automatic gearbox down a gear. She raced to beat the traffic lights ahead.

Her phone was ringing when she walked back in to her house. She rushed into her room and snatched the phone from her bedside stool.

‘Hello lover,’ she said. She lay back onto her bed and closed her eyes, smiling and feeling embarrassed.

‘Hello Amaka,’ a man said, but it wasn’t Guy. She opened her eyes. The voice was deep and low, and the ‘Hello’ was drawn out. ‘I hear you’ve been looking for me. My name is Malik.’

From the first draft to the finished product, a lot of people have helped and contributed in many ways. Special thanks to Souraya Ali Choukeir, Lola Shoneyin, Sofia Alexandrache, Tracy Mann, Bisi Ilaka, Sybilla Wood, Gabriel Gbadamosi, Peter Lawson, Jeremy Nathan, Julian Friedmann, Tolani Ibiduni, Osaretin Oswald Guobadia, Chiekezi Dozie, Najite Dede, Onome Onuma, Cynthia Ogunedo, Yejide Kilanko, Chinapa Aguh, Owi Ochoche, Dipo Agboluaje, Jeremy Weate, Alex Hannaford, Siddhartha Mitter, Kate Haines, and Bibi Bakare-Yusuf, amongst many others.

Title: Easy Motion Tourist

Author: Leye Adenle

Editors: Alex Hannaford & Jeremy Weate

Copy Editor: Kate Haines

Proofreading: Anthea Gordon