"I wasn't sure you'd win," Lemu says from across the table.
He took me out to get something to eat to celebrate my win. We sit across from each other in a lounge not too far from the garage. The sun is setting, and the air in here is a smoky haze. There's a football match on the TV, and it's got the other people here riled up, so I have to talk above them to be heard.
"Well, you trained me well," I say with a smirk.
"Looks like the fight got you hungry."
I've got a plate filled with bones in front of me—the remnants of the Isiewu (a dish made from a goat's head) he bought for me. Got a bottle of soda to wash it all down.
"Well, it's because you people feed us scraps in that dormitory."
"You know it's to push people to do anything to climb the rankings. But to some, those scraps are a lot better than what they had where we picked them from," he responds, taking a sip of the beer he ordered.
He might not look It, but he has a sharp mind—one that's helped him rise in this business of ours. He's an executive. The only people above him are the boss's trusted men—and the boss himself.
"So what happens now that I'm an enforcer?"
"Well, since I'm the one who recruited you, you'll be reporting to me. I'll assign you tasks, and you'll do them. Your pack is under your management. Now that they've produced an enforcer, they'll be moved to a nicer dorm. Still a shithole—just a nicer one.
You have the liberty to recruit new members. You'll be moving to a new place soon, and since I like you, I made sure it's furnished. You can thank me later.
You'll start earning about two hundred thousand once you begin working. There'll be bonuses when you do something bonus-worthy. You'll also get a car from the garage, but seeing as you like that bike so much, I'd advise you to let your boys use it for deliveries," he says with a jovial smile.
"Housing, a car, and a six-figure salary. Almost sounds like a respectable job."
"This is where the real work starts in this business of ours. This is your last chance, if you want to turn back."
"What do you mean?"
Lemu knows about my past, but he's never brought it up. I thought it didn't matter to him.
"You can still go back home. I don't know why you ran away, but you had a home—something a lot of these kids here don't have. You should go back, finish school, and have a good life.
There isn't any light at the end of this tunnel."
There's a seriousness in his tone.
"What if it's the light I'm hiding from?"
"Okay then."
He sounds satisfied with my response.
I stand up, ready to go, then look back at him.
"Why are you doing all this for me? You put a lot of effort into making me an enforcer. Nobody becomes one this soon—and definitely not this young."
"I'm just collecting competent people to help me with my own goals."
He has a sly grin on his face. I don't know what's going on in that head of his, but I know he's positioned me on his chessboard.
"Hmm." That's all I say, then I leave.
I go out to the front where my bike is parked: a 2500cc triple engine, black leather seating, with a blue paint job. I took it from the person I killed. It used to be red, but I changed that—switched out the license plate so it couldn't be traced.
My pack would say it's haunted and that it'll get me killed, but I find myself drawn to the death machine.
I put on my helmet, get on the bike, and I'm moving.
The streets of Abuja at night are breathtaking—lights on every corner, roads that seem to stretch endlessly. Buildings tower overhead, forming the beautiful Abuja skyline as I zip through Maitama.
I accelerate, letting the wind hit me, feeling the energy rush through me as I gain speed. This feeling is intoxicating. Adrenaline pumps through me as I swerve between cars, death's grip making my shoulders tense, heart pounding fast.
It's in moments like this that I don't think of the night of the fire.
It seems it's only when I'm flirting with death that my demons leave me alone.
I lie on my back, staring up at my uncle's house. It's an aesthetically beautiful thing, putting all the neighboring houses to shame—a compound with far too much space for just him, his wife, and two small children. The gates are solid, with no slits for outsiders to peek through. But I remember what's inside: gardens lining a driveway paved with grey tiles, a modern architectural design with five bedrooms and a pool tucked away at the back.
My father was a journalist. We were well off, but our home was much simpler compared to this.
I came here because I wanted to see my uncle. Once I become an Enforcer, there's no coming back. I had to say goodbye. But now, standing in front of the house, I can't bring myself to ring the doorbell. Maybe I should just go back.
"Kosi."
I hear the voice call me by the name my mother gave me.
"Uncle Raymond."
He's sweaty, dressed in a tank top, joggers, and running shoes, jogging toward me from down the street. I guess he went out for a night run.
"It's good to see you. You're looking good," he says, moving closer. His figure comes into proper view as the streetlight hits him. Age seems to suit him—he looks more handsome with each passing year. He's about a head shorter than me but still maintains a strong build. His hair is grey now, but it's still full.
"Nice bike. How many cc?"
"It's stolen," I say, a sharp edge in my voice.
"Why don't you come inside? I'm sure there's something to eat," he offers, now just a meter away. I can see it in his eyes—he's still trying to help me. Maybe he thinks he failed his brother. That his nephew is out here in the streets, surviving by means only God knows. I guess he can see the hollowness in my cheeks.
"I was just in the area. Now that I've seen you, I'll be going. Extend my greetings to Aunt," I say, mounting my bike and pulling on my helmet, ready to take off.
"Why won't you just let me help you? Kosi, I'm trying to do what's best for you. My nephew shouldn't be out on the streets stealing bikes. God knows what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into."
He doesn't know the half of it.
"You don't owe it to my parents to take care of me. It was an accident. You don't need to take responsibility for the child they left behind." The bitterness in my voice is clear.
"It wasn't an accident."
I almost don't register the words he just said. But when I do, I freeze.
I remove my helmet slowly. "What did you say?" The shock is written plainly on my face.
"I wanted to keep this from you… but you deserve the truth." He sighs. "Come inside. We need to talk."