In Search For Alice, Peter Abel Fakes Interest In A Prostitute

18 Jul In Search For Alice, Peter Abel Fakes Interest In A Prostitute

Eight o’clock the following evening, Abel prepared to meet Dupe. He stood before the full-length mirror, admiring his boyish looks. He was dressed in a striped yellow shirt, which he had tucked into his black trousers. He smiled at the image and muttered, “Cool, man”.

But clothes and style only took you so far. Abel reminded himself that his real strength lay in his charm and intelligence.

Ikomma had done some early reconnaissance, confirming Dupe’s location. And he confirmed she would be working her usual street corner that night.

As Abel polished his black leather shoes, he remembered his early days in journalism, when he celebrated every big story with booze and all manner of women. He had enjoyed himself, but felt a vague sense of guilt. Knowing the tragedy which brought these girls to that particular lifestyle now made him ashamed. He wondered if this crusade was partly driven by the guilt over his past indiscretions.

Abel was ready by eight-thirty. Just as he started out the door, a sudden flash of lightening cut through the night sky, lighting up his living room. It was followed by a loud thunderclap. Abel rushed to the window and looked outside. The rain clouds, invisible in the darkness, threatened the meeting he hoped would provide him a lead. A sudden storm with the inevitably flooded streets could drive the girl indoors. Dupe might simply write the night off and go home. Hookers and rain didn’t mix when their office was a street corner.

Despite another flash of lightening and its attendant thunderclap, Abel resolved to try, anyway. He didn’t want to waste more time, and meeting her as a potential customer was much better than a direct approach. He grabbed an umbrella and dashed to his SUV.

Once safely inside, Abel put an old Miles Davis CD into the changer. Sketches of Spain. It was one of Abel’s favourite albums. The master was smooth and cool. His music spoke pure confidence as he improvised his way through each piece. Abel felt himself relax, but not because of the music. It was the performance. Abel thought he had a lot in common with a jazz musician; making his moves up on the fly, cool under pressure, always in control. Abel smiled and tapped the steering wheel as the SUV hurtled down the wet road.

Abel’s concerns about the weather evaporated when the rain departed as quickly as it had arrived. His SUV moved easily through traffic. Cars all around him cruised down the main thoroughfares, their passengers in search of Lagos nightlife. But he was on a different mission.

As Abel veered off Adeola Odeku onto Sanusi Fafunwa Street, he saw several girls working the corners. But he didn’t see the girl Ikomma had described. Then as he made his third trip around the block, he saw her emerging from a small shop, coffee cup in hand. He could not mistake the dark plump lady in a tight-fitting black blouse over a red mini skirt which struggled to contain her enormous bum.

She flashed a smile as Abel pulled to a stop next to her.

“Are you at work?” Abel asked, the Miles Davis CD still playing.

“Wouldn’t be standing in the cold for nothing, dear.”

She wasn’t very old in years, but experience had given her the air of a decrepit piece of architecture, crumbling under some enormous burden, fit no longer for habitation, existing only because nobody had bothered to tear it down. A ruined wasted life.

Abel blinked. It was hard to believe that the woman who smiled at him without joy or warmth had not so long ago been a happy, innocent child. He forced a smile.

“Okay, hop in. You are my girl tonight.” He opened the passenger side door.

She walked coquettishly to the other side of his SUV, tossed away her coffee cup and lowered her heavy frame into the seat. Her perfume, which Abel could not place, was sensuous but applied so heavily it almost made him sneeze.

“Thanks. I love being warm.”

“I’m Peter. And you’re most welcome.”

Abel held out his hand. Dupe saw the gesture and broke into a laugh.

“A gentleman. I am Dupe, and you’ve made a good choice.” She grinned.

“What u gat?” He blurted out. Abel had no idea if this was proper procedure, but he figured she’d let him know if he went astray.

“I’m an expert in blow-jobs and, honey, I will blow your head off.”

“Sounds good to me.” He started the car.

“So where we going?” she asked.

“If you have a good place, I like away matches”, he said.

“Fine”, she said. “But you pay more.”

It struck Abel that his meeting with the spiritualist hadn’t been much different. It didn’t take either one very long to ask for money.

“How much will this cost?” He tapped her on the thighs.

“Usual rate 30K, but my place, additional 20K.”

“Like a rent tax.”

The girl laughed.

“Yeah. My rent.” She turned serious. “And no warm-ups in the car. Know what I mean? You keep your eyes on the road. I got hot legs and don’t want ‘em getting broken up a in crash.”

“Fair enough. So, where do you live?”

“Muri Street in Surulere.”

They rode in silence for most of the trip. The girl looked blankly out the window speaking only to give him directions. The faux charm she’d displayed a few minutes before had completely disappeared. She wasn’t being paid for this part of the night, and she had withdrawn into her own world.  Abel was shaken by the encounter and nothing had even happened yet. He turned up the CD, trying to learn something about being cool from the master. The girl didn’t seem to notice the music.

**********

Surulere was notorious for traffic jams day and night. It was full of hot spots, and the streets were crowded with casually dressed young men and women out for a good time. They passed fast food joints and kebab spots and bars that blared live music. They turned a corner where skimpily dressed ladies waited for clients. Dupe grunted.

“I’m better, honey”, was all she said. There was no rancour in the comment. It was simply an objective assessment of the competition. The girl viewed the world with a complete detachment, everything a matter of procedure. Nothing touched her. As Abel glanced at Dupe, he worried there might be no way to reach such a creature.

Muri Street, some 30 minutes from the ever-busy Adeniran Ogunsanya Street, was a residential area and therefore quiet this time of night. The street itself was bare, dusty and bumpy – more suitable for commercial motorbikes than cars. Like a stream, the bikes meandered around the bad patches, sometimes at top speed, which suggested the drivers were familiar with the terrain.

10 Muri Street was a series of six flats, but only the three on the ground floor had been completed. Piles of sand and cinder blocks took up most of the space in the fenced compound. Abel manoeuvred his SUV through the yard and found an empty spot in front of Dupe’s place.

Dupe started to open the SUV door, but stopped abruptly, turning toward her customer.

“I hope you are not staying overnight. My flatmate comes home in three hours.” She looked at her slim Citizen wrist watch. No romance in this encounter. Sex regulated by money and performed in specific increments of time.

“Not to worry, Dupe”, Abel said exiting the SUV. Cool, soothing air hit his face, making him take a deep breath. Despite her excessive weight, Dupe walked at a brisk pace. She led him up the steps and to the front door, smiling at him as she unlocked it. They entered without speaking.

The living room, with three brown sofas arranged around a glass centre table, still smelled of fresh paint.

“Relax. Take a seat.”

Abel slumped into the sofa nearest the front door and crossed his legs, trying to appear casual. “I guess we should have stopped somewhere for a drink or two …”

“Yeah, except that you have been behaving like a guy who’s sex starved.  Is your wife lazy?”

“You have anything to drink?” Abel ignored her question.

“Yeah.” She waddled to the giant double-door fridge beside a dining table. “And what would you have?”

“Cans of stout. Just keep them coming.”

“Never seen a handsome man so starved.” She giggled as she brought two cans and sat on the sofa next to Abel.

He eyed the blue-coloured draperies. “I like those”, he said, trying to sound casual. Instead, he sounded lame. Abel winced inwardly at the inane comment. Miles would be ashamed of him. The remark was not cool and not in control.

“Yeah, we’re trying to make this place as comfortable as possible, you know? But it’s gonna be gradual.”

Abel was relieved she hadn’t commented on his awkward attempt to make conversation. She was probably used to men like him. Or she might be dense. Or she might not care what he was feeling. Money and sex. That was the extent of her interest in him. No, that wasn’t right. Money was the extent of her interest. Sex was simply a means to an end.

She broke the lids of both cans and gave one to Abel. “Cheers.”

“Cheers”, Abel said. He grinned, feeling dumber by the minute.

After a few seconds, Dupe stood up.

“Okay, let’s move to my bedroom.”

Abel guessed that meant the cocktail hour was over. She held out her hand. He thought she was offering to lead him to the bedroom, a gesture of intimacy. But then she spoke.

“Cash in advance.”  Nice, cosy touch.

Abel had packaged his money carefully for this assignment. He drew a blue envelope from his left pocket and handed it at her. “Fifty K, but you have the opportunity to earn more.”

She ran a finger around her nipple, which was visible through the tight blouse. Apparently, she was back on display.

“Just be sure you have some breath left to call 911 when I finish with you”, she teased as she counted the money. “Wait here a sec.”

She trotted to an adjoining room. Abel could hear her kicking off her shoes, unzipping the skirt and removing other clothing. She returned, stripped down to her underpants.

Cupping her voluptuous breasts in her hands she grinned at him naughtily. Her white lace panties were so small, they barely covered the bushy pubic area.

“You look dashing”, Abel said. He locked his eyes on her pubic region and caressed the can in his right hand.

Abel was doing his best to get into the part, but it was difficult for him to generate even feigned interest in this sad, overweight girl. Dupe sensed a problem.

She walked over impatiently. “Don’t tell me you are the slow-to-start type.” She sank to her knees, her enormous breasts spread on his thighs as she stroked the groin area of his trousers.

Abel knew he only had so much time with the girl, so he put a hand on her arm. “Dupe, please get up and let’s talk a minute.”

Abel moved to the sofa as Dupe followed, obviously puzzled.

“There’s a time limit here don’t forget”, she said. She lumbered onto the sofa opposite him. This wasn’t part of the routine, and it clearly wasn’t sitting well. Abel guessed he was breaking a lot of unspoken rules.

“Dupe, it is difficult for a man to resist you, but we have to talk first.”

Dupe reached across and put her hand on his erectionless crotch.

“You’re doing a pretty good job of resisting. Limp as a punctured balloon. You’re not one of those guys who only gets off if someone talks dirty are you?  ’Cause I use my tongue better for other things.”

Abel couldn’t stall much longer, so he decided to lay his cards on the table and hope he wouldn’t scare Dupe off.

“No. But I’m not here for a blow job.”

Dupe suddenly looked concerned. “Shit, you’re not a cop are you?”

“No. I’m here about Alice, your friend …”

“Heeeeei!” She leapt up, fuming. “Alice, Alice all the time, all the men, what has she got that I don’t have?” She turned to display her breasts and buttocks. Abel noticed that her big tummy distorted the curves she was trying to showcase.

“Calm down”, Abel pleaded with her. It was the first time she’d displayed any honest emotion, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight.

But she was still in a rage. “Everybody is talking Alice, Alice because they say she has firm breasts and when she climaxes, it is like an earthquake has hit the bed. Is that what you are looking for?”

Abel held up another envelope of money, which immediately soothed Dupe’s bruised ego. She reached for it. Abel held it back.

“You want this, I need information.”

“What kind?”

“Alice disappeared, and her mother is desperate to see her. I promised her I’d find the girl.”

Dupe looked off, nervous.

“She went out of the country. Her father knows that. He sold her.”

Abel’s worst fears were confirmed.

“Who took her?”

“Man named Kenny. I introduced Alice to him one day. He started sending her gifts and buying her things.”

“Kenny was a regular donor?”

“Yes, to Alice’s father.”

“This was a payoff so he could take Alice out of the country?”

“Yes. Of course, the asshole was supposed to take all of us. We were happy thinking of going and earning money. But in the end, the bastard took only Alice out because she has an aura men can’t resist.”

“And you all knew you were going into prostitution?”

“He said we’d have a better life. What? You think Alice didn’t know? She knew, and she was all for it.”

“She wanted to go back to school.”  Abel regretted his words the minute he said them. He didn’t want to sound defensive.

“That’s what her mother said?”

“That’s what Alice said. To me.”

“You sleep with her? That what this is? Looking for your long-lost love?”

“No. But she spent the night at my house. I got to know her a little.”

Dupe laughed. “You’re rich, right? Live in a nice place? Nice part of Lagos? Alice tells you she loves you. Wants to marry you. And you believe her? She wants what we all do, Mister. She lied.”

Abel watched Dupe. This bitter girl who clearly hated Alice couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to better their lives. Everything was a con. It’s how she experienced the world. But there was no point in debating this. Not with Dupe. Now it was a matter of getting anything he could from her.

“This Kenny. He took her?”

“Yes.”

Abel looked around the room. There was a series of pictures in frames on a side table. Alice was in one of them, along with Dupe and several other older businessmen.

Abel got up and went to the photo. “Is this Kenny here with Alice?” He believed that if it wasn’t Kenny, Dupe would show him his correct photograph. The trick worked.

“No, that is not him”, She stood up and pointed to another picture with herself and some men.

“That’s Kenny with me.”

Abel studied the picture. Kenny was tall and smiled broadly into the camera, a glass of beer in hand.

The second man in the photo caught Abel’s eye. He looked familiar. Then he realised who it was. Sanko. His attacker. Sanko and Kenny. Probably business partners in trafficking. But who was behind them?

Abel turned to Dupe who had disappeared into the other room while he pondered the photos.

“What’s Kenny’s real name?” He called to her.

She returned from the bedroom now wrapped in a robe.

“Kehinde Lawal.”

Abel made a mental note of the name as he took the photo out of its frame.

“I need this, Dupe.”

She frowned, and Abel saw doubt begin to creep into her mind. He knew she regretted talking to Abel. As a reporter he had seen the expression before.

“I don’t think so …”

“Nobody will know where I got it, Dupe. Don’t worry.”

“These are bad people, Sir. If they thought I was telling you things, it would be bad for me.”

“I know how to keep confidences. And protect sources”, he promised.

She shook her head, her eyes shutting in regret about what she had divulged already.

“Where did he take Alice?”

“I don’t know. The last time he called me, they were only in transit. Please you must go.”

Abel nodded. “I may need to talk to you again.” As he said this, he gave her the large envelope of money.

But he would never get a chance to talk to her again.

Two days later, Dupe was murdered as she stood on the street corner waiting for a customer. She was shot seven times. There were no witnesses. Or none who would come forward. Abel’s one solid link to the man who had taken Alice out of the country had been silenced.