Peter Abel Attacked on Third Mainland Bridge in Lagos

04 Jul Peter Abel Attacked on Third Mainland Bridge in Lagos

Safely away from Yaba on the Third Mainland Bridge, Abel breathed more easily. The encounter with Winston had shaken him. And he was not easily thrown off balance. But he would not let anything deter him from discovering what Winston did with Alice in Ajegunle and what part this spiritualist played in the tragedy.

Abel had no use for such people, but he knew many Lagosians who faithfully attended church on Sundays, and then secretly patronised jujumen (practitioners of voodoo).

Stories of fathers who took their daughters to jujumen for various reasons were common. As Abel drove, he pulled out his cell phone and accessed the stored numbers. He scrolled through them until he found the number for the religious editor of The Zodiac. Once he had him on the line, Abel asked for the names of popular spiritualists in Ajegunle.

The editor told him the best known was Inila, who lived and worked two blocks west of the Coke depot on Sambia Street. Abel thanked the editor for taking his call on a Sunday and disconnected. Before he could put the phone down, it rang. A glance at the readout told him it was Ikomma.

“Are you okay, boy?”

“Oga, Mrs. Picketts called. She sounded unhappy.”

“Yes, I understand. I will see her soon”, he promised before disconnecting.

But Lola was now on his mind. He remembered the last time he had seen her, the day of Tunde’s murder, and his promise, “It will be alright”. He regretted that although Tunde’s killers had been arrested and The Zodiac was giving her personal support, he had not been to see her since that unhappy day. He was tempted to make a detour to her house, but the run-in with Winston made that impossible. He had to take care of Alice first. There would be time for Lola later.

And he was doing all this for his murdered friend, Tunde.  He was going to finishing investigating the story Tunde had begun.

 

********************

The spiritualist lived in a lively downscale part of town, bustling with activity, even on a Sunday. Everywhere, young men in casuals walked the streets, smoking, drinking and joking with friends. Many danced to music blaring from the large, croaky speakers planted in the doorways of music shops.

To Abel’s surprise, his expensive Peugeot 406 did not spark any undue attention as he pulled to a stop in front of Inila’s apartment building. Perhaps their indifference hinted that they had seen many upscale cars, flashier than his, park here. Inila’s clientele had money.

The building, painted white, was the familiar Lagos slum architecture. It consisted of a long one-storey building with single rooms opposite each other. The rooms were lined along a corridor that led to common kitchen and toilet facilities. That is the face-me-face-you style, Abel thought, remembering his early days in Lagos when he lived in one. People had to queue up early in the morning to use the toilet and bathrooms. Unlike the building he once lived in, where people kept all manner of things in the corridor, this one was neat. The two rooms nearest the road had been converted into retail stores, selling food and household goods, convenient for the residents.

In one of these shops, Abel found a fat woman sitting on a stool. Nearby a man in his 60’s, dressed in a white robe, rocked back and forth in a leather chair. Abel noted with some amusement that they did not react to the presence of a sophisticated stranger. An interesting show of confidence, Abel thought as he stepped into the crowded shop.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Good afternoon, I came to consult Mr. Inila.”

Abel looked at the old man who watched him as he kept rocking.

“You have not been here before”, she announced, seemingly proud of the observation.

“No”, Abel admitted, keeping his eyes on the elderly man in a white robe.

“No wonder you looked lost”, the woman laughed. “But whatever is your problem, my husband will make you happy again.”  She gestured to the man in the rocker.

Abel nodded his greeting to Inila who made a gesture of welcome with his hands.

“Okay. Let’s go inside.” Inila rose slowly to his feet and led the way through a door that connected the shop to the dimly lit corridor.

Two rooms away from the shop, Inila peeled a thick red curtain aside and opened the door.

“Please remove your shoes”, he said to Abel and then went in.

Abel was wearing sandals. He bent over quickly, removed them, then entered.

The small room, half the size of the shop, was brightly lit, almost garish.  Fluorescent lighting didn’t match Abel’s image of the spiritualist experience. Maybe this was the modern way. Inila probably took credit cards too.

Animal skins covered the couches. This might have been for effect, or it might have been because the couches were old and worn and needed the help. In any event, his host slumped onto the one near a partitioned corner. Abel followed suit, settling onto the other.

Inila’s grin had transformed into a business-like expression. His eyes had narrowed and frown lines etched the corners of his mouth. His thick head of black hair was flecked with specs of grey, his fair complexion sported freckles.

“Tell me your name.”

“Akani.”

“So, what is your problem, young man?” He spoke quickly, licking his lips.

“I am a businessman from Ikorodu …”

“Yes, many businessmen and even policemen come here for spiritual protection”, Inila said proudly, interrupting Abel. “Robbers in Lagos have become very daring, so people come here for charms against gunshots and machete cuts. We even help people travelling overseas.”

Abel found that interesting, but he was careful not to overreact.

“Women?” he asked.

“Yes mostly women, so they are not caught. But I take delight in protection against robbers. Lagos is dangerous”, he said and looked up at Abel.

“Yes”, Abel agreed, following Inila’s lead. “It is a dangerous world, and you are correct. I need protection. I only hope you have something to help me.”

Inila beat his chest and pointed to the partitioned corner.

“There is nothing you cannot find in this corner. Eda, the God of my ancestors, passed them on to me.” He moved to peel the partition slightly and whispered some incantations on a small cowries-studded mound.

Then he turned back to Abel. “You will make some deposit of money for me to prepare the charm and you come for it same time next week. I will spend three days in the evil forest to prepare it.”

That didn’t take long, Abel thought. After two sentences he’s asking for money. The guy might be a spiritualist, but he knows what makes the real world go round.

“Don’t you need to know more about my problem?” Abel couldn’t help needle the man a little.

“Not at all. I deal in categories not specifics.” This sounded like complete nonsense to Abel, but he wasn’t here to expose spiritualists. So he reached for his wallet.

“How much, Sir?” Abel asked with feigned interest. He choked back an impulse to laugh out loud at the performance.

“Only twenty thousand naira.” He saw Abel’s eyes widen.

“I suspect that you had no idea of the cost. But next week, you will have to bring an additional hundred thousand naira to collect the charm.”

Abel shook his head.

“That’s a lot of money.”

“On the contrary. For magic, it is a bargain.”

“How would I know that? What’s the going rate for magic?”

The man watched him a bit, then nodded.

“You must trust me.”

Abel gave him a wry look and Inila continued.

“You see, Eda forbids us from overcharging, otherwise we get punished with some strange diseases. I am sure you have seen some other jujumen who have gone mad? That is the reason. Overcharging their clients.”

Well, it was original. Abel nodded as if Inila had just made a cogent argument for trust and began counting out his money. As he went to hand the cash to his “spiritual guide”, he was shocked to see his host’s eyes suddenly turn vampire red. A trick of lighting? Or was it something else? Whatever the cause it was a pretty convincing sales tool. Abel handed him the cash, which Inila put behind the partition.

“So, we see you next week”, he said and stretched his back.

“There is something else”, Abel said.

“I am not surprised, young man. Many people who come here have multiple cases. Our elders say one reason does not take a man out of his house.” He smiled.

Abel did not. He looked him in the eyes.

“Sir, some years ago, a retiree from Yaba named Winston Udor brought his daughter here to see you, but soon after, and since then, the daughter has hated him. I know this was years ago and you may not remember right away …”

The spiritualist held up his hand.

“I remember him.”

Abel was surprised, but continued, eager to make his point.

“I was wondering how a powerful man like you could make a girl hate her father.”

The frown lines on the man’s face deepened in anger.

“I remember him because he was a fool!  He came to me as others do to get rich. The rituals are painful, but simple. Among the lot, he chose the one which involved sexual intercourse with his daughter.”

As Abel had suspected, Winston had raped Alice. This was the source of her fear and hatred. But if this spiritualist suggested such a thing he also had something to answer for.

“I would hardly call violating one’s own daughter ‘simple’” Abel said, anger rising in him.

“I know it is not simple, and that was why I warned him to do it only once.”

“It only takes one time to scar someone for life!”

“Had he followed my instructions, the girl would never have even known.”

“And how was that possible?”

“I gave him some charms to put his daughter into a deep sleep. But instead of only one discrete encounter, he repeated the act. Many times. Ceremony and magic were overcome by his lust. The juju did not work, and he has remained poor. This is something I have done for many politicians, but that man was stupid.” He fumed.

“I see”, Abel said, nodding.

“Then you understand what I advised was not harmful.”

“I can see you thought no harm would come to the girl”, Abel lied. He didn’t want to alienate this source as he had Winston, so he added, “Business fortunes in Lagos are not stable, so when I face a downturn, perhaps I will return to you”.

The spiritualist nodded, satisfied he had not lost a client.

But Abel could not help himself, and just before exiting, he turned and said, “No matter how desperate my circumstances, I would never use the option Winston Udor chose”. He left without further ceremony.

Driving home, Abel tried to put the pieces together. The sexual abuse undoubtedly made Alice hate her father. And her situation was made worse because she held the secret. Nobody could share the burden, relieve her of the guilt she felt, or offer her counselling. Winston may have threatened her, Abel thought. He wondered if that was why she ultimately turned to the streets.

When she couldn’t get love from her father, the love any child would crave, she tried to get it on the streets, from strange men who offered her gifts. But that didn’t satisfy her need. It only made her feel worse.

Abel remembered how cheerful she became at his house and how her beauty had blossomed in front of his very eyes. She had at last found a man who treated her with respect and real love. It had transformed her, at least for a moment.

Then he remembered the promise he had made to her – it will be all right. He wanted her to have that feeling of happiness always.

As Abel pondered how best to help the girl, a small red Honda in front of him made an abrupt stop. He was forced to swerve dangerously to avoid a collision. He saw the driver make an apologetic gesture.

Abel was so distracted, he didn’t notice when a black SUV appeared on his rear bumper. It was dangerously close. The driver honked his horn continuously. Annoyed but unwilling to make an incident of this, Abel slowed down and moved to right lane, waiting for the speeding SUV to pass.

Instead, it slowed down behind him. Annoyed, Abel was about to brake and confront this idiot, when his rear window shattered, a bullet brushing his right ear before making a pin-sized hole in the windscreen.

Abel looked down to see his fingers were stained with blood. He reached up and discovered his burning earlobe was the source. A vision of Tunde’s severed ears flashed through his head when more shots rang out, flattening his rear tyres. Abel’s car ground to a halt on a bridge, which crossed a peaceful lagoon. It was surreal. Able wondered how the beautiful aquamarine water below and the idyllic cloudless sky above could possibly exist in the same world with gunshots and blood. Vehicles in the opposite lane of traffic whirled past unaware of the attack, adding to the unreality of the moment.

Time slowed down for Abel and everything happened as in a dream. The attacking SUV slid past his car and parked about ten metres in front of him, blocking any possible escape.  Abel regarded it through the cracked windscreen. He finally recovered his wits and reached for a revolver hidden under the seat.

Abel flung open the driver’s side door, leaving it open, hoping his attackers would think he was hiding behind it. Instead, he slid under the car.

From this vantage point, he could see the driver of the offending SUV, but could not make out his features. There were two men with him. Clutching knives that glinted in the sunlight, they rushed toward Abel’s car.

Abel took aim and shot at the legs of the one closest to him.

“Yei!” he heard an agonizing scream and a heavy thud on the hot road.

“Boss, the gun”, the other man screamed. The driver jumped down from the SUV waving a gun.

From his vantage point under the car, Abel could only see him from the chest down. He watched as the attacker raised his gun and fired repeatedly into the driver’s side door of Abel’s car.

Abel returned fire, emptying his revolver into the man’s knees. As the assailant fell, blood, flesh and bones splattered on the road.

That still left one attacker, and Abel’s weapon was empty. But the last man standing must not have realised it because he ran back to the SUV, jumped inside and slammed the door.

As Abel crawled out from under his vehicle, a second SUV arrived, screeching to a halt next to its compatriot. Someone in the passenger seat opened fire. Abel ducked away, circled back around the rear of his car, and leapt off the bridge into the lagoon below.

He remained underwater until he reached one of the bridge’s pillars, cautiously poking his head out of the water to take a badly needed breath. He heard voices above and suddenly, gunshots erupted and the water all around him exploded.  Abel dove down again.

He swam farther under the bridge where he would not be exposed.  Then he surfaced and waited, barely breathing. Would the men come down after him?

Abel prayed for the sound of police sirens. Surely someone must have called them by now. The entire Lagos commuter population couldn’t be blind to a gun battle raging right in front of them!

At last he heard the two SUVs roar off.

Abel held on to a pillar of the bridge, wondering what to do, then he heard sirens. The police had finally arrived. They would find his car, riddled with bullets and contact Chief Benson. Abel didn’t want his boss to worry, but he was too exhausted to deal with the police at the moment. There would be endless questions and formalities. He waited there until he saw a fisherman in a canoe, rowing past. He shouted for help. Out of the lagoon later on, he found a café where he called Chief Benson.

Twenty minutes later, an unmarked car arrived and whisked him off to Dr. Jos Atim’s clinic, a euphemism for a five-room private hospital located in a guesthouse owned by Chief Benson. There the doctor cared mainly for the Chief, but he also looked after The Zodiac’s employees.

As Abel climbed up on an exam table and lay down, the doctor began dressing his wounded ear. The last things Abel remembered were the bright light, the smell of antiseptic and Chief Benson’s face appearing overhead peering down at him. Abel nodded his hello then passed out.