MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

THE CLUB CONNECTION

Three days.

That’s how long it had been since Mama Nkechi’s call.

Three days of dead ends.

Three days of DSP Ayo calling to say “no trace on the GLK.”

Three days of EFCC saying “the Cotonou account is a ghost.”

Three days of Kunle waking up in cold sweat, seeing scales in the corner of their Yaba flat.

Tunde hadn’t slept properly either. The python snake have been hunting him in his dreams. Nightmares on nightmares.

Kunle was not left behind. His dream vision always drift him back to when he picked up the black vape pen.

They both can't wait for the case to be over. But all they saw is dead end on each clue they trace.

They sat in their flat at 11pm. The TV was on but muted. NEPA had taken light 2 hours ago. The generator outside coughed.

“We’re losing,” Kunle said quietly. He was staring at the photo of Mama Nkechi on his phone. Blindfolded. Python on the wall. “Bro, what if we’re in over our heads?”

Tunde didn’t answer. He was reading Chief Adeyemi’s last text again: 'Martins’ men are out. Informant dead. Stay low. I’m pulling you off the case.'

“Did you hear me?” Kunle snapped. “I said we’re losing!”

“I heard you,” Tunde said. “And I don’t like it either. But quitting means they win. Means Mama Nkechi dies.”

Kunle laughed bitterly. “And what can we do? DSS won’t help. Police are compromised. Dad wants us to stop. The only lead we had was a 3-second video from Seme and a vape that almost killed me.”

The room went quiet except for the generator.

Then Tunde’s phone buzzed. Unknown number.

He almost didn’t pick it up.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice. Rough. “You’re the Adeyemi boys abi? The ones asking about Emeka Okoro?”

“Who is this?”

“Don’t matter. Meet me at Ikoyi Club 1938. Golf course side. 2am. Come alone. Or with your brother. But don’t bring police. Don’t bring DSS. Or I disappear too.”

Click.

Kunle looked at him. “Trap?”

“100%,” Tunde said. “But it’s the only thing we’ve gotten in 72 hours.”

2:17am. Ikoyi Club 1938.

The place was different at night. No golfers. No waiters. Just security lights, trimmed grass, and the sound of crickets. The air smelled like cut grass and expensive cologne.

They parked behind the clubhouse and killed the engine.

“Remember,” Tunde whispered. “Eyes open. Eku could be anywhere.”

They waited 20 minutes. Nobody came.

“This was a waste,” Kunle said, slumping. “Bro, maybe Dad is right. Maybe we should.”

A sound.

Footsteps on gravel.

A woman stepped out from behind a tree near the 9th hole. Mid-40s. Head tie. Plain gown. She looked terrified.

“Are you the Adeyemi boys?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Tunde said, stepping forward slowly. “Who are you?”

“I’m Mama Titi. I clean here. I saw... I saw things.”

Kunle’s heart jumped. “What did you see?”

“Three nights ago. 2am. A black GLK drove in. No lights. Two men dragged a woman out. She was fighting. She had red heels. Same as the ones in the news.” She was shaking. “They took her to the old maintenance shed by the lake.”

Tunde’s blood went cold. “Mama Nkechi?”

“I don’t know her name. But she kept saying ‘Emeka’. And the men... one of them had tribal marks. The other one, he called the other ‘Chief’.”

Kunle grabbed her arm. “Where is she now? Is she still there?”

Mama Titi pulled away. “No! The next morning, a truck came. They loaded something big, covered with tarpaulin. And there was... there was blood on the floor of the shed.”

She started crying. “I didn’t say anything because they threatened my children. But I saw your picture on TV. Chief Adeyemi’s sons. I thought... maybe you can help.”

Tunde looked at Kunle. Hope flickered for one second.

Then headlights swept across the golf course.

A black SUV. No plate.

It stopped 30 meters away. Doors opened.

Four men got out.

Leading them: Chief Martins Adebayo. Buba and sokoto. That same gold ring.

And behind him, coiled around one man’s shoulders: Eku. The African Rock Python. Its tongue flicked in the night air.

“Well, well,” Martins said, voice echoing across the grass. “Chief Adeyemi’s pikin. I told you to stop looking.”

Tunde pushed Mama Titi behind him. “Run,” he whispered to her.

She didn’t move. She was frozen.

Kunle picked up a golf club from a nearby cart. Tunde grabbed a broken bottle from a trash bin.

Martins smiled. “You think you can fight me? You and your DSS father? He couldn’t touch me in 2019. He can’t touch me now.”

He snapped his fingers.

Eku slid off the man’s shoulders and onto the grass. It moved fast. Too fast. Straight for Kunle.

Kunle swung the golf club. Missed.

Tunde threw the bottle. It hit the snake’s head. Eku hissed and coiled back.

“Go!” Tunde shouted.

They ran. Across the golf course, past the lake, toward their car. Gunshots cracked behind them. One bullet hit the car’s back tire.

They piled in. Tunde floored it. The car swerved on flat tire, but he kept going.

In the rearview mirror, Martins stood there, not chasing. Just watching.

And Eku was sitting on the hood of his SUV, watching them too.

They didn’t stop until they reached Yaba.

Both of them were breathing hard. Shaking.

Kunle finally spoke. “We almost died.”

Tunde nodded. “And we still have nothing. No Mama Nkechi. No Emeka. Just a cleaner who might be dead by morning.”

He put his head on the steering wheel.

For the first time since this started, Tunde Adeyemi felt like giving up.

His phone buzzed.

DSP Ayo.

“Tunde. We found something. It’s small. But it’s something. Meet me at DSS Annex, Falomo. Now. And bring whatever you got from Ikoyi.”

Tunde stared at the message.

Kunle read it over his shoulder.

“Do we go?” Kunle asked.

Tunde took a deep breath. “We have no choice.”