Chapter 15: The Levy
1071 Words
(Amara's POV)
The truce was over, but the war was different now. It was a cold war.
Two days had passed since I walked away from Tunde outside my shop. I kept my head down. I focused on my cooking. I tried to ignore the fact that every time I looked out the window, he was there; sometimes in his kitchen, sometimes sitting on his front steps, just... watching. Not staring. Just guarding.
It was annoying. It was confusing.
Then, on Wednesday afternoon, the trouble arrived.
It started with a yellow Danfo bus swerving aggressively off the road and parking right in front of Baba’s Pot. It blocked the entrance. It blocked the light.
Three men jumped out. They weren't customers. They were "Task Force." Or maybe they were Agberos. In Lagos, the line was often blurry. They wore faded reflective vests over dirty t-shirts. They carried heavy sticks. Their eyes were red.
"Madam!" the leader shouted, banging his stick on my counter. "Where is the receipt for this generator?"
He pointed at my new silent 5KVA beauty sitting in the alley.
My heart hammered. "I have the receipt inside," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But this is private property. You cannot just barge in here."
"Private property?" The leader laughed. He had a scar running down his cheek. "You are putting a heavy-duty industrial machine on a residential street. That is a violation. Environmental hazard. Noise pollution."
"It is a silent generator!" I argued. "It makes less noise than your bus!"
"Don't speak English for me!" he roared. He signaled to his boys. "Oya, disconnect am. We are seizing it for the Council."
"You can't do that!" I screamed. I ran out from behind the counter to block the alleyway. "You cannot take my generator!"
"Move, woman!" One of the thugs pushed me. I stumbled back, hitting my shoulder against the wall.
They moved toward the machine. One of them pulled out a wrench to disconnect the battery.
I looked around for help. Uncle Dele wasn't there. My customers were shrinking back, afraid of the sticks.
I was alone.
"Hey!"
The voice didn't come from the shop. It came from the street.
Tunde was walking across the road.
He wasn't running. He was walking with a slow, dangerous rhythm. He was wearing his "penance outfit", jeans and a t-shirt. He didn't look like a chef. He looked like a man looking for a fight.
"Who is the owner of that bus?" Tunde asked calmly. He stopped right in front of the leader.
The leader looked Tunde up and down. He saw the expensive shoes (even though they were sneakers, they were clean). He saw the soft skin. He sneered.
"Oga, mind your business," the leader spat. "Unless you want to pay the fine for her. It is fifty thousand Naira."
I held my breath. This was it. This was the moment Tunde would pull out his wallet. He would peel off crisp notes. He would make the problem go away with money, proving he was still the Billionaire Chef who solved everything with cash.
Tunde looked at the leader. Then he looked at me, huddled against the wall.
He didn't reach for his wallet.
He stepped closer to the leader. He was taller than the thug. Broader.
"I am not paying you a kobo," Tunde said. His voice dropped. It wasn't the polished English he used on TV. It was rough. It was Lagos. "And you are not touching that generator."
The leader laughed, but it sounded nervous. "You want to fight the Task Force? You think you are a big man?"
"I think you are bullying a woman because you think she has no one to stand for her," Tunde said. He stepped into the leader's personal space. "But she is not alone. If you want to move that generator, you have to move me first."
The leader gripped his stick. "I will break your head."
"Try it," Tunde said softly.
The tension snapped tight. My customers were gasping.
The leader looked at Tunde’s eyes. He didn't see fear. He didn't see a rich boy shaking in his boots. He saw a man who was ready to bleed.
The leader hesitated. He looked at his boys. They looked unsure. Bullying a woman was easy. Fighting a man who looked like he spent his mornings lifting weights was different.
"This is not over," the leader muttered. He spat on the ground. "We will report this."
"Report it to the Governor," Tunde said. "I will drive you there myself."
The leader hissed. He signaled to his boys. "Let’s go. Waste of time."
They climbed back into the Danfo. The engine roared, blowing black smoke into the shop, and they sped off.
Silence returned to Baba’s Pot.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My knees felt weak.
Tunde turned to me. The dangerous look vanished from his eyes, replaced by instant concern.
"Are you okay?" he asked. He reached out as if to touch my shoulder, then stopped himself. He dropped his hand. "Did they hurt you?"
"I... I'm fine," I whispered. I rubbed my shoulder where I had hit the wall. "You... you didn't pay them."
Tunde shook his head. "If you pay them once, they will come back every week. You have to stand your ground."
He looked at the generator.
"I'll have my security guard sit outside tonight," he said. "Just in case they try to come back when it's dark."
"Tunde," I said. "Thank you."
He looked at me. For a second, I saw hope in his eyes. He wanted to say something. Maybe ask me to dinner. Maybe ask for forgiveness.
But he remembered my rules. Stop being the Billionaire. Stand as a man.
He nodded once.
"Anytime, neighbor," he said.
He turned around and walked back across the street. He didn't wait for applause. He didn't wait for a reward.
He just went back to work.
I watched him go. My heart was beating fast, and this time, it wasn't from fear.
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