Chapter 11
889 Words
The Door Won’t Open, But Something Else Might
Daniel wasn’t the kind of person who sat still.
In the five days he’d been in Abuja, he’d turned David’s spare room into a war room of post-it notes, cable tangles, and half-empty energy drinks. He woke at 5 AM to catch the London market open, talked to himself in Igbo and English when a trade went wrong, and measured his days in candlesticks and profit margins. To him, sleep was inefficient, small talk was a waste, and people who didn’t have a plan were exhausting.
That night was no different.
By 6 PM he’d finished the charts, locked in two small wins, and started feeling the itch to move. Sitting in the Kurudu terrace with David’s per diem money burning a hole in his pocket and Matilda’s moaning still echoing in his head was not his idea of a productive evening. So when a guy from the old Kano forex group texted about a meetup at a cybercafé in Nyanya, Daniel didn’t hesitate.
“Gonna step out,” he told David at 6:30, grabbing his laptop bag and keys. “Back late. Don’t wait up.”
David was already in the shower, so Daniel left the note on the table and walked out. He didn’t think to call. He assumed David would be at the course till late anyway.
What he didn’t know was that David had bailed early, that he’d spent the evening at A1 spot with Chandeline, and that they’d be pulling up to the house together.
When the keke stopped in front of the gate, the compound was quiet. Daniel’s motorcycle was gone. The light in his room was off. The living room was dark.
David fished out the spare key and tried the door. Locked.
“Daniel’s not here,” he said, looking at Chandeline.
She shifted her bag on her shoulder, glancing at the dark windows. “Where did he go?”
“No idea,” David said. “He’s probably with his forex people. He does that.”
“Should I go?” she asked.
David shook his head. “Sit. He’ll be back soon. We can wait on the porch.”
So they sat side by side on the stairs with their back against the door, the smell of mosquito coils and generator fumes in the air. The porch light flickered once, then stayed on.
Daniel was three neighborhoods away, arguing about leverage with a guy who wore Gucci slides to a cybercafé, completely unaware that the girl of David’s dreams was sitting ten meters from his door.
David heard the motorcycle before he saw it.
The low rumble of Daniel’s Bajaj Boxer cut through the quiet street, followed by the squeal of brakes at the gate. Chandeline sat up straighter, her eyes moving from the dark street to David.
“That’s him,” David said, standing.
Daniel pushed the gate open, helmet in hand, sweat staining the collar of his T-shirt. He stopped short when he saw them.
“Ah,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t know you were bringing company.”
“We’ve been waiting twenty minutes,” David said, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.
Daniel winced. “My bad. Nyanya meetup ran long. You know how those guys are once they start talking leverage.” He looked at Chandeline. “I’m Daniel. David’s partner in crime.”
Chandeline gave a small nod. “Chandeline.”
“Pleasure,” Daniel said, unlocking the door. “Come in, come in. And thank God for NEPA.”
As if on cue, the compound lights flickered and held steady. The bulb over the porch flared to life, casting sharp shadows on the wall. Up till that moment, they’d been sitting in near-darkness, the only light from the streetlamp outside. Chandeline had noticed how David’s eyes kept adjusting, how he’d kept glancing at his phone like he was calculating how long before he had to fire up the generator.
The building was a terrace. Upstairs and downstairs, sharing walls with two identical buildings on either side typical of Abuja buildings in an estate because land is expensive and there is need to maximize space. Yet it had the feeling of upper-class. Neighbors were not nosey and everyone minded their business with that uncomfortable air of not knowing who was who.
David led the way inside. The downstairs parlor was cool, tiled, with a luxurious sofa and a plasma TV on the wall. It smelled faintly of Daniel’s instant noodles and old cologne.
Chandeline wanted to seat on the sofa. As she made her move to seat, David took her hand and brought her close to him; with just the right amount of force that made her feel juices secreting between her legs. She inhaled his cologne and she didn’t feel like breathing out again.
“Upstairs is better,” David said quickly, breaking her trance. “My room’s up there. Quieter. Daniel’s friends come in and out downstairs.”
Chandeline hesitated. The upstairs option felt riskier. But refusing would make it awkward, and she’d already come this far. She followed him up.
Daniel watched them go, then muttered, “Good luck, bro,” under his breath and went to the kitchen for water.
- Writer
