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The Mechanics Of Yenagoa (XX)
Post Series: Mechanics of Yenagoa

For the task at hand today, Izuo ditched the timberland boots in exchange for a simple but classy-looking pair of black leather sandals. From the detailing on the straps, it was easy to tell they were Gucci. They looked original and expensive. The well-tailored and impeccably pressed all-white kaftan he wore completed his casual but trendy look. Perhaps the horn-rimmed glasses, Tom Ford fragrance and band on his ring finger was an overkill, but it was important he nailed his appearance if he was to pull off the plan he and the others came up with for the abduction.

The Toyota Avensis with the fake number plate he drove into the mechanic workshop was also white. The big books stacked on the back seat of the car were deliberately placed there to give the impression he was scholarly and a responsible member of the society.

Izuo stepped out of the car. Avoiding the muddy potions of the compound, he walked straight to the mechanic from the photograph. He knew there was no mistake because he had looked at the picture one last time before setting out. Oyintari had warned him not to “fuck up” and he didn’t have such plans because he needed the balance payment for his mother’s hospital bill.

The other guys in the workshop didn’t hear their conversation, but they saw when he dropped his spanner and heard him say he was accompanying the immaculate stranger in his car for a test drive. Izuo was in the front passenger seat while the mechanic drove the car outside the workshop and into the street.

“The sound is coming from the driver’s side and you really have to listen hard to pick it. In fact it gets worse when you’re on the highway,” Izuo explained as he turned off the car radio.

“In that case, make we enter express na?”

They drove in silence from Ovom all the way to NNPC filling station, negotiated the roundabout under the flyover and hit Isaac Boro expressway. The mechanic was listening for the sound; he thought he heard something, but maybe not.

“Please can you just enter Mike Okpokpo Street,” Izuo was soft-spoken and polite. “I need to quickly drop some of these books with my colleague down the road.”

“Okay, sir.”

The mechanic followed the direction, stopping in front of a black gate as he was directed.

He pulled over, a lone vehicle in a vast compound. Izuo picked a couple of the books from the back seat and said he’d only be away for a minute. Before going into the house, he walked up to the fellow that opened the gate for them and whispered something in his ears.

The mechanic thought he heard him say something like “prepare the nigger,” but the windows were wound up so he wasn’t so sure.

When Izuo came out of the house, the white kaftan and sandals were gone – they had been replaced with brown boots and jeans. Also gone were the glasses and ring, and the white Avensis too. In its place was a black Camry. The guy that opened the gate was standing with two other guys – all bearded and mean-looking. One of them had blood on his fist and on the bottom left corner of his sky blue shirt. Izuo was too preoccupied with meeting up with the others waiting for him in Imiringi.

“Una don put the guy for boot?”

“Confam,” the gate opener replied.

Izuo entered the Camry and drove to the meeting point along Imiringi road without any incident. It was the back of an unpainted and abandoned two-storey building off the main road. Tiekuro and Oyintari were already waiting for him when he arrived.

“Mission accomplished,” he said with a big smile on his face. “Now I can get my balance.”

“You put am for boot like we talk, abi?” Tiekuro asked. He also had a grin on his face. “I hope say your guys no touch am oh?”

“No na. They just tape him mouth, tie him hand and cover him face like we agree,” Izuo said, walking like a man with no worries to the back of the car so Tiekuro and Oyintari could see that their instruction was followed to the letter.

When Izuo opened the boot, it was Oyintari that screamed first.

“This guy don die na?”

“What have you done?” Tiekuro bellowed. “Una don kill the nigger.”

Izuo hurriedly lifted the bloodied mechanic from the car and unto the floor. He didn’t know that his boys had roughened him up. He struggled to untie his hands and legs, before taking off the black socks used as a blindfold over the mechanic’s swollen face. “E be like say him still dey breath,” he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

Tiekuro moved closer to see for himself, but it was evident from the way he was shaking his head, that he didn’t like what he saw.

“Ha Izuo, wetin you do so? This no be guy we send you to bring come.”

Five minutes later, the three of them drove off, leaving Ebinimi for dead at the back of the abandoned building along Imiringi road.

 

———END of Season 1———

 

 

Photo Credit: Kayode Peter

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This Post Has 7 Comments
  1. This episode was on point. The suspense was like a ferocious beast! A killer stalking a prey aware of imminent danger; and the cliffhanger issa banger! Like when you have purge and you are in a hurry to go use the toilet!

    When is season 2 premiering?

  2. This is intense! It gets tougher and tougher with each episode! Can’t wait for the next season!
    It’s a blockbuster as usual.

  3. I think it’s boomerang and karma trying to teach some sense here…
    Very Creative and spectacular, touché narrative. Can barely wait for the next season…

  4. My earlier thoughts about the title of this story, was relatively wrong, I must accept. As the plots unfold, the author fooled conjectures. I grappled to hold on to his reality of life in our world. Ebimini, especially, represents the university person ‘s travails to survive on entrepreneurial levels. Therefore, bringing the ‘quarter baked’ educated people with their accompany native intelligence into same territory. I see the author play a pun, subtle but most glaring, on a particular gesture towards Nigeria youths as ‘being lazy’. These are busy fellows. As busy as the bee, foraging systematically into relationships, plots and gaming and even dying . Lack of orderliness transmits from the ‘top’. Whatever we can point that out to be really. After all, man’s mind is a free will like Saka’ s songs ! Like offers from Jerusalem Warriors’ daddy G.O! And amidst the clangings of bolts and nuts, deals or no deals, of followers and the followed, – mark the reality of our age nakedness and the horrible turns we make like Ebimini to taste bitter lessons.
    But, typical of Michael, the author and who by conjections of life, happens to be my brother-in-law, he never drags us into duggery . Rather, we are wont to stay awake and alert like ‘Alagbede’ – (i.e. Iron smelthers. Ogun is the progenitor God of war in Yoruba land.) – furnacing impatiently and willing the author to be bring back Ebimini to life in a new season. Soon, we hope.

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