Yemisi
Lagos, Nigeria
"Hello, Karen. How far, na? I've been waiting for you for precisely twenty minutes now, " I say on the receiving end as soon as she picked my call.
"I'm at the junction already. I'll join you in five minutes. The traffic was mad heavy, I swear. Anyway, what restaurant did you say you were in again? Victoria Island seems to have so many exquisite restaurants."
"I'm at Mama Cass's," I reply. The impatience in my voice is nearly as audible as the pitter-patter of people's feet, the chit-chat emanating from their voices and the soft jazz music playing in the restaurant.
"Alright then, I'll see you soon," she replies loudly over the noise of the honking cars that I can hear from her end. I hang up.
The disturbing battle I'm constantly fighting with my mind makes it harder for me to wait for Karen. I need her to come right now so we can get to business immediately. The image replaying in my mind is disturbing. The worst irony of it all is how much I hated the way I loved the picture.
Those brown eyes like honey. Those deliciously soft and perfectly shaped pink lips, surrounded by a moderately shaved beard. A clean haircut that sat just right with his beautifully toned brown skin, nearly as smooth as silk.
Don't even get me started on his body. Lean and tall but somehow still sturdy enough. Just the right physical look to always gawk at, no matter how much of a view I'd gotten.
Envisioning those soft-looking brown eyes in my head alone always made my stomach melt a million times over.
Gah!
I need to get a melting blockade fixed in my stomach. I'm not supposed to be missing Christopher this much.
I shouldn't even be missing him. I already promised that I wouldn't miss him. The first thing I have to ensure is that I'm not thinking of him because if my mind is frequently being traitorous towards my will, then it won't be long before my actions follow suit.
And Lord knows, I'm not making any move towards reconciling with him for now.
"Gah! Your stingy ass wouldn't order a drink at the very least, would it? You look like a pauper sitting pitifully at a fancy restaurant hoping for free food!" I hear that all too familiar, high-pitched voice behind me, and then a slight tapping on my shoulder comes next.
I turned to see my best friend, Karen. She is holding a black handbag in her thin hands; she's wearing a curt smile on her face as tiny beads of sweat moisturize the area between her nose and her lips. Her height is towering over my sitting form. I'm not a short person, though. She's just quite tall.
"I'm sorry for making you rush over here. That's it. You know that I don't waste my pennies on unnecessary items. If you want to order a drink with your money, that's lovely."
"Ugh. You're so difficult and bossy, " Karen snaps as she takes a seat in front of me. She places her handbag on the table after pulling her hanky out to wipe the sweat off her face.
"So...what did you find? Who is the leader of the rapists? You've left me curious for a week now. You had better bring something worth the painstaking suspense, " I rant.
Karen responds to my remarks with silence. Busy, calculating silence. The silence from her takes precedence over the busy noises emanating from the restaurant—even the film on the television. It says and does a lot in adding up to my building anxiety.
Who would have thought that the world's most underestimated rhetorical device could be that effective?
My eyes dance around the movement of her hands anxiously as she brings out a black envelope from her handbag, slowly untying the rope around the envelope that serves as a seal. After centuries of watching her do that, she starts to bring a stack of papers out of the envelope.
"Read this particular draft very carefully," her expression is suddenly frosty as she places one of the papers in my hands. Immediately after receiving the paper, I know that it's cartridge paper which means that it doesn't contain proficient documentation.
From experience and expertise, I could tell that if the information was on cartridge paper, it was either a scribbling of oral evidence from a witness or the sketch of a criminal—in this case being the leader of the rapists, which in this current situation, both are promising—If I do say so myself.
My eyes started to wander around the paper. Then I realized I'm right about my prediction. It is a piece of oral evidence:
He is dark-skinned, and he has a red scar on his forehead. His lips are slightly brown—like they had been in contact with fire before. He never liked to keep his hair, so he was always bald. I have not seen him in years, though, so obviously, I don't know what he looks like now. Still, that's about all I can remember about his face. No one has heard from him in years since the rape operation we carried out on the young girl. He keeps a low profile, but the last time I heard about him, I learned that he's in the country currently.
My eyes move from the paper in my hands to Karen's face in amusement. Stars and handcuffs are probably twinkling in my eyes—desiring to catch the criminal already. I hold the paper firmly in my hands. The report threatens to tear apart.
"This is a lot of information. I'm surprised. Telling from what I just read, I'm guessing you interrogated one of the rapists behind bars. I'm happy about that. Still, I'm curious about one thing: Did you by chance remember to ask him how he got to know that the leader of the rapists is currently in Nigeria?"
"Yes, I was wise enough to ask him, and that will lead to the second draft I'm about to give you, " she replies, and afterward, that disturbing, anxiety-inducing silence envelopes the atmosphere.
However, Karen quickly brings out the envelope this time as she shoves it across the table to me.
Another cartridge paper.
I pick it up; my jaw clenches tightly.
According to Gordon, my fellow accomplice, the source of information came from one of us too. Another member of our gang appeared at the prison a few days ago to tell Gordon that he would turn himself in very soon and that he was going to make sure the leader got arrested as well — no matter how long he stays in hiding. Gordon asked him how and he told John that the leader was in Nigeria currently. Sadly, I didn't get to see his face, so I can't tell you which one of them came by. Gordon, who is, unfortunately, one-eyed, was the one who got the message directly from him.
I look up at Karen again; my face contorts with confusion, disbelief, and dissatisfaction.
"What is this? So they didn't get to see which one of the other rapists gave them the information?"
"Yes, and you remember that one of the rapists you arrested that year was indeed one-eyed. I'm guessing that one of the gang members that we are yet to catch went to the prison yard and met with one of his accomplices who unfortunately was the half-eyed person. He gave him his message and left.
The one-eyed guy told it all to his fellow accomplice. Even if he'd seen the guy's face in full view, there's a possibility that he may not be able to tell correctly which of the member it was. Even if he could, the guy might have been wearing sunglasses or a face mask which would have made it difficult for the guy to recognize him."
"Hmm. This is so damn ridiculous. Now, we don't know which of them it is, and we can't judge based on the vague descriptions my sister gave us years ago, " I observe, rubbing my chin.
"It's possible someone noticed him show up at the prison yard, or maybe no one deemed his appearance suspicious enough to pay attention. It's only God that knows how he was able to enter the prison yard."
"You have an agent who works at the prison, don't you? We can go there tomorrow to ask for permission to view the surveillance cameras."
"Yes, I do, but the thing is, she hasn't been on duty for some time so, it'll be a lot harder to do that. Still, finding the guy shouldn't be too difficult since he says he's going to turn himself in very soon."
"But let's try visiting. I could use a bit of my power on the prison wardens to access the surveillance cameras. And if that doesn't work, we can ask the people around."
"Yes, I agree with you. It's a good thing that this prison, in particular, has surveillance cameras because I don't think that installation is very synonymous with Nigerian prisons."
"Yeah. We'll just have to be on the lookout. It's quite weird to me that someone would show up at a prison yard to inform his accomplice that he will turn himself in very soon. I don't get the point of that."
"I think he did it knowing that word will spread in one way or the other, and somehow we, the people who want to arrest him, will know about him. His plan worked. I think it's a subtle, gradual process way of exposing himself."
"Hmm. That's true, though. Did you get any information on the other rapist, Geoffrey?"
"None whatsoever."
"I can't wait for us to catch the other demons who are still wandering around this earth freely—Including the one who wants to turn himself in. I don't give a hoot about the acts of remorse he's trying to display right now. It took him thirteen years to be sorry for his crime. Things are not done that way, and I must make sure the six of them suffer greatly for raping my sister," I let out a heavy sigh of outrage as I clasp my hands firmly.
"One of them is dead, and the other two are in prison. So it's just three left now. We'll catch them."
"May his soul rest in the abyss of Hades, " I breathe.
After lamenting, I finally get the chance to pay attention to the positive side of the whole situation — the fact that Karen is such an amazing friend.
"Thank you so much, Karen. This is one of the few times in thirteen years I'm getting sufficient information about the leader of the gang. You don't know what you've done for me. Those devils in prison never told me anything whenever I asked—even when I threatened them. I don't know how you could squeeze out answers from their lips, but I'm thankful.
All I want is for us to find him and the other two and close this case forever. My sister's life has been a living hell ever since that day. I know I should be investigating this case entirely on my own. I know I shouldn't bring you into this, but it's just that I've had a lot on my plate lately and—"
"Yemisi?" Karen squints her eyes in disbelief. "If you feel indebted to me, then I guess you owe me a favor in the future. Still, you know I have a good knowledge of investigation methodology. I'm glad I didn't waste the knowledge because it was quite the pleasure involving myself in this case, and I hate to say it, but it was a pleasure to help you out, " she pulls my shaky hand and clasps it in hers, rubbing it mildly.
I give her a small smile.
I look outside the window for the first time since Karen walked into the restaurant. The sun is starting to set, bathing the city with its retreating orange light. Honks from motorbikes and cars are louder than ever now. The number of people in the restaurant has lessened, and the music from the speaker is almost inaudible, but from the fragments of sound that my ears can catch, Andy Mineo's Shame is playing softly.
My favorite song.
"Anyway, how have you been doing? I'm sorry I haven't been checking on you so much lately, " I ask Karen.
She smiles at me in a way that highlights the goddess of beauty that she is. Her long, silky hair fits her oval-shaped face just perfectly. Her eyes are as blue as the sea, and her height makes it more believable that she's indeed a goddess.
"I've been good. My daughter is doing great with my baby daddy, and I've been out chasing more wealth. That's how I've been doing. You are the one who needs welfare, so stop apologizing. Now tell me, how are YOU doing?"
"Well, in all honesty, I haven't been great. I'm not ready to talk about it. I need to get my life together first. I hope you can understand, " I plead. Karen nods as expected. I knew she would understand. "I have this case of arson I've been working on for some time now. The defendant in the case is strangely innocent even though he watched the plaintiff's daughter burn to ashes."
"It's not a strange thing that the plaintiff is innocent. Have you forgotten the provisions of the criminal code? He cannot be held liable for the crime since he has no duty whatsoever to come to the rescue of the plaintiff's daughter. If he's not a firefighter or someone who owes the duty as a government worker to rescue the little girl from the fire, then he's not guilty legally, even though it's morally required of him to be his brother's keeper, " Karen explains.
"Oh, that's true. How could I have forgotten that?" I heave another sigh, maybe the hundredth, as I fiddle idly with the menu card on the table.
"Whatever is going on with you must be quite tough for you to handle because it's beginning to affect your work life. You probably need a break. I wish to know what you are going through but I won't force you to open up. I just hope to get back to being the strong, resilient, Yemisi soon."
"Thank you, Karen."
"Anyway, how is Christopher?" she asks innocently.
My heart nearly leaps out of my chest as the question hits me off guard. It's not supposed to be a shock-inducing question, but I can feel my insides fry. It's supposed to be a typical, expected question that friends ask each other.
Still...
How does this woman do it? How does she manage to hit a crucial spot without having a clue? How can she be so innocently nosy?
"Well..." I speak after recovering from the shock. "He's in Germany now, and he's doing great, I guess," I answer her question with difficulty. The actual thought of him having a great time and peacefully doing whatsoever he traveled to do makes me furious.
If Karen asks me one more question about him, I might cry, run away or faint.
She gives me one of her most indecipherable looks—as though she knows my bad mood has a significant thing to do with him. However, I see a slight change of expression on her face, which is similar to doubt or contemplation—like she's debating against the fact that Christopher and I could be having issues since he is, of course, a sweet guy. Whatever it is that she was thinking, I'm glad that she decides not to ask any more questions about him.
"I'm hungry. Aren't you? Let's get something to eat. Don't you think we should?"
"Yeah, I guess you are right." I shrug. I look around. We are the only ones left in the restaurant now. The waiter is cleaning the tables in the distance
"What would you like to eat? The bill is on me, sadly, " I say, managing to make a joke.
"Well, I'd like—"
The ringtone of her phone interrupts her speech rudely. I can tell she wishes to continue placing her orders since the bill is on me, but I'm grateful at that moment, hoping she'd cancel on the meal so I don't pay a dime, but the long, confused look on her face is passing an entirely different message across.
"Oh my God! Has your phone been switched off all this while?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Little wonder why I have twenty missed calls from your husband. He must have missed you so much, and sadly, my phone has been on silent mode since our discussion. Now give him a call and let him know that you are alright, will you?" She says with a small, teasing smile. Little does she know what she has just done to me. Karen always knows so little but does so much at times.
More importantly, I wonder why the heck my husband has been calling Karen.