Kill a man

Photo: Mahdi Rezaei

Dera stood over the corpse of the man she had just killed.

The sudden boom of thunder did not jolt her as she stood in the rain, drenched and cold. The street was dark and quiet. The inhabitants here, with their big houses and fancy cars, loved their privacy, shut behind their huge gates.

“What have I done?” Dera spoke softly, her teeth clattering from the cold.

She crouched and placed a finger on the side of his neck to check for a pulse as she’d seen done in movies. It was the third time she was doing this and again she felt nothing. She placed her palm on his chest to feel for a heartbeat. Nothing. She moved her head to his nose to listen for signs of breathing. Nothing.

She stood still, her gaze fixed on the dead face, the thoughts still swirling in her head. She was a murderer. All of this wouldn’t have happened if her car hadn’t broken down tonight. She wouldn’t have had to stop at the roadside. She wouldn’t have even had to stop at the estate gate too. She would have just driven through. Or maybe she shouldn’t have refused him earlier, he would have driven her straight to her house.

But no. That was not how fate had designed it. Her car had decided to break down on a dangerous expressway, one known to hide thieves at night—the same place where the corpse of a woman had been found only two days earlier. Dark, lonely expressway, with no functioning streetlights. It was right there beside her malfunctioning car that she had been accosted by the hoodlums, three scruffy bastards.

At first, they pretended to be interested in helping her, but she already knew those tricks. They spoke Yoruba, a language she understood but couldn’t speak fluently. Born and raised in Lagos, she had picked up Yoruba as a child. She even considered herself to be ‘Lagos smart’. Be prepared for anything and everything. But, of course, in Lagos, one could never be too careful. City life is tough.

Dera had been gripped by fear when she saw the men approach. Who wouldn’t? She was alone on this dreaded expressway, one woman and three strangers—and it was raining. Yes, talk of nature’s treachery.

Even though she was scared, Dera tried to hide it. Lagos smart never showed fear. That was tantamount to losing the war even before it had started.

“Ah, sister mi, wetin do your car?” One of the men asked as they reached her, the other two walking around her car and peering through the windows. They were clearly looking for something to steal. Dera knew this and was prepared.

She never drove around with valuables anyway. She had learnt to hide her belongings whilst driving when, weeks ago, she witnessed a robber break into the car of a driver stuck in traffic and make away with the bags placed on the passenger seat of the car. Since then she always hid her handbag and her laptop in the boot of her car. Tonight, she wasn’t even with her laptop; she only had her phone and a wallet in her handbag. They were the first things she tucked away when the car broke down, sliding them into her trousers’ waistband carefully concealed under her long top and her blazer jacket. No one would suspect she was hiding something underneath the heavy clothing. It was cold and raining after all.

She left her almost empty handbag on her shoulder, clinging to it like her life depended on it. It was only a decoy. Perhaps the men would just take the bag and not harass her further.

The decoy paid off.

“Give me that your bag, give it now. No waste time, just bring it.” 

They were staring menacingly at her, the façade of ‘pretend-helpers’ now vanished. She stepped away from them and started walking backwards in fear, her gaze fixed on their faces. The men laughed.

The laughter sent chills down her spine. It was like that of an overfed predator playing with its prey. She was scared and angry too.

They switched back to Yoruba, talking to themselves about how stupid she was to think she could walk away from them.

“Bring out the gun,” one of them said. “She thinks we are playing.”

Another member of the gang brought out a pistol from underneath his shirt and pointed it at her.

“Ejoo, please. Don’t hurt me. I know the economy is bad but don’t take it out on me. Please. I didn’t do anything wrong. My car just broke down. Please.” Dera’s voice quivered as she spoke, the sight of gun suddenly filling her with terror. She was still moving away from them, praying silently for a lifeline, as they continued to close in on her.

Photo:Oliver Needham

“No dey talk too much just bring that bag.” One of the men rapidly closed the distance. He forcefully reached for her and pulled her so violently that she almost tumbled over. It was then that her prayers were answered. Her lifeline came.

Out of nowhere, a car appeared at full speed, its headlights shining blindingly. Dera instinctively pulled away from the momentarily stunned men who had been holding her and jumped in the line of the approaching vehicle. Its driver swerved wildly missing her by only a few inches before screeching to a loud halt.

The thieves were not prepared for such drama. They turned and scampered away into the darkness.

“Are you mad? I almost hit you! You’re a mad girl!” A man had alighted from the car, a black SUV, and was screaming at Dera who was still frozen with shock.

“Are you deaf? I am talking to you. What do you think you are doing? Or you are looking for who to put into trouble, ehn?”

Dera was beginning to regain her composure now. She was panting, her eyes darting nervously back and forth as if expecting the three men to spring from the darkness any time.

“I was attacked; I was attacked,” she managed to stutter between gasps. “Didn’t you see them? The men. Didn’t you see them running away? They were about to rob me! They had a gun.” She was panting and pointing into the darkness.

“Which men? All I saw was you jumping right in front of my car. For God’s sake, I could have killed you!” The man lifted his face to the dark skies. “Oh God, I give you thanks. Thank you. Thank you.”

He turned to Dera. “I hope you’re not hurt. Ah. You’re lucky o. We could have been singing a different tune now. No matter what, don’t jump in front of an approaching vehicle next time. It’s like signing your own death warrant.”

“They would have killed me! Don’t you understand? They would have robbed me and then shot me. For God’s sake, they had a gun. They pointed it at me!” 

“Ah ok. Me, I didn’t see anyone. The road was very dark. You are lucky I saw you at the last minute.”

“Yes, they ran away. Thank God. I was so scared. Just a couple of days ago a woman was found dead somewhere along this road. It must have been them. They must have killed her. Thank God you came. You just saved my life.” She was fighting to hold the tears back. “I am stranded. My car broke down. I really need to get home. Those men could come back.”

She was more relaxed now even though she could still hear the quickened thud of her heart against her chest. The rain had stopped now, and she could get a good view of the confused driver in front of her. He was tall, way taller than her. Maybe 5ft 11, maybe 6. He was hefty too, with huge shoulders and muscles like a WWE wrestler. His face looked kind though, at least after his earlier furious outburst.

“What is wrong with your car?” He asked, his eyes darting towards the white saloon car parked on the secluded expressway.

“I don’t know. I think it is an electrical issue. The rain was terrible. I came through an area that was badly flooded, so water may have gotten into some compartments in the engine. It won’t start. It jerked and stopped right there, after making some funny noises.”

“Uhm, I’m not so good with cars, so I won’t bother taking a look, but I can help you tow it to your destination.”

“Are you for real? Oh, my God! Thank you so much. Thank you so, so much!”

“It’s no big deal, I have a chain in my car. Where are you going, by the way?’

“Uhmm.. a chain? You have a chain?” Dera asked slightly alarmed as she began to subconsciously retreat.

He noticed. “Ha! Relax. It’s for my dog. He’s a huge badass rottweiler.” He smiled with pride. “I put the chain on when I take him out, so people don’t get scared. My name is Deji by the way and you need to tell me your destination except you want to remain stranded here alone.”

He didn’t wait for her response. He quietly entered his car and gently swerved to park directly in front of her’s. Her mind was doing mental calculations as she walked slowly towards the cars.

It was not like she had any choice. The road was dark and deserted. The rain made things worse. Only one car had sped past since she started talking to Deji. Its driver had not bothered to slow down. Who could blame him? Lagos roads were dangerous at night.

Deji pulled out a long chain from his boot. It was rolled into a bundle. He walked to where she stood, his phone lighting his path.

“See the dog collar? See? I’m not some psychopathic serial killer.” He laughed, his voice echoing eerily in the darkness.

He walked briskly to the front of Dera's car, bent and inserted an end of the chain to a bumper bracket, tying it as tightly as he could. He turned back to the rear of his SUV with the other end of the chain and repeated the process.

“Thank you for helping me, I’m Dera. You’re truly a godsend and I’m sorry for almost getting myself killed by you. I really wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I think you made a smart decision in the heat of the moment; your survival skills are commendable. Now that I think about it, those robbers must have run away scared. I’m sure they had never come across such a determined victim before, one even prepared to throw herself in front of an approaching vehicle.” He smiled revealing neatly lined white teeth.

“We are not too far from where I live,” Dera said. “Once we get off the expressway at the next roundabout, my mechanic workshop will be just around the corner. We can drop my car there. I will just give him a call to let him know,” she said.

“The next round-about is Dosumu Junction. I get off the expressway there too. I stay at Site J. Is that where you stay?”

“No. I stay at New Site; Site J is where my mechanic is.”

“Ah, the quiet estate. You must be a rich girl to live there.”

“Well, I still live with my parents.”

“Ah, I see. So, we both reside at Amuwo, ehn. See? We are neighbours.” He laughed again. “Maybe you can relax now, and stop being afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’m just still a bit shaken up. The night has been horrible. The past few weeks have been horrible and tonight—I could have gotten killed.”

Deji stared at her as she spoke, his eyes kind and reassuring. Then he held out his hand towards her. She hesitated, then took it. His palm was soft, nothing like his imposing figure.

“We should get going,” Deji said as the dark skies grumbled over them. Cold icy rain began to pour drenching them as they quickly made for Deji’s car.

“Oh, we forgot something,” Deji said as soon they were in the car.

“What?”

“Someone needs to be in your car to, you know, navigate,” he shook an imaginary steering wheel as he said ‘navigate’.

“Oh, that’s true,” Dera said slightly crestfallen. There was something about Deji that made her feel secure. She didn’t want to be in her cold car all by herself ‘navigating’ the wheel and staring at Deji’s brake lights.

“I guess I have to go then. But what if the chain pulls off and you don’t realise and keep driving?” she asked, not sure if she was joking or being serious.

Deji laughed, a rich baritone hollow, and she suddenly felt a flicker of attraction. 

“That won’t happen, I will drive really slow and remain observant. If the chain indeed pulls off, I will just have to fix it again.”

“I apologise for the hassle. It’s raining and it’s dark and I’m being a burden and…”

“It’s okay, I really don’t mind. I’m glad to be of help,” Deji said as he shifted to face Dera on the passenger seat. He placed his hand on her arm. It was then that she saw the ring on his finger.

“You’re married?”

The attraction suddenly fizzled. The hand on her arm recoiled like it had been zapped by electricity.

“Oh, ye…yeah…yes. I am. I am. I am…uhm… married.” The way he answered, his shaky voice, his hands moving up and down as though delivering a speech, Dera instantly knew he hadn’t planned to mention it, at least not that night.

“Oh, that’s good. Well, I guess I have to go navigate that car.”

“Oh yes, you do”

It was a slow drive just as he had said and Dera had time for the stubborn thoughts that swarmed around her head. And no, it wasn’t the three thieves. It was Deji. How he had appeared like a hero-in-cape. The tall, dark, handsome hero. He had flirted with her too. Yes, he had. She could swear it. The way he looked at her, the way he tried to create tension and establish physical contact. But he was married! Imagine that! And he had tried to hide it!

The thoughts were still in her head when they reached her mechanic’s shop. Deji stopped his car as she jumped down from hers and locked up.

“Thanks again for everything,” she said with a smile. “I wonder what I could have done without you. May God bless you.”

“You’re most welcome; was certainly my pleasure,” he replied with a grin. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home? I will take you all the way to your house. I really don’t mind.”

“No thanks, I’m fine here. I will get a bike home. I can see some bike men around.”

There were indeed commercial motorcyclists around. The mechanic’s workshop was close to the bus stop, and her estate was barely ten minutes away. There would be no hassle getting a motorcyclist to drop her off by the estate gate. Besides, she didn’t want any more help from him—this tall, muscular, handsome, married man. Yes, Dera still hadn’t forgiven him for being married.

“You have money for the bike man?”

“Yes, I do. Don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, have a good night and be safe.”

“You too. Thanks again. Goodbye”.

“Goodbye”.

Dera turned to go.

“Oh wait,” the voice called out. “One last thing.”

Maybe it was the frustration of her car packing up. Maybe it was the encounter with the robbers and almost getting hit by a car. Maybe it was the disappointment of finding out Deji’s married status. Or maybe it was a mix of everything that had gone wrong over the past few weeks, but Dera snapped when Deji asked for her phone number.

“Sorry but I’m not interested in being a side chick!” The words left her before she could stop them.

Deji appeared flummoxed for a few seconds before regaining his composure.

“You don’t have to be so presumptuous? I just want your number to check in and make sure you get home safe.”

“You don’t need to. I’ll be fine from here.”

“Well, you could at least be polite about it. I went out of my way to help you tonight.”

“And I already showed my gratitude by saying thank you; I don’t have to be your side chick as well.”

She walked away from him, flagging down a commercial motorcyclist that was driving past. She hopped on the motorcycle without as much as a glance back at Deji.

The encounter still ran through her mind as the motorcyclist sped off. Why had she reacted like that? Why was she angry? Was she just stressed? Frustrated? Jealous?

The motorcyclist stopped at the estate gate as bikes were not allowed in. It was another five minutes from the gate to her house and, for a fleeting moment, as she withdrew her wallet to pay, she regretted not allowing Deji to drop her off.

The motorcyclist watched curiously as she reached underneath her clothes for the waistband where her wallet was stowed. She gave him N500 and waited for change.

“How much change be this, you dey give me?” Dera asked the motorcyclist bending towards the headlight of his motorcycle to get a proper look at the money he gave back to her.

“Na N200 be your change na”.

Photo: Adeboro Odunlami

“You dey mad! Na N300 you suppose give me. No be N500 I give you? Your money na N200.”

When she hopped on the bike and gave him directions, she had expected the bike man to charge the regular N100 fare but because of the rain, he had bargained for an extra N100.

“Na you dey mad; carry your change comot for my front oh.”

The motorcyclist released the stopper latch holding his motorcycle in place and started it. The audacity of this man!

Dera reached for his shirt, red hot with anger.

“Give me my complete change!”

She was pulling his shirt and shouting at the same time.

“You dey hold my shirt? Leave me now before I slap you.”

“Slap me? Them no born you well!”

“What is going on here?” The estate’s security guard, Bassey, emerged from the security post which was beside the gate. He heard the commotion and rushed to check it out.

It was just N100 difference, but her night had been full of episodes that were infuriating, and she was frustrated. It took the intervention of the security man to get her change from the motorcyclist. As he drove away, he rained insults on her.        

“Asewo! Prostitute. That man wey drop you no give you enough money na why you dey vex. Abi you think say I no see you? Harlot. Is this the time your mates return home?”

“Sorry dear, don’t mind him,” the security man said as they went through the estate gate.

“It’s OK. You don’t have to apologise,” she said.

The events of the night coursing through her mind and her feelings merged. She found herself laughing and crying at the same time.

An impromptu meeting with her boss after work hours had started the events of the night. She was suspended for a critical decision she made in a court case she handled. Her career as a corporate lawyer was the only thing keeping her together since she ended her relationship with her boyfriend two weeks ago, a decision she made when she found out her boyfriend of over a year had a wife and children. She was devastated, felt foolish, and used. To get over her broken heart, she dived into work harder than ever.

“The rain is about to get heavy again; you should go to your house quickly.” Dera heard the security man, but his words only registered when he held her waist.

He was always friendly and nice with her, but he gave her the creeps. He was too friendly and chatty. He would start up conversations whenever she drove past the security post. Dera found him repulsive. He always stared at her like he wanted to undress her, making offensive comments. There was the one time he told her that she looked sexy and delicious in her outfit. A compliment, perhaps, but it was the way Bassey had said it, a telling amount of lust laced in his words.

“What are you doing? I can walk on my own,” Dera said as she pulled away from Bassey's hold. The rainfall picked up heavily and she ran towards her house as fast as she could. It wasn’t until she got to her gate that she realised Bassey was behind her. He was grinning sheepishly, his eyes bright with mischief.

“Why did you follow me?”

“You know it’s been long I have been trying to tell you that I like you. I've been giving you signs. I have been trying to talk to you, always telling you how beautiful and sexy you are. Miss Dera, me I like you oh, too much,” Bassey said.

“This is the last thing I need right now. Under this rain is when you decided to be telling me all this nonsense!”

“Why are you saying it's nonsense? Because I’m a security man? See me o; I be fine guy o, if I handle your pussy, baby, I swear you will be begging me for marriage.”

She slapped him so hard, her hand hurt. She even shrieked in pain. Bassey grabbed her arms as he regained his composure. The force with which he grabbed stunned and scared her.

“Are you mad? How dare you think you can treat me like this? Get off me you fool.” Dera pushed at his chest with all her might. Bassey didn’t have time to brace himself for the impact or perhaps the ground had become slippery from the rain; he lost his balance and fell on his back with a thud.

Dera was boiling with rage at the security man that she failed to realise he wasn’t moving.

“You’re going to regret everything you did tonight. I’m going to get you arrested and jailed for sexual harassment.” She kicked at his leg in rage and then realised he wasn’t moving or making any sounds.

She inched closer to peer at him and noticed the blood oozing from his head, the rain splattering and dispersing it all over the tarred road. He had hit his head violently on the elevated concrete pavement. She called his name; no response. Did she just kill a man?

“What have I done? Oh God, what am I going to do? How do I get out of this? I’m going to be jailed for life.” As she was speaking, solutions raced through her mind.  

The universe had been against her for weeks, and the big man upstairs seemed to have abandoned her, but it seemed the universe was finally giving her a break. God was with her. All she had to do was move the body.

It was still raining which was in her favour. The rain would wash away all traces of blood.

She went on to work on moving the body of the security man she had accidentally killed.

She kept on reminding herself that it was an accident. She lifted his hands and dragged him away from her father’s house to the next house. 

It was all she could think of. She had to leave the body in the shallow drainage gutter in front of the compound. The body will certainly be discovered, but no one would be able to link it to her.

In her bemused state, she concluded that wiping the body with her handkerchief would erase traces of her fingerprints. So, she pulled it from her handbag and started to wipe the body of places she felt her fingerprints could be discovered. She then kicked the body into the open drainage. As the body fell, it splashed some dirty water on her feet and on the road.

She ran back to the front of her house and pulled her phone out, turning the flashlight on. From there she started the trail from her house to the next house, glancing around to be sure the rain was wiping off traces of blood and indeed it was. Even the concrete pavement was clean.

She didn’t want this. She didn’t set out to kill anyone today, but it happened. The crazy events of the evening clouded her brain as she entered her house. She said no words to the maid that welcomed her in through the back door. She headed for her bedroom in a haze; her mind clouded. She dropped her mobile phone, wallet, and handbag on her bed, stripped off her clothes and headed for the shower. The refreshing warm water coursed down her body.

Gun in face. Speeding car. Deji. Bike man. Murder. 

Murder. Bike man. Deji. Speeding car. Gun in face. Murder.

Every thought sequence ended in murder—the image of Bassey’s lifeless body sprawled inside the gutter firmly etched in her mind.

The thoughts followed her to bed. Images of Bassey’s cracked head. She wondered what would happen when his body was discovered in the morning.

Could they link it to her? She was sure no one had seen her enter the estate. The maid saw her enter the house, but no one should translate her coming home late to killing Bassey.

Her stupid car broke down! That’s why she came home late. She didn’t see Bassey. She didn’t see anyone at the estate gate. That’s how she would explain it.   She did what she had to do; she was hasty about it, but she was hoping she wouldn’t get caught when the police start their investigation. There were no witnesses to the actual death of Bassey, no active CCTV cameras that she was aware of—

Now all she had to do was try to live with the guilt of killing a man, and hope and wait.

About the Author

Lucy Chiamaka Okwuma is a Nigerian from Anambra state, she is an optometrist with a passion for writing. She credits her love for writing fiction to reading a lot of novels growing up. She self published her debut novel, Neglected, with the hope of raising awareness of mental health. Lucy can be reached on Facebook at ‘Lucy Okwuma’ or Instagram at ‘Diamete.’