C3 CHAPTER 3

As I punched in the numbers and dialed, I felt a different coldness at the side of my head; it was the coldness of metal.

“Drop the damned phone, Jewel,” Ivan warned me; he took my cell phone and tucked it into his back pocket.

“Better keep my name out of your mouth!” I snapped at him — I could not stand to hear my name on his lips.

“I don’t care; now get out of my car.” Ivan averred. The two hefty, blonde, bearded men helped me out of the car and bound my hands and mouth with duct tape. I was tossed into the back of the minivan and watched Ivan speed away. Before I could note down his plate numbers, a black bag was drawn over my head. My butt still hurt from the exhausting ride, but what was more prevalent in me was the fear that these men would do terrible things to me. I had heard stories of wives and daughters of gang leaders being beaten up, raped, killed, or all of these at once. So much for being around people. Deep down, a part of me wanted to crawl back into the stiff hands of my father and inhale the smoke of his strawberry-flavored Oris. I wanted to go back and clean his golden frog ashtray every morning.

(IVAN)

“My name’s Amina, but you can call me Jewel.” She said, and the excitement in her eyes told me that she knew nothing of the world. She was ignorant enough to not be scared of me. Of course, I already knew her name: Amina Latif, age 21, caramel-skinned, from Lagos, Nigeria, daughter of the Salamander Gang Leader. The Salamander Gang Leader, Chief Lawan Latif, was a very good friend and partner to our Don; they dealt in firearms and an assortment of hard drugs. But just last year, Chief Latif cut our channels and started buying his firearms from God knows where with no explanation or hints to our Don. Our Don, however, nursed his anger and bid his time until this faithful moment. I don’t know what Chief Latif was thinking when he sent his daughter to Moscow.

Amina was cute, and I loved the way her thick, soft hair blew all over her features in the wind. The black of her hair was untainted and glossy, and it made you just want to stretch out and feel it. Chief Latif must have thought he was protecting his daughter from his enemies.

I drove back to my house on Pokovkra Street before I made a call to our Don.

“Da, Ivan. How are you?” Asked Don Oleg in his usual spirited manner.

“We’ve got the girl; it’s time to make the call,” I stated. We had agreed that Don Oleg himself would carry out the negotiations; his initial aim was to make sure that we secured the position as the supplier of firearms to Lagos. This deal was worth millions, and we could not afford to let things blow out. After all, international gang wars are drawn out and very expensive because of the distance, so we could not afford to let a war break out.

“I’m busy, Ivan; you make the call. I can trust you with that, no?”

“Yes. You can.” I assured him.

“Good. Call me when a deal is struck.” Don Oleg stated this and went silent for a while before the shrill moanings of a woman spilled through the phone. I cut the call; Don Oleg never cut any calls, not even his own. What a busy man he was.

I walked to my minibar and poured a shot of liquor to settle my nerves. I picked up my phone and punched in the numbers. The voice of a lady answered, “To copy this tune, press eleven,” after which came the soft pom-poms of the ringing line. After a while, someone picked up the call and simply breathed into the speakers.

“Chief Latif?” I inquired.

“Yes, and who are you calling me at this time of the night?” His voice boomed. I didn’t know that it was night at this time in Nigeria, but it helped ignite urgency.

“Who I am does not matter; your jewel is about to be cracked. And if you do not comply, she will be broken.” I started it matter-of-factly, and a long silence ensued.

“Chief Latif?” I ventured again.

“You’re a bastard. You hear me? I will find you, and I will make a mess of you.” Boomed the voice again.

“Chief Latif, I think you don’t understand that your daughter’s life is at stake,” I said and killed the line. I could feel the suspense wafting across continents as Chief Latif phoned and phoned, but I just let the call ring out. On the tenth call, I answered the call again.

“Are you ready to negotiate?” I asked.

“I want to know if my daughter is alive. I want to hear my Amina.” Chief Latif asked, his voice now lowered by fear.

“I’ll call you in an hour; stay by the phone.” I severed the lines again and dropped into a cushion, letting out a big sigh. I was just twenty-three myself, and I had already been assigned the task of consigliere. It’s not as if I was too young to carry out such responsibilities; it’s just that it wasn’t exactly where I thought I’d be at this point. The money was good anyway; I could now help my family instead of the other way around.

After a nap and a meal, I picked up my car keys and drove towards where the girl had been taken. Out of impulse, I bought some food on my way there. It was a typical huge basement with poor lighting. The girl sat on a chair with her hands strapped together at her back. My heart clenched with guilt. While I had been comfortable in my house, she had been sitting here cold and afraid.

“Loosen the girl, Konstantin. Let her eat.”