Guns Of Malabor Read online

Its members were laws onto themselves, answerable only to the hierarchy within their own organizations. They controlled most of the racketeering activities in their operating districts, and even sometimes maintained law and order. The political elite fraternized with them as a means of uniting and solidifying power bases, since they themselves wielded soft power, the type that manifested itself in paper form - namely, the constitution, and currency notes.

  Cabañ affiliations were hardly ever spoken of in public, but it was common knowledge that these families were also made up of members by the law-abiding populace. Doctors, lawyers, police chiefs, and even some high-ranking judges, all had unofficial memberships. Academics weren’t excluded either, as most of the incumbent vice-chancellors of the city’s universities and polytechnics, got their positions via this link. Oftentimes, any opposition to the ruling family’s choice was usually gunned down or doused in petrol, along with their academic certifications, before being burnt at an unmarked site.

  With the passage of time, territorial battles ensued amongst the numerous cabañs. Consequently, this thinned out their ranks, and hurt whatever little rackets they had ongoing; and after coming to terms with the fact that their needless scuffles served only the interest of the city, they eventually decided on a regional system that ensured lasting periods of faux peace.

  Much later, some of the more dominant families realized that they could maximize their gains by swallowing up smaller cabañs, often under the guise of mergers. In light of this, a triumvirate of crime families eventually emerged to maintain a true stranglehold over the city-- they were the Elema, Romet and the Sarasande.

  As these families expanded, the DNS was established as a countermeasure on their increasing influence. They put a check to the activities of the smaller families, whilst working to establish an information dossier on the three Superfamilia, in hopes of an eventual giant-killing crackdown.

  According to the current dossier, the families had now evolved to mimic the organizational structure of a classic Mafioso family. It was one where two other people held sway beneath the Don or Ogaboss.

  Both the Numero and Clerasao were on the same level, but in the event of the boss’s demise, or incapacitation, it was the Clerasao or Underboss who would be slated to take over. A Consigliere of sorts, if you like.

  The Numero’s role was more of an auxiliary one, with he or she having all of the perks of being the family’s number two, but also having no field obligations. This person was usually an outsider to the family, and was often used as a decoy to throw off any sleuthing law enforcement agents digging too deep. Beneath these two were a regiment of capo’s that ran the family operations. Everyone else was considered a foot soldier, similar to Gene who had just been transferred from Interrogations at the Malabor Intelligence Bureau, to the DNS. The DNS was his Ogaboss and his job was to take every one of the Superfamilia down.

  ----------

  When Eric arrived at the entrance of the Jakande building, it was already 9:09 am. The beginning of his week always sounded the same. A knocking of heels against the tiled floor, the clicking of pens here, a shuffling of papers there, the rumble of the water dispenser as large bubbles of air rushed back into the holding bottle; all of them being sounds which he had grown to hate in his seven years at Eastman Properties. He had a report that was due after the weekly meeting, but he would just have to ask for more time, since the meeting itself had begun more than an hour earlier.

  Wiping his hand on his jeans, he grabbed the reception pen and filled ‘8:00 am’ into the time book, before dashing towards the closing elevator. Inside, he shook hands with Femi, the guy in charge of the company website. Half of his trousers had been unceremoniously drenched in rain water. A younger, fresh faced man stood behind them, carrying Femi's folder, with his back pasted to the wall.

  ‘Bad man, have you been in the meeting at all?’ Femi asked.

  Yeah, why?

  ‘I stepped in to get some documents and didn’t see you. Matter of fact, haven’t seen you till now’ Femi continued.

  ‘My man, it’s a whole conspiracy that’s led to me arriving at this time, you won’t understand’.

  Eric lied because it sounded better than saying he had been out all night.

  Femi cleaned his glasses before responding.

  ‘Well, the boss has declared fire and brimstone for all latecomers and rule flouters, would be fun to see you wriggle yourself out of this one' said Femi.

  ‘Is he not human like us? He will understand.’ Eric said with a smirk on his face.

  ‘By the way, who’s the new guy? An Otondo?’

  ‘This is Faiva, our new corper intern. Otondo sounds derogatory Eric, I keep telling you.’ said Femi.

  ‘More derogatory than having a grown man carry around your folders for you?... alongside other menial tasks? Allow me to be non-derogatory as fuck then.’ said Eric, as he turned to the intern.

  ‘What’s up? Eric Dianko, Lead generation department.’

  He put out his hand for a handshake.

  ‘Nothing much sir, I’m good.’ Faiva responded with a weaker grip.

  ‘Regardless of what I may have just said, if you want to last long here, you do as he says, not as he does.’

  ‘No problem sir, thanks for the advice.’ said Faiva.

  The elevator stopped at the eight floor and its doors opened into a line of offices across from a marble-tiled walkway. The white mahogany cubicles were all silent and empty, suggesting that the meeting was still ongoing. Echoes of the air leaving his heaving chest, could probably be heard amidst the low din of the boss’s voice in the conference room.

  ‘There is yet more work to be done to salvage the company from the throes of recession.’ he said, as Eric burst into the meeting room.

  ‘Appeals against mounting tax levies have fallen on deaf ears, and that’s why we’ve decided to cut costs, starting with you Eric.’ he said, pointing with his custom, felt tip pen.

  ‘What? Wait a minute, why? I’m the top closer here for this month, no other agent came close to filling up rooms like I did.’ Eric exclaimed, not believing his ears.

  ‘And that’s exactly why we feel you’d do so well outside of the company. You’d have more time for yourself since you clearly can’t carve out enough time for us.’

  “We were all just talking, and it was decided in unison that your absence constituted a short straw.” said a small man with a wrinkly nose. He was Teodoro Olindo, the company’s CFO.

  “Besides, we can’t base management decisions on whether or not you had a good month. We’re looking at track records, you just had better luck this month by spotting the big fish first.”

  “Boss, the rain was heavy, I-” Eric began with a half plea.

  “Don’t get me wrong, we’ve always appreciated your work, but the circumstances I’ve explained prior to your arrival, have necessitated this change. Use the rest of the day to clear up and meet Lola in accounting for your severance package. The changes are effective immediately.” The CEO said without a hint of hesitation, before resuming his address.

  “Alright ladies and gentlemen. As I said, Desmond Dixon’s transfer to our city’s very own Ultimo Strikers FC, will have him and his entourage looking for accommodation. I want a team at the airport, waiting to welcome them as soon as they land. Find out the hotel he will be at, what type of suya he likes, the color of his shit if need be, just make sure we get the damn viewing appointment booked.

  I have a feeling that Wiese-Dini will be doing the same thing, so locate their intended properties, and put word out in our media channels about them being haunted or something, anything, get creative.

  Another team will need to approach the club for jersey advert negotiations, we can pay for a spot below the USFC logo.”

  “We’re alright according to the books I assume” the boss continued with a quick glance at Teodoro

  “But it never hurts to maintain mindshare.” He said, pausing to let the words sink in.


  “Femi, you will be taking over Eric’s portfolio. Call the landlords at state housing and begin to introduce yourself. That will be all people. Let’s get out there and rake in some more money.” The boss ended on an energized note.

  Eric sat stunned for a minute or two, in one of the swivel chairs that lined the meeting room’s u-shaped table. His payment plan for Nella’s supplements, now all up in flames on someone else’s whim. His face took on a look of angst as he got up and made his way to the store room at the far end of the corridor. Some of the product from the last batch remained. It was an emergency stash for times like this when he wondered what would feel better, knocking his boss up the head, or throwing him out of the eight-floor window.

  He kissed the rosary that encircled the box he came for and said a quick prayer, thankful that Itoro the janitor hadn’t found it fist. There was a small, green pouch inside the toolbox where he hid his stash, together with a miniature ice pick and hammer. Inside the pouch were small, black spherical pellets of condensed coca, a vape pen, and some rolling papers, in case the pen failed him for some reason. He had a pre-wrapped blunt from the last time he was alone in there and decided to light it up while crushing more of the ice with the pick.

  With each wisp of smoke that escaped his lips, his vision got bluer, the pick doubled in weight and the black powder seemed to be dividing itself into even more miniature grains. All he could think of was how his life was supposed to change for the better. A searing pain blazed through his chest area, and the whiplash feel of his Knight of St. Mulumba rosary against his face was the last thing he felt, as he fell to the ground, overdosed.

  -----------------------

  2

  ____________________

  VGENEFUL

  Victory Way, Satellite Town, Sande.

  The car handle was making far too much noise than was acceptable at the time of the day. It was only a few minutes past midnight, and the only lights around came from a fault street light, and the church down the street. The car, a 1999 Nissan salon, was a relic to say the least. If it were human, it would certainly have been enrolled in the senior’s home by now, but here it was, owner nowhere in sight, still strong as ever, seemingly impenetrable to the two dark figures that hovered around it.

  “What’s taking so long. I thought this was going to be a quick lock jimmy. It feels like the owner might come out soon, can’t we just take the tires and move?” said the waifish teen in a yellow tank top and baggy jean shorts.

  “It would be a good idea to shut up don’t you think? Stop being a puss and do what I asked you to do. Watch.” The older female growled.

  The new girl had every right to be scared, this could easily have been a trap. After all, it was no news that area security had been beefed up recently, but Aristide Hawlings had a bravery that bordered on blissful ignorance, and so it had to be done.

  She needed that money after losing over half of the weekly takings at the bet shop. Her daughter Yimi had school fees that were due, even though she had been handed over to her grandmother for custody. They had already gotten two car batteries for the night, one more for the road wouldn’t hurt.

  Frida wrapped her arms around herself, the chill of the midnight breeze had gone up a notch since they got here.

  As they stood hunched, fiddling with the stubborn car door, the roar of an engine accompanied by blinding floodlights quickly became audible in the distance. The vehicle arrived and was parked a few feet away, parallel to where they stood. Aristide sensed danger and immediately turned to walk away, when she noticed two figures behind them. Even in the enshrouding darkness, she was still able to make out the silhouette of a Beretta, seeing as she had one on her. Any sudden movements and a pair of shelled rounds would be lodged in the back of her head. She knew the drill.

  Frida tensed up. The other handgun had been lowered to her chest level. Small beads of sweat had begun to run down her face, as she tried to not panic at the thought of being raped, or worse still killed.

  Light from a flashlight beamed onto the faces of the quartet by the Nissan. It had come from the other car that had just arrived and seemed to blind the gunmen. Aristide saw her chance. Her fist suddenly shot out in a sweeping motion to brush the gun aside, before she followed it up with a hook to his jaw. She turned towards the second figure with an unholstered beretta in hand, but was instead caught with a punch she didn’t see coming.

  “Come on, stay down! who be you!” her assailant growled.

  His floored partner quickly recovered and moved to put Frida in a chokehold.

  “Stand down Mario” barked another figure that had emerged from the car.

  “Öga! let me off this bitch!” yelled the bulky enforcer.

  “Stand down.” The approaching figure repeated.

  “Shit!” he cursed.

  “Because of you, boss, because of you.” he said and lowered his weapon.

  The tall figure moved even closer, and a wave of calm swept over Aristide’s face. The man advancing was a man who knew her history almost as well as she knew his.

  Every Friday morning, three years ago, business owners in the south of Malabor opened shops with scowls on their faces. They knew the drill; act up and get hurt or keep shut and pay up. An Elema squad was always on standby to close shops and deliver beat-downs, if there were any hiccups. They were to hand over money to either Aristide, or the man with the baseball hat a.k.a The Dot.

  Together with the man the baseball bat, the duo would saunter into corner shops, drinking bars and construction sites within the district, and leave with way more money than they came with. That was money that she needed, but it was also money that now belonged to the cabañ.

  This routine continued up until the day Aristide got arrested and framed for a murder she didn’t commit. Sources in the So’Kang women’s prison where she was remanded, confirmed her suspicions of being set up by someone in the family. Tonight was her first night out since her mysterious bailout, and the first reunion of The Hat and Bat since then.

  Slowly, she lowered her Beretta .45 and began to unwrap her head scarf. Hidden under golden, braided locks, was a burn mark in the shape of a ship's anchor.

  “Risti”

  “Eden”

  “You lost some weight since I left man.” Eden said. He pulled his black hoodie off his bald head and tried to peep behind her hips.

  “Truth. But it will always beat losing your hairline though.” Aristide joked.

  “I told you to come with me to Brazil, but you wouldn’t leave your comfort zone, you wanted to become Capo. The guys over there are making a killing, literally. They sent us down to set up shop, right here at the source.” said Eden.

  “They aren’t the only ones back to make a killing” said Aristide.

  3

  ____________________

  “By way of personal preference, I say we start with her.” said Meka Yedlin, the number two man in the special narcotics division. He was in his early forties but was the epitome of the saying ‘Black don’t crack’. He stood akimbo with a large, brown envelope in one hand, before proceeding to circle the picture of a dark-haired woman on a photo board which Gene had constructed.

  “What are you still doing here” asked Gene, his eyes still groggy from what had seemed like a twenty-minute nap.

  “I work here, remember? We got the same brief, which I’ve just updated.” Meka replied.

  “The Black Crack Files. That’s what I’m christening it.” He continued.

  The senior detective sighed at the lame branding, and then reached for the envelope. He opened it, removed the first of four filed dossiers from inside the previously sealed envelope, and placed it in front of him.

  “That’s the summary so far.” said Meka.

  “Everything we have on black ice and those that sling it. Distilled to just the details needed for a shutdown raid.”

  Gene clasped his hands together in a prayerful stance and reclined deeper into his chair.

  “W
hy her?” He asked.

  “Like I said, my choice is based on personal preference, but we can go over the details, and then you decide.” Meka replied.

  “First off, the Elema crime family. Barely need any introduction. Got their hands in every transportation racket to the east of the city. Led by an old school mobster who’s better at covering his tracks than his loud, fucking mouth.”

  Gene nodded in acknowledgement of the facts.

  “They also boast the highest number of family members in our prisons. A wild bunch. Predictable. Still dangerous in the grand scheme of things, but just seems like we’d be digging a shallow hole with a teaspoon.”

  “Okay? Next one.” He circled the photo of Enzo Elema, big time hotelier and socialite.

  “Two. Momani Takon. Never minces a word when it comes to women’s rights and empowerment. A matriarchal avatar and leader of a band of cold-blooded sharpshooters for hire. They conduct their operations mainly in Malabor’s west.

  Might be something in there. Plus, it’s a female heavy mafia; tell me you don’t want to start the case off by patting down some criminal booty, and I’ll call you a liar. Already circled.”

  Gene stifled a laugh and motioned for a continuation.

  “Number three. The Romet family. The new evil. These ones are a little opaquer. So far, very little is known about the person at its helm, except for the fact that it is run by a shadowy figure known only as The Kingpin. DNS has tried unsuccessfully to infiltrate this shadow family for years. No luck. Last known attempt being a year ago. Remember at the briefing? the boss spoke of an agent.”

  “Agent Tobi” Gene asked.

  “Yes, him. He’s dead now. Peace be unto his soul. Blew his cover, and the motherfuckers sent him swimming with cement boots. But his sacrifice wasn’t entirely in vain. His notes suggest that the Romet have got mad science running in their blood. Apparently, they’ve been able to carve a niche for themselves in the production and distribution of Coca Noir, a.k.a. Black Ice. Currently in a turf war with the Elema. According to one of our moles on ground, there’s a chance that we might even find the black ice labs, once we rough up a few key people”.