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3

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, is the 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 suppliers 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 moans 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 in order 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 was helpful in igniting 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 stated 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 that 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’s time; 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."

Konstantin peeled the duct tape off her mouth and off her hands, and I walked towards her with my package of food. She looked really tired and in need of some sleep, and it was evident that we needed to get her some comfy clothes if she was going to survive the cold—her lips were almost purple! Which was alarming given her complexion.

"Hey Jewel. I spoke to your father, and he wants to speak with you."

She replied with silence, and in her eyes was dejection.

"I brought you some food. I continued, stooped to her level, and lifted her face up with my index finger.

"Leave me alone," she spat at me. "Quit acting like you’re my friend."

"You better eat; you might be here for a long time. I said. I shifted a small wooden stool towards her and left the food on it. She turned away from the food and folded her hands like a sulking child.

"I want to talk to my father," she began, adding "please" as an afterthought.

"Alright then." I said this and signaled to Konstantin, who came with a cellphone. Before the solemn pom-poms had even begun to sound, Chief Latif’s voice had already boomed through the speakers.

Jewel? is that you? He asked anxiously. Satisfied by his response, I pushed the phone closer to Amina’s lips, and she answered,

"Papa," she called once and burst into a fit of tears. A part of me wanted to stretch out, pat her wild hair, and whisper into her ears that everything was going to be alright, but who was I kidding? I was the one who kidnapped her, after all.

That night I would call the Don again to inform him and ask him for more details of the plan. It was late at night, but I could hear the sizzling of frying peppers over the phone, and at once I knew that our Don was at it again; he was making his favorite lethal pepper sauce. By its name, one could tell that it was a sauce only our Don could enjoy, and it was made with nothing else but a variety of peppers.

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