The afternoon sun beat down on the quiet streets as Izar slipped out of the Adomako’s residence, the compound empty with Hector and Lavender gone for a weekend conference in which the lady of the house had a presentation. Dressed in a faded T-shirt and jeans, he shoved his hands in his pockets, his steps quick as he headed toward a nearby kelewele seller. He hadn’t eaten the delicacy in a while, so now was never a better time to get some.
Besides, he needed to get out of the house, with his mind churning with frustration over the botched attempt to set Hector straight.
So much for trying to put the big man on the right path. The sting of his harsh dressing-down was still raw.
“Stupid move, Izar. Fucking stupid move,” he muttered, kicking a pebble along the dusty path. “Why did you even bother trying to set that guy straight? You should have known he’d counter with all that Jesus talk and humility bullshit. Made me feel so fucking stupid with that long-ass lecture. Talking about why was I on the road, crying and all that shit? He doesn’t know the kind of shit I’m in, like he wouldn’t be telling me that nonsense. Preaching at me like I’m some kiddie bi in Sunday school. Mtcheww. This guy paa. Massa, I don’t buy into all that religious crap.”
He continued grumbling as he walked on. No doubt he was peeved over how that unraveled. A proper UNO reverse move. Now here he was, cut to the core and sorely annoyed at how he had been made to look every bit a fool.
Especially with the bit about begging for help and how it was contradictory to his ‘real man’ code. Even though he did his best to justify it to himself, he knew Hector had struck a major blow in pointing out his hypocrisy. Indeed, if he was going to claim to be a purveyor of typical manly values, he had to go the whole nine yards with it.
As he neared the kelewele seller’s stall – a small wooden stand under a colorful umbrella – his grumbling softened to a murmur as he joined the short queue. “Waste of time, anyways,” he said to himself, his arms crossed. “I should’ve kept my mouth shut and thought about myself. From now on, I’m thinking about myself and myself alone. And for now, it’s time to plan my escape, coz chale, I need to get outta here. Time no dey. Tomorrow morning, before the sun go comot sef, I’m gone.”
He had made his mind up an hour or two ago on his next move: the next day, he’d head to Elubo, a quiet border town, lay low for a bit, then find a way to slip out of Ghana entirely. The Amoakos had done enough, and it was time to move on. Besides, he was tired of their super-churchy crap. He could not wait to be rid of it.
As he waited for the customer in front of him to receive her order, a tinny radio blared from the seller’s side table, a pastor’s voice cutting through the chatter.
“Luke 8:17, brothers and sisters… Luke 8:17… and the word of God says, ‘For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light.’”
Izar rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Rubbish.”
Another sermon, another Bible verse he didn’t care for. Boy, he could not wait to be done with hearing all these silly little speeches!
Finally, it was his turn. He made his order, handed over a few cedis, grabbed the warm bag of kelewele, and turned back toward the Amoako residence, his thoughts fully set on packing his bag and slipping out before dawn.
***
Across the street from the kelewele joint, near another food stall where roasted yam was sold, two men sat in a sleek black Honda Civic, chewing slowly with their eyes locked on Izar as he walked away, his figure unmistakable.
The driver, a normal-sized man with a scar above his brow, nudged his partner, a smaller-sized guy.
“Chale, Dondo, no two ways about it, that’s him. Izar.”
“Chale, who would have thought? After three days of nothing, we’re the lucky ones! Can’t believe our luck. We hit oo, Volenti.”
“Aswear, my guy! We hit the jackpot paa. Chale, let’s follow him and find out where he’s holed up.”
“Sharp. Make we move.”
The car’s engine purred to life, and they eased into the street, keeping their distance as Izar, oblivious, headed back toward the Adomako’s bungalow.
***
The evening sky over Accra glowed as Hector and Lavender drove back from the conference. With the upbeat tunes of Kirk Franklin playing low on the radio, Hector quickly pulled into a small shop’s parking lot, hopping out to grab the ice cream Lavender had craved after her presentation. Minutes later, he slid back into the driver’s seat, holding a small Snickers Ice Cream bar with a grin.
“For my star presenter,” he announced extravagantly, handing it to her.
Lavender’s face lit up as she took the bar. “Ohhh, baby, you’re spoiling me!” she exclaimed, leaning over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, my love.”
He chuckled, starting the car. “You’re welcome, my sweet. It’s the least you deserve after that stellar presentation. Totally slayed it. Of course, with all that research you did on blockchain, I’m not surprised. You were always going to blow everyone away with your expertise. Oh, and don’t think this is all: I’ve got a few more surprises up my sleeve for you.” He winked.
Lavender giggled as she tore the wrapper open. “Awww, Hector. You’re too much,” she cooed. “What would I do without you?”
They leaned toward each other, and shared a few short, sweet kisses, their hands brushing briefly. “I love you, Hector,” Lavender murmured, her smile soft. “Thank you for being my number one supporter.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Lavie. And I love you more,” Hector replied, his deep voice tender as he gently stroked her cheek.
A few moments of basking in their romantic aura, and they were ready to continue their journey home.
As they pulled back onto the road, his tone shifted to a more thoughtful one. “You know, babe, about Izar, I’ve been thinking. I might talk to him about taking up the church’s outreach offer. I don’t know what his plans are, but I really feel now that God brought him our way for a reason. Because that boy needs guidance, a lot of it.”
Lavender nodded solemnly, pausing her enthusiastic licking mid-air. Hector had told her about his morning confrontation with Izar earlier, knowing that he had framed it protectively to shield her from the sting of whatever misogynistic comments the young boy had spewed. She didn’t know what exactly was said, but she did know, as far as Hector had mentioned, that Izar had “some foolish ideas about manhood” and needed serious correction.
“He does,” she agreed quietly. “Let’s see how it goes. But I trust you’ll get through to him, Hector. You always do with young men like him.”
Hector nodded. “Let’s hope so. Maybe I’ll talk to him tomorrow. The young man was still pouting like a little kid when we left. He’s still pained over the way I gave it to him. Hm! Such a manly way to behave, you know: get all passive-aggressive when corrected. He has a lot of unlearning and relearning to do.”
Lavender could only hum in agreement as they moved on.
As they approached their bungalow’s gate about five minutes later, the familiar white walls coming into view, Lavender’s gaze drifted to a sleek black Honda Civic parked across the street.
“Mmmm, that’s a pretty nice car,” she commented, tilting her head.
Hector glanced over, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, pretty sharp-looking. Want me to get you one?” he teased, his grin wide.
She laughed, swatting his arm playfully. “Oh, please, Mr. Big Spender! I prefer being in the passenger seat.”
“Oh wow, so you want me to be the one always driving you around?”
“Of course, babe! Soft life all day every day!”
“You are not serious!”
Their laughter filled the car as the gate creaked open, and Hector drove in, the couple totally oblivious to the danger lurking behind the Civic’s tinted windows.
***
As Izar pushed the gate closed, he caught sight of the Civic pulling away slowly, its registration plate glinting under a streetlight.
His brow furrowed, a sudden unease tugging at him.
Hmmm… I feel like I’ve seen that car before. The shape, that registration plate… looks very familiar… but where?
His mind just couldn’t find it at that moment; it was still clouded with irritation from Hector’s rebuke and the sermon’s annoying verse.
Shaking his head, he trudged toward the boy’s quarters. Eh, whatever. That’s not what’s important now. What matters is me getting the fuck outta here…
***
As the Civic smoothly glided down the quiet Accra street, the two 7Katz intelligence operatives were focused on the task ahead. Dondo, in the passenger seat with a laptop balanced on his knees, typed rapidly, inputting the coordinates and address of the Adomako’s bungalow where they’d spotted Izar. His fingers danced over the keys, logging the gate’s description, the layout of the compound, the Amoako’s car registration plate and a timestamp. He hit the send button, the encrypted message zipping off to their network.
He glanced at Volenti and gave a sharp nod. “It’s done.”
Volenti nodded, his eyes on the road and one hand gripping the wheel as he pulled out a burner phone with the other. He dialed a number, the line connecting after a single ring.
His voice was low, clipped, and devoid of emotion.
“Panthera, sir. We found him.”
***
The night was thick and quiet, the only sound in the Adomako’s boy’s quarters the faint hum of crickets outside.
Izar lay on the bed, a duffel bag packed and shoved under the table, ready for his planned escape at dawn. His mind churned, mapping out his route to Elubo and the plans for that brief stay. He had to ensure he remained as inconspicuous as ever while there, and possibly make his way past the border without encountering immigration at all.
As he pondered over this, Hector’s stinging rebuke still echoed in his ears, mixing with that bible verse he heard earlier at the kelewele seller’s stall about secrets coming to light.
Thoughts that were very much unwelcome at that moment.
Massa, massa, he muttered to himself, nobody gives a fuck about all that…
His thoughts then drifted to the black Honda Civic he’d seen outside the gate earlier.
And its registration plate in particular.
He frowned and rolled onto his side, staring at the dim ceiling, trying to remember where he had seen it. The memory seemed to tease him, just out of reach, like a name on the tip of his tongue.
Then it hit.
A flashback, sharp and vivid…
He was with Bricky and Santos, months ago, on one of their shadow sessions, making their way through the dusty compound before the main 7Katz warehouse. Parked near the intelligence section’s rundown office was that same black Honda Civic, its tinted windows glinting under the sun.
The man leading them had nodded at it, muttering, “That’s the trackers’ ride. You don’t mess with those guys. If anyone tries to escape from 7Katz and they see this car, it’s all over for them.”
He sprang up on the bed, his breath catching as terror flooded his veins.
His worst nightmare had just turned into reality.
7Katz had tracked him down.
And found him.
“SHIT! They’ve found me! Oh my god, I’m fucked! Oh god, I am fucked for real!”
Yep, 7Katz have caught up with him. And with the Amoako couple. We’re about to wrap up this season, and boy, this isn’t looking good…
