A LEGAL REVENGE: THE LAW DOESN'T KNOW LOVE

"...The mad laughing man..."

Dagogo's first obstacle was Amadi's small talk. Sharp suit, crisp shoes and gentleman glasses, seated on the strongest looking chair in the poor man's living room. Amadi, faded brown I was white singlet, covering his pot belly and a short knicker sat opposite. Torn rug on many sides, beneath their feet. Open spaces in the wall, serving as windows, covered by nailed curtains. An ancient dead radio on a center table.

"My condolences, your father was original human rights activist, good man..." Amadi sighed and shook his round head. A folding of lips followed, alongside a deep breath.

"Thank you Sir." Dagogo preserved a professional smile.

Amadi proceeded to Dagogo's slight American accent, and Dagogo's interest in a bottle of drink or local snacks. Dagogo spilled a little about growing up in America, refused refreshments and switched to the purpose of his visit.

"Sir, I just wanna get your perspective on that night." Dagogo used a thumb for tipping the glasses on his nose. Perfect balance was important for a clear vision.

"Do you think...was there any sort of provocation towards the soldiers? Either from my father or the ENDSARS protesters."

One thing a lawyer discovers early into the job, is that people enjoy being listened to. Dagogo composed a straight face. Amadi poured out his own version of the 20th of October ENDSARS protest, from top to bottom. Such details were well established in Dagogo's ENDSARS file, created based on testimonies of previous witnesses. ENDSARS protesters gathered at Lekki toll gate around twelve midnight. Mr Dumo Hart adddresed the crowd. Government soldiers came and ordered them to dismiss. They disobeyed and bullets were fired. Lots of bullets. Lots of corpses. As expected, the good hearted government maintained their undoubted innocence.

"Mr Dumo, he was standing on platform to talk, they shoot him down." Amadi said.

Dagogo tightened his face and touched his perfect tie. Keep the emotions intact. Amadi was dwindling towards complaining about society, insulting government, this and that.

Dagogo cut him midway. "I have a court case against the Naija government Sir."

"Oh...that's a good one. They should be sued." An impressed smile climbed Amadi's lips.

"Thank you Sir, my real intention for coming, was to request your help."

"My help," Amadi chuckled. "is there...anything somebody like me can do?"

"Are you willing to testify against the government Sir?"

"Against government?" Amadi sat up from his relaxed posture on the chair.

"In court, as my witness." Dagogo's face was firm. It wasn't a joke.

Amadi's face went dim. He scratched his bald head, rubbed it and made a funny disapproving noise. "Mr...I know what you are saying, is not as if I don't know. But this Naija government..." Amadi sighed.

"Hear me out Sir..." Dagogo ignited, staring Amadi in the eyes.

"A government that murders innocent civilians in cold blood Sir, such a government is an enemy to the people, and they must be held accountable" - Dagogo pointed a finger towards Amadi for expression. In Amadi's head, the pointing was to the government. - "Human rights are not privileges. They're not gifts. They're not something...controlled by the government." - Dagogo opened his palm, signifying control. "Therefore not even a government, not any government, can trespass on the rights of its citizens without just cause" - He left a finger in the air - "I need you to consider my request Sir. Ask yourself if the death of my father. A man you held in high regard..." - Dagogo followed Amadi's gaze, and the finger pointed - "The deaths of countless ENDSARS protesters, such a terrible and wicked occurrence, does it not cry out for justice?"

Dagogo slowed his breathing and dropped his hand.

"In your very respectable opinion Sir, please consider my request."

Amadi took a deep breath, clasped his palms together and turned his face from Dagogo. Then cleared his throat and moved his lips, but there were no words. Dagogo observed him for some seconds, filed his hand into his inner suit pocket, and took out fresh bank notes, well wrapped in a bundle. He dropped it on a table and Amadi glanced at it.

"It wouldn't be fair Sir, if I fail to acknowledge that this is not an easy choice for you. This is a token of my appreciation." Dagogo gestured towards the money. "I appreciate that you took the time to speak with me, and I would also like to assure you of full police protection, if you choose to testify." Dagogo stared at him.

Amadi had an inside smile, which he tried to hide, by keeping his mouth closed. He glanced from the money to Dagogo.

"What you are asking Mr Dagogo is...is not easy, but you have shown me your kind of man. I will consider what you say."

Dagogo smiled. "Perfect, thank you Sir." They shook hands.

***

Amadi escorted Dagogo to his car, nodding and laughing a lot. The sudden freeness in the big belly man, Dagogo's money would be invested in drinking, not the slightest doubt, but the thought of Amadi's life at risk, crossed the lawyer's mind. Two previous witnesses contacted. Two witnesses dead. Naija sun had a bright yellow on the environment as they walked, partnering the dominant smell of smoke. Tall, tallest grasses and plantain trees were spread far and wide in the vicinity.

They got close to Dagogo's car. "Mr Amadi, we'll be in communication, thank you for today."

Small noise from the bushes tickled Dagogo's ears. Small enough to be unnoticed. Amadi was nodding with a big smile as he shook Dagogo's hand. The noise became big. Fast approaching footsteps, stomping on hard grass. Dagogo turned towards the direction. Amadi was staring as well. A man was racing through the bush. Launching his legs forward in a way that was worrying. You would wonder if he had lost his mind, because his laughter was loud, with a light and audible voice from afar. Dagogo stretched his sight to a black object in the man's hand, but he couldn't identify it.

"Why the man is...who is chasing him? Sir don't bother with it, is one of this mad people..." Amadi delved into an explanation of mad men in Diobu street. Logicalizing the situation.

The bush pulled Dagogo's attention. His squinting eyes stared at the mad laughing man, charging through the grass, and the face was becoming clear. A strange sick white face with dark spots. He wasn't white like a white man, but white like an albino. His eyes were too far for Dagogo to pick out. But the alien abnormal whiteness of his face, his tall and lanky body, wearing a shirt that was triple his size. Dagogo's heart beat was spiked. The conclusion of a simple madman on the loose, just a madman, regular madman, yet something, there was something to this man. A second person was approaching fast behind the mad laughing man. A man in black, from cap and t-shirt to trousers, and it seemed he was pursuing.

"Wait, wait, two men!" Amadi's tone increased.

The man in black had lunged into the air, grabbing the mad laughing man by neck with both hands, and diving him to ground. Both men rolled in the grass, dragging the black object, climbing untop each other, punching and elbowing.

"Sir I think we should..."

Amadi's words were drifting in Dagogo's hearing, because every safety button in Dagogo's head, was screaming for him to walk away, run, drive. But he wouldn't move, curiosity glued his feet to ground, and he kept staring harder. The man in black gripped the object. The mad laughing man climbed on him, held his hand, lifted the object above ground level and pointed in Dagogo's direction. Dagogo saw the metal of the object. Not just metal. Gun!

"Run!" The man in black shouted. A loud bang coincided with his voice.

Balance abadoned Dagogo. His heart quaked, butt landed on the ground and glasses flew off his face. All without his intention. His ears were numb.

The bullet had disappeared past him. It must have hit him! Blood? He touched his body, random hands searching. He found his chest pounding without focus, and kept looking around him. Amadi's existence had left his mind.

Looking away from himself was by accident. But blood entered the corner of his eye. Perhaps Dagogo didn't want to turn to his head fully to see it, but he did. The red sea had spread from Amadi, covering the sand. Dagogo's blurred vision constructed Amadi on the ground, convulsing and clutching his bleeding stomach. His eyes were wide and bright. Nostrils were fighting with his breathing, as Dagogo stared at him.

Dagogo's mind was blank in shock, and his fingers were trembling. He blinked his eyes, looking towards the bush. The mad laughing man, using the gun, had smacked the man in black in the head. Then he stood and pointed the weapon at Dagogo. The man in black seemed to have been knocked out. Dagogo could see the smallish albino eyes of the mad laughing man, and the scary sinister smile running end to end on his face. In his mind's eye, the bullet had left the gun and entered his body.

However, the mad laughing man dropped his hand, smiled and turned his back to Dagogo. He started strolling, then laughing, then he went behind a tree and he was gone. The mad laughing man's voice became distant. Dagogo hurried to his feet, picked up his glasses, wore it, ignored the cracked lens and made a desperate rush to Amadi, wiping sand off his trousers on the way.

"Mr Amadi." Dagogo held him. Amadi was battling for breath.

Dagogo put one hand around his neck, a second hand around his waist, and raised Amadi into himself. Heavy man. Gripping Amadi and staggering towards his car, meant Dagogo's upper body bent backwards, steps took longer to reach the ground, sweat oozed from skin pores and falling was just a simple mistake away. Endure, be strong. Shaky steps, stagger, almost falling, stop, tightened his grip on Amadi, and he got to his car. Then he leaned into it, holding Amadi and gasping for air.

"Oh God." His chest was pumping hard. Dagogo rested his body. Few seconds.

He gripped Amadi tight, noticed the blood smeared on his suit, and knew he would never wear it again. Then he slipped a hand into his pocket for car keys, pressed the unlock button and returned the keys. Filling his tanks with mental strength, he shifted himself and Amadi forward, rubbing his back into the vehicle, until he was beyond the door of his backseat. Then he opened it. Gentle and gradual, but his strength failed, Amadi slipped from his grip, and dropped into the seat. Then he held the car door, prevented himself landing on Amadi, and settled his breathing. Amadi's eyes were barely open. Dagogo stared briefly, steadied his glasses and hurried to the driver's door.

An aching scattered shout blasted from the bush. Dagogo wished his ears wouldn't hear, but the shout rose louder. He opened to the driver's seat, paused, closed his eyes and shook his head at his decision. Closing the car door, he hurried into the bush, pretending not to feel how the grasses were flogging his trousers and destroying the smoothness. Within himself he considered if he wasn't walking into the death which he had just escaped, and stopped his movement a bit. But Dagogo could already see the man in black groaning, jerking his body in different directions, gripping his injured head with blood gushing past his fingers. He moved past his inner self, and advanced forward in cautious quick steps.

His eyes rattled before he spoke. "Excuse me Sir, I can help you to a hospital..."

"Who are you? Get away!" The man in black tussled his body against the pain.

Dagogo watched him and observed a nasty cut on his forehead, like a rough line. Dagogo's thoughts bounced. Amadi was a potential witness. This man. A stranger. Unknown. At least to a reasonable extent, Amadi was somewhat known. At least enough to believe Amadi's life, had some sort of level of importance. A good likelihood existed that the man in black stood a higher chance than Amadi. A gambling likelihood.

Dagogo glanced backwards to his car. His mind wasn't made up. He left the man in black with the pain filled noise. Got to his car, without any conviction his decision was right, he started his engine. A knock on the windscreen interrupted. Opposite the driver's seat. He looked. It was the man in black. Dagogo had a breathing moment of thought, then he stretched his hand and unlocked the front door. The man in black shuffled into the car, gripping his bleeding head.

"Drive." He said. Dagogo drove.

"...A stranger explains your truth..."

Car tyres skidded on concrete road, beyond the safety speed. Dagogo dragged and revolved his steering wheel, against bumping into other cars. Some of the road users hurled insults at him, and louded their horns. No thinking, just drive! His heart was thumping.

He took his eyes off the road at brief intervals, glancing at the man in black who was seated in front, holding and bending his head, bleeding without noise. He also took his sight backwards to Amadi, whose blood was soaking his backseat. Amadi's eyes were closed, and it made his chest tighten.

He slowed the car down once and twice, to ask passersby for the nearest hospital. Driving into a few random streets, looking at signboards and buildings, until he ran into a police man. Naija police men had the habit of stopping cars and scheming out a reason to obtain cash. The police man started asking questions. But before Dagogo could answer, the man in black raised his head and stretched his hand, showing the police man a badge.

"Officer, hospital." The man in black said.

"Oh, Officer!" The police man's gaze widened. He pointed Dagogo in a direction, and urged him to drive in haste.

Dagogo put extra speed into his driving and not long after, he arrived at a one story building. Naija teaching hospital was written at the top end of the front wall, above a symbol of a white cross in a red square. A gate man came towards the hospital gate, and Dagogo stuck his head out the window.

"Emergency, open the gate!" He shouted. The gateman nodded, unbolted the gates and pushed them open.

As Dagogo drove into the compound, the gateman shouted emergency to a nurse, while raising his hand in a signal. The hospital compound was well swept with a few cars parked within, and some rows of flowers. Two male nurses rushed out, rolling a wheeled stretcher. Dagogo had parked his car, speedily removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and alighted, hurrying to open the backseat door.

"He's been shot." He told the nurses, and they lifted Amadi into the stretcher, while Dagogo opened the door for the man in black.

"Let me assist you Sir." Dagogo said, putting a hand out. The nurses were wheeling Amadi into the building.

"I can walk." The man in black said, and Dagogo kept his hands away and watched him.

The man in black held his head. Blood dripped through his fingers, touching the ground, as he stepped out of the car. Half his body was covered with blood, changing his dressing to a reddish black. He acted strong, but Dagogo noticed his legs were staggering. When he almost fell after two steps, Dagogo put a hand behind him. Then a female nurse came towards the man in black, and pointed Dagogo to a different female nurse needing his attention behind a counter. At this point, the man in black's eyes were falling close. Dagogo left him with the nurse, and energy draining steps led to the female nurse seated at the counter.

***

The counter was a long flat-topped fitment, like a four cornered wall, on the left hand of the double door entrance into the hospital building. The nurse attempted to explain the hospital's policy - deposit before treatment. Her words became plenty. Naija citizens who enjoyed bargaining cost of treatment with doctors and nurses. Not Dagogo. But she had judged his rumpled shirt, the crack in his glasses, tired look of his face and disarrangement in his hair. His brain struggled to keep up. He asked the sum of the deposit and gave her his credit card. She inserted it into a phone like payment machine with buttons. It printed a receipt and she gave the paper to Dagogo.

She proceeded with questions about Amadi and the man in black: name, age, next of kin and state of origin etc. Dagogo's only answer was Amadi's name. She advised him to wait for the doctor, and off he went. Though his body needed some sitting down, he returned outside to open his car doors and discussed payment with the gate man to clean out his car. The gateman assured him of a professional job, then he returned inside the hospital.

Getting to the waiting section, a short walk past the counter, Dagogo found his breathing easing. His thoughts were still throwing over themselves. The waiting section was a short walk from the counter. It had several long metal benches, placed behind each other, in two lines. People were seated at random, reading newspapers, pressing phones and talking, but in Dagogo's head they didn't exist. His mind was choked. There was no eye contact, neither did he attempt a greeting, as he sat on one end of a front bench, keeping a good space from the other person. Then he took off his glasses and analyzed the crack. Not a tangible crack, but he had new glasses, this one had served long enough. He dropped the glasses on his laps, rested his back and exhaled. Nothing made sense. Nothing at all. His gaze went to the white ceilings above, and a conversation behind him, filtered into his hearing.

"Did you hear about that lawyer who said he wants to sue government in International court? You know, because of the ENDSARS matter." One of the men was saying, keeping his tone low.

"Leave all those people, that's how they talk plenty online to get attention. A government is it something you can just wake up and sue?" The second man replied in a similar tone.

"But he has a point, what happened on that 20th of October..." The first man sighed.

"Deep down, everybody knows it was bad, but can you sue government and anything will change?"

"That is the thing."

The news was wild fire. A month ago, Dagogo had sowed the seed. He had sent anonymous emails to every Naija blogger he could find.

A case has been instituted against the Naija government, at the International Court of Justice. An American born Naija lawyer, is suing the government for its active involvement in the deaths of Mr Dumo Hart and the ENDSARS protesters on the 20th of October 2020, at Lekki toll gate.

Bloggers had digested the story, eager for more details. Dagogo had provided them with documents, keeping his identity hidden. Once the bloggers had enough proof the case was real, bloggers did what bloggers do. The headline blew and became the number one topic on Twitter.

LEKKI TOLL GATE MASSACRE - AMERICAN BORN LAWYER SUES NAIJA GOVERNMENT

The tactic had pulled the attention to his case, and created the step for conversations with witnesses. However, Dagogo couldn't keep his attention on the conversation behind him, neither could he string together a meaning from the attack on Amadi. He dwelled in his thoughts, until the nurse behind the counter came to the waiting section. She answered a few roaming questions from others on their loved ones, and informed Dagogo to see the doctor. Then he followed her.

***

The nurse led Dagogo through a corridor, and showed him the doctor's office. His face squeezed a bit, as the doctor delivered the bad news of Amadi's death, due to a mixture of air and blood in the chest cavity, and the indifferent news of the man in black's survival. Dagogo stood outside the office, wearing the cracked glasses, with his hands in his pocket. His unproductive efforts towards a witness replayed in his mind, from the first potential witness to Amadi. He concluded an attempt at conversation with the the man in black, might have some worth, and he spoke with the nurse. She led him to the hospital ward, and pointed out the man in black's section. The smell of drugs and antiseptic, doctors and nurses attending to patients on different beds, stethoscopes and injections, patients were bandaged and others had sachet bags of medicine tied to their arms, separated into sections by curtains hanged on metal rods. Dagogo went past.

He found the man in black, seated on his bed. A bandage was wrapped around his head, like a scarf. A stick of cigarette stuck between his lips. Smoking would be against hospital rules. Pack of cigarettes positioned themselves on a desk, beside packet of drugs and a bottle of water. The man in black was puffing fumes through the window.

With the blood cleaned up, Dagogo could make out his face. His complexion was charcoal black. A great distance from Dagogo's light fair skin. His kind of blackness in a dark room, only the white part of his striking red veined eyes, would be visible. It was hard to explain the crooked veins in his eyes, and perhaps making it extra difficult, to determine if he was angry or not. His hair was wild afro, bushy and high, a diamond rigid face that showed no sign of weakness, and a fierce triangular goatee. His entire body had a rough muscular frame. Cautious approach was the watchword in Dagogo's head.

Dagogo had a silent breath and kept both hands in his pocket. "How're you feeling Sir?"

The man in black glanced at him. Dagogo could swear temper shifted through those eyes. The man in black took the cigarette from his mouth, and blew out once. Then he threw out the cigarette and shut the window. Dagogo watched him.

His eyes returned to Dagogo. "You are the lawyer." His voice sounded like he had obstacles in his throat. It sounded grouchy.

Dagogo's eyebrows bent. Something stirred inside him. Not fear. No, not that. Surprise. He couldn't say. "Yeah, I'm...I'm a lawyer, do we perhaps know each other Sir?" He asked.

"The lawyer that wants to sue government." The man in black said.

Dagogo glanced sideways. Everyone was up and about their business. No one was snooping at possible secrets leaking from two strangers. Total strangers. Except one knew more than necessary. Dagogo blinked his eyelids and used a finger to nudge his glasses, still processing the conversation.

"I noticed your police badge Sir. You're an officer."

The man in black smirked. His gaze drifted elsewhere.

"Oga lawyer, is not about me, is about knowing what is facing you."

Oga was a Naija slang for addressing someone as boss. It was also a greeting. Sometimes a mockery. Sometimes it was said in acknowledgement of someone, who did something no one else was willing to do.

"I believe I failed to understand your point." Dagogo said.

"Two people die, recently, in Port Harcourt. One Mrs Abake and one Mr Humphrey. Both of them..."

The man in black picked up his pack of cigarette and took one out. His gaze went to Dagogo.

"Your witnesses. Not so?"

Dagogo held his reply. The man in black kept eyes on him. It was no use.

"Yeah, they were my witnesses. May I ask how you came about that information?"

The man in black smirked and looked to his trousers for a lighter. He lit the cigarette, breathed smoke in the air, almost instant.

"Judas the psychopath knows who you are. He's the one killing your witnesses."

Dagogo's eyes narrowed and his mind spinned. "Judas?"

The man in black inhaled from his cigarette, and blew out towards Dagogo.

"The man that shot your witness today. Serial killer. They call him Judas the psychopath, on..."

The man In black waved his cigar in the air, trying to find the word, then he swallowed more smoke. "Twitter. Social media."

Dagogo stared at him, fitting a puzzle that wasn't fitting. "Who is this Judas exactly?"

"Every witness of the government killing. Every ENDSARS protester, he will kill them "

The man in black needed more smoke to go further. "He wants to frustrate your case. I've been investigating him, and you, the name is Rogers."

Dagogo pictured the mad laughing man. "I'm Dagogo. This Judas, what's his interest in my case?"

A smirk followed Dagogo's question. "Oga lawyer, right now, no answer."

"...lost loved ones, scar us..."

Male nurses lifted Amadi's corpse in a plastic body bag into a minivan. Dagogo's face weakened, watching the backdoors of the minivan close. It was driven off the hospital premises. Standing beside Dagogo was Amadi's father, who had been contacted by a phone found on Amadi's corpse. Amadi's father was a grey haired short man, who was quite close to ground. Dagogo had narrated the unexpected death of his son and the gunman, without any mention of his court case, the serial killer or the police officer. It was a tale he told with a wrenching in his heart.

He kept patient ears while Amadi's father rambled about his son's sorry life. After which Dagogo offered condolence money for the funeral, and transferred to the old man's account. Amadi's father dissolved into a pleasing smile and tears. He loaded words of blessings on Dagogo. Dagogo smiled at the old man and thanked him. It reduced the strain within himself. Though the questions bugged Dagogo's mind. His role in Amadi's death. A serial killer. Zero witnesses. Damn. When the man in black strolled out of the hospital, having a cigar between his fingers, Dagogo offered to drive them home. His car was squeaky clean and Dagogo raised a goodbye hand to the gateman.

***

"Sir Rogers, for someone in your professional standing, what would you advice in my situation?" Dagogo asked Rogers, after dropping off Amadi's father.

Rogers released smoke, staring through the car window.

"'Judas was involved in my wife's death. I'll work with you."

"Your wife."

Rogers threw out the cigarette. "Yes."

"Wow, that's terrible."

Rogers smirked. Dagogo's side eye found a flicker of pain.

"Oga lawyer, in this your case against government, do you have people who work with you?"

Dagogo sent a glance his way.

"Yeah, I have some students who work part time."

"How many?"

"Two."

Rogers turned his face to Dagogo.

"You trust them? You know them very well?"

"Officer are you implying..." Dagogo cracked a disbelieving smile.

"Oga, spy is not beyond anybody."

"They're just kids, students, they can't be..."

Rogers smirked.

"Students, Mr lawyer..."

"The name is Dagogo Sir."

"My investigation will also involve your students."

Dagogo slanted his head a bit, alongside his rising eyebrows.

"Well, yeah, that's quite alright, for...transparency."

"Trans-pa-rancy. English people." Rogers spoke to himself and chuckled without much sound.

"Oga lawyer, any other witness?" He asked.

Dagogo's thinking face did some work, tweaking his eyebrows, as he rotated the steering wheel.

"The girl that works with me, she sends out messages. It depends on the replies we've gotten..."

Rogers kept his gaze rigid for a moment, planning the best play.

"Before meeting any witness in person, you will call me. I'll give you my number."

Dagogo took one hand off his steering wheel and found his phone from his suit jacket.

"Here." He gave the device to Rogers.

Rogers dialed the digits, returned the phone and pointed Dagogo to stop. He exited the car and entered his gate. Dagogo watched him. His walking was gallant, like a street thug.

***

Heading back to his chambers, Dagogo found himself stuck with a pile of cars. There was a confused intersection just ahead, which was generating the traffic. Drivers were attempting to maneuver, but he stared at the situation. His mind was attached to earlier events. A gun. He had seen it before. One time. He yelled at a school bully. But there had been no bullets. No one got hurt. This was someone's blood, live and direct. Someone's life. Battles in a law court were a safer space.

He took off his glasses, laying his head on the seat, his mouth produced a breathing sound - fuck. He closed his eyes and his thoughts beat to the rhythm of his heart, until his phone rang. The phone sat on the dashboard, displaying his wife's contact top screen. Cecile. Perfect timing. Wahala. In Naija pidgin english it meant trouble. If he needed more of that, his wife was the best person to provide it.

A conversation between them was cat and dogs. It had been that way for quite a while. But one of the benefits of living in Naija, and leaving his family in America, was forgetting the past. But the past knew Cecile, and Cecile had his phone number. He left the ringtone to run its course. Yet Cecile didn't give up. The ringing was non-stop. He stayed quiet looking at his phone, as if Cecile's name was gripping his peace of mind by the neck. Then he answered the call, putting the phone on loudspeaker and leaving it on the dashboard.

"Hey, Cecile, how're you..." His voice was calm, unprepared.

"Dagogo where the hell is my daughter! Where the fuck did you take Sonia?" Cecile launched on high pitch. "I went to her school and I was told she stopped attending. I'm her fucking mother!"

Dagogo had a deep breath. "Cecile..."

"Don't you fucking Cecile me! My daughter changes schools and you don't tell me..."

Dagogo allowed her to run her mouth and fire shots, before trying again.

"Sonia is fine. The new school is helping her improve her studies, she needs it..." He adjusted his mind for the clapback.

"Oh, and you didn't think such an important detail in my daughter's life, that I should fucking know about it right? Cause, cause I'm just not that fucking important..."

Dagogo turned on his ignition, as the traffic freed up and cars began moving. "Cecile, Sonia is fine. I was told you were in rehab–"

"Don't act like you care Dagogo, please...you're fucking trying to keep her away from me. This is your fucking game, right?"

Dagogo's face tightened, searching for the least hurtful words. He found none. "Cecile, your behavior, it wasn't safe..."

Cecile expoloded and tore into him, he took the phone off loudspeaker. Then a minute later, he put it back on.

"How dare you judge me! You lying cheating son of a bitch. You think you're safe..."

Dagogo's face contorted. "Call me when you're ready for a conversation." He quit the call.

***

Dagogo's house in Naija served him as living space and legal chamber. The rectangular compound was small from the outside, but spacious from the inside. He opened the gate, parked his car in a corner, crosschecked the seats in his vehicle, and left the car doors open for natural air.

Darkness had covered as he left the car, he turned on his white compound bulb and entered the house. Then walking past his receptionist desk with printing and photocopying machines beside it, he sauntered into his living room which was also his office.

The fine couches, TV and glass center table had a space of their own, separate from his work chair where he sat with a cup of coffee, and a desk which had a wooden nameplate and his name written on it.

The house also had an updated library, kitchen and bedroom. He changed his glasses, sipped his coffee, flipped through the pages of his file on the ENDSARS protest and stopped midway to phone Amadi's father. He promised the old man support for any extra expenses on the burial. The man's voice beamed with thank you, you are God sent, God bless you.

After speaking with Amadi's father, Dagogo went to his bedroom. He laid on the bed and engaged his thoughts. Adding a crazy serial killer to the mystery, didn't straighten anything out. His mind was still wandering from nowhere to anywhere. Neither could he convince himself he trusted Rogers. The man had fearsome eyes like someone who was raised in all kinds of hardship. Still, one thing was certain, he had motivation. Dagogo left his mental space and picked up a photo album by his bedside. Since his father's death, it lived on a stool, just an arm stretch away. He flipped the album pages to his thirteenth birthday. His dad attended. A very rare occurrence. Flip forward, and there was a picture of a fishing adventure. Him and his dad on a boat. Dagogo recalled cursing the water all through. Father and son time - his dad had called it, and laughed at Dagogo's endless talk about drowning. Dagogo couldn't remember if they had caught any fish or not.

Last photograph was his college graduation day. A pair of glasses in a pouch. His dad had gifted him and Dagogo hadn't smiled. A certain awkwardness had decescended on him, because gifts were his mom's thing. Thinking back, he wished he had smiled.

His phone rang with the close of the album. It was his mom. Mrs Felicia Hart and Mr Dumo Hart. Sometimes Dagogo wondered at the yoking of a gentle American woman and a radical Naija man. Like two abstract creatures falling in love. Like the mixing of separate realities.

"Hey, mom." Dagogo said.

"I heard the news, and I knew it was you. Dagogo, I thought you were just upset..." His mom said.

Dagogo took off his glasses, and dropped it beside the photo album. "Mom, I..."

"It's dangerous."

Dagogo's lips changed to a flattened twist. He knew where she was headed.

"Your father was obsessed with fighting the Naija government. That's why we lost him. You don't have anything to prove."

Dagogo heard his mother's defeated talk like a trigger. A sparking rush in his veins. He turned to the side, stared at his father's picture. On the front cover of the photo album.

"They killed him mom. Everything he stood for and they killed him. Like he was the same as everyone else" - Dagogo laid upright, his sight went to the roof - "They shot him down from a high platform. Told us his corpse was lost. They burnt it."

His mom was tearing up, sniffling her nose, forcing down saliva. 20th of October was when he phoned her and broke the news. 20th of October was when her tears became his flame, burning bright enough to the challenge. Soldiers made a gentle woman cry.

"Be careful."

"Good night mom."

His grip over his tears were loosening.

"Goodnight son."

Dagogo stayed awake reading his father's last text. Mr Dumo preferred texts over calls.

I believed if one man was bold enough, he could right a lot of wrong, but my son, maybe deep down, it wasn't just about justice, but perhaps, a little ambition, a little.

He skipped to the last line.

My death should not be your debt