7:31 p.m. West Africa Time (1:31 p.m. Eastern Standard Time)
Millennium Koko Gentlemen's Club
Lagos, Nigeria
"Right on time, just like I said."
Crazy Eddie sat with three of his men at a round table in a plush VIP section on the second story of the upscale club. Through a glass partition, he could watch the action down on the floor. It never stopped. Though it was just early evening, there were three girls on stage, all nude except for high-heeled shoes, all working the poles.
Good, strong girls, he knew them to be. Acrobats. Athletes. Eddie had been living here at the club in the overnight suites for months, and he believed he had sampled just about every girl who worked in the place. Black girls from here in Nigeria and neighboring countries, white girls from Russia and Eastern Europe, Asian girls from Cambodia and Thailand-Eddie loved them all.
Lights flashed in purple, soft blue, and orange. Heavy bass pumped, but Eddie felt it more than heard it-the glass wall did a good job of canceling the sound. Down below, another group of men had just entered the club-half a dozen men wearing white and blue kaftans with matching pants, and kufis on their heads. They all wore heavy beards, almost comically so, as if the beards were fakes glued to their faces.
They were speaking with the two large bouncers at the door, but everything seemed to be in order. Eddie had already paid their way in-no need for a three-thousand-naira entry fee to be a deal breaker, or to result in a sudden massacre.
"Ready, boys?" Eddie said. "Let's be ready to welcome our guests. Watch their clothes. Watch for guns."
Eddie raised a hand and snapped his fingers, gesturing for the two waiters standing by the door to bring the champagne out. It was Eddie's way of being funny. His guests were Salafi Muslims and would never dream of drinking alcohol. Indeed, they would probably enjoy murdering people who did.
And the naked girls? Dancing? That brought the whole thing to another level. Just holding this meeting here at the club was another way of being funny. Eddie being Eddie, was what some people called it.
The visitors were coming up the red carpeted stairs now and Eddie could see that two of them were among the most wanted men in Nigeria-wanted dead or alive. Preferably dead. The others were big men, bodyguards.
One of the bodyguards slid open the glass partition door and the group came in. Eddie rose from his seat at the table, as did his men. From the corner of his eye, he saw a couple of his boys with itchy fingers-they were anxious, ready to reach inside their jackets and pull their guns.
"Steady," he said. "This is a friendly visit."
The leader of the men came straight to Eddie. He was short and thin, with a long, thick beard that was showing streaks of gray. His skin was deep black and the skin of his face was lined with creases and furrows. This man had spent a lot of his time in the great Sahel, the sun beating down on him.
"Yisrael Abdul Salaam," Eddie said, extending his arms outward. "Welcome to my home."
"As-Salaam-Alaikum," the man said.
Eddie shook his head and grinned. "Whatever you say, man."
"Edward," the smaller man said, "I've known you since you were a boy, and you've always been trouble. But this…" He gestured at their surroundings. He eyes were sharp and he was not smiling. "This is the devil's work. I should kill you for causing me to walk through a den of immorality such as this."
Now Eddie stopped smiling. The last thing he wanted was a lecture from a religious fanatic. "The world is changing," he said. "This is the new Nigeria. Fast money, fast life, beautiful places, beautiful women. You and your god are relics of the past. And the clock is ticking."
Yisrael's eyes never wavered. "Before you die, may Allah cause your dirty tongue to be severed from your mouth."
Now that the pleasantries were out of the way, Eddie gestured at the table. "Shall we sit and talk for a moment?"
Yisrael nodded. He sat at the table and Eddie sat across from him. The rest of the men stood. Eddie didn't even bother to offer Yisrael a flute of champagne. He was no longer in a funny mood. He glanced around. The men were tense. Could a five-minute meeting take place without a gunfight? That was the major concern. Yisrael, of course, was no suicide bomber. He was too important for that.
"I understand you stole something today," he said.
Eddie shook his head. "I found something."
"And you don't even know what it is."
That was true. There was no sense denying it. "And you do?"
Yisrael nodded. "Of course. It belongs to friends of ours."
Now Eddie did smile, a ghost of a grin. "Oh? My understanding was you no longer had friends."
Yisrael slammed his small fist on the table. All around them, the startled gunmen jumped. And twitched. But did not pull their guns.
"Why did you invite me here?" Yisrael said.
"To personally offer you this thing that I found. Because I'm sentimental and you are my countryman and my tribal brother, after all. But if you don't want it, I'm sure I can strike a deal with these friends of yours."
"These friends of mine will put your head on a pike."
Eddie nodded slowly. "Yeah. I see that. But do you want this thing or not?"
Yisrael's hard, deep-set eyes stared at him. They seemed to become everything. The soft pastel colors of the club, the flashing lights, the thumping bass, even the gunmen standing nearby-all of it seemed to drop away.
"I do. Very much."
"It will cost you a million dollars in cash," Eddie said. "Can you manage that amount? I know your friends can do that and much more. It is an expensive item. I lost two friends today acquiring it."
Yisrael smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "A pity. They died for money."
"Better than your men," Eddie said. "Who die for a fairy tale."
Suddenly, a tall man in a white kaftan had a gun in his hand. He was a broad man, very dark, with very big hands. He pointed the gun directly at Eddie's head.
"Allah forbids this talk!" he shouted, and for an instant Eddie thought he might really pull the trigger. Words. The man would kill and die for mere words. Well, if it happened, at least it would be…abrupt.
But a second later, all of Eddie's men had their guns out. The barrel of one was an inch from Yisrael's scalp. And Yisrael's men had their guns out. Guns pointed everywhere in the room, a forest of guns. That's what Eddie got for even trying to talk to these people.
"Can you pay the money or not?" he said.
Yisrael sat back and smiled. Now he seemed relaxed. Perhaps he couldn't relax unless murder was in the air. "I think we are not so poorly off as you suppose. Three hundred and fifty million naira, and you get to keep your head for the time being. It sounds like a wonderful deal for you. You would not enjoy meeting my friends."
Eddie shook his head. "Dollars," he said. "A million American dollars." He smiled again, but it didn't feel authentic. People like Yisrael could really ruin a good mood.
"I'm a citizen of the world. What good are naira to a man like me?"
