The man slid into the backseat of Chijioke’s battered Toyota Corolla just as the rain began to fall. His suit was sharp, but his tie hung loose, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He held two duffel bags, one in each hand.
“Two million naira,” he said without lifting his head. “Just drive. No questions.”
Chijioke blinked and tightened his grip on the wheel. “Two what?”
“Million naira.” The man tossed one duffel bag onto the seat beside him. A bulge of cash pushed against the half-closed zip. “Start driving. Now.”
Three months of unpaid rent weighed on Chijioke’s shoulders. His landlord’s threats. His daughter’s school fees. The constant dread of falling further behind. He adjusted the mirror and met the man’s eyes. They were cold, focused, and dangerous in a way that made his stomach knot.
Trouble sat in his backseat, but two million naira sat closer.
He shifted into gear and eased onto the slick Abuja road.
The city churned in the rain. Headlights stretched into soft streaks, pedestrians dashed under makeshift shelter, traffic honked and snarled in every direction. Chijioke stole a glance at the passenger. The man sat rigidly, staring into the storm, one hand clamped on the second duffel bag.
The radio crackled. “Breaking news. Authorities have issued a citywide manhunt for a suspect last seen fleeing a robbery at Fidelity Bank, Wuse Zone 2. Suspect is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. If you see a red Toyota Corolla, licence plate—”
Chijioke switched the radio off at once. His pulse hammered.
“You heard that?” the man said, his voice steady in a way that chilled him.
“Oga, I didn’t sign up for—”
“You signed up the moment you drove off.” He leaned forward. As he did, Chijioke’s eyes caught the dark stain spreading along the edge of the man’s shirt. Blood. Fresh. Still wet.
The man opened the bag a fraction. A gun nestled beside the bundles of cash. “So keep driving. And don’t tempt me.”
Chijioke’s knuckles tightened on the wheel. He knew every road in this city, every shortcut and dead end. He also knew how quickly things could go wrong.
Near Berger Bridge, he spotted a police car parked by the roadside. Two officers scanned the moving traffic.
His breath caught. This was his chance.
He slowed instinctively.
The man leaned forward and pressed the cold muzzle of the gun against Chijioke’s side. “Don’t.”
Fear surged through him. His daughter’s face flashed in his mind, her gap-toothed grin and blue backpack.
He hit the accelerator.
The Corolla lurched forward, tyres slicing through puddles. Shouts rose behind them, blurred by the rain. Chijioke weaved through traffic at speed, heart thudding in his throat.
“Good,” the man said, easing back.
Chijioke said nothing. His mind raced through escape routes and consequences. Two million naira could change everything for him, but only if he lived long enough to touch it.
They were swallowed by traffic near another bridge. Cars packed tightly together, horns blaring, engines steaming in the rain. At the far end of the gridlock, beyond the red sea of brake lights, Chijioke saw it.
A checkpoint.
Barricades. Flashing lights. Armed officers.
There was no way straight through.
“Get us out of here,” the man ordered, his grip tightening on the gun.
Chijioke’s mind snapped into focus. He jerked the wheel left without warning, forcing the Corolla into a narrow side road. Tyres skidded, horns screamed, and the man swore as the car jolted over broken asphalt.
They tore through backstreets and flooded alleys, the rain masking their escape, sirens howling somewhere far behind. After several frantic turns, the city opened again into quieter roads.
Eventually, the man ordered him to stop beneath a flickering streetlight.
“You were useful,” he said flatly, stepping out of the car.
Before Chijioke could say anything, the man disappeared into the night.
Chijioke sat there shaking, the weight of what just happened sinking in. After a few minutes, he drove straight home.
His hands trembled as he turned onto his street. All he could think of was packing fast, grabbing his daughter, and running before the sun came up.
Then he saw them.
Two police vehicles parked directly outside his house. Officers stood by his gate, talking quietly, torches sweeping across his small compound.
Chijioke slowed to a crawl, his breath leaving him in a hollow rush.
The rain softened.
The engine idled.
And the money sat heavy on his seat, daring him to move.