Calvin's Dead

It all went according to plan, unfortunately. I went in, I killed Calvin, I went out. No police. No reliable witnesses. No worries, in theory.

I’m not usually one to assign blame – you don’t go far in my line of work doing that kind of thing – but the first person I would blame is Calvin himself. Too secretive, that was his problem. He never told anyone anything until everyone knew. “Calvin, this boy.” I’d say. “It won’t kill you to just tell someone first, before you go and do something.” Apparently, I was wrong.

Next, I’d blame Tomi. Nothing against him; he’s a good kid, if a little slow sometimes. But he’s the one who saw Calvin step into police station that weekend. Seemingly of his own volition. Tensions were high around that time, after they found Akan’s records in a rundown hotel somewhere around Otta. And upon reflection, I’d also blame Akan, because a grown man should know he shouldn’t leave records of our kinds of transactions. Especially not detailed records, with names and dates and everything. I heard he put addresses, even. And all of that entered EFCC’s hands, so you can imagine the Board was concerned. And when the Board is concerned, the “HR department” has to be, as well. And I’m in the HR department, incidentally.

So Akan, had to go – and I did that one as well. Honestly, good riddance. He was a sister’s son, I think. We were looking for a reason to get rid of him, anyway. But remember the police are involved, and they have names. So a lot of those names have to go as well. Men. Women. Friends. Family. Pets. Anyone with even a pinky in this shit storm wasn’t making out alive. At some point we had to start killing the people that were killing people, and then it was the HR department’s turn to be concerned.

At this point, a quarter of the Organization were rotting in the ground, another fourth in jail cells, and the rest of us were on needles wondering which we’d end up in. People were looking over their shoulders when they brushed their teeth. If anyone winked at you, it might have been a threat. No one was trusting anyone. And then there was Calvin, who was taking pains not to talk to anyone. That’s suspicious, especially to a mob ready to suspect anything.

I’ll be honest, when Tomi broke the news, I didn’t believe it. For all his eccentricities, Calvin lived and breathed the Organization. He was raised in it. He didn’t know anything else. Snitching to the EFCC sure didn’t sound like Calvin, but the Board wasn’t paying me for my opinions. Either Calvin died, or we both did. It was a no brainer.

Maybe next, I’d blame streets for being so quiet and empty next, or the night for being peaceful. Or I’d blame the supermarket I waited in for being open, and having enough customers I could blend in with while I waited for Calvin to turn up, like I asked him to. Or the cashier, for being so damn efficient checking out the chocolate bar I bought, so he could have walked away while I waited patiently. Or I could blame the lack of a line, which could have delayed me, even if just a bit. And then the text could have come in, and maybe I would have seen it. Or I could blame Calvin for turning up in the first place, and not being under some form of police protection. Or James, my driver; he could have delayed a bit when I told him to go round the corner and pick me up once I was done.

Or maybe the universe, for making everything work out so perfectly.

But ultimately, I blame myself. For being so good at my job. For having a simple, yet perfect plan. For being practical. For walking up to my best friend’s son, greeting him with a loving smile, and putting two bullets in his head when he smiled back. For not missing.

But ultimately, for not seeing the text message until it was too late.

I’m too focused on the job, that’s my problem. If I’d stopped when I heard the phone beeped, like I should have, I would have known it was a misunderstanding. Calvin had been out of Lagos for two weeks. The person Tomi saw was Calvin’s brother, Enoch, who just came in from Enugu to do some business with the Organization. He got his phone stolen and had to swear an affidavit to soother the bureaucracy.

It’s not my fault. It was a misunderstanding, they told me. A bad hit. They still have to tell me that. I don’t believe it.