Chapter 4: Dear Kabirat.

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and a painful tingling at the tip of my fingers and toes. My body seemed to be moving a split second slower than I intended, responding to the commands of my brain with sluggish unwillingness. Sitting up, I stared at my pitiful quarters, once again reminding myself of why it was important that I change my lot in life.

My apartment, as I have said before, was a one bedroom flat. My bedroom, however, was more of a cubicle than a room. It was only spacious enough to accommodate my bed, a wardrobe and a workstation which included a swivel chair and table. The walls of my room, like the rest of my apartment, were painted white, while an abstract painting hung from the wall.

To the poor man, I was living large, to the rich, I was doing fine. But to me, who wanted nothing more than owning the world, I was living in absolute penury. The state of my finances was unacceptable and the fact that I didn't have up to a measly million in my account drew me to anger.

At age twenty five, I was still struggling to hit my first billion, in fact I was nowhere close. My plans of becoming the richest man in the world was slipping out of my hands and derailing before my very eyes.

My room, my humble abode was the second greatest reminder of how terribly I was performing. My account was the greatest remainder with only about nine hundred thousand available. After years of working and toiling, my networth wasn't up to three million naira, with most of my investment in real estate and in businesses that were struggling to stay alive.

It was disgusting. I, who dreamed of becoming a god of wealth and a financial power like John D Rockefeller, was now among the ranks of the common man destined to live a normal life, die a normal death, and be forgotten like a normal ghost.

As these thoughts crashed into my head, they filled my hearts with fiery rage that compelled my legs to swing off my bed and plant on the red rich rug.

As my feet sunk into the rug, my mind, an effective but chaotic machine, remembered the person that gave the rug to me. Memories of a friendship that would have been a great romance if the feelings were mutual flowed before my eyes like a trance before vanishing like a dispelled miasma.

I dismissed the trance to the effect of alcohol and rose to my feet. Walking unsteadily to the bathroom, I managed to get my body beneath the shower and began the process of washing myself.

After my bath, I got dressed in my usual attire. A black shirt, a red tie, a black suit, black socks and of course, black shoes. Black with a touch of red is what she used to call it. She thought it was gloomy and dark and in truth that was the effect I was always going for.

Darkness and blood, those were the colours of my image. I looked myself over in the mirror and liked the charming devil that smiled back. Satisfied with my visage and outfit, I walked out of my house and set out on my mission.

Today was the day and while the main event wasn't to occur until nightfall, final preparations had to be completed during the day. Uzo was in charge of procuring the weapons from his buddy, inspector Yemi. Two pistols and two ak47s. Over kill if you ask me as we weren't supposed to shoot anybody or get into a gun fight that would require a small arsenal.

However, a pistol looked cool and an Ak47 looked scary. A pistol alone might have given our targets the impression that they stood a chance if they fought back. An ak47 pointed at their heads was sure to banish such thoughts.

While Uzo was on weapons and costume duty, it was my job to get the key card from the banker and procure a get away car. We couldn't drive in and out of the bank in my loyal banged up stead as it was sure to leave a massive clue for anyone who sees us driving off.

We needed a vehicle that was spacious enough to take a few bags of money with ease, and fast enough to get away from the cops in the event of a pursuit.

After doing a lot of research, I decided that a Toyota MR2, popularly referred to as muscle camry or spider, was the best vehicle for us. The car was common enough to blend in with other vehicles on the road, strong enough to take a few hits, and fast enough to lend us speed necessary for escape.

Of course, my entire plan highly depended on things not gettig that bad but I preferred to be prepared than caught with my pants down. Getting caught, pants down is how people get fucked.

A Toyota MR2 was the perfect choice but I just couldn't steal any car from a parking lot. Used cars in my experience weren't reliable. The road takes a heavy toll on the vehicles, especially in poor cities like mine, forcing car owners to mechanics who fail to fix the problem at worst or only manage to return the car to a percentage of its former ability at best.

My car was testimony to this fact. It wasn't as fast or as strong as it was years ago. Over the years, it had grown weaker and now it felt oose, weak and depreciated, even though it still looked quite good.

In the end, looks in used cars were deceiving. An elegant ford focus might be a regular visitor to the mechanic and a sporty Chevrolet might be a few miles away from bursting its engine block.

The only car that one could trust in a city like mine iis a car that hasn't experienced it's roads. And the only place to find such cars is in the auto stores where brand new cars are sold.

Unfortunately, stealing a brand new car was easier said than done. One could either go the hard way, guns blazing and speeding away at top speed. The hard way was code word for the foolish way and that just wasn't my style.

Nevertheless, the easy way was far from easy, in truth it was even harder in its own way. It required planning, conniving, bribing, circumvention or in this case, seduction.

Seduction is a complicated business that requires skill or talent. I don't have a talent for wooing women and I am too proud to learn the skill. However, in time I learned a very important lesson. When dealing with women that are attracted to you, I mean genuinely drawn to everything about you, you don't need skill or talent, you simply have to take what is offered.

The problem is, more often than not, we don't value what we have, we fail to see the value in those that value us, a testament to our self esteem.

I mean, if she sees me as handsome and intelligent then she must be quite ugly and dumb. Therefore, I don't want her. Afterall, she is so dumb that she can't see that I am not great. She is so ugly that compared to her I am quite the catch.

We give up on those who want us and go after those who reject us. Those we believe we deserve because we want them and we would be happy to have them.

Or more accurately, those we know would be intelligent enough to see that we aren't great, and beautiful enough to know they can do better, ultimately rejecting us and perpetuating our perception of ourselves, reminding us that we aint shit and thereby strengthening the resolve of our low self esteem.

Or maybe that's just me. If it is you too, then I advise you see a therapist as soon as possible. I don't need a therapist because as I said, I take what I get even if I don't want it.

Kabirat was who I could get even though I didn't want her. Why didn't I want her? Well I don't know. Of course for a small fortune, I could hire a therapist and get the answer, but who needs answers when actions are required.

She was tall and slender, with a nice shape, voluptuous boobs, but a flat ass. However, I didn't mind her flat ass or the fact that she was shaped like the letter P. She had a beautiful face, a creamy complexion and a smile that revealed a set of perfectly white teeth. Her laughter was childish and amusing, it was also easy to induce.

The fact that I found it easy to make her laugh was the only reason I was able to realise that she liked me. I am not a funny man. And if a woman is laughing at my jokes more often than not, there is more to it than the words coming out of my mouth.

However, despite all these attractive qualities of hers, I still didn't want her. Nevertheless, I needed her. Not for her beauty, body or brains but for her position in Kolade Motors.

In the past three weeks, I had taken her on seven dates, a tough task if I do say so myself. It isn't easy holding a conversation with someone you find ridiculously boring and unattractive.

I hated the time we spent together. I was bored, exceedingly bored. And yet, I had to be charming. I had to listen to what she had to say and care. I also had to act human, tell her about myself, and seem honest even as I lied.

I had to act for hours on end, reply to her texts, pick her calls and even call her with no other reason than to check up on her. I surprised her with flowers, kissed her with spontaneity, and made love to her with passion even as I felt dirty for I knew the end game I was driving at.

And now, after three weeks of investment, it was time for me to cash in the chips.

I chartered a taxi online which took me to Kolade motors, dropping me off right in front of the building. Kolde motors like most car dealerships was a modern edifice in the middle of a large parking lot.

The parking lot was home to many beautiful cars, some of which were Toyota MR2s. The building on the other hand was all but transparent, with white tiled floors and clear glass walls. As I made my way up the stairs, towards Kabirat's office, I began to think about the aftermath of what I was about to do.

If things went well, there would be no problem at all. We would be in and out of the bank without a hassle and by the next day, the getaway car would be parked in the parking lot of Kolade motors. A few weeks later, it would be sold to a buyer who would cherish it.

Of course, by then I would have broken Kabirat's heart but that would be that. None would be the wiser. The car would not be reported stolen, and all attempts to find out who the owner of the vehicle is would end up at a dead end. Because the car has no owner.

However, if things went south, the car would never return to the lot. It would be burnt in a remote village or crushed for scraps. I will break Kabirat's heart in an even more terrible way and she might even fall under suspicion from the cops. She might lose her job or worse still go to jail. If things get bad enough, she would give me up. Of course, it would be in her best interest to lie as lying would protect her and her job in the event that she is under suspicion. But if she is dead to rights, giving me up would be her only salvation.

Unfortunately for her, she would have no useful information to give the cops. It is amazing how much we can ignore when we are in love. It is amazing how easy it is for people to not take cognisance of the fact that they know next to nothing about the person they claim to be dating.

Everything I had shown her about myself was false. She didn't know that I had a car and the apartment she thought I lived in was a short-let apartment. The name she called me by was false and the business I told her I was into was an illusion. The only truth she knew about me was my face. And even that was a lie as it almost always held false and conjured expressions in front of her.

If push comes to shove, she would be absolutely useless in helping the authorities to hunt me down. And when that happens they would punish her even more severely. I could only hope that push didn't come to shove. Saying a prayer for her sake, I pushed open the door of her office and put on a happy face.

She was dressed in a beautiful blue blouse that flowed loosely around her body. And yet, despite the size of the blouse, the bountifulness of her boobs was still clear for my eyes to see. Thoughts of the peace that would be derived from laying my head between those two mountains of bliss crossed my head and caused me to smile even as I took my eyes up to her face to see her beautiful smile.

Kabirat smiled fully, holding back only a few of her perfectly white teeth from my view. Her smile was beautiful in a mesmerizing way. There was a brightness to it, a glint of madness hidden behind beautiful brown eyes.

Perhaps her eyes only shined when she was with me, perhaps it was excitement as a result of my presence. It is quite hard to know how people behave when they are not around you, not to talk of how they smile. Or maybe she was just crazy.

The lower part of her body was clad in a back skirt that went all the way past her knees while her head was covered in a turban in respect to her religion and her God. As for footwear, she kept it as simple as usual, with brown, flat sandals whose straps wormed up her feet to meet the helm of her skirt.

"Hey baby," she said in her excited voice that always sounded like the voice of a church chorister. A joyful noise, but noise nonetheless, the result of excitement devoid of control or grace.

"Hi," I said cooly, walking towards her as she sprung out of her chair and walked towards me briskly. We hugged and I let my arms slip around her waist, drawing her closer so I could feel her breasts pressing into my chest.

"How have you been?" she asked, her eyes meeting mine, our lips only a few inches apart. The pleasant aroma of her perfume filled my lungs and I allowed myself to breathe her. I also allowed myself to consider the possibility that I might be falling for her, but I grabbed that thought by the neck and drowned it in the cold rivers of treason to come.

"I have been good," I said, struggling to smile as my mind did the wet work that was necessary to carry on coldly and objectively. "Have you eaten?"

She nodded in the negative, in that childish way that women for some reason believe to be cute.

"Let's go grab lunch," I said, smoothly flowing to her side so only my left arm was around her waist.

"I still have a lot of work to do," she protested even as I guided her out of her office.

"The work would go much faster and better if you are alive and well fed."

"I'm trying to watch my weight. I'm getting fat," she protested again and for a split second my mind bounced from thoughts of calling her a fat cunt, to wondering why she felt we were close enough for her to air her insecurities.

Of course, I quickly remembered that she wasn't a fat cunt and she was airing her insecurities to me because she was under the spell of romance, a spell that I casted. And it was my job as caster to assure her of her beauty. So rolling my eyes internally, I pulled out one of my ready made replies for women who didn't like the shape of their bodies.

"You are getting fat in the right places," I said, holding her waist tighter and looking seductively at her boobs.

"Oh stop it, Joseph."

"Sorry, I can't," I replied, getting into character as we made our way to the parking lot. "Where would you like to eat?"

"Uhm… There is a nice restaurant not too far from here. I have been meaning to try it out."

"Awesome. When you say not too far, do you mean close enough to take a stroll."

"Nah. A bit farther than that. Lets take my car. You drive," she said, handing the keys over to me before I could protest.

"Why?" I asked.

"It wouldn't be befitting for me to drive you. I don't want people looking at you with disrespect."

"And why will they look at me with disrespect?" I asked, feigning anger.

"Beca…. You know how people are. They see a woman driving a man and they…"

"I don't care," I replied firmly, staying in character while I smiled internally as I realised that she was setting up the perfect opportunity for me to make my request.

I gave her back her keys and together we walked to her car. Her car was an elegant red Toyota highlander. It was the latest model with all the latest curves and accentuations. It was the kind of vehicle that was fitting for a powerful woman like her.

She got into the cockpit while I rode shotgun, and a few minutes later she was driving into a cute little restaurant that was a full ten minutes away from her office.

We had gone through the usual pointless conversations during the trip but as we alighted from the vehicle she decided to pick up a tricky subject that I had hoped she would let slide.

"You know it takes a real man to not feel threatened by his woman driving him."

"Really," I said with a smile as we walked towards the entrance of the restaurant. The restaurant was a small cozy establishment with a white exterior which had its accentuations painted blue. The door of the building was glass and transparent, and a man dressed in a security outfit opened the door as we walked in. The security man greeted us too enthusiastically and I knew from experience that he was expecting a tip for doing his damn job.

"Yes really," Kabirat said, surprising me with the fact that she hadn't dropped it.

The restaurant's theme of white accentuated with blue, that coated its exterior, was continued in its interior. The floors were covered in white tiles, almost as white as its walls, while the curtains and furniture were blue. Kabirat and I took our seats in a booth made up of blue suede couches and a glass table.

A waiter arrived a few seconds after we had taken our seats and took our orders.

"You know," Kabirat continued. "You are different from all the other guys I am used to."

"Really? How so?" I asked, my tone feigning interest but my eyes giving me away as I scanned the restaurant for a distraction. There were only two other patrons in the building. A large young man dressed in baggy streetwear like a hobo, with a large beard, and a skinny lady who seemed to be waiting for her date.

The thought of the hobo and the toothpick keeping each other company took root in my mind and I found myself rooting for the hobo. Wicked thoughts of the large young man raising the legs of the skinny skank flooded my mind with twisted myrrh.

"Other men I have met feel threatened by me. But you are different, a real man."

One of my redeeming qualities is my ability to multitask. I had left a few of my brain cells in the conversation with Kabirat. And as soon as she was done talking I gave her my full attention.

"Really?"

"Stop saying really," she protested, catching on to my aloofness.

This time, I truly gave her my full attention.

"Okay, let me be plain. You think you know a lot about real men. Well here is one thing you should know. Real men don't call themselves real men, and they sure as hell don't like being called real men, especially when the phrase is within a statement that compares them to other men."

"Oh…" she said, feeling deflated.

"So what you believe to be a compliment is actually a tad bit insulting. I am Joseph, there has never been any like me, there is none like me and after I am gone, there will never be anyone like me, ever. Comparing me to other men you have encountered is like spitting on that fact."

"Im sorry," she said, feeling guilty as her voice began to break. "I didn… just that most guys I go out with always want to drive my car or one of the cars in the lot rather than actually…"

"There we go again," I said, cutting in. I felt sad for her. I was one of the "most guys" she was trying to avoid. I was next in line to break her heart and a bit of me wanted to call off my plans of using her. However, I couldn't. I had to cut her short because this was my opening and had to take my shot. "There you go again comparing me with most guys. So what, if I ask to drive a car from your lot you would think I'm like every other guy you have dated? Is that the yardstick by which you measure me, whether or not I want your cars?" I asked, letting a bit of scorn and anger fill my voice in order to induce the effect I was going after.

"No… I didn't mean… You…. I didn't mean to compare you. I don't judge you based on your…"she was confused, I had shattered her walls and confidence. It was so easy that I actually felt bad. But I was in too deep at this point, to the bitter end it was.

"You know what, why don't we put my theory to test. I want one of your cars. I will pick one up with the greed that you accuse most guys of having. I will even act like them. Then after I return the car tomorrow morning, we will see if you really love me. We would see if you see me as who I am or you see me as someone to be compared to most guys."

The end of my sentence was punctuated by the timely arrival of the waiter who served our dishes and took his leave.

"I'm sorry, Jo."

"I'm sorry too," I said, kissing the very wound I had inflicted like a damn psychopath, feeling exhilarated and dirty at the same time. "Let's talk about something else."

"No, you are right. You should take the car."

"No. That was just me letting off some steam."

"Please I insist."

"Well someone is being bossy," I said jokingly.

"No I didn't,…"

"It's a joke. Fine, if it would make you feel less jittery, I will take the car. Would probably just park it at home and bring it back to you tomorrow. Now, can we move on," I said, making it seem like the course of the conversation wasn't entirely by my design.

"Yes. How has work been, babe?"

"Hectic," I said. "My partner and I are working on a new deal and we are very close to sealing it." I enjoyed saying the truth in code. It made lying easy . Afterall, the best lies are those grounded in truth.

"Really? That's good news. When are you finally going to show me your gadget store?"

"After the renovations honey."

"Come one. I want to see it before the renovations are done. I might have a few ideas."

"Trust me, when you see it you would love it and wouldn't want to change a thing."

"I trust you," she said with a joking nod as she smiled playfully. "You have good taste in clothes and women."

"True," I agreed, as I picked up my cutlery and dug in.

The rest of the date went smoothly. I told the right jokes, said the right things and laughed when I was supposed too, like a fucking clown. It was dirty work but it was necessary work. And hell knows I don't shy away from doing what is necessary. In the end it all paid off. After the date, I drove off the lot in the car of my dreams or atleast the dreams I had of my operation.

I returned to my apartment building and was about to step out of the brand new car when Frank's vehicle drove into my compound and stopped right next to me. He stretched out the key card and I collected it. Without saying a word, as there were no words to be said, he put his car in reverse and zoomed off. However, although he had said nothing, the look on his face said it all. The man was a struggling wreck.