AT 6:45 FRIDAY morning, Dawson received a call from Chikata that he and the driver were already on the road and should be in Tadi within two hours.
Oh, Dawson thought, he has a driver while I got the cramped, smelly State Transport bus.
“Very good,” he said. “Do you have accommodations while you’re here?”
“Yeah,” Chikata said lightly. “My uncle knows one of the managers at Stellar Hotel, so I’ll be staying there for free.”
Dawson was stunned. While he had had to find his own accommodations, his junior officer would be staying in a fancy hotel? For free? This is the royal treatment you get when your chief superintendent was your doting uncle.
“I hear say some beautiful women dey,” Chikata said, switching to his beloved pidgin.
“Maybe, but they are all escorts for the white oil engineers,” Dawson said bluntly. “They’re not interested in the likes of you and me. Anyway, you’re coming here to work, not play.”
“Yes, massa,” Chikata said, humbly, but Dawson could hear the mischief in his voice.
IT WAS PAST nine when he phoned Dawson again. The police drove notoriously fast, so it was no surprise Chikata had made such good time.
“I’ve arrived at the hotel,” he said. “Room Three Eleven.”
“All right. I’ll be there soon.”
Dawson walked across the street and went up the staircase to the third floor. Chikata opened the door to his knock and blinked in amazement. “Massa, how did you get here so fast?”
Dawson smiled enigmatically. “Magic. No actually, I’m staying right opposite the hotel on the other side of the street.”
“Oh, I see.” Chikata laughed. “You are welcome. Come in.”
Natural light illuminated the room through a large window that looked out onto the landscaped grounds. Two large beds faced the widescreen TV, which Chikata had tuned to a movie channel. He had set his laptop on the writing desk. The whisper-quiet air conditioner high up on the wall had the room deliciously chilled.
“Enjoying life, eh?” Dawson said with a hint of envy.
Chikata laughed again. At twenty-nine years old, he consistently turned women’s heads with his powerful build and bold, granite-chiseled facial features.
“Would you like a Malta?” he asked, knowing his boss’s favorite well.
“For sure,” Dawson said, brightening.
“I ordered some for you from the restaurant.”
He got a bottle out of the mini-fridge and tossed it to Dawson, who caught it with one hand. Chikata took a bottle of water for himself. If he couldn’t drink beer, he drank water.
