Black River: Chapter 9

The heavy scent of dust and mildew filled the air of the abandoned church, mingling with the low crackle of nearby candle flames. Moonlight filtered through shattered stained-glass windows, casting fractured, colorful shadows across the cracked pews. At the center of it all, Olumide and Durojaiye sat across from each other at a weathered wooden table. Their guns, ominously placed in front of them, gleamed faintly under the flickering candlelight.

Taiwo circled them like a predator, his every step echoing in the silence. His presence, a cold and menacing specter, dominated the room. The twisted grin on his face spoke of a man reveling in control. For years, Taiwo had worked from the shadows, manipulating the lives of men like Olumide and Durojaiye, bending the world to his will. Now, he was finally stepping out, making his grand appearance, and offering his prey a glimpse of his power.

“Gentlemen,” Taiwo’s voice dripped with amusement as he surveyed the two men sitting before him. “You’ve both been playing the game well. But let’s be clear: I’m the one who set the rules.”

Olumide’s jaw was clenched tight, his hands resting tensely on the table. He locked eyes with Taiwo, a hatred burning deep in his gaze. He’d been chasing ghosts, trying to find Femi’s killer, only to realize it was this man—the one he had thought long dead—pulling the strings all along. The betrayal from their past still lingered like an open wound, festering with time.

“I should’ve finished you when I had the chance,” Olumide muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous.

Taiwo chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by a child’s tantrum. “But you didn’t, did you? And look where that got you.” He gestured around the decaying church. “Your empire is crumbling. Your closest men are either dead or betraying you. And now, you’re sitting here… with him.”

Taiwo’s gaze flicked toward Durojaiye, who remained silent, his expression unreadable. The detective had been chasing Olumide for years, obsessing over the criminal empire that had eluded justice time and time again. But tonight, everything had changed. The realization that the corruption in Lagos stretched far beyond Olumide’s reach weighed heavily on him. He’d been chasing small-time players, unaware that the true puppet masters had been steering his every move.

“You’ve been a good lapdog, detective,” Taiwo continued, circling closer to Durojaiye. “We needed someone like you to clean up the smaller messes, to keep the city believing that justice was still alive.” He smiled cruelly. “But justice? That’s just another lie we feed the masses. There’s no justice in Lagos. Only power.”

Durojaiye’s grip tightened around the handle of his gun. He had spent his entire career trying to clean up the streets, believing in the law, believing in a higher purpose. Now, sitting across from both Taiwo and Olumide, he felt like a fool—a pawn manipulated by forces beyond his control. He had always seen Olumide as the ultimate enemy, the symbol of all that was wrong with Lagos. But now, he knew better.

Taiwo stopped pacing and looked at both men. “You two are more alike than you think. You both want power. And you both want control.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I can give you both.”

Olumide’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The Syndicate is expanding,” Taiwo said with a grin. “It’s not just about the black market anymore. We’re moving into the corporate sector, the political sphere… every corner of this city. Soon, we’ll control it all. But to do that, we need men like you. Strong men. Men who understand how the game is played.”

Taiwo glanced between Olumide and Durojaiye, gauging their reactions. “Olumide, join me, and you’ll have more power than you ever dreamed of. The city will bow to you. And Durojaiye, think about it—no more chasing street thugs or corrupt politicians. You’ll be at the top of the food chain, calling the shots.”

Durojaiye sat rigid, his mind racing. He had spent years fighting against men like Taiwo, men who exploited the city for their own gain. But now, for the first time, he felt the crushing weight of futility. Everything he’d believed in—the law, justice, morality—felt distant and hollow.

Olumide, however, seemed to soften at Taiwo’s words. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze dropping to the table as if considering the offer. Durojaiye’s eyes darted to him, a look of shock and disbelief spreading across his face.

“No… You can’t be serious,” Durojaiye muttered, his voice laced with frustration. “You’re not actually thinking of joining him.”

Olumide’s face remained impassive, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes betrayed him. “Maybe Taiwo’s right,” he said quietly. “Maybe this is bigger than you and me, detective. Maybe we’ve both been playing the wrong game.”

Durojaiye felt his stomach drop. This was the moment—the moment Olumide would finally surrender to the darkness, to the power Taiwo was offering.

Taiwo, sensing victory, extended his hand toward Olumide, his grin widening. “Welcome to the new Lagos, my friend.”

Olumide slowly reached for Taiwo’s hand, his movements deliberate. Durojaiye’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind screaming at him to stop Olumide before it was too late.

Then, in one swift motion, Olumide’s hand darted beneath the table, pulling out a small hidden blade. Without hesitation, he plunged it into Taiwo’s side. The shock on Taiwo’s face was palpable, his grin quickly fading into a grimace of pain.

“What—” Taiwo stammered, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers.

Before he could finish, the room exploded into chaos. Gunfire erupted from the shadows as Taiwo’s hidden men opened fire, bullets ricocheting off the walls. Olumide dove for cover, grabbing his gun off the table. Durojaiye did the same, instinct taking over as he returned fire.

Taiwo staggered back, clutching his wound, his once-dominating presence now crumbling. He stumbled toward the door, desperate to escape as the gun battle raged around him.

Olumide and Durojaiye exchanged a quick glance, their alliance forged in the heat of battle. They had no choice but to work together now, to survive the storm that Taiwo had unleashed.

As the gunfire died down and the last of Taiwo’s men fell, the church was left in ruins, filled with the stench of gunpowder and blood. Olumide stood over Taiwo, who lay on the floor, gasping for breath, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“You thought you could play us?” Olumide spat, his voice cold. “You were always a fool.”

Taiwo coughed, blood dribbling from his lips. “This isn’t over,” he whispered, his voice weak but filled with malice. “You’ll never… escape The Syndicate.”

Olumide raised his gun, but Durojaiye grabbed his arm, stopping him. “We need him alive,” the detective said firmly. “He’s the key to taking them all down.”

Olumide hesitated for a moment, then lowered his weapon. He nodded, knowing Durojaiye was right. Taiwo, battered and broken, was still a valuable piece in the larger game.

The war wasn’t over, but tonight, Olumide and Durojaiye had won a battle. Together.