Chapter 10, Episode 3: The Man Who Said He Could Find the Robber for a Price

I hesitated for only a second before stepping into the current of the market, letting the crowd push me in the direction the man had gone. My eyes darted between the rainbow of umbrellas shading piles of tomatoes, peppers, and onions, searching for him.

Then I saw the back of his shirt faded brown, damp with sweat. He slipped into a narrow passage between two stalls.

I followed.

The air in the alley was different. Quieter, heavier. The shouts of women selling vegetables melted into a hush. My sandals slapped against the uneven ground, and my skin prickled as though invisible eyes were counting every breath I took.

The man stopped near a wall covered with torn posters. He turned slowly, revealing a face darkened by both the sun and secrets. His eyes were sharp, restless, like a man who trusted no one not even himself.

“You came,” he said simply.

My throat tightened. “Who are you?”

He smirked. “The one person willing to show you what really happened that night. But nothing in this city comes free.”

He leaned closer. I caught the faint scent of cigarettes and cheap gin. “I can find the robber. The real one. The man who dropped that bag. But it will cost you.”

The words hung in the air like bait.

I swallowed hard. “How much?”

His smile widened, showing a missing tooth. “Enough to make me forget I ever spoke to you if you waste my time.”

My chest tightened. Money. Of course it was money. In Lagos, even truth had a price tag.

“I don’t have much,” I admitted. “But I need this. I need my name back.”

He studied me in silence, his eyes searching my face as if weighing whether I was desperate enough. Then he pulled something from his pocket ... a small flash drive. He dangled it between two fingers.

“Proof,” he said. “Or at least, the start of it. But first, you pay. Information without money is suicide. For both of us.”

I stared at the flash drive, my pulse thundering. It could be real. It could also be bait.

Trap or clue?

His voice dropped low, almost a whisper. “People bigger than you want this buried. Once you hold it, you’ll be holding your own death warrant too. Think carefully before you pay.”

I met his eyes. My fear was real, but so was my resolve.

“If it clears my name,” I said, forcing strength into my voice, “then whatever it costs, I’ll find a way.”

The man chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re brave. Or foolish. Sometimes they’re the same thing.”

He tucked the flash drive back into his pocket and gave me a time and place to meet again. A darker corner of Lagos. Somewhere even the law didn’t bother to look.

Image by Tredeblez

Then he vanished into the market crowd as quickly as he had appeared.

I stood rooted to the ground, the sweat on my neck cold despite the sun. I had a lead now but I couldn’t shake the feeling that with every step forward, the noose was tightening around my neck.

Because in this city, every clue felt like a trap.