“No, thank you,” the gray-haired man responded quietly. “You are most kind.” He glanced at his bodyguard, who immediately stepped forward and grabbed her forearm in his giant hand. She tensed nervously as he pressed several crisp bills into her palm. He then smiled and softened his grip, his blue eyes staring intently. She felt herself blushing at the scale of his presence. “Thank you, Abeje,” he said with an American accent, his voice surprisingly soft. “And please thank your friend Nnenia too.”
“Indeed I will sir,” she responded, the heat in her face intensifying.
He released his grip and gave her a quick nod before falling in step behind his boss. She watched the two men stroll towards the elevators before discreetly glancing at the money concealed in her hand. As expected, her headset chirped the announcement of a call. She turned and stared wryly at the check-in counter as she clicked the answer button on her headset.
“Yes Nnenia?”
“I was just calling to confirm the rate on room 805.”
She glowered at her colleague from across the lobby. “Normal rate, as discussed.”
“Of course, but what did you quote as the rate?” she pressed, her voice calm and friendly. Both women, ever-suspicious that their humorless manager was monitoring their calls, always followed a strict script when discussing their side business.
She pushed the four fifty-dollar bills into her pocket and began walking back towards the entrance, quietly delighting in the crisp texture of their newness. “One hundred per night,” she said flatly. An incredulous snort crackled in her ear.
“That sounds low.”
“That’s the normal rate, Nnenia,” she retorted. She glanced towards the desk as she passed and smiled as her friend craned her neck around a customer to frown at her.
“Fine. Well, Mr. Dossari got a very nice deal.” The line immediately clicked dead.
“And so did I,” she quietly said to herself as she stood by the glass doors and watched the chaos of morning traffic slowly snake its way along the street. She rarely paid “normal rate” to Nnenia, who was undoubtedly distrustful of even her, her friend since childhood. But then again their little side business was her idea, not Nnenia’s. And neither could complain about the money. The four bills curled in her pocket represented more than what most of the people on the street in front of her would make in six months. She made it in less than six minutes.
Her smile faded as she stood there, watching the women and children and men and vehicles that choked the streets of her poor, desperate city. Her childhood memories of quiet peacefulness felt painfully distant to this horrible new world; an overrun, avarice-infested version of her cherished Igwe Ocha, as her people affectionately called it. She reached into her pocket and rubbed the sharp edges of the bills, swallowing hard as she fought against the mixture of guilt and self-loathing that were beginning to swirl like acid in her stomach. Her eardrums suddenly popped – a side effect she might have attributed to her current feelings were it not for the glass doors in front of her immediately snapping inward as a strong blast of dry, gritty air ripped through the lobby. She instinctively closed her eyes as she turned and fell to the floor, the gasping sounds of surprised voices barely audible over the shriek of the entering wind. It was then that she felt the explosion, a concussion of energy that knocked her flat against the black granite floor with the crushing force of a mob as a flash of white light filled the atrium. She wrapped her head tightly in her arms as a pelting rain of debris fell upon her, tapping on her back and legs like the fingers of pesky children. Something larger and heavy slammed hard into her back, forcing a quick scream of terror from her as she flinched in pain. Then the rain stopped.
She lay still for the long moment of silence that followed, blinking her eyes rapidly as the first wave of moans and screams echoed through the atrium. She rose slowly to her knees, catching the gaze of her own terrified reflection in the dark polished floor as she assessed her condition. Around her, guests and hotel workers lay motionless, paralyzed with confusion and fright, vacantly watching her as she rubbed the shards of debris from her arms and legs.
“Holy Jesus! Holy Jesus! Abeje! Abeje!” Her friend screamed at her from beneath the check-in desk.
She raised her hand and nodded as she stood, wincing at the pain in her back where the heavy object had struck her. A high-pitched tone filled her ears with a deafening volume, and her head felt oddly detached from her body, as if suspended from a string.
“Get down Abeje!” Nnenia shouted, her eyes wide with terror. “Get down!”