Chronicles Of A Runs Girl - S01 E53

2 years ago

Chronicles Of A Runs Girl - S01 E53

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 53

They reminded me of me, of the several nights I’d sat like them, with strange men, getting my body prepared to sleep with them. I pitied them. I pitied myself.

Uncle China was in the middle of his parlour asking everyone to listen.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “oya, put your money down.”

The men dug in their pockets and threw bundles of cash onto the floor. Money, lots of it, quickly spread out at Uncle China’s feet. I looked at the other girls; they were looking at the money. I looked to see if Rotimi would also join in. He was holding his beer in one hand and his other hand was in his pocket. Our eyes met and he winked and smiled.

Uncle China used his feet to gather the money together. He looked at a man in white danshiki.

“Captain, I don’t see dollars here o!” he said.

Captain relished the moment. With everyone watching, he stretched out on the armchair he had commandeered and reached into his trouser pocket. He took his time probing then he drew out a bundle of hundred dollar notes. He flung the cash at Uncle China who tried to kick it like a ball but missed and managed to fall ass first onto the pile of cash. The men laughed.

Money has a spirit. I didn’t know what the water game was but it didn’t matter. I was fixated on the little hill of cash on the floor, a few feet from me. If NEPA took light right then my hands would be one of the first to reach the money. I looked at Rotimi, he was looking at me. He widened his eyes and shook his head in the manner of ‘whew.’

Uncle China was helped to his feet by a bouncer with a crude dagger tattoo on his exposed bicep.

“Ok, we are ready now,” he said.

“What of your own money?” someone asked.

Uncle China gave the man a dirty look then he hissed. “Man-o-war!” he shouted. A thug that answered to the name picked up a beer carton and ran to his master’s side. Uncle China gave him a nod to do the honours and Man-o-war emptied bundles of cash onto the heap on the floor. The men cheered. Rotimi was smiling and shaking his head.

“Oya, go and bring them,” the host told his boy.

The thug marched off and a little while later, through the double doors we had come through, Mama strolled majestically into the room. Behind her, in heels and nothing else, a string of lepa girls followed, walking like models. Wait o! They were models! I recognised the first one, from a billboard, then the next, then the next!