NIGHTFALL AND NOISE
Night in Lagos didn't simply arrive — it descended, like a curtain dropping on a stage infected with noise, sweat, temptation, and trouble. By the time Toya arrived at Club Zanzi, the neon lights were already humming, the speakers were trembling with bass, and the smell of perfume, cigarette smoke, and spilt liquor mixed into a chaotic, familiar scent.
Inside, the club pulsed with life.
The DJ shouted over beats that rattled the walls.Strobe lights turned dancers into silhouettes.Laughter mixed with curses.Thirsty men leaned over the bar, banging bottles for attention.Girls circled the tables, choosing who might pay for their next drink.
And behind the long, polished bar counter stood Toya, face expressionless, towel thrown over his shoulder. He moved with the efficiency of someone who had done this for months, flipping cups, pouring shots of vodka, popping beer caps, sliding plates across the counter without missing a beat.
He didn't smile often, but tonight he wore the faint smirk of a man who knew the night was about to be wild.
"Try not to stress me tonight," Toya muttered at a stubborn refrigerator that hissed back in defiance. "I'm too small for this level of drama."
Behind him, leaning against the wall like a stone statue, was Boma, the club's main bouncer.
Boma was a mountain disguised as a man — thick neck, thick arms, thick everything. His skin glistened with sweat even though he barely moved. His eyes were sharp, steady, scanning every shadow in the room. He wore a black T-shirt labeled SECURITY, stretched so tight you could hear it begging for mercy.
Everyone respected Boma.Everyone feared him.And everyone agreed on one thing:
If Boma told you to calm down, you calmed down.Immediately.
Toya glanced at him while wiping a glass. "Guy, abeg try laugh small. People go think say you be statue."
Boma didn't turn. "Statue no dey chase anybody," he rumbled. "I dey see things."
"What things?"
Boma slowly raised his chin toward the entrance.
Two men had just walked in — young, loud, already drunk, and moving with the irritating confidence of people who believed Lagos belonged to them. Gold chains bouncing on their chests, shirts unbuttoned too low, and the kind of swagger that promised chaos.
Toya sighed deeply.
"Ah… problem has clocked in for night shift."
He wasn't wrong.These were the kind of men who insulted bouncers, harassed girls, refused to pay, and acted like they were too important to face consequences.
Boma's jaw tightened.His eyes narrowed.He didn't move yet — but Toya could tell:
Something was about to crack.
The music roared louder.The crowd got thicker.The two men swaggered deeper into the club, bumping shoulders intentionally, brushing past the wrong people, laughing too loudly.
Toya exhaled, bracing himself.The night had only just begun.
And Lagos never began gently.
The club swelled with heat and bodies, the air thick with sweat and cheap cologne. Toya barely kept up with the shouting customers, pouring drinks left and right while keeping one eye on the two troublemakers.
They had already pushed three people, slapped a waitress's tray out of her hand, and loudly declared that:
"Nobody fit talk to us for this Lagos! We be senior men!"
Drunk arrogance — the most dangerous kind.
Boma watched them from the entrance like a predator waiting for the perfect moment. His arms were crossed, but Toya could tell from the tension in his shoulders that he was calculating.
Predicting.
Counting the seconds until they crossed the wrong line.
It happened faster than anyone expected.
The taller of the two men grabbed a girl by the wrist, yanking her roughly.She tried to pull away.He laughed.His friend joined him.People turned, uncomfortable.Nobody intervened.This was Lagos — sometimes justice was silent until it exploded.
The girl tried again to free herself.The man slapped her.
That was it.
Boma moved.
Not ran — moved.Like a tank.Like inevitability.
He walked straight toward them, his expression blank, his voice calm but carrying weight.
"Leave the girl," he ordered.
They turned to him, drunk and stupid.
"Who you be?" the shorter one barked."You dey craze? You know who we be?"
Toya froze mid-pour.
Here we go.
Boma repeated, slower this time, each syllable coated in warning:
"Leave. The girl."
The taller one shoved Boma in the chest.
The entire club went silent.
Even the DJ lowered the music halfway.The lights stopped flickering.Conversation died.Everyone stared.
Toya whispered under his breath, "Oh… they have chosen death."
Then it happened.
The drunk man swung his fist at Boma — sloppy, wide, foolish.Boma sidestepped effortlessly.
One punch.
Just one.
A deep, heavy hook to the side of the head, delivered with the precision of someone who had fought too many street battles.The man dropped instantly, like a puppet whose strings were cut.
The second man screamed incoherently, rushing at Boma with a broken bottle.Toya ducked behind the bar.
Boma blocked the bottle with his forearm, grabbed the man by the neck with one hand, and slammed him onto a table. Wood splintered everywhere.
The man staggered up, still yelling, still drunk, still stupid.
Boma pushed him back, but he tripped over the chair leg behind him —fell backward —and struck his head on the metal edge of a speaker stand.
The crack was loud.Too loud.
The man went limp.
Too limp.
The music faded out completely.People gasped and backed away.Someone whispered:
"Ah… he don die."
Boma froze, chest heaving, eyes widening just slightly — the first sign of fear Toya had EVER seen on the man.
The taller man on the floor groaned weakly, still alive.
But the one who hit his head…
Wasn't moving.
Toya swallowed hard.
"This night don spoil."
The manager — a round, nervous man named Pascal — burst out from his office shouting, "What happened? What happened?!"
He stared at the unconscious body, face draining of color.
"Oh God. Oh God!"
The entire club murmured.
Boma took a step back, breathing heavily, hands raised slightly — as if to show he didn't mean it.
"It was accident," he said quietly. "He charge at me. He—"
"I don't care!" Pascal snapped. "Boma, you're finished! You're done! You want to bring police to my club?! You're FIRED!"
Toya looked at Boma.
For the first time, the big man looked… lost.
The crowd dispersed slowly as the DJ turned the music back on in a shaky attempt to mask the tension.
Toya clenched his towel, eyes sharp.
This wasn't the end.No.
This… was an opening.
"manager," Toya whispered, stepping closer. "I get person."
pascal looked at him, confused and annoyed.
"A strong friend," Toya added, voice low.
The Replacement**
Pascal stared at Toya as if the bartender had suddenly become part of the problem.
"You get person?!" he hissed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Toya, abeg, this is not the time for referral!"
But it was.
In Lagos, chaos wasn't just danger —sometimes it was opportunity dressed in blood and bad decisions.
Toya leaned closer so the music wouldn't swallow his words.
"Manager… you need bouncer. Sharp one. Reliable. Somebody wey no dey drink on duty. Somebody wey go do the job without wahala."
Pascal looked back at the unconscious man on the floor, then at the dead one with blood drying near the speaker stand.
His voice shook."I just want this night to disappear."
"Then replace Boma before tomorrow," Toya whispered.
Pascal paused.He knew Toya wasn't stupid — and he wasn't sentimental either.Toya didn't bring up people unless they were useful.
"Who be the person?" Pascal finally asked.
Toya dried a clean glass slowly, letting the suspense sit.
"David," he said."My guy. Ex-security firm. Calm, disciplined. Big but gentle. No go fight unless e really need. He perfect for here."
Pascal rubbed both hands across his bald head."Is he better than… this one?"
Toya glanced at Boma.
The big man stood near the exit, breathing like a bull, fists clenched and unclenched. Nobody dared go near him — not the customers, not the waiters, not even the DJ pretending to queue new music.
Boma wasn't angry anymore.He was terrified… and hiding it badly.
He looked like a man who knew Lagos police wouldn't care about "accident."They only cared about case.
And a dead body was a very juicy case.
"David better," Toya answered simply.
Pascal nodded weakly."Call him. Tell him come tomorrow night."
Toya tapped the counter."Done."
Pascal tried to regain composure.
"Okay. Good. Now help me clear this mess. Before somebody upload nonsense on the internet."
He hurried away to shout orders at the staff, but Toya walked toward Boma instead.
The bouncer looked at him with the eyes of someone whose life had just split in two.
"Toya… I no mean make i kill am," he whispered, voice shaking.
"I know," Toya replied.
"You fit talk to manager for me? I no get anywhere to go—"
Toya sighed.
"Boma, manager no fit keep you. This matter don pass club level. You need disappear for a while."
Boma swallowed, tears threatening but never falling.He was too hard for that.
"Where I go go?"
"Your brother place for Ikorodu," Toya muttered. "Stay low. This night, carry your bag comot."
Boma clenched his jaw, nodding like a man accepting a sentence.
Then he placed a heavy hand on Toya's shoulder.
"You be good person. You try for me."
Toya forced a smile.
But inside?
He was already calculating again.
Because Lagos was a machine.
A brutal one.
And tonight, that machine had just opened a path:
He stood behind the bar again, wiping down the counter, letting the crowd disperse as the club closed for the night.
Above the noise and flashing lights, he whispered to himself:
"On to the next move."