Chapter 3 Brother's Blood

The next morning came too fast. Manny dragged himself out of bed,his eyes heavy from another night of broken sleep. The glowing cracks on his right arm had faded again, but they were still there, like faint burns under his skin. He put on his grease-stained shirt and jeans, said his quiet prayer that nothing strange would happen today, and headed back to Mr. Segun’s workshop.

Work started normally. He was under another danfo bus by 8:30am, replacing worn tires this time. The rhythm of the spanner, the smell of rubber and oil, helped calm his mind a little. For a few hours, he almost felt like a regular man trying to rebuild his life.

But people talk a lot,especially in a place like Lagos.

By 12:00pm, some of the drivers and customers had started whispering. He caught pieces of it while wiping his hands with a dirty rag.

“That one is an ex-con... Kirikiri matters.”

“Dem say he burned the whole family alive back then.”

“Wetin him dey do here? Make we watch am.”

But instead Manny kept his head down and worked harder, pretending like he didn’t hear them. But the words cut deep. Twelve years was supposed to be enough time for people to forget, but in these streets, some things never die.

Around 2:00pm, when the sun was at its hottest, trouble walked in wearing a faded Chelsea jersey.

Chinedu.

His younger brother just stood at the entrance of the workshop, folded arms,his eyes burning with anger. Looked thinner than Manny remembered, with fresh cuts on his face and that same restless energy that always got him into trouble. At twenty-eight, Chinedu still moved like the angry teenager Manny had left behind.

Manny wiped his hands slowly and stepped out from under the bus. “Chinedu.”

“So na true,” Chinedu said, voice loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. “You really don come back. Big brother wey spend twelve years chopping prison food don return like saint.”

Manny felt his chest tighten. “I'm not looking for a fight. How are you?”

Chinedu laughed, but there was no joy in it. “How I dey? Mama is old. Rent chasing us. I hustle every day while you are inside there doing whatever makes you soft. They said you have turned to a pastor now. What happened? Prison beat the lion out of you?”

Some of the other mechanics stopped working to watch. Manny stepped closer, keeping his voice low. “I did my time, Chinedu. I will not be that person again. I just want to work and mind my business.”

His brother moved forward until they were almost chest to chest. That familiar smell of cheap alcohol and street life came off him. “You think it's easy like that? You burned that family and left us to carry the curse. Now you come back and play good man? Give me money, Manny. I got a deal that will change everything. Just fifty thousand.”

“I haven't gotten that kind of money yet,” Manny replied. His right arm was starting to feel warm again. The cracks under his skin tingled. “I just started this job. Let me settle small first.”

Chinedu’s face twisted. “You're weak now. Prison turned you into a woman?. The old Manny for would have already sorted me. But this new you? This soft fool begging for a mechanic job? I have no respect.”

The heat in Manny’s arm grew stronger,as he clenched his fist tight, fighting whatever was trying to rise. Images flashed in his head not of the past, but of Chinedu on his knees, confessing every stupid thing he had ever done. He shook the thought away.

“Don’t push me, Chinedu,” he warned, voice low and dangerous. “I am trying. For both of us.”

For a moment, it looked like they would fight right there in the workshop. Chinedu’s hands were balled into fists. Manny’s body was tense, ready and the air felt thick.

Then Mr. Segun shouted from his office, “If you want to fight, take it outside my workshop!”

Chinedu spat on the ground near Manny’s feet. “You’ll regret this soft life. When hunger finishes you, remember that blood is blood.” He turned and walked away, his shoulders tight with anger.

Manny stood there for a long moment, breathing hard. The glowing lines on his arm slowly cooled down,then he went back to work, but his hands were shaking again. Seeing his brother like that hurt more than any prison beating. He had failed Chinedu long before Kirikiri. Now the failure was staring at him in the face every day.

The afternoon dragged on. Customers kept coming and going. Manny tried to lose himself in the work, but the whispers continued. By closing time, he was exhausted in both body and spirit.

He left the workshop just as the sun was setting, painting the Lagos streets in dusty orange light. His mind heavy with thoughts of Chinedu, his mother, and the strange fire inside him that refused to stay quiet.

He didn’t notice them at first.

Three men across the street. Hard faces. One of them had a tattoo on his neck that Manny recognized from the old days. They were watching him,when he started walking toward his compound, they began to follow, keeping distance but never losing sight.

Manny slowed his steps. His prison instincts kicked in, because he knew those faces. Old crew. The kind of people who don’t believe in second chances.

He turned into a narrower street, his heart beating faster. The footsteps behind him got closer. One of them called out, voice mocking:

“Manny the Lion! We heard you have come back. The streets never forget, brother.”

Manny didn’t turn around, but his right arm started burning again,the Voice stirred faintly in the back of his mind, cold and waiting.

They have found you.

The glowing cracks beneath his sleeve pulsed with fresh heat as the three men closed the distance behind him in the growing darkness.

This was not going to end quietly.