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His voice was hoarse and dry. He had picked a fairly popular spot about half a mile along the road; there was another car parked a couple of hundred yards away.Stacy shook her head, her blonde hair shimmering in the starlight. "Further along," she said quietly.Barry shrugged and drove the car further along the road, passing through and then leaving behind all of the more popular and well-used spots. The road was almost deserted, which was unusual for a Saturday night, but the weather had been turning a little cold lately. In fact, Barry had seen Stacy shivering a little earlier while they had been walking out of the restaurant. He had noted that she was dressed quite lightly for November. Even this far south, the weather began to cool down by this time of the year.Twenty minutes later, Barry had parked the car in a suitably secluded spot; there had been no one else on the road for the last three miles. The night fell briefly silent as the car engine was shut off, but the sound of the. He left the note by Sheila's side before moving towards the door and unlocking it. The piece of paper read: "Gone to get some food for later, be back shortly, xx"Amidst the hustle and clamour of the Nigerian streets, Craig made his first real contact with the locals. He entered a riveting market area as the sun scorched his forehead. He took a cap from his side-bag and placed it on his head. One by one, he absorbed the various aromas of the products on sale: roasted vegetables, corn-sticks boiling in huge caldrons, bruised bananas and other dodgy fruits darted frantically by hovering flies. As potential souvenirs there were animal statuettes carved out of wood, tribe drums and handmade necklaces. There were second-hand clothes and scruffy old rugs surrounded by flee-infested dogs and bags of rubbish. Alone in such a place, Craig's emotions merged growing levels of discomfort, anxiety and fear. Everywhere, he saw tight crowds of black people, mainly men. He was blatantly overshadowed.
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