by Matt Rogers
‘I wish I was.’
‘You usually this quiet?’
‘No. Not usually.’
‘So what’s up?’
‘Don’t know. In a mood, I guess.’
‘Come on,’ Jake said, gesturing at their surroundings with an over-the-top wave of his right arm. ‘Look around. Everyone’s having a great time. What are you stressing about?’
To reinforce the point, he tipped back the long-necked beer bottle and drained the last half of his drink in a consecutive string of gulps. He slammed the empty bottle down on the table, grinned, and glanced at the rest of the crew. ‘Another round?’
Slater had managed to get away with small talk for the first stretch of conversation, but his capacity to put on a mask was rapidly deteriorating.
And, as he lifted his gaze off the chipped wood and made eye contact with Casey, he realised she knew. Maybe because of their prior chat. Maybe because she could read people well. But her brow furrowed and something awfully close to compassion crossed her features.
Slater shook his head imperceptibly, then wiped beads of sweat from the corners of his forehead.
I’m okay.
Then memories resurfaced in horrifying hallucinogenic montages of rage and pain.
7
He battled them back down as Jake and Harvey set off worming their way through the throng of sweaty patrons in search of the bartender.
Casey and Whitney edged closer around the table. Casey’s focus had wavered, and now she was deep in muffled conversation with her friend. Slater gripped the edge of the table with slick palms, as subtly as he could manage. He didn’t battle his demons often. But when they came, they came with fury.
Deep in his own mind, he barely noticed Jake and Harvey weaving back through the crowd. The pair had a freshly opened, ice cold beer in each hand — four total — and they planted them down on the table, accompanied by a loud collection of thunks. In her drunken stupor, Whitney scrutinised the beers with narrowed eyes.
‘The fifth?’ she said.
Jake nodded. ‘We’ve only got four hands. I’ll be right back.’
He darted back to the other side of the room as Harvey planted himself down in his seat. Slater took a beer and drained half of it, stilling his shaking hands.
An uneasy silence elapsed.
‘Tell you what,’ Harvey mumbled, his breath reeking of alcohol as it floated across the table. ‘You’ve managed to avoid telling us a thing about yourself, bro.’
Slater feigned innocence, raised both eyebrows, and said, ‘What?’
Harvey narrowed his eyes and pointed an accusing finger at Slater as both corners of his mouth turned upward. ‘I’m onto you.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Harvey turned to the two girls. ‘See? See what I mean?’
Whitney laughed. ‘I see. I see it clear.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it,’ Casey said. ‘Leave him.’
Cautiously.
Hesitantly.
She knew. Whether it had happened during their recent bout of eye contact or not, something had clicked. Maybe she’d pieced together why he was so insistent on looking for cocaine somewhere else. Maybe she asked herself what sort of life experience someone needed to know the dangers of rural Colombia. Maybe she finally realised someone might know more than her about what really goes on in the jungles, deep in the shadows where the ground is lawless and the ordinary folk don’t venture. Maybe she started to extrapolate from there, wondering what might happen to a beautiful young American girl stumbling around looking for hard drugs. How effortlessly she might get enticed into coming to a back room, where she’d be drugged and beaten and carted off to who-knows-where to serve the needs of God-knows-who.
Or maybe she knew none of that.
But Slater did.
‘Come on,’ Harvey said, banging his fist on the table. He snatched up his fresh beer. Gulped a third of it down. Sent it clattering back to the table. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and stifled a belch. Then he sniffed, blinked hard, opened his eyes wide. ‘Damn. I’m wasted.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Slater said.
Harvey shot him a withering look. ‘You’re not wasted. Not in the slightest, bro. If you say you are then you’re pretending. Your eyes are clear. I know the … the signs…’
‘Oh, really?’ Slater said, and this time he didn’t have to fake the smile. He found the kid’s certainty somewhat endearing. ‘And what would those signs be?’
Harvey squinted, suddenly confused. He hadn’t been expecting to be asked to elaborate.
‘I dunno,’ he mumbled. ‘But you’ve drunk more than me. And you’re fine.’
‘I’m used to it.’
‘Damn. You an alcoholic?’
‘Harvey,’ Whitney snapped.
Slater held up a hand. ‘It’s fine. I probably am. Technically. I just like to have fun. And I think I’m good at having fun.’
He made brief eye contact with Casey, and she grinned. He shot her a look, as if to say, Stop right there.
‘You travel a lot?’ Whitney said.
‘Yeah. But I’ve been here for a while. Guess I got sick of jumping from place to place every week.’
‘Where were you before this?’
‘Russia.’
‘I’ve always wanted to go to Russia,’ she said, almost shouting with enthusiasm. ‘Any recommendations? Did you have fun over there?’
Slater pondered how to respond for a long moment, before stating, ‘Don’t go to Russia.’
She paused. ‘Oh. Why not?’
‘I didn’t have a good time.’
‘Well, maybe you didn’t go to the right places.’
Slater kept the past buried in the past. He sensed the memories stirring, but he didn’t humour them. He stuffed them down, sealed them up, and threw away the psychological key.
‘Maybe not,’ he conceded.
Posing the question innocently enough, Casey said, ’Where the hell is Jake?’
And even though he had no physical signs that anything had gone awry, Slater found himself plagued by the suffocating sensation that his world was about to go mad.
8
On the verge of panicking, he latched onto the words, pivoting to look Casey in the eyes. ‘Does he usually do this?’
She noticed his intensity. ‘Do what?’
‘Run off on you.’
‘Sometimes. He’s a bit of a loose cannon. We don’t have him on a leash, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘That’s not what I’m asking,’ Slater said.
He wheeled around in his seat, scanning the entire length of the bar through the gyrating bodies populating the centre of the room. He caught brief flashes of movement from a wide range of patrons. None of them had the same build as Jake.
‘He’s probably taking a piss,’ Harvey said. ‘Relax.’
And despite the lackadaisical nature of the throwaway line, Slater relaxed. He swivelled back into a normal position, planted both elbows on the table, and brought his breathing back under control. He nodded. ‘You’re right. Probably taking a piss.’
The conversation faded out. Perhaps they noticed how strange he was acting. In fact, after only a few beats of silence, Harvey turned to Whitney and said, ‘Buy you another round?’
She pointed to his beer. ‘You haven’t finished that yet.’
He drained it in a long, uninterrupted swig, and delicately returned the empty bottle to the tabletop, now wet with condensation. Then he cocked his head at her. ‘Now?’
She nodded, seeming to get the gist in a hurry. He wanted to talk to her about Slater.
The pair disappeared, but not before Harvey threw a precautionary glance at Casey. She waved him away, shooing him off to the bar.
He raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s fine,’ Casey hissed.
The pair disappeared.
She scooted her chair closer to Slater. Almost too close.
> ‘You okay?’ she whispered.
He nodded, staring at his calloused palms, watching the veins ripple along his forearms. ‘Sorry if I’m acting strange.’
‘It’s completely fine. I get you probably don’t want to talk about … whatever’s causing it.’
‘I don’t have the most savoury past,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to scare you all away. I just need to tell someone the truth.’
She leant in close and muttered, ‘I know. That’s what makes you so mysterious.’
Despite everything, he managed a half smile. ‘Adds to the aura, does it?’
‘You could say that.’
‘You’re risking a lot by being like this.’
‘Jake’s a douchebag, anyway.’
Slater raised an eyebrow. ‘Trouble in paradise?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Don’t want to talk about it?’
She nodded. ‘Same as you.’
He smiled. ‘Not quite the same.’
‘What did you used to do?’
‘Nothing important.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
Seeing right through it.
‘You’re good at this,’ he said.
‘You’re not going to kill us, are you?’
‘Are you being serious?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Lighten up. You think I’d still be here if I suspected that?’
‘Well, you can’t know for sure…’
‘Yes I can.’
‘Ever thought you don’t know as much about the world as you think you do?’
She shrugged. ‘I know you’re not a bad guy. And you know that I know it. So you’ve just got to ask yourself how you think I know that.’
‘Could be a wild guess.’
‘Could be,’ she said.
‘So why are you with Jake, then?’
‘He’s not a bad guy either.’
‘Then what’s the trouble?’
‘Every now and then he goes and does something stupid like…’
She trailed off, locking her gaze onto something over Slater’s shoulder.
‘Oh, fuck,’ she said. ‘Like that.’
Slater twisted in his seat as the music blaring out of the overhead speakers reached a pulsating crescendo. He spotted Jake moving through the throngs of swaying bodies towards their table, a broad grin on his face.
Concealed in his palm were four plastic baggies stuffed with fine white powder.
9
He tilted them into view, flaunting them to Casey and Slater. His teeth shone, white and unblemished, under the mood lighting. He made it to their table, planted himself victoriously on the stool between them, and tucked the baggies out of sight.
‘Who’s down to have some fun?’ he said.
‘Where’d you get those?’ Slater said.
‘Bunch of guys up the back. They were cool. Don’t worry. Casey told me you’re paranoid about that sort of thing. But they didn’t suspect a thing.’
‘Suspect?’ Slater said. ‘What the hell are they supposed to suspect in the first place?’
Instantly, he noticed the blood draining from Casey’s cheeks.
‘Oh, fuck,’ she said again. ‘Please tell me you got away with it.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ Jake said.
She backhanded him across the cheek, the sharp sound muffled by the din of their surroundings. ‘You absolute moron. Why would you risk that?’
‘We’re short on cash. And it was your idea.’
‘I was being sarcastic. I didn’t think you’d actually go and do it. Do you ever stop and think for one fucking second about—?’
Slater gripped the back of Jake’s stool and dragged it — with the two-hundred pound man on it — across the wood panelled floor of the bar, kicking up a fine layer of sawdust under the considerable weight. It was an inhuman feat of strength, but Slater had uncanny anger coursing through his veins. Jake’s eyes nearly bogged out of their sockets when he realised he was in the process of being hauled along the floor.
Slater repositioned him on the other side of his own chair, so that he now formed a barrier between the two arguing parties.
That shut them both up in a hurry.
For good measure, he reached out and placed a hand on each of their shoulders, stressing the importance of what was to follow.
‘Hey, man,’ Jake said, reaching up and grabbing his hand. ‘Get that shit off me.’
Slater seized the kid’s trapezius muscle and squeezed tight. He was under no illusion as to the power of his grip. Jake opened his mouth wide and gasped, writhing on the spot in an attempt to get away from the sudden surge of agony. He hunched down, twisted away, and tried to lean out of range.
Slater squeezed tighter.
‘Jake,’ he said calmly. ‘What the fuck did you do?’
‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it.’
‘I’m worrying.’
‘Why?’
‘Did you buy the drugs off a group of three men?’
‘No,’ he said, then paused. ‘Oh … maybe. There were two of them, but the third guy in the background might have been with them too. I wasn’t looking too closely.’
‘You should have been.’
‘What’s with all this weird shit, man? Piss off.’
‘They still here?’
‘How am I supposed to know?’
‘You did it just then?’
‘Yeah. They won’t work it out, though. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Like I said, I’m worrying. Point them out.’
‘What?’
‘Point them out.’
‘I don’t want to look for them, bro. You’re freaking me out now. I thought I could get away with it. I did get away with it.’
‘Get away with what?’
‘Fake bills. One of our college friends plays around with counterfeiting in his spare time. We brought a few over, more as a joke than anything else. Wondered if the locals might fall for it.’
‘You gave fake bills to a Colombian drug dealer?’
‘I thought you said there were three…’
Slater let go of the kid. He noticed Casey shooting Jake daggers over his shoulder.
‘Idiot,’ she muttered.
‘You’re going to need to point them out.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, believe it or not, I’ve had experience with this kind of thing.’
‘You have? Experience with what?’
‘Disappearances.’
‘I don’t—’
‘You’re not connecting the dots here.’
‘I’m drunk.’
‘I can see that.’
‘I thought you were too.’
‘I can compartmentalise. Where are your pals?’
‘They’re not my pals.’
‘You’re really testing my patience here.’
Jake swivelled in his seat, scanning the bar with eyes now wracked with fear. The sickly hot air and seething masses of customers aided his confidence — if the bar was less populated, he might have fainted from the stress of confronting the dealers.
‘Why did you think that was a good idea?’ Casey hissed.
‘In case you weren’t aware, we don’t have any money left,’ Jake said through gritted teeth. Then he lifted a finger and jabbed it across the room. ‘There.’
He turned back to the table and put his head down, ashamed.
Slater squinted. ‘Where?’
‘I showed you.’
‘Help me out here.’
‘I’m not pointing again.’
‘Oh, so now you’re afraid?’
‘I wasn’t thinking at the time.’
‘We should be fine,’ Slater said. ‘I’m probably paranoid. They won’t know the bills are fake. They’re not that smart.’
Reassuring himself more than anything else.
Then he spotted the trio across the room.
And they saw him.
Bautista.
Vicente.<
br />
Iván.
And they were all furious.
10
It didn’t take much effort to piece the situation together. Slater stared directly at the trio, noting the silent fury blazing in their eyes, recognising Bautista’s hand floating toward his waistband where a weapon lay. He stared harder and made out the shape of the crumpled bills in Vicente’s palm. The guy tightened his grip on the useless notes. He knew exactly what they were. If narcos had one field of expertise apart from handling product, it was cash.
It wasn’t Slater’s fault that Jake had no ability to figure things out for himself.
But it was his responsibility to make sure four dumb kids didn’t wind up beaten to death in the humid backwaters of central Colombia.
Which meant he needed to act.
Right goddamn now.
Before he even had the chance to understand how radically his temporarily placid life was about to change, he twisted his head to the side and muttered, ‘Stay where you are.’
‘What?’ Jake said.
The kid had barely heard Slater. His cheeks, previously red and flushed with the heat and the alcohol, were now pale and white. He couldn’t strip his gaze away from the trio. Now they terrified him. His booze-induced confidence had rapidly subsided. Slater could see it in the kid’s eyes. Jake understood the ramifications of his actions. He realised what an idiot he was. But it was far too late.
The four of them didn’t deserve any harm to come their way. They were young and stupid and impressionable, but they meant no bad will by it. Jake probably figured a gang of drug dealers had more than enough cash to go around.
What’s a few fake bills to add to the stash?
A hell of a lot, as it turns out.
‘What?’ Jake said again.
The uneasy stalemate settled across the room. Both parties were waiting for the other to make the first move. Neither quite knew how to react. The trio of narcos weren’t ready to gun down four tourists in such a crowded location. They would do it without hesitation, obviously, but it would have to be somewhere quieter.
Slater knew he needed to give them the opportunity.
Or they’d target the weakest of the procession.