by M C Rowley
The two prisoners were brought to the front. The headless cop corpse was lifted back and off the stage.
“Who knows anything?”
Murmurs rumbled around. I looked at Jairo’s hand. It was laid out flat, palm facing down. Saying, Keep still. Keep calm.
I breathed through my nose.
“These two are keeping their heads, for the time being. Don’t worry about that. Lots of information to extract,” said X03, chuckling. “But if anyone can speed this up, I’d be much—”
Out of nowhere came a shout. Everyone turned their heads towards the source. I followed suit, and bang. I heard the gunshot before I saw Gustavo Jr., standing about three rows down from us, about twenty seats away, aiming a pistol at the stage.
It all happened so fast I was barely able to comprehend it.
X03 had flown backwards. But not shot. The first two rows of the room jumped up and onto the stage to help him.
Then another shout and a shot. Gustavo Snr this time. Head raised and firing his gun at the stage. He was hitting numerous people as they turned and pulled their own guns. The noise was a cacophony of chaos.
“Now!”
Jairo pushed me to the side and I fell into the walkway. Cops everywhere were scrambling to either join the gunfight or get the hell out. We moved through them and went for the door.
“Quick,” shouted Jairo. I didn’t need the instruction.
The crowd was shifting against itself in two waves. Half wanting to escape. Half scrambling to join the fight. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the lump of X03 lying flat on his back but moving, then sitting up. He was startled.
Luciana was gone, as was the white lady and her colleague.
I turned forward again and followed Jairo’s muscular back as we pushed our way through.
We made it to the hall door, through the lobby area, and out at last into the night air. I stumbled to the side and grabbed Jairo’s shoulder.
“Wait,” he said, looking past me to the entrance. Then, without warning, he barged past me and ran to help someone. The white lady, stumbling out of the crowd.
“Let’s go,” he said, dragging her by the arm.
“Who is this?”
But Jairo shot down my question with his death stare. “Run,” he said.
And we did. Across the base’s main field, leading toward the entrance through which we had arrived. I glanced left and saw an aircraft on fire in the distance. Our ride, I guessed. Flight cancelled.
We sprinted along with the crowd, bustling with shoulders, going with the flow. The blond lady pulled Jairo to the right and I followed. At the end of a row of cop cars and buses, outside the main gates, was an old Transit-style van. We ran to it while the lady unlocked it with the button on her keys.
Jairo and I clambered into the back while the lady jumped into the driver’s seat. She slammed the gearshift into first.
There were bangs on the outside of the van, but we had only one window in the back and even that was slim and offered no view. I heard other engines firing up and driving away. We weren’t the only ones.
The old engine roared as the lady spun the wheel full circle, and Jairo and I slid across the floor into the wall. I heard a large bang at the rear but ignored it, just praying we’d make it out.
I closed my eyes. It was partly fear. Partly adrenalin. But mostly helplessness. In my mind I muttered to myself. Jairo stared at the interior wall.
The lady slammed the gears and treated the van like an old, abused workhorse. I peered up and out the front and saw we had made it to the Sierra road.
“Head to the turn,” said Jairo. “We walk from there.”
The lady driving nodded and carried on.
I gave up tracking the way after half an hour. It was pointless without a view. I got up and looked out of the back slit window—and jumped back. Jairo jumped in turn at my fright. I could have sworn I’d seen a face looking back at me in the darkness, right there outside the window. Impossible, I thought. I went back to the glass and peered out. Everything was black but I could see the road getting smaller behind us.
“Here,” said Jairo, and the lady pulled the van over. She knew the place, that was for sure. I soon realized it was the same place Jairo had stopped when we’d tricked the cops into flying off the road.
“Get down,” said the lady.
Jairo stood and opened the back doors and we jumped down.
The lady locked the van and started off into the undergrowth. Jairo followed her, but I waited. The fact that we had missed our chance to get out suddenly hit me. I wasn’t going to see Eleanor anytime soon. Not that I’d had the slightest idea where to start. But to be in the same country as her. To be out of Mexico, as it descended into what looked a lot like civil war. That was all I needed right now. Not to be back here. In the Badland.
I was starting off after Jairo and the blond lady when a hand clamped down on my right shoulder and another hand covered my mouth and I felt the cool touch of metal on my neck.
I stifled the shout that was about to come from my mouth.
“Shush,” said the voice. A woman.
And then I realized I had seen a face, someone hanging on to the back of the van.
“Don’t say anything,” said Luciana. “I knew I’d find you.”
Chapter Twenty
Vanessa tried to focus on what the jovial African American lady was telling her, but Estrella kept pulling on her skirt.
“Mamá, mamá, mamá.”
“Por favour, hija, not here.”
She looked back at the lady after interrupting for the fifteenth time.
“Sorry, she’s desperate to get outside. We were waiting for two hours.”
The lady smiled a fake smile, not one with malice but more an automatic response to what she faced every single day. It was the only way to get by in this job.
“Ma’am, I truly am sorry. Your English isn’t good enough. You need to get your papers in order and then we can see.”
“So no possibility?” Vanessa could hear the sad desperation in her voice.
The lady shook her head. “No. No possibility. I’m sorry. Look, for the kid.”
She held up a pink Chupa Chups lollipop. Vanessa took it and turned back to face the grumpy-looking line of people. All undocumented, all as desperate as she.
She passed the unwrapped candy to Estrella.
“Dónde vamos?”
Where are we going?
Vanessa didn’t like to show her worry to Estrella. Not after all the time they’d survived here with no one looking out for them. But it was no use anymore. Her fingers went to her temples and she felt the blood pumping through the thin membrane above the skull.
“No sé, mi amor. No sé.”
I don’t know, my love. I don’t know.
They left the building and outside it was drizzling. Estrella had had a terrible cold and cough the last week. Probably a throat infection. Vanessa had barely been able to buy paracetamol for her. She had suffered too, but ignored the fever at night and finally got through it. This rain did not help one bit.
She grabbed Estrella’s red jacket and wrapped it tighter around the child’s thin frame. It still had two buttons that hung on for dear life to the original stitching. Vanessa did them up and pulled the hood over Estrella’s head. The jacket was stained with the dirt of the day. She always tried to clean them up. Every morning. Wherever they were. Wherever they slept. But conditions did not help her. At least the rain was good for that. She pushed Estrella’s thick brown hair into the jacket too, took her hand, and went off in search of an alley, out of the wet.
Once she had found a decent bit of cover in a small side street off the main Tilghman Street, she sat down on the cement floor, next to a large green bin—the ones restaurants used—and, with Estrella on her lap, rested her head back and allowed herself to close her eyes.
Estrella was restless and coughed every five minutes. Every cough hurt Vanessa deep inside her heart. Every c
ough was a reminder of her motherly duties. Duties that she had to admit she was finding hard to fulfill.
She didn’t think about Jairo that often anymore. But today she couldn’t stop. Not after seeing the newspaper on the street yesterday. Mexico at war. That particular path was closed to her now. She’d never go back, and boy did she want to. To see Jairo again. To kiss him. Or hit him. Or maybe kill the bastard. She didn’t know.
He was probably dead anyway.
The rain was pouring down with ferocity out on the main street. The odd car drove past, splashing arcs of dirty rain up onto the sidewalk. She’d managed to get a decent spot, and her heart lifted when she saw that Estrella had fallen asleep, snuggled in her arms.
The land of promise and fortune? What a cruel joke. Estrella’s innocence and stoic ability to suffer this only hurt her more. Mexico had always represented a kind of emergency exit for them. Something she’d resisted for economical and practical reasons. The cartel might still want her. Or maybe Jairo had talked them down. But now? Now she’d have risked it. She was going to risk it. Until she saw the newspaper.
She wept slowly and quietly, careful not to wake Estrella, thinking about what they would eat that evening. Perhaps she could go through the bin while Estrellita slept. She could tell her she’d bought the food. Restaurants always chucked out good stuff.
Shit, how had it come to this?
A car horn startled her. She looked toward the street. Probably cops, ready to tell her to move on—or, worse, check her papers.
It wasn’t cops. It was a man hanging his head out of his car window, getting it wet. He was a white gringo with a mostly bald head over which he’d scraped the last straggles of his wispy hair. Vanessa had never understood why men did that. Shave it off, give it up, she’d always thought.
The man was smiling at her.
Careful, Vanessa, she thought. Careful.
She looked back down at her feet.
But the horn beeped again. “Hey!”
The man was still smiling.
“You gonna get wet like that, darling.”
Vanessa turned to him. His face had a genuine smile.
“I ain’t gonna do you no harm, darling. But I can’t stand seeing a young person with an even younger person in her charge out here in this weather. You’ll catch your death.”
Vanessa cleared her throat. The rain from the main street was indeed starting to enter the alleyway. It wouldn’t be long before they’d have to move. He was right.
“No, thank you,” she said.
He smiled again. “You speak English! That’s great. Listen, darling. I just wanna help. I’m a pastor.”
The man thumbed back the lapel of his jacket and revealed a dog collar.
“I just wanna help is all. ‘Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God,’” he said. “Honestly, darling. You’re gonna get real sick out here.”
Vanessa was debating whether to run. She’d make it far enough on her own, but carrying Estrella? No chance. She was trapped.
Then a second face came into view. A lady’s face. She was as old as the man, with light-brown hair, almost gray. She was smiling in the same way.
“Dear, you should heed our advice. We’ll take you to the church. You can get warm clothes there. Food. A coffee? Come on. We don’t mean no harm.”
And there, Vanessa’s will broke. She thought about antibiotics for Estrella. Warm clothes. And yes, a coffee.
“Okay, I guess,” she said, getting up, and then she ran across to the car, carrying Estrella under her jacket, and got in the back seat.
Estrella stirred as she shut the door.
“Ya, bebé, ya.”
“Que pasa, Mami?”
What’s going on Mommy?
“Estamos bien, amor. Estamos bien.”
The lady looked around at them, beamed and said, “not long, sweetie. It’s gonna be okay.”
The man nodded his head, and wound up the window and pulled out onto the main street.
They drove for about thirty minutes and then, to Vanessa’s great relief, pulled into the lot of a large white chapel. A neon sign outside had CHRIST DIED FOR OUR SINS written inside a cartoon-looking cross. The man parked the car, and they ran across the parking lot to the main door and into the warmth.
Inside, the church was empty, and the pastor and his wife showed Vanessa and Estrella to a back room. Some boxes of clothes were piled up, and a table was laid out with a large coffee brewer and cookies on plates. Vanessa felt Estrella’s hand grip hers in excitement.
“Here we go,” said the lady. “Take your time picking out some clothes. They’re all donations. Take whatever fits. They’re yours. I’ll get some coffee on.”
“Thanks, darling,” said the pastor. “I’ll leave you in private.” And he left the room.
“Thank you,” said Vanessa.
The lady nodded and left the room too.
Vanessa closed the door and tears filled her eyes.
“Mamá, estás triste?”
Mommy? Are you sad?
Vanessa wiped her waterlogged eyes. “No, mi amor. Estoy feliz.”
No, my love. I’m happy.
They changed into nice tracksuits, almost matching, and even danced around a bit when they realized that.
It was the first time they’d been happy for what felt like months.
Outside, the pastor made sure the door was shut and then walked back to his car, got in, and pulled out his phone.
He dialed the secure line he’d been given.
After two rings it was answered and Mr. Reynolds’ distorted voice came on.
“Yes, Father.”
The pastor breathed deeply. “I did what you asked. I found them.”
The line stayed quiet, and then Mr. Reynolds said, “Keep them there. I’ll send people.”
And the phone went dead.
The pastor wept to himself as he looked back at the church.
“Forgive me, my Lord. Forgive me.”
The pastor’s call had reached a secure server, and according to standard procedure had been re-routed to the encrypted line Mr. Reynolds liked to use. After hanging up on the pastor, he kept it open and dialed Luciana, but got no answer.
“Damn jungle,” he said to himself.
Her voicemail came on instead. He decided to leave a message.
“I have the child and girlfriend secured. Let me know as soon as Dyce and Jairo are coming back.”
Chapter Twenty One
The knife being held against my neck did not quiver, shake, or even remotely budge as she hauled me into the bushes to the side of the path.
“What do you want?”
Luciana could have been a ghost. No breathing sounds. Cold, dead calm. And then breaking the silence, in a sharp whisper, she said, “you didn’t do what we asked of you. Simple instructions.”
“I was captured. After the truck crashed. You disappeared. What was I supposed to—”
“Be quiet,” she said. “It’s not important.”
The knife dropped away and I turned. Luciana was still dressed how she had been back at X03’s little show, but her hair was all over the place; I supposed from hanging on the back of our van for an hour. It was too dark to see the details of her black uniform.
Her arm moved downward as she retrieved something from her pocket.
“Turn around,” she said.
I did and she lifted my shirt and heard the sound of tape being peeled off a roll, then I felt it sticking something to my lower spine.
“Back around.”
I turned to face her again.
“Now, you take this off, or I hear any kind of messaging going on, and Código X get informed of this location.”
“It’s hard to find,” I said.
“That’s why you’re going to show me the way in.”
She pushed me. I went for the pistol that Jairo had given me but found the holster empty. I looked back at her.
<
br /> She was holding two guns.
“Move it, asshole.”
I walked and Luciana dropped back into the shadows. At the bridge I found Jairo and the lady waiting for me. They looked pissed, and the lady’s hands flew up.
“What the hell?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Got lost.”
The lady tutted and started across the bridge. Jairo turned too and followed her.
Once she was a little way in front, he said to me, “Where’s your gun?”
I thought fast. Couldn’t think of anything.
“I—guess I left it in the van. Or dropped it.”
I could see Jairo shaking his head. “Tomorrow you go get it back.”
I nodded, not that he could see it.
We walked back like that to the village. I glanced behind a couple of times but didn’t see Luciana in the milky white of the midnight moonlight.
The village seemed desolate. Clearly, the Gustavos and their men had not got back yet. I wondered what chaos would ensue once they filled everyone in on what had happened at the meeting.
Jairo led the lady into our little house first and let me pass next, closing the door behind us. I noted that the lady had been here before.
Inside, we took seats around the small table. The bug Luciana had put on me weighed heavily as I debated whether to flash it to Jairo in silence. Why Luciana would want to listen in on us instead of confront us head on made no sense to me at all. If Reynolds backed her, surely she could unleash hell upon this place. Maybe that’s exactly what she’d do.
“My name’s Jean Santos,” said the lady, holding out her hand. I shook it. It had a roughness that betrayed her youthful bone structure, like glass washed up on a beach after months rolling around in salty water. She had decent skin, for a white person, and despite the thin crow’s feet marking her eyes and the thought wrinkles, I’d have said she was no older than thirty-five. Her head was too small for her body, I thought; she was tall and yet her head was petite, framed by thick dark-blond hair.