Uncaged

by Paige Notaro

  Or how Andre would look moving to it.

  The dream cut off all too quick when we pulled up to a security gate. A vast, tan compound rose up beyond it with barbed wire and manned towers all along the top. Andre showed some ID and we were waved through into a wide open parking lot. At the far end, a massive US flag waved atop a pole next to an entrance where two military guys stood holding assault rifles.

  "This is a consulate?" I asked, as we got out. "It looks like an army base."

  "It is an army base. They've got a contingent of marines inside.”

  "Why?" I asked. "Will the Cartel attack them?"

  "Nah, they don’t want to start a war. But if the streets start getting shot up again these guys will go get people like you out."

  "Like me?"

  "Americans."

  "Oh, that's you too."

  His broad body tensed up again, for just the smallest second. He threw an arm around my shoulder though and walked me briskly towards the crowded entrance. Despite the crowd, most people were in a single line leading past the military checkpoint into the dark interior.

  "So it's very simple," Andre was telling me. "Just go tell them who you are, give em all the details of where to find your records and they'll do the rest."

  "What if they ask me why I'm here? I don't want to get involved with a criminal investigation. "

  "Just say your friends brought you over without much warning and that you lost your only ID. It's not the first time they've heard that story."

  We moved near and I still couldn't see inside the darkened entrance. Panic fluttered through my chest, though there was no reason. I wasn't lying. Even if they handed me the passport today, I wouldn’t have to leave right away. Andre had promised.

  "Will you be there if I need help?" I asked.

  "They'll probably take you to a private booth. It's not good for either of us if I follow you there."

  I was about to ask for more, but then a man stepped up in front of us. He was barely taller than me, but he had tan skin, spiked black hair a dark t-shirt with a skull logo on it.

  "Eh, cabron," he held a tattooed arm out like he wanted to arm wrestle. Andre took it and they tapped shoulders.

  "Qué pasa aquí?' the man asked.

  "Just helping a friend, Hector."

  "Oh yeah, I see," he said and his eyes bore down on me full force. They were brown but beady and with none of the comfort I saw in Andre’s. It felt like I was being sized up by a butcher. "What's your name señorita?" his words oozed out.

  "Carmen," Andre answered for me. "And she's my señorita."

  The guy threw his arms up in fake surrender. "Sí sí sí. Todos a el muerte negro. You know what that means señorita?" he asked. "You know who you're with?"

  "She knows,” Andre said. He flashed a grin but it didn’t reach his eyes. "What about you? What do the Americanos want with you?'

  "Oh they want to lock me up. Put me in jail. Throw away the key. Thing is they don't know my real name." He laughed at the hilarity of the universe. "So instead, they give me a visa. Funny, no? El jefe will be happy."

  "Good work," Andre said, clapping him on the shoulder, though he couldn’t keep even his fake smile up anymore.

  "Yeah, going to celebrate. You gotta come, homie."

  "Sorry, gotta get this done. Then practice, you know."

  “Ah come on, this is third time now you say no. I am starting to think you don’t need so much practice, eh?”

  The guy held a wobbly smile that looked like it could flip at any second. Andre just shrugged. “Practice pays the bills. I’m just a working man, Hector.”

  “As you say." He threw one last slimy look at me. "Go, get it done."

  Andre and I stood there, watching him bounce away. He looked like a kid who'd gotten a new toy, but there was something dangerous about him too.

  "He's Cartel right?" I asked.

  "Yeah. A real prick." Andre said.

  "You know him?"

  "Not really. His uncle helped get me in the ring, so he thinks we’re family or something – at least while I’m reigning champ. But like I told you, I don't deal with the gang stuff outside the ring." He looked back at the receding figure.

  "Is something wrong?" I asked.

  "Just wondering how that prick got a visa. He's connected to the top and the US keeps a tight track on all those guys."

  I glanced at the soldier in full desert gear waving people into the dark building. "You think someone in there helped him?"

  "It’s likely. Do they know your name?" Andre asked.

  "Mr. Tarly does."

  "If it's ok..." Andre said. "I think we better wait on your passport. Just in case they got their snitch in there looking for your name to pop up."

  His powerful face was drawn into worry - like this news was any sort of disappointment. It took all I could, to try to keep the excitement from reaching my voice.

  "I understand. It's fine."

  "You're free to stay with me until then. Or with Maria, if you're not comfortable with a man. She's got tons of family around that will be happy to host an American."

  “I know, but your place is perfect," I said. "You've been so great. I like being with you."

  The words escaped before I could shut my lips. We stood in the middle of the crowd waiting for the other to act. Andre's face lit up with a grin. "I’ve heard that a lot, but they’re usually only talking about my body."

  I blushed, cause honestly that was part of it. But not all, not by a long shot. "Well, I like all of you."

  We went back to the car. Andre pulled out of the lot, humming along to the station. The deep rumble of his voice and the heat of the sun set me into a stupor. I lay on the window, feeling utterly content. Now I really didn’t have an easy way out of Juarez. So why did I feel freer than ever?

  It took some time, but I realized that we were off the main highway. "Where are we going?" I asked.

  "Well, I thought that since you didn't get to go back to your normal life, you might be interested in coming to see a bit of mine."

  "Your fighting practice?" I asked.

  "Yeah, at the gym. How's that sound?"

  I saw him as I had the first time: in that cage, shirt off, dark skin glistening and pulsing with each thrust of powerful muscles underneath. Utterly dominating his opponent. "I think I’d like that," I said. "You sure you won't mind other guys seeing me there or something?"

  "It’s no biggie. I got my own ring and you're there to practice after all."

  I bolted upright. "Me? Fight?"

  "Train," he said. "I'm no psychologist, but I think it might just help you feel better, knowing you got a couple moves up your sleeve."

  I wanted to protest, but I thought about it. What had Father drilled into me for almost my whole life? A woman should submit to her man. Her father, her husband. Long before Mr. Tarly tried to force me into becoming his slave, I'd learned not to resist.

  Even if I never ever wanted to hit someone, knowing I could - yeah, that would be something way new.

  "I'd like to," I said. "But I'm real clumsy."

  "Clumsy can be fixed."

  "I'm not all that smart either."

  "Oh really?" Andre raised an eyebrow.

  "I mean, not very educated. I -" I hesitated, glanced out and saw graffiti and cracked walls with bullet holes. "I grew up on a farm. I never really got a chance to try many things."

  "Well, I got good news," Andre said. "You still smell new. If you want a second life, this is the right city for it as long as you’re willing to fight. You get me? "

  "Fine. Let’s do it."

  We parked in front of a large house. Andre grabbed a duffel bag from the car then led me up the porch, where a man greeted him, glanced at me and waved us both in. We went down again through a dark flight of stairs. The sounds of grunts and muscles slapping started to ring out after a couple steps down. A vast room spread out before us, filled with boxing rings and aisles of weights and equipment. It wasn't anywher
e near as big as the arena, but it was still much bigger than it looked on the outside.

  A dozen other men occupied the space. Their eyes flitted to me, then to Andre and then far away from both of us. We wound around to the back corner, by the door leading to a changing room. To my surprise there actually was one with a picture of a woman on the door.

  Andre pulled a plastic bag out of his big one and gave it to me. Women's sports gear.

  "It's the right size, I think," he said with a smile.

  "You really weren’t going to take no for answer, huh?"

  "I would have but I didn't expect to hear it. I’ll be honest, I didn’t buy it for you specifically, but it hasn’t been used either.”

  I took the bag, but felt a burst of jealousy. What girl had he bought this for? Some strong Juarez woman probably – one who already knew how to fight. What should it even matter – I didn’t have any right to him. He was doing more than enough just taking me in and making me less helpless.

  I went in and changed into the nylon shorts and the tight t-shirt. The fit my slender form snug and perfect, and that cheered me right back up. He knew my size exactly. He’d been watching me. And now he was going to teach me how to resist a man’s advances. That way I could chose to let in the ones I wanted.

  Andrew stood waiting in a nearby ring under a hanging light. I could barely keep my mouth from falling open. He had on white nylon shorts, tape for his hands and that was it. I’d only seen hints of his strength since the night he saved me but now it was all on display, every of inch of him, hard and detailed.

  "You coming?" he asked.

  I shook myself out of my daze and stepped awkwardly over the rope and into the arena. A set of gloves lay on the floor and I went to pick them up.

  "No. No need for that yet. Come here."

  I slowly walked up to him. It was like going to the base of a mountain and peering up. I would never pose a threat to a man like him, no matter what he taught me. I would just have to climb as high as I could.

  "The first step in a fight," he said. "Is deciding whether you're gonna be in it or not. That's the choice you got if someone grabs you, and let me tell you right now. Only an idiot says there’s shame from running from an unfair match.”

  “All I know is to run.”

  “I’m telling you, Georgia, that’s not nothing. Most people are too weak to walk away. A lot of guys around here are too stupid to do even that. You have good instincts, alright?”

  “If you say so.”

  "Good. Now first thing to learn is how to be able to run if someone tries to stop you. Let me teach you a simple break."

  He grabbed my wrist. It was just a faint curl of his fingers, but it might have been a handcuff for all it mattered.

  "How do you get out?" he asked.

  I struggled and pulled and yanked, to no use. Andre pointed at his thumb. I jerked at it and he shook his head. I grabbed it with my other hand, feeling like a baby holding a tree trunk, and pulled. It slowly peeled back and I yanked myself free.

  "That's the weakest point in a grip," he said. "That's all you look for in a fight. Their weak points."

  "You have them?' I asked.

  "Everyone does." He smiled. "Doesn’t mean you’re stronger than their weakness, but it’s where you go if you wanna have a chance. Of course, weak points aren’t always a physical thing. I think there you have strengths where others have weaknesses."

  I turned that over in my head. It seemed all I had was weak points; could I really have any strengths? My ability to adapt perhaps or maybe that I knew how to hide.

  But the first thing that came to mind when I thought of strength was Andre’s arm on me, holding me up, guiding me.

  We went through grip breaks a few more times, until I actually broke out of his full strength grip. It was a shock to both of us and I cheered loud enough that I’m sure the whole gym risked another look.

  After that, he taught me blocks, low and high. He came down like a hammer, but with a little adjustment I could take his blows. Sweat was pouring down my face by then, but my body felt alive and Andre's grin was enough encouragement.

  "If that's not enough to get away," he said. "Then you make room to get away. Again, find the weakness."

  He took my hand and raised it to his eyes, to the center of his chest, to the side of his ridged abs. Then he brought my hand right down to the center of him. The heat pulsing out of his shorts threatened to roast my hand.

  “Those are the places that will let you take me down,” he said, and then we were just face to face, heaving at each other.

  He let my hand go, but something was burning at the center of me now, something raw and primal. These clothes shouldn't be on, I thought. We should be seeing each other completely, with our exertion dripping down our bare skin.

  The thought ran away but left me dizzy.

  "I'm tired," I said.

  "I'm not surprised. Take a breather. You did a hell of a lot for a day one."

  I sat and he pulled over another guy and started fighting. All that he had held back with me came pouring out in fury at the ends of his limbs.

  I chugged cold water, but watching his lightning thrusts, it wasn’t enough to keep me from wondering how it would feel to be the full focus of that glorious body.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Georgia

  The week blew past like a desert wind. Andre would still leave for his own practice sessions before I even woke up. He couldn't carry me around all day. I'd seen the ferocious workout he put himself through to move so easily in that arena.

  Maria or Dennis or both would gather me and take me to the bar. I was getting pretty good at taking orders even in Español and I even knew all the Spanish men would use to flirt with me. I’d learned a response too: ‘pendejo’. Maria called me a natural at dealing with drunks which I took as a compliment. She taught me to mix a few types of drinks and after a few days I even served them to a couple of Texans on vacation. They made puckered faces, but then grinned and said, "Excelente." Maybe they were just referring to me, but heck, it was a start.

  Maria paid me now - not that I could cover a fraction of what I owed her and Dennis and Andre. Still, I could go out shopping at lunch, and get a few beautiful sun dresses that reminded me of flowers I’d see here and there in the city. I looked silly serving drinks in them, but no one really minded and they made me feel free and clear.

  On slow days, Maria would slide out from behind the bar and come with me to browse the racks. She would tell me about her family and her city, still without demanding anymore of my past. Bit by bit, she let me see the darkness in her past. Her dad had been sweet but killed early, one of the first sad few bystanders in the cartel wars here. Her mom had raised three daughters on her own for years before remarrying. It got me to finally spill my own secrets. We bonded over misery and felt freer for it.

  Dennis joined us for lunch often. He was even asking me to scout leads for him: drunk guys who were a little too handsy, packs of frat boys down south for a weekend, skeezy looking older men. It was nice to help Dennis back, but I hoped he wasn't going to make me a job offer cause it didn't feel all that comfy thinking about brothels and other shows. Dennis assured me that the places he worked for were above ground - for Mexico anyways - and I trusted him cause he'd been unfailingly sweet to everyone I saw. But I still remembered the days I spent boarded up in hell.

  I never had any flashbacks anymore. Even Mr. Tarly seemed unreal; my time in that safehouse was like a fake memory. All I had in bed now were dreams. And questions.

  Questions like why I was still sleeping alone.

  Andre would pick me up around two every day. He called it a break, but Dennis would shoot him looks that told me that time off was a new development in his brother's life. We would go to the gym, driving a different way through the ramshackle city every time. Andre pointed out his favorite restaurants, clubs he had hung out at, small hidden stores that held bits of historical Juarez. We never stopped. H
e knew that I liked to stay moving.

  I still wasn't sure how much I liked the practice. I definitely needed it though. Andre would guide me through a half dozen different exercises, while he pumped dark weights that reeked of iron right next to me. I wanted to become less defenseless, but I wasn't sure if that was what drove me, or the sight of all those muscles bunched up above me, whenever I rose into view after a crunch.

  Once I was sweating like I’d spent the entire day on the farm, I was ready for the ring. I liked the ring. Andre and I would face off under that cone of swaying light and I was free to stare, free to take in every inch of him and pretend that it was all for the fight. His eyes would wander over me in turn, cool, calm, with a twist of a smile, but still hard enough to make me want to shiver.

  Then I would tear into him. Well, not really. He started off with pads, and in a day he had me landing a punch on his chest without stumbling and falling into his arms. By day two I could jab him twice and I may have even budged him an inch - no a centimeter. That's what they used here, though it was probably still too large a measurement. Once that was done, he threw the pads away and invited me to molest his body.

  My fists hit him like a ball dribbling against a wall. I knew I lacked power, but now I could feel how vast he was compared to me, how much strength that body held. Once, he tightened his bulging chest and I nearly sprained my wrist. He apologized and took my slender hand in his and massaged it. I played it out to be worse than it really was so he’d hold me longer.

  By the end of the week, we had advanced to kicks. Andre grabbed my leg as it came up and held my bare ankle against the flesh of his torso to show me where kidneys would be. I couldn't stop picturing my other leg coming up on the other side, the center of me pushed up against him. I felt a faint tug at my stomach and teetered. Andre let me go immediately and held my shoulders.