Gringa - in the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord - 2 (7 page)

Usually, I pass on the pictures, but today, I snatch them out of Norman’s hand. ‘Lemme see that.’

I peer at the picture and find it really funny. So funny, I start to shriek with laughter.

‘So many Gringas,’ Antonio says, perving over the pictures. At the mention of the word ‘gringa’ all eyes zero in on me.

Am I embarrassed? Hell no!

‘Hey, don’t look at me,’ I say as I slam back another Tequila, whisky – whatever – I’ve lost track of what I’m drinking. ‘I don’t roll that way. Why don’t you ask the fugly asshole at the end of the table?’

There is a collective gasp in the room and all eyes dart towards Diablo, including mine. Now he’s gonna be really pissed. Great.

But his amused response in Spanish, evokes guffawing from his men.

‘What? What did he say, Norman?’

Norman is pissed enough to explain. ‘Diablo say, is like a fucking a
colchon
sometimes. He say, is a big let down. Senorita Gringa and my name is not …’

‘
Colchon
… Mattress? He said that, did he?’ I let out a long, low whistle. ‘Well Norm, what the hell does he know, huh?’

I smile at Norman. ‘Can I call you “Norm”? I don’t wait for him to answer. ‘He don’t know Jack. Foreplay – hell, he probably thinks it’s some kind of sugar-free chewing gum or something to do with his car’s steering wheel. Huh Norm?’

‘But Senorita gringa, my name is not Norm. It is not Norman, it is Lucas.’

I stare at him so long, he starts to flinch.

‘Lucas?’

He nods.

‘Why didn’t you say something, Norm? Okay, I’ll call you Lucas from now onward, Norm.’

‘Eh …’

Santana almost falls off her chair laughing.

I look at Norm. ‘Now Norm,’ I point to Santana, ‘she’s probably laughing at what I said. Or, she’s laughing at what the fuckwit at the end of the table said about me – the mattress – whatever shit. But, you ever seen a donkey laugh, Norm?

‘No, Senorita gringa. My name …’

‘No? Well, it’s your lucky day Norm, cos you’ve seen it now.’ I jerk my head towards Santana. ‘Hee haw, hee haw, hee haw!’

Well, that magically erases the smile of donkey’s face.

‘You biiitch!’ Santana screeches. ‘I fargin’ kiiill you!’

I smile and raise my bottle at her. ‘Take a “fargin’” number and get in “fargin’” line.’

Troy comes up to me. ‘Gringa,’ he whispers, ‘come, let me take you to bed so you can sleep it ... ’

My eyebrows shoot up. ‘Take me to bed? Are you better in bed than your brother? Christ, I hope so, Troy!’

Troy turns scarlet and shrinks back all the while glancing nervously at Diablo.

Diablo looks at everyone around him falling out of their chairs with laughter and his breathing becomes like that of an emphysema patient – raspy and laboured.

‘He really is lousy in bed Troy. And you know what? I don’t like him. He’s hairy and fugly and yuuuuck! He won’t let me visit my ... ’

Diablo slams his fist onto the table, rattling the table and animating plates, cutlery, glasses.

‘Fuck! Look what you did Satan - you nearly made me spill my …’ I jerk back and peer at the label on the bottle in my hand. It’s in Spanish. ‘What the fuck does this mean? Anyhoo, you made me lose count of how many drinks I had. Have to start all over again.’

Diablo suddenly whips out his knife and flings it ninja style at me. I duck and it hits the wooden beam behind me.

‘Ooooh!’ I cry shaking both my hands mockingly. ‘I’m in trooouble now! Biiiiga trooouble.’

‘Go gringa, go!’ some of the men cheer.

‘Whoookay,’ I say.

Diago stands up.

I stand up too and look him in the eye, a jeering look on my face.

Breathing heavily, he creeps slowly to me, but I’m ready for him. I kick back my chair and sidle around, using the table as an obstacle between us.

‘Watch him move, like a … eh, what you say for walrus in Spanish?’

The men laugh harder. Even Christa laughs.

‘You will farkin’ die!!’ Diablo roars.

‘And who’s gonna farkin kill me, huh?’ I ask, dancing on the spot. ‘You?’ I throw my head back and laugh. ‘Ha!’

More laughter around me.

Diablo runs to his knife, grabs it off the beam and runs towards me.

But I’m already out of the villa and racing towards the cliff.

‘I’m going to kiiiill you!’ he yells, as he chases me.

‘Fuck you, motherfucker!’ I scream over my shoulder and sprint ahead. I don’t care if he kills me, I just don’t want to be assaulted by him. He’s super strong and I stand no chance against him if he does. I’ve never seen him run before and I’m hoping he’s out of shape and slow. Well, the big lunch should make him sluggish.

But to my dismay I can actually hear his breathing. I’m surprised at my slowness. Must be something to do with the booze. I have to admit, I didn’t realise I was this drunk until I started running. Too late now.

I run up the hill and through the dense foliage, passing startled villagers tending the cannabis crops. They stop and stare when they see Diablo chasing a gringa with a knife in his hand. Behind Diablo are his men, some on horseback and some on foot, not wanting to miss the moment Diablo finally kills the insolent Gringa.

‘Go gringa go!’ I hear.

I run faster than I ever did in my life.

‘You will die!’ Diablo threatens behind me, still brandishing the knife. His breathing is getting louder and I know I have to do something.

The rock pool! I know for sure that Diablo is no match for me in the water. Very few people are. I head for the pool.

Changing route confuses Diablo and for a few moments, the gap between us increases, allowing me some respite.

I’m desperate to reach the rock pool so that I can shake the enraged animal behind me.

But to my dismay and my surprise, he catches me.

‘Let go of me, you fucking freak!’

We grapple for a few moments, but somehow, I manage to break free. Minus my dress. He’s holding it in his hands and I’m running with just my bra and panties. I don’t give a fuck though.

I’ve never been so relieved to see the rock pool and I dive into the water and swim frantically. I don’t stop until I’m in the middle of the pool, then only do I turn back, expecting to see him close by.

To my surprise, he’s standing on the banks of the rock pool looking at me, breathing heavily. Behind him a group of villagers laugh and point at me.

I play an air guitar and start to sing. ‘I win! I win! I win! Yeah! Yeah!’

He glowers at me and waves his knife threateningly.

I’m confused as to why he isn’t trying to get me.

Then I hear jeers from some of the crowd. Something about Diablo being scared of water. So that was it - this brutal slayer, this nightmare of a monster feared by all, is scared of
water
? How bizarre is that?

‘What Diablo, you scared of
water
, eh? You fucking baboon! Yes, you’re a monkey.’ I tap the top of my head. ‘Hee hee hoo hoo!’

Diablo inhales and exhales deeply.

‘You wear clothes and you walk upright, but that is the extent of your evolution – you’re still a fucking baboon. Get it? A baboon that allows men to do drugs in his home. You’re nothing but a pathetic murderer. You kill women - how tough does that make you, huh? What about children? You kill them too? Huh? I wouldn’t be surprised, ’cos you’re such a fucking coward!’

Nobody is laughing now. Not outwardly, anyway

Two of the men, start wading into the water to get to me, but Diablo stops them.

Someone hands him a lit cigarette and he puffs away, never taking his eyes off me.

The crowd hums with disbelief and excitment.

‘
Usted es un pesimo laicos, Diablo.
How’s my Spanish, El Bastido?’ I ask proudly. ‘I learned that from a Spanish Dictionary of Dirty Words I brought in LA. Means you’re a lousy lay. Funny eh?’

‘Two minutes then it’s all over. Two minutes, then it’s finito!’

His drags on his cigarette are longer now.

‘You should stick to her,’ I say, pointing at Santana. ‘She thinks you’re great. She’ll always tell you how fabulousa you are in bed and how you’re the greatest lover she’s ever had in her whole life. You like that, right? Egotistical bastard!’

Santana is fuming. ‘Shoot her Diablo,’ she hisses, circling him. ‘
Pegarle un tiro
!’

‘Me? I’ve had better,’ I jeer. ‘Ten times over. My boyfriends were soooo much better than you,
El
Monstero
. You just take what you want, you fucking low-life. As for killing me – whose gonna kill me? You? You shot me and still you couldn’t kill me?’

I look at the crowd. ‘Eh, how do you say “you’re a lousy shot” in Spanish? Anybody ...?’

Of course, none of the fuckers have my balls right now, which emanates from the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed.

‘You killed me because I was a spy? What spy? Some intelligence you have there.’

To my utter amazement, he smiles. For a moment, I’m not sure if I’m imagining it. But upon closer examination, by way of an intense stare on my part, I see that he is indeed smiling - an undisguised, genuinely amused smile.

He looks at the others. They appeared to be just as surprised to see him smile and they too smile. Some of them chuckle. A few of them even laugh. But not Santana and Christa. They are not smiling.

‘What d’ya want me here for, Diablo?’ I ask, feeling a little tired by now. ‘I don’t fit in here and I’m like, so not impressed by you or your crew or your tequila or your Ponderosa. Okay, maybe your tequila. I’m never gonna like, marry you and be your wife and have your children. Lord no! I have plans for myself. I gonna like, fight bad guys one day.’

He raises his eyebrows.

‘Keep her instead of me.’ I say and point again at Santana. ‘She’s
mucho
impresso
with you and your ... your ability to burn down a village of defenceless old men and women and children with the strike of just one matchstick.’

He glances at Santana as if seeing her for the first time.

Santana’s smirk disappears. ‘What? Don’t listen to her, Diablo.’

‘The only time you will ever get anything out of me El Stupido, is if you steal it from me - rape me like you did. Other than that, you have a hope in hell!’

Somebody hands him another lit cigarette and he smokes, looking blankly at me.

‘I hate piercings and you’re like a fucking tea-strainer. I dislike tattoos and look like a badly sketched road map. I hate hairy men and you have dreadlocks
and
a beard. Uggh! You need an extreme makeover, Amigo. Oh, and some serious exfoliation.’

‘And
you
need to put on some clothes,’ he growls.

I look down at myself. Crap! I become especially conscious of Tongue’s leering smile and quickly drop below water level.

Diablo picks up my dress and holds it up.

I shake my head from side-to-side.

‘I’m gonna stay here forever now that I know you’re scared of water.’

‘My men, they are not scared,’ he reminds me. ‘They can bring you to me.’ Then he looks over his shoulder and rattles off in Spanish to the people behind him and I grow nervous. The bastard’s actually going to send his men after me?

But, to my surprise, the crowd starts to slowly thin out. I stare, confused. What the hell’s he up to now? He turns and looks at me, and I realise he’s messing with me. I giggle, then float on my back, while he watches. I’m in no hurry to leave the water. I just wish he would leave but remember to leave my dress behind or I would have to walk back to the villa almost naked. Not a pleasant thought since the alcohol is wearing off and I’m developing a mother of a headache.

When I look back at him, he’s smiling at my antics.

‘You have
cojones
,’ he says softly. ‘No one talk to me like that.

‘Yeah?’

He nods.

‘Yeah, cos you’ll probably shoot them for telling you like it is?’

He thinks before he answers, ‘
Si
.’

‘Gosh, you’re such an arrogant prick,’ I say more to myself.

I raise my hands in a surrendering motion. ‘Go ahead. Shoot. But please – I’d like to die with the first bullet, not the thirty first.’

He grins. Then his smile disappears. ‘You don’t like me?’

‘Duh.’

‘You like
Him
.’

‘Him? You mean Austin? Eh …’

His nostrils flares at my response. ‘Why?’

‘’Cos he’s nice. He’s a good man - pleasant, intelligent, educated ... a gentleman.’

‘He must be gay.’

‘He’s not gay! He just … dresses nice.’

‘He is your sister’s husband. How you do this?’

I drop my gaze.

‘He got a baby.’ His voice is edged with reproach.

‘
You
getting all moral on me?
You
?’

Cords appear in his neck.

‘What? You gonna kill him now?’

‘
Si
.’

‘Don’t you dare. Be nice for once.’

‘Nice?’

‘Yeah, good, nice. You know ...?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

He shakes his head. ‘Teach me.’

‘Me?’

‘
Si
. Teach me how to be good, nice.’

I stare at him. ‘Why? Why do you want to be nice now?’

He drops to his haunches and stares at the ground. Then he looks up at me. ‘Imatired.’

‘Of what?’

He shrugs. ‘This life. I want to be good. Teach me how to be
nice
Payton,’ he says softly. ‘I want to learn how to be good.’

His words surprise me. ‘Teach you how - that’ll take decades. I don’t think you’re teachable.’

‘
Si
?’ His disappointment is visible.

I nod but then I feel really bad. ‘You
really
wanna learn how to be nice?’

‘
Si
.’

‘Why?’

He looks me in the eye. ‘For you.’

He suddenly looks so vulnerable and sincere and even human, that I feel a little sorry for him. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way considering he’s such an asshole, but I do.

‘You swim good.’

‘Swam for University of Los Angeles two years in a row,’ I brag, treading water.