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

             
I didn’t know what he was saying
but it sounded like he was calling me a spy
.
Like most tourists, m
y Spanish is limited to vacation words from a traveller’s guide. There were many people around - why me?
Fuck,
I was scared
. Especially
when
some
people around me cowered and whispered,
‘
Santa Maria
! Es Diablo
.
Es Diablo
,
’
while others fell over each other as they tried to leg it out of there.

             
Diablo, as they called him, jumped off his horse, stormed up to me, snatched the camera out of my shaking hands and smashed it to the ground. Then, he grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt, lifted me off my trembling feet and slammed me against a wa
ll. I lay dazed while he ranted in Spanish.
Suddenly, he
grabbed me by the throat and started to strangle me.

             
I fought back,
like I always do when I’m attacked - dug
my nails into his calloused hands. That made him angrier - he shoved me away, pointed his gun at me and
fired
.

             
But I’m
alive. I survived my murder. Wow!

             
My recollection is interrupted by
the sound of footsteps. I tense up, expecting the hairy fucker. To my surprise, it’s
a
n old, stooped
woman
.

             
I exhale. N
o need to panic just yet.

             
The woman’s
eyes are wide with surprise
.
She claps her hands.
‘
Y
ou’re awake,’ she says in English
then
yells over her shoulder
in Spanish.

             
Who’s she calling - the
crazy dude w
ho tried to kill me? Oh
Jesus!

  
             
She peers at me.
‘
Hola
!’ Her smile is friendly
and reaches her eyes
.

.    
             
‘
H …
hola
!’ I reply, my eyes scanning the tent for a back door, window
–
anything
. 

             
‘W
…w
ho are
…?’

             
‘Call me Enfermera,’ she says
.
‘Everybody does.’

             
She’s speaks
English
. C
onsidering the way she looks – zom
bie like, bent and bony, large,
bulging, jaundiced eyes, greenish
-
brown teeth, hair sticking up in all directions like misplaced antennae
, I’m surprised
. Her clothing is tattered and torn
and she reminds me of a zombie from Michael
Jackson
’s T
hriller Video.

             
But when she speaks, her weird looks recede and all you hear is a beautiful, melodious voice
.
A
mazing – as if someone else is speaking inside her. Have I died and gone to hell?    

             
An old Mexican man
shuffles into
the room, looks at me and
frowns
.
He’s short, wrinkled and bald and gives me a look that tells me I’m intruding.
Still, at least it’s him, not the whack job who tried to kill me.

             
‘Where am I?’ I ask
in a timid voice
. ‘Who are you guys?’ I’m already tired from the little interaction I’
m having with them
.

             
‘Later,’ Enfermera says, placing a cool
, bony
hand on my forehead. ‘Rest now. When you wake up, we
will
talk.’

             
‘No,’ I protest. ‘I wanna
…
know
…where I
…’ I drift into unconsciousness again.

             
When I wake
up
, she
force-feeds
me
gruel
. It’s revolting
- smells like boiled, unseasoned chicken but I’m not even sure it is that.
I
gag
but she
just
shoves it down my throat
. ‘You’re going to need your strength,’ she says in a sing-song voice.

*
             
*
             
*

A fortnight has passed, I’m propped up on my stretcher and we’re finally having that talk.

             
‘Enfermera means
nurse
in Spanish,’ she explai
ns as she puff on a cigarette she rolled herself. ‘My real name is Gaudelope. Juan doesn’t speak English, so I’ll be your
translator.
’

    
             
At the mention of his name, Juan spits a disgusting glob of snuff or something like that on the ground.

             
Not
th
e most sociable
fucker
, but
hey,
I’m cool with it considering he’s sharing his
gruel
and vile smelling potions with me.

    
             
‘My name is Payton
,’ I say.
‘
I’m an American
…
’

             
‘Yes, we know,’ Enfermera says, reaching
behind her and removing a bag.

             
‘My backpack
,
’ I cry
and snatch
it from her.

             
‘It was still on your back when we found you.’

             
‘Awesome
!
’
In the bag I find
my purse, my student identification card,
a picture of my secret crush,
Austin
,
my cherry lip balm, a few dollars
. Just
what I need
- something
to connect me with my other life.

             
‘What are you studying?’ Enfermera asks, squinting at my student card.

             
Enfermera’s English
is
amazing and I’m intrigued. I make a mental note to
question
her about it

             
‘Eh,
Bachelor of Behavioural Science. Criminology
,
Psychology majors.’
Wonder if she knows what’s its all about?

             
‘Aaah. Clever
and
tough?’

             
‘
Yep
.
G
onna head
New York
’s FBI office one day. Gonna kick ass.’

             
She smiles.
‘I believe you,’
she says.
‘You’re obviously a survivor.’

             
Juan
walks up to me and
stabs my shoulder a couple of times with gnarled fingers. ‘
Milagro
.
’

             
What
the fuck
did I do to piss him off
now
?

             
‘That’s
miracle
in Spanish,’ Enfermera
says quickly. ‘Because
you were shot and obviously thrown off the cliff into the sea and yet
,
you’re still here.
Milagro
.
’

             
I nod slowly. ‘Wow. That
’s
what happened? That dude
really
wanted me dead, huh? It’s like overkill.’

             
She frowns. ‘Do you know why?
I mean, what
exactly
did you do to him?’

             
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was just taking photos.
Holiday
shots of views …
nothing out of the ordinary. Don’t know why he was so mad at
me
. I mean,
everyone
w
as taking photos, so why was he
after me?’ I exhale loudly. ‘God
,
I wish I knew.’

 
             
She shakes her Don King
-
styled head. ‘Mmm …
doesn’t make sense.’
             

             
She’s right
,
it doesn’t make sense. The motherfucker failed his mission though, because in spite of the
overkill,
I’m alive and being christened by witchdoctors.
K
nowing someone wanted me dead so badly
is
a humbling experience
though
.