Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (3 page)

             
‘What?’

             
I
lift my head slowly to
look at Enfermera. ‘Shot
,
thrown off a cliff, almost drowned – that’s
three
lives down, Enfermera. I gotta take it real easy with my other
six
.’ My voice is grim even though I’m trying to make light of my murder.

             
She bursts out laughing
. ‘
You’re funny. You should write a book about your brush with death when you go back to LA. Maybe it’ll turn into a movie.’

             
‘
If
I get back to
America
.
It will have to be an action movie, though.’

             
‘I know who’ll play you – that actress from
Friends
. What’s her name …?’

             
‘
Friends
? The TV
…
?’

             
‘The blonde … ditsy …’

             
‘Aniston?’

             
‘No, the one that married
Troy
.
Rachael …?’

             
‘Jennifer Aniston
- s
he plays Rachael.’ 

             
She shrugs. ‘But younger …’

             
‘Really? Wow! Thanks, I guess. She’s a babe, so I think you’re just being nice. Anyway, how the hell do you know about
Friends
? And how come your English is good, huh?’

             
‘Used to live in
Kansas City
many years ago. Taught Spanish to a bunch of racists kids – trailer trash. Then taught English to
some
immigrants. Had a nervous breakdown
and l
anded in a mental institution. Locked up ...’

             
‘Wow
.
’ That explains the hair. 

             
‘I got better
,
but
they
just
wouldn’t let me out, so I attacked a nurse with a pen and escaped.
F
ound my way to
Mexico
and roamed the mountains. Until I found Juan
. Well,
he
found
me
and we retreated into a stress-free, solitary life. Now we heal. Lucky for you, eh?’

             
I look
at the small, dead animals in jars. ‘
Yep. Sure am lucky to be rescued by two psychos
.’

             
‘Psychos?’
She throws her head back and guffaws.

             
She
’s
still nuts, but
s
he
’s
warm and caring and she ma
kes
me think of my
m
om.

             
My
m
om was
a
gregarious person
. G
reat sense of humour
and
pretty, so pretty. Everyone who knew her loved her. I
still remember her smile, her tinkling laugh, her gentle voice.

             
‘Now what?’

             
I shake my head slowly, my eyes filling with tears. ‘My mom … she spoke to me
…when I was like, in the water, drowning. She said … she ... she asked me to like
…’ I swallow hard
,
‘
go with her and I’m wondering
…
is she my guardian angel now? I mean, she said everything was gonna be okay and it is. Like, I’m alive. Still. So I’m wondering …?’

             
‘My dear, you must have a
team
of guardian angels if you can survive what
you
survived.’

             
‘Yeah?’

             
‘But yes
,
I think your Mother
is
watching over you. Maybe she sent you my way.’

             
‘Yeah
,
maybe.
But right now … I
really could do with my
m
om.
W
ish she hadn’t died. It
’s
just like, forced me to grow up. I don’t … I wish
…’
I draw the tattered sheet over my head and weep
,
something I seldom do.

             
Enfermera
takes my hand in hers
and sings a Mexican lullaby, which makes me cry harder.

             
Juan
spits on the floor and shuffles off
, muttering under his breath. 

*
             
*
             
*

The pain keeps me awake at night so they give me opium.
Beautiful, wonderful, magnificent opium. I love it. I adore it, I worship it. I want
to have
it all the time. I want to live with my carers for the rest of my life just to be close to my beloved
o
pium.
I count the hours till my next hit.

             
My nurses are sharper than I think and when they realise that I sometimes fake my pain to get opium
,
th
ings change.

             
‘
I
want my opium!’ I cry.

             
‘No more opium,’ Enfermera says in a firm voice. ‘We have to wean u off it.’

             
‘“Wean”’? What the hell does that mean? Give me my motherfucking opium! Hey! Hey, don’t ignore me. I want my opium!’

             
She turns and walks away.

             
‘Come back! One day …one day I’ll grow my own. A whole fucking plantation. Just wait and see!’

             
I share the tent with Juan and Enfermera
so
I keep waking them with my nightmares of Diablo. He’s strangling me with one of his dreadlocks, he’s watching me sleep, an axe in his hand, he’s shooting me, he’s holding my head under water. Each time my screams catch in my throat, but each time, I live. I always wake up shaking with terror. He isn’t a nightmare
,
he
’
s real and the villagers are right to fear him.

             
Enfermera
slips
stuff under my pillow
. ‘Sage,’ she says. ‘Wards off evil spirits, bad dreams.’

             
But it doesn’t help - I have the dark rings around my eyes to prove it.

             
‘Diablo is
evil,’
Emfermera
says in a quivering voice.
‘Him, his family – they’re
a b
unch of

cold-blooded killers. Cannibals
, I hear.
’

             
‘Cannibals?’ 

             
She nods slowly
, her eyes wide
. ‘
Never met them but … d
on’t want to mess with him, Milagro. 

He’s the Bastard of Mexico.
Diablo
- m
eans
Devil
,
in Spanish. People don’t see much of him, but
some
say he’s half-man half-beast. And strong
, v
ery strong.’

             
‘Yeah, he’s strong alright
,’ I say, my lips curling with disgust
.
‘T
ried to strangle me with
one
hand.
D
on’t know
’
bout the half-man
-
half-beast thing, though. He looked pretty normal to me. Hairy, ugly, but normal. Like a fucking gigantic coconut
with a fucked up wig
.’

             
‘A coconut ...’

             
‘A big one. Jeez, he’s one ugly motherfucker, Enfermera. When
I
first heard about him, I just thought
,
well, Bermuda Triangle, Loch Ness Monster, Elvis is alive – you know …until I came face-to-face with him. He’s real alright.
Got
three scars in my chest and an opium habit to prove it.’

             
‘Juan says they live in caves round here. In the mountains.’

             
‘’Round
here
?’ I suddenly get the shivers and my eyes dart around. ‘Maybe we should go inside
,
then?’ As if that flimsy tent is going to protect us from the Diablo.

             
She waves her hand, dismissing my suggestions. ‘Well, at least you got a good look at him.’

             
‘Oh yeah. I guess if someone tries to strangle you – you
will
remember his face. He was like, huge. King Kong huge. He didn’t need a weapon – he was a fucking weapon himself. Tattoos all over his slimy
arms and neck. B
lue, red, right down to his fingertips
. Y
uck! And dreadlocks – long, wild
.
Christ! I’ll never forget how he looked as he and his horse flew towards me
. L
ike a lion
. Yeah,
he looked like a
d
ark, angry lion on
speed
.’