Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (70 page)

             
I really need Diago. In fact, I need him
more than I ever did.
I yearn for him to put his arms around me and hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I want to rest my weary head on his broad shoulders and cry on them. But he just stays away.  

             
‘Senorita,’ Maria says, ‘Diago, he say you must not attend the funeral.’

             
‘Oh. Okay.’
They’re being buried today
and I don’t expect to be invited to the funeral.

             
Marcus
and Antonia are
planted outside my door to protect me
.
Diago’s orders.

             
Later in the day I see Diago and Santana sitting in the courtyard. She’s crying and he’s
talking softly to her, stroking her hair all the time.

             
I
can imagine
Santana’s pain
and I myself blink back tears
.
             
She’s never said anything to me about Christa’s death but I assume she hates me for killing the only mother figure she knew.
I would like to
talk to her about it,
apologise
,
but I fear she will
strike me with her riding crop.
  

             
She
rests her head on
Diago’s broad
shoulders
.
He tightens his arms around her
and kisses her hair.

             
I
turn and walk away, my heart heavy.

             
That evening, I see Santana hugging Diago. Almost like she is comforting
him
. Christa was his mother too. So he too must be suffering. I never thought about him because, well, I guess I there was so much to think about. My heart aches for him. An hour later, I notice him sitting in the dark smoking.

             
I walk up to him and say, ‘Diago, I’m sorry that you’re hurting. I’m sorry I put you through …’

             
He gets up, flings his cigarette on the ground, squashes it with his foot and walks away.  

It’s been two weeks since the shooting.
Diago still stays away from me. I sleep in my old room and have trouble falling asleep. I think he does too, because I see him sitting
on his balcony
in the dark, smoking. I
miss him so much and I’m sure
he misses me too.
He has to because, well, I believe we’re connected.
But he’s stronger than I thought as he has not
yet
melted and returned to me
.

             
I see change
s
all around the ranch since Christa’s death. Maria and Rosa no longer keep away from the dining room during dinner like they used to. They are loud and joke and tease the men during dinner. Sometimes, they even sit at the table and demand a game of cards with some of the men. Diago doesn’t mind. He just smiles at their gall, especially when the women order the men to fetch them drinks.

             
As for
Santana
, y
esterday she was
humming while
picking
r
oses from the garden which she placed in a vase in the dining room.
I’ve never seen her do that before.

             
This morning I walk into the kitchen and s
aw
her sitting with
Rosa
and Maria drinking coffee.
Not something I’ve seen her do before either.

             
‘Morning Santana,’ I say, expecting a rebuff.

             
‘
Good
Morning Gringa,’ she says.

             
She greeted me.
Awesome!

             
Rosa and Maria both
exchange
surprised
looks and the moment she
leaves the kitchen
,
we start to gossip about her.

             
‘Did you see how happy she looks?’ Maria asks.

             
‘Did you see she is wearing pink lipstick like you, Gringa?’
Rosa
says. ‘Not the dark, blood colour that Christa make her wear, hmm?’

             
‘Last night, she pee
l potatoes
and
chops lettuce
,’ Maria says
.

             
‘The other day …’

             
‘Yeah, c
arry on like this and Diago m
ight want her back,’ I mumble my voice dripping with sarcasm.
  

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘They’re demanding to see you today. Hear me, Payton?’

             
I look at my father and nod slowly.  I’m not surprised they want to see me and
I don’t resist or dare argue.
When the FBI calls you go. It’s been three weeks since the shooting and I’ve been expecting them to make contact with me. I didn’t show at our last meeting. I just didn’t want to face the consequences of murdering two people.
Shooting
. Not murdering,
shooting
. For fuck’s sake get it right girl!

             
The meeting as usual is strained and I avoid eye contact with everyone. But the moment we talk a
bout the murder, I break down
.
Sob.
A great ploy if, it was a ploy. My tears are genuine and even cathartic. 

             
Depp hands me some Kleenex and squeezes my shoulder gently.

             
Grey is silent for a moment then says, ‘This must really be hard on you, Payton.’

             
Funny, but the fucker actually sounds sympathetic. I blow my nose loudly.

             
‘
Of course,
we have
audio
of you killing
Tongue and
…’

             
There it is - the nails for my plywood coffin.

             
Their words float around my head: ‘Double murder … Mexican prison … good behaviour …’

             
‘S …self defence,’ I murmur.

             
Depp nods several times. ‘Of course. We can argue self defence ...’

             
‘Yeah and t
hat should
get you only seven years,’ Grey says, ‘
Per
murder.’

             
I groan into my hands.
Only
.

             
‘Sentences will probably run consecutively,’ Grey says. ‘That’s a total of fourteen.’

             
I just cry harder and even more pathetically, hoping they will
lose
the
incriminating
tapes
of the murder
and
well,
ask for a bribe
or something. Anything to just
forget the whole
fucking
thing. 

             
Depp cocks his head to one side and looks at me. ‘Look Payton, we really have no
sympathy for Tongue and Christa
and, I mean, we really don’t want to
pursue the murder charge
cos
it means compromising
our
investigation
into
Dia
blo
.
’

             
‘Yep, it
’s him
we
want
,’ Grey says.

             
Yeah.
Lady
fucking
Luck
’s
smiling down at them now - they have me exactly where they need me and they
probably going to exploit me now.

             
‘We need you to re-install the listening devices while we think of a defence for you,’ Grey says.

             
How can I argue with them now? ‘Okay,’ I hear myself saying.

             
Grey quickly dumps a sack of listening devices in my hands and says, ‘For
Diago’s bedroom
, study, vehicle etc. Let’s smoke him out.’

             
I
don’t look at them because I fear they will spot the contempt I have for them right now.

Troy
is sitting on the patio reading a book
w
hen I
walk up to him.
‘Hey
Troy
.’ 

             
He eyes
me
silently and gives a slight, wary nod.

             
‘I eh, just wanted to eh, say thank you for ... um  ... ’

             
His wave is dismissive.
‘Tha
t’s o ...
’ 

             
‘I appreciate what you did,’ I say, needing to express myself. ‘I just wanna let you know that I eh, like
,
I had no intention of ... you know ...’ I just can’t use the words
murder
or
kill
.
It’s way too confrontational for me.