Where’s the damn sign, and why is it so damn hot in here?
Beads of sweat form between my shoulder blades as I stand there, adjusting the shoulder strap of my bag. This is the start of a journey I never expected to take. I didn’t plan for this level of humidity either. “Damn you, Joseph,” I mutter, cursing him for forcing me to run the way I did. I barely packed any summer clothes, but what I’ve got will have to do.
Giving up on the taxicab sign thing, I head for the nearest restroom. It’s surprisingly clean and empty. Six stalls in a line, no lines, only one occupied. I stand aside to let an old lady exit, and then I’m heading for the nearest stall. Throwing my bag down, I pull out a dark blue denim skirt and a white tee and set to work, kicking off my Chucks and shimmying out of my sticky jeans to savor a brand-new kind of freedom. I go to yank off my sweater when there’s loud cursing from the stall next door.
“Fuck! Hijueputa! Fuck!”
It stops for a beat, and then resumes, this time accompanied by a series of loud bangs. I freeze, my arms still locked in the sleeves of my white tee as the partition wall shudders in protest.
“Hey, parcera,” comes a soft growl suddenly. “Yeah, you next door. The one pretending to ignore the party going on in here… I got a question for you.”
Her English is perfect, but it’s not enough to keep me interested. I finish dressing and stuff my jeans and sweater into my bag.
“You American?”
Again, I ignore her as I slip on my Chucks and crouch down to tie the laces.
“… Or maybe you’re a mute?” My lack of response is spiking her words with irritation. “So? Which is it?”
“American,” I mutter, reaching for the lock, hoping it might shut her up.
“Are you a good girl? Do you bake cookies on Sundays? Does your boyfriend get a blowie for his birthday?”
“Excuse me?” This girl is nuts.
“Let me rephrase that… If you found fifty dollars on a sidewalk, would you keep it?”
That’s it. I’m out of here.
“Would you buy yourself some new candy-pink Chucks, or detour to the nearest cop station?”
My hand freezes on the lock. “How do you know I’m wearing Chucks?”
“I looked under the partition. Ever cheated?”
Only on myself. “No! Why are you asking me this?”
“Lied?”
I think of Joseph. I think of how I said I could never love a man like him, and my silence answers for me.
“So you’re a little of both, huh? That’s good, ’cos I’m in deep shit, and I could really use your help. But hey, if you’re gonna run straight to the cops—”
“No cops,” I say quickly. Men like Joseph steal information from their databases like a bad kid steals candy. He’d be on the next flight out to Colombia.
She must have read something in my answer that ticked her boxes. The next thing I know, two piercing black eyes are peering over the partition wall at me.
“Nice skirt,” she comments, raking her gaze over my outfit.
“Nice invasion of privacy,” I say, frowning up at her. “Ever heard of personal space?”
“Nope,” she says, sounding amused.
Just then, the door to the restroom opens and she drops back down into her stall. I listen to the newcomer pee her heart out, followed by the flush and the sounds of a running faucet. When the restroom door opens and closes again, the girl’s face reappears.
“Okay, Miss America, I have a deal for you.”
“No deal. No thanks.” I swing my bag onto my shoulder and unlock the stall door. “I’m not in the habit of looking for trouble.” Not anymore.
“No, you’re looking to disappear. Am I right?”
“Wrong. I’m on vacation.” The lie comes easily, even though my heart rate is spiking.
“Wanna bet?”
There’s a sharp click as she follows me out and blocks my path to the basin. She’s tall and lithe, a wild-eyed sexy-as-hell Colombian panther, and she’s filling out her tight, white mini-dress in all the right places. Her pretty face is dominated by slanting cheekbones, red lips, and framed with a ton of silky, poker-straight, angelic dark hair… Still, I was right about one thing:
She’s trouble.
She looks it, she smells of it—her spicy perfume coercing my senses down a road less traveled. There’s an invisible halo hanging above her head that’s stained and tarnished. The red rose tattoo on her left shoulder is all twisted up in thorns, and her leather cowboy boots are giving off a boho vixen devil-may-care vibe.
Her eyes contradict her, though.
They’re so dark they’re almost black, with a sharpness and intelligence that cuts through the crap. They’re like a storybook for her true personality, and she reminds me so much of Eve that my heart screams in agony.
I go to step around her, but she mimics my actions.
“You want to disappear,” she states again, blinking slowly. “I can help you.”
“I’m on vacation.” I glare my second lie at her, but she deflects it easily.
“Oh yeah?” She goes to touch my hand and I flinch away, my bag smacking into the sidewall. “You know you have purple bruises all the way down your arm.” She gestures at them with a frown. “Fingermarks stain real harsh when they’re gift-wrapped by a sadistic asshole.”
I back away from her like she’s made of anthrax. “Screw hygiene. I’ll find another restroom.”
“I’m offering you a lot for something that’s gonna cost your ass all of five seconds, parcera,” she singsongs after me. “You do this, and I’ll put an invisibility cloak around you so tight, no abusive malparidos will ever find you again.”
Her confidence hits me with the same potency as her perfume—knocking me off balance and daring me to believe.
“Why would you do that? You don't know anything about me.”
“You got another option tucked away in your black overnighter?” She cocks her eyebrows, interpreting my bravado for what it is: as empty as my soul. “Afterward, I get you safe, and then I disappear. No questions. No comeback. I promise.”
I could waste hours assessing the pro and cons of this craziness, but it’s a weighted fight. I have nowhere to go, and even less money to do it on.
“Why do you think I’m running?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “You’ve got the hunted look. I’ve worn it myself a few times, but I’m happy to say it doesn't suit either of us… We share the same taste in men,” she admits with a sigh, her dark eyes grilling a backstory into mine.
There’s a pause. “Is it illegal?”
“To smack women about? Yeah,” she scoffs, “but it never seems to stop them.”
“No, my part in this deal.”
“Ah.” She folds her arms and leans her ass against the basin. “You want me to lie?”
“Nope.”
“It’s skimming a fine line.” She flashes me that wicked grin again. “But only for five seconds. That’s what we agreed, right?”
“Right,” I confirm, dropping my bag to the floor. “What do you need?”
“Your help,” she says simply.