We push on, keeping within the speed limit as a light urban sprawl opens up and sucks us in. Leticia is much smaller than I expected. It’s set on the banks of the Amazon River with the rainforest serving as a vibrant backdrop to the town. Even at this time the streets are busy with a constant stream of scooters and motorcycles buzzing past us in every direction.
“Welcome to con city,” announces Vi, taking a left off the unpaved streets and driving on for a couple of miles out through the other side of town and back onto roads that box us in with towering palm trees and great swathes of green. “As in ex-convict city,” she clarifies with a frown. “This place is crawling with former drug traffickers and guerrillas, all tucked away counting their dirty dollars.”
“How can such beauty conceal such sin?” I say, taking in the gorgeous vegetation, and thinking about Joseph again.
“Blame the rainforest climate. It washes away the evidence.”
“Did you grow up here?”
“For a time...” I catch her glancing at the dash dials. “We need gas. There’s a station up ahead with a store. We’ve missed about a billion meals in the last twenty-four hours, which is like torture for us Colombians.” She shoots me a wicked side-eye. “We live for snacking when we’re not running for them.”
Her poor attempt at a joke has me breaking into a smile. My arm has turned into a throbbing pit of fire and I’ll take any distraction. “What do you recommend?”
“What, from this place?” She makes a face as we pull into the empty forecourt that’s more weeds than asphalt, braking next to a red and yellow pump that’s about a hundred years old. “Anything not cooked on the premises, okay? It’s no fun being on the run with food poisoning.”
“Bag of chips for breakfast it is, then,” I say, climbing out of the car. “I’ll get the gas.”
“I’ll go find a payphone.” Vi slams the door. “It’s been awhile since I last spoke with my aunt. She’s going to be pissed… Imagine the crap I’ll get when I tell her I’m a wanted fugitive.”
I laugh despite myself, watching her walk to the far side of the forecourt. She’s swinging from vulnerable to fierce again, with her hips swaying and her black hair fanning out in the early morning breeze. It doesn't matter that her white dress looks like it got tangled up in the thorns of her tattoo, or if her skin is more bruise than tan. The same charm that pulled me into her world is still working its magic. I’m still following her white rabbit, wherever it may lead.
I fill up the tank and make my way to the store. I’m not even sure the place is open at first. It’s hard to tell through all the yellowing flyers stuck to the windows.
The door caves in to the chimes of a bell, and there’s no warm hospitality from the guy sitting behind the counter. He barely looks up from his portable TV, and his grunt is a universal “go fuck yourself” in any language. Still, I can forgive him because his shelves are stocked with variety and color.
My stomach growls as I gather up as many bags of chips as I can carry. Tipping my purchases onto the counter next to his TV screen, I glance back outside to avoid his glare. There’s no sign of Vi, but another car is pulling up next to the second pump. “How much?” I ask in my shitty Spanish, and he points to the notes in my hand and holds up three fat fingers.
“My language skills must be really bad to get that response,” I say, switching back to English, but he just grunts, pushes my chips away and resumes his favorite pastime.
I’m counting out the notes on the counter when the bell above the door chimes again. The new customer gets more of a greeting than I did, and a couple of gruff Spanish words are exchanged. I watch the old guy nod wearily, and then he’s slipping off his stool and shuffling off into a backroom. I don’t have time to consider the oddness of his actions before cold, hard steel is jabbing into the base of my spine.
Shit shit shit.
“You took a wrong turn into the wrong town, puta,” says a scornful voice. “Gomez might think he runs this territory, but Fernandez doesn't abide by the petty constraints of Los Cinco Grandes anymore. You stray into these lands and you’re ours, little girl.”
His words spark a match to the gunpowder trail of fear in my veins. How much can one woman endure? Still, I chose this path. I chose to walk away from my protector, so I better be fucking convincing in getting myself out of this.
“Is this a robbery, mister?” I whimper, sounding weak and scared. “I’m just a tourist here on vacation… You want my money? Take it!” I lift up my hand to offer him the pesos.
His roar of laughter sounds like his gun went off too early. “It’s not usual for tourists to travel in stolen cartel vehicles with bullet holes, Miss Williams—or is it Jackson?” I go very still. “I have documentation in my possession stating both. Either way, everything about you, including this beautiful body,” he murmurs salaciously, making my skin rash up, “will be buried in a shallow grave by sunset.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blur of blue as a third vehicle pulls into the forecourt.
“Who are you?” I demand, losing the damsel act.
“Not so sweet and helpless now, are we?” There’s another round of that mocking laughter. “You can call me the middle man. Ah, and thanks for the tip.” He snatches the outstretched pesos from me.
Bastard.
Next, I feel a heavy hand clenching around my shoulder. “Wait—”
“Put your hands on the counter where I can see them, little girl.” He gives me a rough shove and I slam my palms down to save myself. “Those pretty fingers have caused more than enough damage in the last twelve hours, don't you think?” He leans over me, pressing more than just his gun into my body. “Move one single muscle and I’ll be delivering you to Fernandez in pieces.” He picks up a strand of blonde hair resting across my shoulder and rubs it between his fingertips as if it’s a priceless delicacy. “Such a pity he wants you unspoiled...”
Reflected in the security mirror above me I see a woman who’s acted out this scene a million times before. I also see a beast of a man who takes more than a passing pleasure in his work.
Where are you, Vi?
“Are you still protesting your innocence?” He grinds his erection into me with a groan, wanting from me what so many have taken.
“I’m a long way from those days, asshole,” I say through gritted teeth, catching a flash of black in the security mirror. There’s movement in my periphery.
It can’t be.
“Is that so?” He backs off to trace a line up my spine with his gun as I shudder in revulsion.
That’s when I sense him.
Like I’ve sensed him a million times before.
This time it’s different. There’s no anger or detachment. His presence is sunshine and welcome. It’s South Beach in the fall, when the new school term starts. It’s gratitude that I’m still alive.
I brace myself, bending low over the counter, and when the shot rings out and the sticky warmth coats the back of my neck, a strange emotion tilts my lips.
The beast’s dead body drops to the ground; the metallic scent of blood streaks the air.