Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (10 page)

    
             
I tiptoe to the window and peep through the blinds. The place is now lit up with strings of coloured lights and people are drinking and dancing
-
a carnival atmosphere prevails.
The place is
no longer eerie.

             
An hour passes and from the looks of it, I’m not going to be sacrificed tonight. I
relax
and watch the partying through my blinds.

             
Christa is dancing with a young man – rotating her hips slowly, suggestively - her version of dirty dancing
, I suppose
. She uses a scarf to lasso him, then bumps and grinds against him. Eeeewww! Considering her age and the fact that her sons are present - I call that inappropriate.

             
Then I feel someone watching me. I look to my right - someone’s in the shadows smoking a cigarette.

             
Diablo
.

             
I see the whites of his eyes
– has to be him.

             
I jerk back, lose my balance and land on my ass.
Quickly,
I get up, grab a chair and
w
edge it under the door handle. As if that’s gonna keep
the psycho
out. 

   
             
For a while, I stand and just stare
at the door, waiting to see if the handle
rattles, expecting someone to turn the handle anytime now. When noth
ing happens, I slowly back away - b
ack to the edge of the bed where I sit and gnaw
at
my nails. 

             
Weary from my eventful and exhausting day, I eventually crawl under the covers and lie in the dark
and
wait. 

             
Around midnight, the music dies and place is ghostly
-quiet
again. People
seem to
have retired for the night. I
toss around
in the dark, desperately wanting to sleep
but
sleep evades me
. Must be
the adrenalin. I’m
still
on tenterhooks and
jump each
time I hear a sound.

    
             
The mountain climb was harsh and gruelling, so I should be sleeping soundly, but I’m not. I’m waiting for the Devil to come and claim me.    

*
             
*
             
*

I awaken to the sounds of birds chirping. Sunlight streams into my room through the blinds. I fight the cobwebs of sleep and peer around, events of the previous night flooding my fatigued brain –
Diablo
!

             
My fear returns and nestles in the pit of my stomach. The clock on the wall says
6 AM
. I lie really still and listen for sounds, voices. Nothing.

             
Finally, I slide out of bed and poke around, opening draws and looking for, well,
stuff
. 

             
I tiptoe to the window and adjust the blinds and sunlight floods the room. In the natural light, my room is nicer – light, airy with beautiful views of the valley. I look out of my window and listen to the sounds of the ocean and I think of Juan and Enfermera and a feeling of sadness washes over me
-
I miss Enfermera so much.

             
I hear a voice and look to my left. It’s Santana on the balcony of another r
oom, talking to someone. I drop out of sight
but still p
eep through the blinds
. She has a sheet draped around her and her hair looks dishevelled, like she just woke up. I can’t see the other person’s face as yet. When she moves, the sheet dislodges and I get a glimpse of her bare breasts. She laughs, picks up the sheet and drapes it around her again.
V
oyeuristic
,
yet I can’t look away.

             
Then I hear Diablo’s voice and I shrink back. It can’t be – she’s his sister
.

             
But I know that voice - I’ve heard it a thousand times in my nightmares and I will never forget it.

             
I look at the clock again –
6:10AM
. Why on earth would she be in her
brother’s
room at th
is
time of the morning? Naked.

             
Maybe I heard wrong. Maybe I’m still asleep and dreaming. Maybe
...

             
Then I catch a glimpse of hi
s butt
. He’s naked too
.

             
I don’t believe it. This is so fucked up!

             
When I peep out of the window again, they’ve left the balcony.

             
Confused
at what I just saw
, I
move away from the window. After a while I resume my poking around the room.

             
One of the closets opens into a bathroom. A modern one at that.
Great!
After the facilities at Juan and Enfermera’s, this feels like The Hilton. I step in and splash water on my face. 

             
Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door and I
jump
.
Slowly,
I turn off the taps and tiptoe back into the room.

             
Diablo
?
             

             
To my relief, a lady in her fifties opens my door and breezes in. Plump, with an infectious smile, she fills the room with her effervescence. She’s dressed like a Mexican peasant – cream shirt, long, flowing, brown skirt, tan sandals and her long black hair is tied back with a cream scarf.

             
‘
Bueno
, Senorita,’ she greets, smiling. Since her smile reaches her eyes, I reason she must be happy to see me.

      
             
‘
Bueno
,’ I reply.

    
             
‘Senorita, I’m Maria, my serrrvant. Ask me aaaaanything I want. Diablo – he go to work now but he wan
t
you to make me comfortable.’

             
‘Um ...’ I have to work this one out. She seems lovely but her English ...

             
‘Since my English is very good, Senorita, you will be taking care of me.’

             
Okay, I’m being punked for sure, but I resist the urge to look around for cameras.

             
‘
Thanks,
’ I say, silently trying to work out what she just said. 

    
             
‘
Rosa
, she will bring me breakfast in a moment, Senorita.’

             
‘
Rosa
…u
m, thanks Maria, but I
…like, I
don’t want any breakfast.’

             
I dare not eat anything here until I know exactly what it is and where it c
ame
from. Human lasagne is
not my thing.
 

    
             
‘Can I just have some coffee, please?’ My voice is humble, friendly. I’m really uncomfortable with the idea of having a servant.  

  
             
‘N ... no breakfast?’ Her fizz evaporates. ‘No breakfast ...’
She studies
the carpet. Then she looks up at me and the fizz is back with a vengeance. ‘Cerrrrtainly Senorita,’ she says, her tone obsequious. ‘You will come only with coffee. No breakfast.’ She leaves, shutting the door behind her.

    
             
Back to my fretting - what plans does he have for me? Maria appears pleasant and wants to make me comfortable – why? What’s Diablo’s agenda? Is he trying to feed me and fatten me for some sinister reason? A Mexican version of Hansel and Gretel?

      My morbid thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. Maria and a second lady enter the room with a tray
containing food and coffee.

             
‘Diablo’s woman,’ Maria murmurs.

             
The second lady smiles.
‘
Hola
Senorita
.
’
Her dress is similar to Maria’s and her
dark
hair is tightly coiled on
the top of her
head.
Her smile also reaches her eyes.

             
‘Eh, Rosa, Senorita ...
R
osa
is my name. I bring coffee and
bacon, eggs, toast ... Just like Diablo say.
’ She places the tray on the table, steps back and stands slightly behind Maria. As she links and unlinks her pudgy fingers, her cheeks grow redder by the minute – the reddest I have ever seen
.

    
             
I return her smile. ‘
Hola
,
I’
m Payt …’

             
‘
Rosa
, she don’
t
speak English good,’ Maria
interrupts, ‘so I helpa …’

             
Rosa
jerks her head to look at Maria, her eyes blazing. ‘I speak good English! Why you say tha
t
, Maria?’

             
Maria silently purses her lips and bestows
Rosa
a condescending look.