Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (15 page)

             
I see a man on his knees. They’re slapping and punching him.

             
The poor man – he
appears terrified and sounds like he’s begging for his life. I would be too if I saw
about
scumbags
high on coke and booze
muscling in on me.
From experience, I learnt that when these men say they are going to kill you
,
they do.  

             
Christa
walks over to the man and talks to him in hushed tones.

             
‘Senora please,’ the man says, ‘is all a misunderstanding.’

             
‘
Si
,’ Christa says, nodding several times.

             
The man
calms down obviously
relieved
to see Christa’s
lack of hostility.

             
She continues nodding, an affable smile
on
her scarlet lips.

             
Diablo stands on the side
, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his jeans. He spends most of his time glancing back at our villa. It looks like everything is going to be okay.
 

             
Then, Christa turns to Diablo and says
,
‘Kill him Diablo.’

             
What the …?
 

             
‘Senora, please!’
the man cries, his eyes filled with terror.

             
Slowly, Christa
starts to circle the man.
‘He mus
t
die, Diablo
.
He mus
t
die.
He can’t come here. He has no right. We never invite him. Nobody come here unless we …
’

             
‘No!
’ the man shouts
.
‘N
o
!’

             
‘He
mus
t
die,’ she repeats, looking Diablo in the eye. ‘
You
have to kill him,
Diablo.’

             
Diablo doesn’t move.
He scratches the back of his head, rubs his chin and glances towards our villa.

             
Surely they’re not going to kill him. Whatever he did, it just couldn’t warrant this. 

             
‘
Diablo, I a
m your mother
,
’ Christa says. ‘You mus
t li
sten to me. You mus
t
respec
t
me Diablo,
because it is right. You must k
ill him and show your men how to rule. Show them you are in charge. Show them your pover or they will think you don’t have no pover, eh? You show them you are strong. You mus
t
teach them. Please Diablo, ple
a
se
.
That is how you be a good leader, Diablo.’

             
I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Fucked up in the head, she is.

             
Diablo glances at the expectant faces around him but does nothing. 
             

             
It looks like he’s not eager to kill
.

             
Christa claps her hands over her head and chants, ‘Diablo! Diablo! Diablo!’ She looks at the men
around her
and they immediately join her
and chant.
   

             
‘Diablo! Diablo! Diablo!’

         
             
Diablo
glances at our villa again
and I get the impression he just wants to return to the dining room and continue staring at me
,
like people do when they buy goldfish for the first time.

             
‘Diablo! Diablo! Diablo!’

             
Diablo shakes his head hard
. Then,
to my absolute horror, he unsheathes his knife, jerks the man’s head back and slits his throat.

             
At the sight of the blood, Christa throws her hands in the air and starts jumping and dancing like a woman possessed. ‘You are a good son,’ she says,
slapping her breasts. ‘You listen to your mother. You are a go
od leader. Everybody clap. Come
,
everybody. Come clap for your leader. For your boss, for your Diablo. He is great
.
He is
Diablo
!’

             
‘
Diablo! Diablo! Diablo!’ 
she chants.

             
Then men join her and shout, ‘
Diablo! Diablo! Diablo!’ 

             
Diablo looks at the blood all over him, frowns then walks away.

  
             
‘You are a real man
,
’ Christa yells after him. ‘You are our master
.
Diablo! Diablo! Diablo!’

             
I slide to the ground and collapse in a heap.
‘Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!’ All that blood, the man’s body jerking around
– I fight the urge to vomit.
 

             
I’ve never s
een
a man die before and
I’m shaking
. My head feels light, my body
is suddenly
clammy and I
think I’m going to
faint.

             
Maria
quickly
hands me some water. ‘
S
ugar
water
,
’
Senorita,’ she says, kneeling in front of me. ‘I mus
t
drink it.
Now.
’

             
Rosa
fans me with a magazine.

             
My hands are shaking so much; I spill most of the water. 

             
A few minutes later, I’m sitting on a chair and rocking.  ‘
What the hell is wrong with these people?
’ I burst out loud.

             
Maria shrugs, while
Rosa
mumbles something inaudible and starts clearing the table.

             
‘How …
they
’re
so cold-blooded
!
How could
Christa …she’s so ruthless, so
... so evil?
What an evil woman!’

             
Both women purse their lips tightly and nod.

             
‘You guys …how can you be so like,
unaffected by what
you just saw, eh?’ My voice is shaky but reproachful.

             
They look at each other and shrug.

             
So this killing is no big deal to them. What have I let myself into?
The villagers were right
,
Diablo and his
family
are ruthless, cold-blooded killers
and
I have
walked into a venomous snake pit.

             
Rosa
looks at me and put her finger to her lip as Christa and her men re-enter the villa. I shut up and straighten up. 

             
By the time Diablo re
turns
, I’m fairly composed and sitting at the table. He’s changed his clothes and plonks himself back
o
n his throne. Everyone follows suit and lingers around the table.

I can hardly stand being in the same room as him. My mind drifts back to the man they killed – is his body still outside?

             
It takes great courage on my part but I finally say, ‘May I be excused?’

             
I do my best to avoid eye contact with him as I fear I will lose what little confidence I have.

             
My good manners are entertaining to some people
, l
ike bitchface and her d
aughter
t
hey’re at it again
-
sniggering at me.

             
He nods and I hurry out of the room, resisting the urge to break into a sprint.

    
             
I reach my room and collapse on my bed. I cannot shake the picture of Diablo
slicing at the man’s throat, the ease in which he did it, how the blood gushed over his hands and how he causall
y wiped his knife on the grass
,
like he messed it cutting an apple or something.

             
Christ
, w
hat a monster. What a
savage
.

             
Elaine said I was fearless. Bullshit
.
What does she know?
I acted brave
with them
because it
was
my
survival technique.
If I didn’t, I would have been crushed by Elaine and Paris. It worked - they backed off, labelling me difficult and rebellious. That suited me
and
gave me a sort of licence to be bad, act bad. The only emotion I displayed
:
anger. A case of one emotion fits all. I cling to it, sometimes unleashing it before it is due. I get
them
before
they
get me. It’s just ... safer this way, I guess.
I
feel safer this way.
Although, I’m uncomfortable with this delving into my soul - makes me feel exposed, vulnerable and
,
I hate this word
,
sad
. I preferred to be called angry
. I
t’s fashionable, yet shielding. Like the new bullet-proof vests worn by bad-ass rap artists, 50
c
ent and Decapitator.