Gringa - In the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord (90 page)

             
We both turn to look at Depp. He ignores our stares and holsters both weapons.

             
The policeman show up guns drawn. ‘False alarm,’ Depp mutters and walks into my villa.

             
Shaking, I enter my room and snap on the light. It is then that I see the knife. It is plunged into the mattress, inches away from where my face was.

             
He didn’t kill me. He could have but he didn’t. 

             
Slowly, I sink into a chair. Why? Was it a threat to show me that if he wanted to kill me, no-one could stop him? Was it a warning that he’ll be back?

             
At the sound of someone unlocking my door, I quickly remove the knife and stick it under my pillow. 

             
Just as I do that, Depp barges into my room and scans the room. He walks over to my bed and looks at it. When he sees the hole in the sheet, he frowns and looks at me. ‘You said you were okay?’

             
I don’t answer.

             
‘Where’s the knife?’

             
I cover my face with my hands.
             

             
He yanks back the sheets. Finding nothing, he lifts up the pillow.

             
I close my eyes.   

             
He stares at the knife for a moment, his breathing raspy. With accusing yes, he says, ‘You said you were okay.’ 

             
I wrap my arms around me and nod.

             
He
strides over to me and jerks
up my neck.

             
‘What?’ I ask.

             
‘You don’t know?’

             
G
uess my confusion shows because he grabs me by the arm and shoves me to the mirror. ‘Look!’

             
I look at the mirror and gasp at the line of blood across my neck. Must have happened when he pressed the knife against my throat.

             
He puts his face close to mine and snarl, ‘How the fuck can you be
okay
when he tried to slit your throat, huh?’

             
‘Depp, he wanted to
but
he
didn’t.
’ To know that I came so close to being killed by my husband unhinges me and I start to cry.

             
At the sight of my tears, he steps back, thrusts his hands in his jacket pocket and starts to pace. 

             
After a while, he
quietly
leaves my room and locks the door behind him.

             
When I awake the following morning, he’s left Tana Mera.

It’s morning. I hide the knife in my jacket and seek out
Troy
.

             
I take him aside and show him the knife. ‘You know where he is,
Troy
?’ 

             
He does not answer.

             
‘I know you do.
Troy
, I wanna see him. Tell me where he is,
Troy
.’

             
Troy
looks away.

             
‘Please
Troy
, I need to see him. I gotta tell him that what he’s doing – refusing an attorney, escaping from prison – all that is not good for his case.’

             
Troy
grunts and walks away. Shortly thereafter, he leaves the ranch. He returns the following day and gives me an apologetic look. 

             
My shoulders sag. ‘He doesn’t want to see me, huh?’

             
‘Sorry Gringa.’

             
I purse my lips. ‘I’m sorry too.’

             
Three days have passed and my need to see Diago intensifies. If fact, I’m becoming obsessed with it. Obsessed
and
frustrated. I try to think where he might be. Who could be helping him? For some reason, I think about Manual. Could he possible be involved? I’m pretty sure I spotted him at the prison the other day.

             
I fish out the scarf Sarah’s mother gave me when I returned her daughter. I tie it around me neck and with Rosa and Maria’s help, I sneak out of Tana Mera and drive to Manual’s house.

             
Sarah and her mother Juanita appear very flustered to see me.

             
‘See, I’m wearing your scarf,’ I say.

             
They both quickly look away.

             
Just then, Manual drives up.

             
‘Hey Manual,’ I say. ‘I’ve come to see Diago.’

             
‘Oh,’ he says, avoiding my eyes. ‘I eh, I do not know where he is, Senora.’

             
‘Manual, I helped you,’ I remind him. ‘It was
me
who took care of your daughter. Now I need to like, call in a favour. If you can help, please ... I want to see him. He’s my husband.’

             
He nods. ‘
Si Senora
. If ever I see him.’

             
With a heavy heart I amble to my car. I just know that he has something to do with Diago’s escape from prison.

             
The next day, I drive up to Manual’s village and park a distance away and just observe his house, looking for ... something. Anything. .

             
Since Diago’s arrest I haven’t really slept so I’m drained and exhausted. I rest my head on the steering wheel and shut my eyes.

             
‘Senorita?’

             
My head snaps back and I look into Juanita’s face.

             
‘Hi Juanita,’ I says, flushing with embarrassment. ‘I’m just ...’ I look at her and sigh. ‘Sorry.’

             
‘You really love him, Gringa?’ 

             
I put my hand on my heart. ‘With all my heart.’

             
She nods thoughtfully. ‘Are you trying to find Diablo for the
Polisie
?’

             
‘Absolutely not. I want to see if he’s okay. I want to...’ I bite my lip and furiously fight back tears. ‘I just wanna ... just wanna  ... ’

             
She places her hand on mine. ‘I believe you. Come, let us go to Diablo, your husband.’

             
What? Just like that?

             
She walks around to the passenger’s seat and gets in. ‘Drive, Senora.’ 

             
We drive for a while in silence across bumpy back roads. 

             
‘Stop here,’ she finally says and I do. She points to a row of white villas framed by trees. It’s secluded enough but I’m sure Mexican police will eventually find this place.

             
‘He is there, Senora. Go find him. Leave you car here.’

             
‘What about you?’ 

             
‘I will walk back,’ she says.

             
‘Walk back? But it’s like, miles away.’

             
She shrugs. ‘You left your bed to bring my daughter home. I can do this for you.’

             
‘Thank you Juanita.’ I get out of the car, remove the knife he plunged into my bed from under my seat and make my way towards the white villa.

             
As I get closer, I hide the knife in my jacket.

             
There are at least seven villas, so I stop, close my eyes and listen.  I think I hear Manual’s voice emanating from one of the villas. Diago has to be with him.

             
I’m about to enter the villa when I’m suddenly plagued by doubts. I think of the cut across my neck, the knife he plunged into the mattress next to my face and I stop walking. I crouch behind a bush and deliberate. What if he regrets not killing me? What if he planned to eventually kill me? Was he trying to kill me that night but was somehow disturbed by maybe Depp’s footsteps? Am I being dumb coming here? If the roles were reversed, would I ever forgive him?

             
After a while, I decide not to go to Diago. I will go back and just leave things the way they are.

             
Just as I’m about to leave I see Diablo on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. I crouch down low and watch him. He looks lonely. After a while, he saunters back into the villa.

             
Suddenly, all my doubts vanish. I decide to go to him. If he really wanted to kill me, he would have do
ne it. I will take my chances.
I
wronged
him
. He needs me now.

             
My husband needs me.

I don’t knock - I quietly enter the villa with the voices. I see Diago talking to Manual and another man. 

             
Taking a deep breath, I brace myself and walk inside.

             
They gape at the sight of me. 

             
Ignoring them all, I focus on Diago. Slowly, I remove the knife from my jacket and hold it out to him. ‘You forgot this, Senor.’

             
At the sight of the knife in my hands the men bolt out of the room. ‘Gringa is loco,’ one of the men says.

             
‘
Si
,’ Manual says.

             
Diago stares at me for a moment, grabs the knife and shoves me into a couch.

             
I am scared but I refuse to show it.
             

             
‘How did you find me?’ 

             
‘Ouija Board,’ I say.

             
‘Why are you here?’