Page 52 of Colombian Chemistry

“And my father? What about my father? If the embassy isn’t going to help him, then who is? We can’t just leave him!”

I turned around, and my heart squeezed in my chest seeing the tears in her eyes.

“I’ll get your father out.”

“You will? You promise?”

I couldn’t believe I was saying what I was about to say. “I promise.”

“How? How will you save him?”

“Let’s just focus on one thing at a time. First things first, we need to get off the street. There’s a safehouse I used to use not far from here. Just follow me.”

I grabbed her hand again and pulled her behind me. How I’d gotten myself mixed up in this situation I would never understand, but when I felt her squeeze my hand, I looked down and realized there wasn’t anywhere on this planet I would rather be... even if it meant having to take down the Jungle Kings single-handedly.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Irene

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Marcus led me up the stairwell to the red door at the top. He knocked a strange combination of raps before a small flap in the wooden door opened. A dark brown eye situated beneath a bushy brow peered out at us.

“What did the grape do when he got stepped on?” the man asked.

Marcus rolled his eyes and responded, “He let out a little wine. It’s me, Hector. Marcus.”

Hector continued staring through the hole in the door. “What do you call a fake noodle?”

“Seriously?” Marcus sighed.

Hector just continued blinking.

Marcus grumbled, then said, “An impasta.”

Hector’s laugh joined with the sounds of the door unlocking, then he whipped it open and yanked Marcus in for a hug.

“Good to see you, mi amigo! Long time no see!” Hector said.

He wasn’t much taller than me at five foot three, and he looked odd with the long, tangled beard that nearly touched his chest. It matched his bushy eyebrows and unkempt black mop of hair.

Marcus patted him on the back. “Good to see you too. I can’t believe you made me go through your stupid joke passwords. You know damn well who I am.”

“I was just having a bit of fun with you, Marcus. Ya never know!” His dark eyes moved to me. “And who is this chica muy bonita?”

I smiled as he let out a little whistle. “I’m Irene.”

“Well, welcome, Irene! Come in, come in!”

Hector stepped aside and let us walk past him. The small apartment reeked of marijuana and cigarette smoke, and I had to choke down my coughs so I wouldn’t offend him.

“Sit, sit!” He gestured to the orange nineteen-seventies couch.

In fact, everything in this room looked like it came straight out of the seventies. I half expected to see John Travolta come discoing out of the kitchen.

Marcus gestured for me to sit beside him, and I loved that he sat as close to me as possible even though the couch had plenty of room for us to keep our distance. His jean-clad leg brushed up against mine, and the flutters started up in my stomach again.

“What do you need this time, Marcus? Guns? Money? Drugs?”