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“Thank you.”
I look over to Rosie who’s feeding Goosy a strawberry. I rush over to kiss her on her forehead them I grab my bag and head out.
I’m going to a cyber café in town I used a few times. It’s one of those underground places that can make a number untraceable. I use it to call Columbia twice since Rosie and I came here. I found out about it by accident. I needed to print something off and I overheard someone talking about it.
There was a guy who helped Rosie and me leave Columbia. His name is Juan Hernandez. He was the only one of Miguel’s men to take some compassion on me. He helped me get my name changed back to St. James and helped me sort out passports for myself and Rosie to come back to the States.
It was also him who delivered the news that Miguel had been killed in a police shootout, and that I was finally free of that life. I was a mess. The night before Miguel was killed he beat me so bad I could barely stand. When Juan came with the news, he found me on the floor huddled in the corner with my baby, afraid to even breathe.
I had to call him those two times to get money. The second time I was so embarrassed I decided I would never do it again. I figured if I’m going to find any answers he’s the best person to start with.
When I get to the cyber café I ask for the special phone service and pay the man at the desk the premium rate so I can go quick and speak for as long as I need to.
I call Juan’s number and it rings out. That’s never happened before. I call it again and this time someone answers after the phone rings a few times.
“Buenos días,” a man says.
“Buenos días,” I haven’t spoken Spanish in such a long time that I can’t remember how to speak it. Miguel never spoke Spanish in the house. It was always in English and those around us did the same. “I’m sorry do you speak English. I wanted to speak to Juan Hernandez.”
“Sorry, he’s dead. Shot a few months back. Can’t help you,” the man says and hangs up.
I don’t even get to process the shock of what I just learned or the possibility that maybe Miguel killed him.
Jesus. My hands start shaking. Trembling I hang up the phone and make my way back out to the parking lot. reaching for my phone I call Christian again. the same shit as last night happened. the phone went straight to voicemail. I open my mouth to say something then I remember him telling me to leave if I wanted to.
I’m so stupid. It’s over. It’s over between us and I’ve just landed myself into a new hell.
When I turn the corner to where my car is parked I come face to face with a man in a hooded sweatshirt.
He backs off his hood and I see he’s one of Miguel’s men. I was never given his name but I knew he was the kind of man you stay away from. It was him who was following me. He’s the guy who was following me weeks ago.
Jesus Christ, I back away but back right into a wall with arms. Glancing up I see another guy. Another lackey for Miguel. Here are my answers. Miguel really is back.
“Buenos Diaz senora Diaz,” the man with the hooded shirt says. “You’re coming with us.
“Let me go,” I wince.
“No. We can’t do that.”
I’m about to scream but the sound is muffled when something covers over my mouth. A sharp smell hits me and I see stars.
As I black out I think of Rosie, then the darkness comes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Christian
“Capo don’t tell me you’ve been here all night, you look like shit,” Georgiou says chuckling.
He walks into my office and looks at me. He’s probably right about what I look like. I feel like shit. It’s the perfect word to describe how I feel and I don’t want to talk about it.
I also don’t want to admit that I’ve been here since yesterday morning and this is my second day here.
“I’m busy Georgiou, unless you want something…” My voice trails off because I don’t want to be rude to him.
He gives me a long hard stare warning me to watch myself.
“I’m not fucking off if that’s what you mean to tell me, prick,” he sneers. “What the fuck is with you?”
