block me from the man’s snake-like, unblinking gaze.
‘American?’ the man asked, staring straight at me.
‘Yes,’ Alex answered.
‘You’re looking for something I hear.’ His eyes slowly travelled to Alex, narrowing to pinpoints.
‘Yes,’ Alex said again, keeping his voice even. ‘I’ve been told you might be the man to ask.’
‘I might be,’ the man said, rubbing a hand over his stubbly chin. ‘Depends who’s asking. And how much they’re paying. Drink?’ he said, nodding at the unlabelled bottle sitting in front of him on the table.
‘Sure,’ Alex answered.
I saw his head turn as he studied the room – was he assessing our exits? Or the odds of us getting out alive? I couldn’t tell, but I was starting to question his judgement in bringing us here and, more particularly, the wisdom of drinking whatever the hell was in that bottle – it looked like a shrivelled-up worm was floating at the bottom of it.
Alex finally walked to the table and I followed, sitting down in the chair beside him, acutely aware of the three men right behind us. They were all armed – two with guns, one with a knife the size of a sword. Our exit was blocked. There was only one other door directly behind the desk, but it was shut and possibly even locked. The room we were in was clearly where the deals went down. I wasn’t sure what kind of deals, but from the bits of foil and the weighing scales sitting on the table in front of us it wasn’t too hard to guess. My foot started tapping and I rested my hand on my thigh to try to still it.
The man sloshed whatever was in the bottle into three smeared shot glasses. He pushed one across the table towards me. I looked over at Alex. His eyes were locked on the man and, though his face was as impassive as ever, I could sense the tension in his body. I could see it too – in the straight line of his jaw, the set of his mouth and the bulge of tendons in his forearm, resting casually on the table.
‘ Salud ,’ the man said, downing the liquid and slamming his glass down on the table. His eyes never left my face and I could feel my skin starting to prickle as though fire ants were grazing on my neck. Alex picked up his shot glass and drank it back in one gulp without taking his eyes off the man.
‘And you?’ the man asked, nodding at my untouched glass. ‘What’s your name, Señorita ?’
‘Lila,’ I said, casting a nervous glance at Alex, wondering if I should have given my real name.
‘You not drinking your drink, Lila?’ the man asked, nodding his head at my almost overflowing shot glass.
What was the etiquette here? ‘Um, I’m not thirsty,’ I hazarded.
‘I think you should drink,’ the man said.
It was an order. I thought for one second about disobeying it, but then I remembered the three men behind me so I picked up the shot glass and tipped whatever was in it down my throat. Burning , burning! I spluttered and coughed. Alex started smacking me hard between my shoulder blades.
The man laughed as I tried to breathe through the fumes filling my mouth and nose. ‘My name is Carlos,’ he said.
Great. I was on first-name terms and drinking Tequila with a Mafia boss. My dad would be ecstatic.
‘So, you want papers? Passports?’
‘Yes,’ Alex said.
Carlos grunted. Then he turned to me. ‘You running from something, Lila?’
I held his gaze. ‘Not anymore,’ I answered. His expression showed an instant of puzzlement before the dead-eyed stare returned.
‘Ten thousand American dollars,’ Carlos said to Alex. ‘You pay now.’
‘Half now, half on receipt,’ Alex countered.
Carlos appraised him slowly as I sat there, gripping the seat, willing Alex to just get out his wallet and pay up in full so we could leave with all our body parts still attached.
Carlos finally laughed under his breath. ‘For a gringo you got balls. OK, sí , half now, half later.’ He lit a cigarette, his eyes falling back on me as he drew in a lungful of
‘American?’ the man asked, staring straight at me.
‘Yes,’ Alex answered.
‘You’re looking for something I hear.’ His eyes slowly travelled to Alex, narrowing to pinpoints.
‘Yes,’ Alex said again, keeping his voice even. ‘I’ve been told you might be the man to ask.’
‘I might be,’ the man said, rubbing a hand over his stubbly chin. ‘Depends who’s asking. And how much they’re paying. Drink?’ he said, nodding at the unlabelled bottle sitting in front of him on the table.
‘Sure,’ Alex answered.
I saw his head turn as he studied the room – was he assessing our exits? Or the odds of us getting out alive? I couldn’t tell, but I was starting to question his judgement in bringing us here and, more particularly, the wisdom of drinking whatever the hell was in that bottle – it looked like a shrivelled-up worm was floating at the bottom of it.
Alex finally walked to the table and I followed, sitting down in the chair beside him, acutely aware of the three men right behind us. They were all armed – two with guns, one with a knife the size of a sword. Our exit was blocked. There was only one other door directly behind the desk, but it was shut and possibly even locked. The room we were in was clearly where the deals went down. I wasn’t sure what kind of deals, but from the bits of foil and the weighing scales sitting on the table in front of us it wasn’t too hard to guess. My foot started tapping and I rested my hand on my thigh to try to still it.
The man sloshed whatever was in the bottle into three smeared shot glasses. He pushed one across the table towards me. I looked over at Alex. His eyes were locked on the man and, though his face was as impassive as ever, I could sense the tension in his body. I could see it too – in the straight line of his jaw, the set of his mouth and the bulge of tendons in his forearm, resting casually on the table.
‘ Salud ,’ the man said, downing the liquid and slamming his glass down on the table. His eyes never left my face and I could feel my skin starting to prickle as though fire ants were grazing on my neck. Alex picked up his shot glass and drank it back in one gulp without taking his eyes off the man.
‘And you?’ the man asked, nodding at my untouched glass. ‘What’s your name, Señorita ?’
‘Lila,’ I said, casting a nervous glance at Alex, wondering if I should have given my real name.
‘You not drinking your drink, Lila?’ the man asked, nodding his head at my almost overflowing shot glass.
What was the etiquette here? ‘Um, I’m not thirsty,’ I hazarded.
‘I think you should drink,’ the man said.
It was an order. I thought for one second about disobeying it, but then I remembered the three men behind me so I picked up the shot glass and tipped whatever was in it down my throat. Burning , burning! I spluttered and coughed. Alex started smacking me hard between my shoulder blades.
The man laughed as I tried to breathe through the fumes filling my mouth and nose. ‘My name is Carlos,’ he said.
Great. I was on first-name terms and drinking Tequila with a Mafia boss. My dad would be ecstatic.
‘So, you want papers? Passports?’
‘Yes,’ Alex said.
Carlos grunted. Then he turned to me. ‘You running from something, Lila?’
I held his gaze. ‘Not anymore,’ I answered. His expression showed an instant of puzzlement before the dead-eyed stare returned.
‘Ten thousand American dollars,’ Carlos said to Alex. ‘You pay now.’
‘Half now, half on receipt,’ Alex countered.
Carlos appraised him slowly as I sat there, gripping the seat, willing Alex to just get out his wallet and pay up in full so we could leave with all our body parts still attached.
Carlos finally laughed under his breath. ‘For a gringo you got balls. OK, sí , half now, half later.’ He lit a cigarette, his eyes falling back on me as he drew in a lungful of
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