Plata Page 6

  “It’s no game,” she snapped. “I really want you to leave.”

  “You’re just mad that I didn’t call,” he said petulantly. “Now you’re trying to punish me.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said. She went to the bed, where her clothes were laid out for her date. “But I’m going out with someone else tonight. And I like him a lot.”

  Daniel’s expression hardened. He leaned against the wall and unabashedly adjusted the erection in his pants. Then he put his hands in his pockets and glared at her.

  “Oh yeah?” he sneered. “What’s his name?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  She pulled on her fitted black pants and pulled on her favorite tight sweater. Then she slipped on her boots and went back to the mirror to finish her makeup. It was clear to her that Daniel didn’t take rejection well. He crossed his arms over his chest and sized her up, as if he were about to rate her on a scale from one to ten.

  “Does Mr. Wonderful know you’re a stripper?”

  Madison froze. “Excuse me?”

  Daniel laughed bitterly. “You thought you could hide it, huh? Oh, well.”

  She put on her earrings and brushed her hair as if Daniel’s words meant nothing to her. But inside, a terrible shame had taken over. She wondered with dread if Enzo had spilled the beans at last, unable to keep such juicy gossip to himself. If she couldn’t trust her best friend in the world, who was left?

  “Where did you hear that?” she asked nonchalantly.

  Daniel grinned, sensing her discomfort. He brushed a speck of lint from his black shirt and sauntered across the room, enjoying himself.

  “I was there the other night with friends,” he said. “You were very good. I had half a mind to pay for some dances.” He opened the door and lingered for a moment. “But then I thought, what’s the point if I’ve already had her for free?”

  With that he slipped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Madison sat down on the bed, fighting the urge to burst into tears. She hated him for making her feel dirty and cheap. Not wanting to slip into the dark, she forced herself up and stood tall before the mirror.

  “Fuck him,” she muttered aloud to her reflection. “He doesn’t know anything about you.”

  Glancing at her phone,she saw that it was late. She grabbed her coat and purse, and dashed out the door. There was no time to call one of the club taxis she knew. With relief, she found loads of cabs stuck in traffic on Monterrey Street. She raised her hand and headed for the first one to flash its lights.

  As soon as she climbed into the taxi, she could feel the driver eye her up.

  “Where to, gorgeous?” he asked, looking at her in his rearview mirror. He was a stout man in his 30s, with brown pigment splotches all over his face. His hair was stiff with gel; his shirt stained with grease.

  Madison glanced at the laminated license with the driver’s name and photo, which was displayed on the window. It was supposed to distinguish a legal taxi from a pirate one. It said: Jose Hernandez, and included an unsmiling photo of the driver.

  She gave him the intersection in the Zona Rosa and settled into her seat. They maneuvered slowly through the usual bottlenecked traffic, the chaotic ballet of cars, bikes, rickshaws, and the occasional man-powered hauling wagon. At one intersection, a hoard of children descended upon the idling cars, washer fluid and squeegees at the ready. Without making eye contact with the boy outside his window, the driver wagged his finger “no.” The boy squirted fluid all over the windshield anyway.

  “Chingados,” the driver muttered under his breath, digging for a coin in his pocket.

  The boy frantically cleaned the glass, trying to finish before the light turned green. Madison watched him without realizing that she was holding her breath, routing for him to make it. At last, he shook the excess liquid from his squeegee and approached the window. The driver rolled it down and handed the boy a coin. Enzo had once told Madison that the boys carry rocks in their pockets for breaking the windows of drivers who won’t pay. He said he’d found out the hard way.

  Even when the light changed, there was too much traffic to move. Vendors wandered through the stuck cars, selling candy and pencils and flowers. Suddenly, the driver hooked down a side street and accelerated.

  “I know a better way to go,” he said.

  Madison studied his face in the mirror, and she thought she saw his expression harden. He pulled up and down the quiet streets of the Roma Sur until she no longer recognized the neighborhood.

  “This doesn’t look right to me,” she said. Her body felt cold, and her stomach went tight as a fist.

  The driver didn’t respond. He made a hard right into an alley and turned off the engine. A tattered white box van was also parked there, silent in the darkness.

  “What the fuck!” Madison yelled, adrenaline rocketing through her.

  Before she could even move, a man approached from the shadows and let himself into the cab. He had a moustache and a fat belly. When he saw Madison in the back, he grinned with crooked, yellow teeth.

  “Good evening, princess,” he chortled, giving the driver a look of approval.

  The man demanded her phone and all of her rings, even though they were mostly worthless. When he saw the gold chain her father had given her for high school graduation, he poked a grubby finger at her neck.

  “Take it off.”

  Madison hesitated. “Please,” she said, her voice breaking. “My dad gave this to me and…”

  The man didn’t wait for her to finish. He yanked the chain hard, and Madison could feel the sharp pinch at the back of her neck as it snapped. He tossed everything into a bag and handed it to the driver. Then he shoved his hand between her legs and made a hideous sucking sound.

  “Come on, blondie,” he growled. “Hurry up!”

  He pulled her out of the back of the cab and grabbed her roughly around the waist, pinning her arms to her body. Madison realized with dread that he was dragging her toward the van.

  “Motherfucker!” she screamed, kicking and straining hard until she’d broken free of his grip.

  She lashed out and cracked the man in the mouth with the heel of her palm. His head snapped back and he blinked at her, surprised. But before she could run, he grabbed a fistful of her coat and yanked her back into his grasp.

  “Just for that, I’m not going to be nice!” he hissed, reaching under his tee shirt and pulling a knife from his waistband. He shoved the tip under her chin, grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. She could feel the metal digging into her skin and the trickle of damp blood down her throat.

  In that moment, Madison understood what it meant to be paralyzed with fear. Her legs went stiff and numb, and she couldn’t move her arms. Like a lot of people, Madison had always assumed that she’d be fierce in a situation like that; that she’d fight and scream and bite and claw. But now that it was happening, it was all she could do to simply breathe.

  “Don’t take too long,” the driver called. “I want a turn with her, too, and I have to get the car back soon.”

  But before the mustached man could respond, something cracked him on the head from behind, sending both he and Madison sprawling to the ground. The man’s knife skittered across the blacktop. Madison looked up, her heart pounding wildly, gasping for air.

  It was Ramon, the drug trafficker from the club. He stood perfectly still, the streetlight shining on his black nylon windbreaker; his eyes cold as steel. In his hands was the biggest assault rifle Madison had ever seen. He calmly lifted it and aimed it at the man on the ground. Without looking at Madison, he gestured with his head.

  “Arizona, move out of the way.”

  With great effort, she forced her legs to move, clambering to her feet and edging out of range. She was overwhelmed with feelings of terror, relief, confusion, gratitude; a cascade of emotions that brought forth a flood of tears. The man lay unconscious on the ground, his head bleeding from where he was cold cocked with the rifle.

&
nbsp; Ramon moved with eerie calm toward the driver, who stood paralyzed by the open door of the cab. He made a whimpering sound and held up his hands. He pleaded for his life, his jaw trembling so violently Madison could hardly make out his Spanish. But Ramon’s expression was unchanged.Inscrutable. He held up the gun and took aim, his finger steady on the trigger. It was actually happening. Madison was going to witness a classic Mexico City murder.

  She covered her eyes and braced herself for the rain of bone shard, tissue, and blood. She imagined Pierre sitting in the restaurant, waiting; his beautiful blue eyes on the door. The thought of his eyes calmed her, and she tried to focus on them alone. When no blast came, she peeked through her fingers. Ramon stood watching, gun at the ready, as the whimpering man dragged his unconscious friend through the doors of the box van. The keys were on the ground, and Ramon stooped to grab them without taking his eyes off the men.

  Once they were inside the van, Ramon approached the door and said something in a low voice that Madison couldn’t hear. Then he lowered the assault rifle and held it in his left hand. His right hand dipped inside his coat and retrieved a small handgun, which he pointed at the men inside. There was a series of cracks in the silence, followed by cries of agony. Ramon walked slowly around the van, shooting out the tires. He shot up the taxi’s tires as well, and then blew out all the windows.

  “Come on,” he said to Madison. “My car’s around the corner.”

  He held out his hand to help her up. Her fingers shook and felt clammy against the rough warmth of his skin. He led her out of the alley to a large black SUV with tinted windows, double-parked in the middle of the quiet residential street. She looked around, trying to get her bearings, but she had no idea where she was. The houses were small, low slung hovels made of concrete and cinder block; the windows covered in chicken wire. There was no sign of life anywhere.

  “Did you kill them?” Madison asked quietly as they pulled down the narrow street. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

  “Nah,” he said, as relaxed if they were discussing a soccer game. “Just shot the bastards in the legs. Fucking street vermin.”

  Madison was silent. How could Ramon turn up out of nowhere? She couldn’t understand it. But he didn’t offer an explanation. He just hummed along with the American pop music on the stereo and navigated his way through the impoverished streets until they were back on a main thoroughfare. Madison touched the tender place under her chin where the man had held the tip of the knife, and then saw the blood on her fingers.

  After a while, she began to recognize a few things, and she realized that they were close to the Zona Rosa. As they drew nearer, she realized that Ramon was taking her to the club. Maybe he had assumed she was on her way to work. He pulled up at the edge of the pedestrian mall where The Gentlemen’s Club was located.

  “I’d come with you,” he grumbled, “but I’ve got some shit to take care of. If I have time, I’ll stop by later.”

  Madison stared out the windshield, where a group of well-dressed young people crossed the street in a clump. They were all laughing. Madison’s stomach was sour and she couldn’t tell if she was blazing hot or freezing cold. Finally, she looked at Ramon.

  “You’ve been following me.”

  He chewed his lip and looked straight ahead, saying nothing. A car honked impatiently behind him, and Ramon glared at the rearview mirror. Madison watched his eyes as they narrowed, his brow low, and there was something very dark there. He was a sociopath, she thought. A drug trafficking sociopath. And he was stalking her.

  “Go on,” he said impatiently. “Like I said, I got shit to do.”

  She nodded and, without another word, climbed out of the SUV and closed the door.

  The car behind Ramon honked again. Without missing a beat, he threw open his door and stormed up to the car. Madison hurried down the street in the direction of the club, not wanting to see the confrontation.

  The restaurant where she was to meet Pierre was only a block away, and she thought about heading there as soon as Ramon had gone. Maybe Pierre was still there waiting for her. But when she turned to look back, Ramon was leaning against his SUV, watching her. She gave him a nervous little wave before continuing on to the club. Her legs were wobbly and weak by the time she reached the dancers’ entrance, and pounded on the bulletproof metal door.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, Madison got a call from her mother’s friend, insisting that she come home from Mexico.

  “I’m sorry to be so crass,” she barked. “But I just can’t understand why Virginia’s only child is fooling around with show biz in Mexico while her mother is all alone in a mental hospital,” she barked. “But the doctor says she can no longer improve without the support of family. You’re all she has, Madison. You need to get home.”

  Madison felt sick when she hung up the phone. She sat down on the floor and sobbed for an hour. In the ten days that she’d been at the club, she’d made just over twenty-five thousand dollars. It was more money than she’d ever seen in her life, but it was nowhere near enough to save the restaurant. She had failed her mother in every way.

  She arrived at work feeling very depressed. Upstairs in the camarino, there was the usual giddiness, with half-dressed dancers dishing gossip and screeching with laughter. Though she’d never minded before, tonight everything rattled her nerves. She found the smell of the women’s exotic perfume cloying and the pulsing lights on the stage made her nauseous. And when at last she stepped onto the dining room floor, she couldn’t bring herself to sit with anyone, exhausted at the mere thought of forced banter and fabricated flirtation.

  Instead, Madison spent hours sitting at the back of the lounge with a vodka tonic, fighting back tears, wishing she could go back in time and make everything different. Even when Cesar called her name to get ready to dance, she sat quietly, unmoving. When her song began and the stage remained empty, Cesar called her name again. But Madison ignored it. What was the point? Money or no money, she had to go home.

  As Madison watched the crowd, she couldn’t repress her feelings of resentment for the frivolous way these men spent their wealth. They threw hundreds of dollars at women just for having a conversation or showing a little tit. It galled her that they would never know what it felt like to need money. They would never know how it felt to degrade yourself to get it. She just wanted to be a normal nineteen-year-old girl again.

  “Feeling sick?” one of the waiters asked Madison after she’d spent all afternoon tucked away in the vacant corner of the lounge. He was an older man with salt and pepper hair, and weary eyes. She remembered that he’d once given her bicarbonate in water when she was nursing a hangover.

  “I’m okay,” she said glumly. “Just tired.”

  “Or down in the dumps.” The waiter gave her a paternal smile. He leaned in closer to be heard over the thunderous music. “There’s someone looking for you. He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially.

  “Oh yeah?” Madison replied without enthusiasm. “Who?”

  The waiter grinned and nodded in the direction of a large group gathered around the sofas and coffee tables. She hadn’t noticed them arrive. Among them was Ramon. He was actually dressed up for once, wearing a button up shirt and a navy sports coat over his jeans. Just the sight of him made her nerves unravel.

  “Just go sit with them for an hour,” the waiter said in a kindly voice. “Then you can go home with a decent bundle in your purse.”

  Madison looked over at the group of rough necks slouching in the armchairs wearing jeans and boots. Ramon sat forward on the edge of the couch leaning on his knees, just as he’d done that first night. His eyes flicked restlessly around the club, and she knew that he was looking for her.

  “I don’t know,” Madison said quietly. “Those guys scare me.”

  The waiter shrugged as if this were a given. “Nothing in life is free, nena.”

  Madison knew he was right. All it would take was an hour or so of sitting quiet
ly, drinking champagne, and listening to the men’s tough talk about sports cars, rodeo, and soccer. Maybe making a little money would make her feel better. She nodded and sighed.

  “Okay,” she consented. “Come and get me when they’ve stopped talking shop.”

  The waiter gave her a wink and headed across the club to the kitchen on the other side. Just an hour, Madison told herself. I’ll sit with them an hour and then I’m going home early. She was tempted to call Pierre, but she no longer had a phone. And they never let anyone make calls from the club. Not even clients.

  A half hour passed before the waiter returned, beckoning her over to Ramon’s table with an eager grin. Madison nodded and tipped back what was left in her glass. She let the waiter lead her by the arm to where Ramon was sitting with a beer, his eyes full of crazy intensity.

  “I thought you weren’t going to show up tonight,” he said quickly, looking everywhere but at Madison.

  She forced a smile and tried to act as if the night before had never even happened. “I got a late start.”

  He shrugged and put a hand on her back.

  “What are you drinking? Are you hungry? Do you want the lobster again?” He flagged down the closest passing waiter, who scurried over nervously. “Whatever she wants. Anything.”

  Madison ordered a glass of champagne and a cheese plate with warm almonds. Ramon ordered another beer.

  “So, what’s up?” he asked her impatiently. “Why the long fucking face?”

  For a moment her smile faltered. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Ramon rolled his eyes. “What I mean is this,” he said. He pressed his thick thumb against the frown crease between her eyes, as if to force it smooth. “It’s not the most attractive look in the world.”

  That was it. She couldn’t fake it anymore. She let herself collapse back into the couch cushion and closed her eyes. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d already lost the game.

  “What’s wrong is everything,” she sighed without opening her eyes.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Ramon glanced around the dining room and lounge, as if looking for the culprit.