Blood Slave (21 page)

We arrived at Bank of America at around noon.  I needed a bite so badly my whole body shook with cold sweats, my jaw muscles clenched up, teeth grinding.  I felt so angry.  I wanted to scream at the world, and Arana, at Lia, at Enrique, at the cab driver who couldn’t stop staring at me.

I started to lose it.  I growled when he tried to push me out of the taxi in front of the bank.  “Hey, asshole!  I need a bump, or something!”

I felt like I was on the edge of the precipice.  If I didn’t get something strong in my system right now I’d start screaming.  Once I started I didn’t know if I could stop.  I’m sure he saw the wildness there under the surface, the madness in my eyes.  He pulled out a baggie and handed it to me without protest.

I took my sweet time hitting each nostril three times over.  Never have guessed my nose was broken a few hours ago the way I devoured that cocaine.  I probably snorted more than a gram by the time he snapped, “Hurry up!”

I felt a little calmer.  My jitters subsided.  The need was appeased – marginally.  I could at least function without screaming in someone’s face.

The Abdul-Camel Jockey cab driver stared at me hard in the rearview mirror as I took a fourth bump up each nostril.  The asshole thought I was a coke whore.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”  I barked at him.  He flinched at my verbal assault and looked away.  But his nasty thoughts were still pointed in my direction.

“Tell that asshole to stop staring at me,” I growled at Arana.

The Jihad cab driver snapped back, “I hope you know the meter’s still running.  Are you finished yet?”

Arana looked back and forth from me to the driver and shook his head.  He threw fifty bucks at the driver.  “Vamos, let’s do this.”

He pushed me out into the street.  The idiot didn’t even care about the bank’s curbside cameras.  If I came up dead, the camera footage would attest to the fact he’d been the last person to see me alive.  Pinche tonto.  Estupido.  How he ever got this far without getting killed or doing life in the penitentiary was proof that miracles still happen today.  I would need one of those miracles shortly.

It took an entire hour to get $31,863 out of my account in cash.  The bank teller had to get the assistant manager, who had to get the manager, who then proceeded to try to convince me to withdraw funds in some form other than cash.  They asked repeatedly
why I needed all that money in cash.  Wouldn’t it be better to have that in a cashier’s check?
  No – it wouldn’t. 
Wouldn’t you prefer to have traveler’s checks?  They’re so much more secure than cash.
  No – I don’t want traveler’s checks. 
Why not send the funds out directly as a wire transfer – much better than carrying around all that cash on the streets of New York.
 No thank you, I prefer cash.

At one point the teller leaned over the counter and whispered, “You know … If you walk out with all this cash you could get rolled on the street.”

I snapped back, “Are you planning to follow me out the door?”

“Oh no!  I’m just saying…”

“Then I have nothing to worry about, do I?”

“Well, it’s not wise to carry that much money at one time, especially not on your person.”

“Get me my money!  All I want is my money!  It’s my fucking money and I want it now!”  I was starting to sound like a commercial for JG Wentworth.

My voice had gotten loud.  People stared at me.  I felt like snatching that little, bitch teller up from the other side of the counter and wringing her neck.  My hands flexed, itching to grab ahold of her.  The manager wisely guided me over to the waiting area and proceeded to placate me with assurances my withdrawal would be ready in a few minutes.  Arana watched out the corner of his eye, sitting a few yards away pretending to read a newspaper.  Ignorant bastard could barely read the traffic signs.  The NY Times might as well have been in hieroglyphics for all the good it did him.  He had that pistol under his shirt, ready to start cutting a swath through this bank if I did anything stupid.

I
sooo
wanted to tell one of these bank employees to call for help, but who would they call?  Cops.  Snitching out a Traqueto to the cops is pretty much a guaranteed death sentence.  That kind of betrayal is not tolerated.  The cartel sends out a whole posse to hunt snitches down.  Much more exciting than watching Monday night football.

Besides, I don’t trust cops.  I have never trusted cops.  I trust them about as much as I trust bank employees.  Everyone in authority thinks they can help you, but all they really want is an excuse to exercise their power in your life.  Bank employees think and behave a lot like cops these days, that whole
know-your-client
thing.

I had banked with B of A since arriving in New York.  They are one of the only places where foreigners without a social security number can get a bank account.  I remember back when there was a big controversy in the media about all these foreigners with bank accounts getting credit cards when average US citizens can’t qualify for credit.  The issue was that noncitizens were catching credit without any credit rating.  I guess no credit is better than bad credit, or something like that.  I had one of those cards – a hundred fifty dollar credit limit.  Big deal.  Most Americans are several thousand in debt on credit cards.  It’s no wonder banks don’t want to lend out more.  I thought it was cool, a status symbol.  Obviously I’m biased for the foreigners.  But I did feel sorry for all the Americans who owe more money than they make.

Foreign-born Latinos know credit is a total scam.  Very few of us have any debt.  I personally have none, apart from Faustino’s entrapment.  I never use the damn card, it’s not even activated.  It sits in my purse looking good.  As of this day I may never use it.  I seriously considered changing banks, if I survived this mess.

I eventually realized it wasn’t the teller’s fault.  The bank policy was to deter clients from using too much cash.  The bank doesn’t stock all that much cash anymore.  My transaction cleaned them out.  Tellers were trained to talk customers out of withdrawing large sums in the form of cash.  Part of an initiative towards fully electronic and online banking.  I knew this after reading the manager’s mind for the hour I spent being jacked around.  I didn’t care, I just needed the money.

Walking out of the bank with all that cash in a little canvas sack, panic struck.  I knew I was dead if I gave up this money.  I ran.  I might’ve made it if I hadn’t tripped over somebody’s damn dog.  Sprawled across the sidewalk trying to scramble to my feet, Arana was on top of me instantly.  He politely helped me up.  His pistol, hidden in his folded over jacket was stuck in my back the entire time.  I wanted to scream.

“Listen to me, puta, I’ll kill you right now and take every dime you got.  I don’t give a shit.  You go quietly, we have a little more fun, and then I give you back to Faustino.  You keep your mouth shut, don’t say nothing to nobody, I let you live.”  He was lying about letting me live and handing me over to Faustino.  But he wasn’t lying about killing me right here and now if I didn’t cooperate.

Standing outside the bank, waiting for a taxi, in full view of the curbside cameras, I handed him the canvas sack of cash.  If he killed me, I hoped he fried for it.  The circumstantial evidence against him was piling up fast.

With my cash paid, it seemed like the right time to beg for my life.  “Please let me go.  I’ll never say a word to Faustino or anyone.  It’s our little secret.  I’ll leave New York right now.  You’ll never see me again.  No one has to know anything!”

He was pissed that I ran.  He didn’t like listening to me whine.  He snatched up my jaw in his hand, squeezing hard as he spoke with gritted teeth.  “We have a score to settle puta.  You owe me.  You got me all fucked up when you took off.  I’m gonna take it out on your ass and then I’ma give you back to Faustino.  We see if there’s anything left of you after he finish.”

He directed me to a taxi, making it impossible not to get in first as he followed me.  That gun never left my body.  I had to do something.  I hadn’t swayed him at all.

“It wasn’t me, it was the China!  She kidnapped me and held me in her apartment all this time.  She only called you to get rid of me, so I wouldn’t call the police on her.  She’s using you to make me disappear.  She’s playing you.”  There was simply no way to explain what had really happened.  I tried my best to relate the complexity of my situation in partial truths.

“And where did you get all that money, puta?  You expect me to believe these lies?  The China give you thirty thousand dollars while she got you locked away?  No soy tonto cabrona!”  
I’m not stupid
.

I was screwed.  What could I say that made any sense?  I had to try a new direction, a new motivation to keep me alive.

“No … Listen.  The China has a boss … he made me work for him.  He likes me – I’m valuable to him.  She’s using you to get rid of me out of jealousy.  Her boss will pay you fifty thousand to get me back unharmed.”

I hoped the taxi driver overheard our conversation, maybe he’d call the police and report it.  No luck there, he was blissfully ignorant of our little drama, watching traffic and listening to the radio.  The driver hummed along with a gritty, alternative rock tune, something about bleeding it out and digging deeper just to throw it away.

The chorus line of the song repeated over and over with a fast pace beat and ripping guitar riffs.  The words belted out in a scream of frustration and angst.  The message was eerily symbolic of my situation.  I bled out all my hard-earned money, digging deeper to ransom myself to Enrique, and for what?  Arana wanted me dead.  He’d probably find a way to get his hands on Enrique’s money, and kill me anyway.  I bleed it out digging deeper just to throw it away – the story of my life.

Arana assumed I lied.  “And what makes you so special?  Why would they lock you up, pay you all that money, and then call me to get rid of you?  You not telling the truth.  I’m gonna have to hurt you some more to get the truth.”  He wanted to hurt me anyway.  Anything else was just a bonus.

The heartless bastard watched me cry silently as we crept through the city, making our way back to Spanish Harlem, to his apartment, where he planned to hurt me really bad.

I had to up the stakes.  “He’ll give you a hundred thousand for my safe return.  If I call him tonight, he’ll have it for you tomorrow.  He lives on Park Avenue, he’s rich.  I’m telling you the truth!”

“Tell me why, Esperanza.  Why would some rich cabron on Park Avenue pay for you?”

I said the only thing I could think of that might make sense.  “He loves me.”

Arana laughed as I lied to him.  “Nobody loves you.  You’re nothing.  Nothing but a pinche prostituta.  I’ll be doing the city of New York a favor by killing you.”

He had dropped the pretense of returning me to Faustino.  And he was right, no one loved me.  I was alone in the world.  Enrique hadn’t cared enough to take me with him.  Lia wanted me dead.  Arana and Faustino would simply use me up and spit me out, if they let me live.  What reason did I have to live for?  I couldn’t think of a reason, but I wanted to live.  I didn’t want to die!  I wanted to live!

I persisted with the lie, hoping for a miracle.  “No … that’s not true!  He loves me, and he’ll pay you a hundred thousand dollars cash to get me back.  I swear it on my mother’s grave!”

“Hmmm …. who is he?  Do I know him?”

“No … you don’t know him, he’s from Spain.”

Arana stared me down.  The wheels started turning in his head.  We rode the rest of the way in silence while he thought about it seriously.  He had a hard time imagining how I could fit into a world of wealthy high-class people as anything other than a whore.  In his opinion, you can take the girl out of Colombia, but you can’t take Colombia out of the girl.  Then he recalled the expensive cocktail dress I had been wearing last night and how glamorous I looked.  He’d never have recognized me if Lia hadn’t pointed me out.  He began to wonder if maybe I was banging some wrinkly old man, giving him the time of his life, a sugar daddy.  That seemed a plausible scenario given the fact I actually did have all that money.  He remembered the twenty-four carat gold bracelet he removed from me last night.  Someone cared enough to buy me expensive clothes and gifts.  Maybe it wasn’t all a lie.

As we headed into the towers from the taxi, I caught a glimpse of someone, a ray of light in my darkness.  Conchita walked down the sidewalk not thirty yards away.  Our eyes met for a moment.  I gave her a direct look. 
Recognize me.  See me.  Please see m
e
!
  She did a double take, and altered her course, heading in our direction.  I peeked a glance at Arana.  His attention drifted in a different direction, preoccupied with thoughts of what to do with me.  I gave the cutoff sign to Conchita, swiping my hand across my neck to warn her off.  It was enough she knew I was here with Arana.  I didn’t want to put her in danger.

She seemed to understand.  She took off walking away from us as we entered the building, a single glance back at me over her shoulder.  I had to work hard to keep from smiling.  It was such a small thing, but it brightened my world with hope to know a friend was out there, aware of my situation.  Though I feared him, I hoped that she would contact Faustino, bring him knocking on our door.  The lesser of two evils.  I’d love to see Arana’s face, caught with his pants down, abusing Faustino’s personal property –
me.
  I’d have a better chance of explaining things to Faustino.  At least he’d be willing to collect the ransom and let me walk.  Faustino had a head for business.

Though in high spirits after seeing Conchita, my luck had run out.  Behind closed doors with Arana, I read his intent a split second before he clocked me with that badass right hook.  It didn’t knock me out, but it sure knocked me down, and it hurt like hell.  He had me dazed, seeing stars.  My newly broken nose exploded in agony, obliterating all senses.  He had to have broken it again, it bled everywhere.  Then I was up, being carried back into his bedroom, my pants and sweater savagely ripped off.  He threw me down on the bed and I went off kicking, screaming, and clawing at him.  I caught him in the nuts and he backed off.