GRINGA (30 page)

             
‘Lemme pour you one, Norman.’ I
top his glass to the brim and
hand it to him. ‘Knock yourself out,’ I chuckle.

             
Diablo’s not smiling.

             
Yeah, I’m supposed to be nice to him now that the FBI is involved.
Well, f
uck the FBI and Fuck him.

    
             
As
lunch progresses,
I’m feeling a little more relaxed now. Warm in my toes and even a little confident. Well, they’re eating lunch and I’m drinking mine –
whisky
,
Tequila
and some other spirit on the table
.

             
I take a few more swigs from the bottles on the table and then cross my arms over my head and start whistling a tune. 

  
             
Diablo’s hairy face reveals little but
somehow
I don’t think he’s comfortable with my drinking. Hell,
I’m
not comfortable with my drinking
but
screw him.

             
Th
ey’re passing around pictures. T
he conversation becomes steamy.

             
Usually, I pass on the pictures, but today, I
snatch them out of
Norman
’s hand. ‘Lemme see that.

             
I peer at the picture.
I’m so funny, I’m shrieking with laughter.  

             
‘So many Gringas,’ Antonio says, perving over the pictures. At the mention of the word Gringa all eyes zero in on me.

             
Am I embarrassed? Hell no
!
  

             
‘
Hey, d
on’t look at me,’ I say and down another Tequila, whisky – whatever – I’ve lost track of what I’m drinking. ‘I
d
on’t roll that way. Why don’t you ask the
fugly
asshole
at the end of the table?’ 

             
The
re is a collective gasp in the room and
all eyes dart towards Diablo, including mine. Now he’s gonna be really pissed. Great
.
  

             
But his amused response in Spanish
,
evokes guffawing from his men.

             
‘What? What did he say,
Norman
?’ 

             
Norman
is pissed enough to explain. ‘Diablo say, is like a
fucking a
colchon
sometimes. He say, is a bi
g let down. Senorita Gringa and my name is not
…’

             
‘
Colchon
… Mattress?
He said that, did he?
’ I let out a long, low whistle. ‘
Well
Norm,
what the hell does he know,
huh
?’

             
I smile at
Norm
an
. ‘Can I call you “Norm”? I don’t wait for him to answer. ‘He don’t know Jack. Foreplay – hell
,
he probably thinks it’s some kind of sugar-free chewing gum
or
something to do with his car’s steering wheel. Huh Norm?’

             
‘But Senorita gringa, my name is not Norm
. It is not Norman, it
is Lucas.’

             
I stare at him so long, he starts to flinch.

             
‘Lucas?’

             
He nods.

             
‘Why didn’t you say something, Norm? Okay, I’ll call you Lucas from now onward, Norm.’

             
‘Eh …’

             
Santana almost falls off her chair laughing.
             

             
I look at Norm. ‘Now Norm,’ I point to Santana, ‘she’s probably laughing at what I said. O she’s laughing at what the fuckwit at the end of the table said about me – the mattress – whatever shit …but, you ever seen a donkey laugh, Norm?

             
‘No, Senorita gringa. My name …’

             
‘
Never? Well, it’s your lucky day Norm, cos y
ou’ve seen it now.’ I
jerk my head towards
Santana.

             
Well, that magically erases the smile of donkey’s face.

             
‘You biiitch!’ Santana screeches. ‘I fargin’ kiiill you!’

             
I smile and raise my
bottle
at her. ‘Take a “fargin’” number and get in “fargin’” line.’ 

             
Troy
comes up to me.
‘Gringa,
’ he whispers, ‘
come, let me take you to bed so you can sleep it  ... ’

             
My eyebrows shoot up.
‘Take me to bed? Are you
better
in bed
than your brother? Christ, I hope so
,
Troy
!’

             
Troy
turns
scarlet and
shrinks back
all the while glancing
nervously at Diablo.
             
 

   
             
Diablo
looks at everyone around him falling out of their chairs with laughter and his breathing becomes like that of an emphysema patient – raspy and laboured.

             
‘He really is
lousy in bed
Troy
.
And you know what?
I don’t like him. He’s hairy and fugly and yuuuuck! He won’t let me visit my ... ’

             
Diablo slams his fist onto the table, rattling the table and animating plates, cutlery, glasses.

             
‘Fuck
! L
ook what you did Satan - you
nearly made me
spil
l
my
…’ I jerk back and peer at the label on the bottle in my hand. ‘What the fuck does this mean? Anyhoo, you made me lose count
of how many drinks I had. Have to start all over again.’

             
Diablo suddenly whips out his knife and flings it ninja style at me. I duck and it hits the wooden beam behind me.

             
‘Ooooh!’ I cry shaking both my hands mockingly. ‘I’m in troo
o
uble now! Biiiig
a
tro
oo
uble.’ 

   
             
‘Go gringa, go!’ some of the men cheer.

             
‘Whoookay,’ I say.

             
Diago
stands up.

             
I stand up too and look
him in the eye, my
eyebrows disappearing behind my
spiky
fringe.

             
Breathing heavily, he creeps slowly to me, but I’m ready for him. I kick back my chair and sidle around, using the table as an obstacle between us.

‘Watch him move, like a … eh, what you say for walrus in Spanish?’

             
The men laugh harder. Even Christa laughs.

    
             
‘You will farkin’
die!
!’ Diablo roars.

    
             
‘And who’s gonna “farkin’” kill me
, huh
?’ I ask, dancing on the spot. ‘You?’ I throw my head back and laugh. ‘Ha!’

             
More laughter around me.

             
Diablo runs to his knife, grabs it off the beam and
runs towards me
.

             
But I’m already out of the villa and
racing
towards the cliff.

             
‘I’m going to
kiiiill you!’ he yells as he chases me.

    
             
‘Fuck you, motherfucker!’ I scream over my shoulder and sprint ahead. I don’t care if he kills me, I just don’t want to be assaulted by him. He’s super strong and I stand no chance against him if he does. I’ve never seen him run before and I’m hoping he’s out of shape and slow. Well, the big lunch should make him sluggish.

             
But to my dismay I can actually hear his breathing. I’m surprised at my slowness. Must be something to do with the booze. I have to admit, I didn’t realise I was this drunk until I started running. Too late now.

             
I run up the hill and through the
dense foliage
, passing startled villagers tending the cannabis crops. They
stop and stare when they see Diablo
chasing a gringa with a knife in his hand. Behind Diablo are his men, some on horseback and some on foot, not wanting to miss the moment Diablo finally kills the insolent Gringa.

             
‘Go gringa go!’ I hear.

             
I run faster than I ever did in my life.

    
             
‘You will die!’ Diablo
threatens
behind me, still brandishing the knife.
His breathing is getting louder and I know I have to do something.

             
T
he rock pool!
I know for sure that Diablo is no match for me in the water. Very few people are.
I head for the pool.