GRINGA (71 page)

             
‘I
t’
s okay
Gringa
,’ he says
.
‘
J
us
t
stay away from Digger
,
Pedro, Rocky
-
things will quieten down.’

             
I nod. ‘Well, they’re leaving me alone right now, so
I guess
it’s good.’

             
‘
Si
,
it is
good.’

             
‘So is Diago for that matter,’ I add
,
my voice
laced
with
bitterness.

             
He stares for a moment, appearing thoughtful. ‘Give him time,’ he finally says. ‘He got a lot to handle right now. Pedro, Digger, Rocky, Santana
, you - it’
s too much.’

             
‘Sure.’ I appreciate the fact that
Troy
is taking the time to talk to me. ‘What are you reading?’ 

             
He
hesitates then turns red.

             
Ah, that kind of reaction - it’s got to be porn.

             
He hands me the book.

             
Gingerly, I accept the book with two fingers and squint at the title.
‘
Reader’s
Digest
… Harvesting …
’ I jerk my head to look at him.
‘
You’re reading about making
wine
?
’

             
H
is smile is bashful.
‘I always like it. I
like to learn about wine
.’

             
‘Imagine that, huh?’ I say, amazed at this insight into his character. ‘You don’t even
drink
wine.’

             
He
shrugs
. ‘I taste it sometimes. But I always think I can make better wine.’

             
‘
Well, you could get rid of the
weed
and plant grapes instead? Or you could keep the cannabis
and
plant grapes and have a one-stop party shop
.
Cool huh?
One glass of Merlot and you get tipsy and high at the same time. What a buzz. Swirl then sniff, then sniff again and voila! You’re fucked up for cheap. A best seller for sure, Troy. I can’t think of
anyone
who will want to give it a miss. Hey, I’ll be wanting royalties for the idea.’

             
He
chuckles
then launches into a lengthy explanation as to why it wouldn’t work.

             
‘You’re pretty smart
,
Troy.’

             
He hangs his head so that his long hair covers his face.

             
‘Can I ask you a question,
Troy
?’

             
He looks at me.

             
‘Why did you save my ass the other day?’

             
It’s a while before he answers. ‘I like you Gringa. You light up wherever you go. Like a … Mexican fire fly.’

             
‘That’s it? You saved my ass cos you
like
me?’

             
‘Yes. You make my brother smile. Every time he’s with you, I hear him laughing. Sometimes I am at the other end of the ranch and I hear him laughing and I know he’s with you.’

             
I stare at him for a moment then throw my arms around him.

             
He stiffens but I don’t care. ‘I don’t have a brother
Troy
,’ I say, fighting to still my trembling bottom lip. Y …you are now my brother.’

             
He nods and hugs me back. ‘I am now your brother, fire fly.’

             
Since it’s a lovely day, I head for the rock pool. ‘Taco
Bell
!’ I call. I haven’t seen her all afternoon
.
I call several times but she doesn’t
answer
.  

             
With Maria and Rosa’s help, I comb the ranch and garden, including the weed plantation, but still, we’re unable to find her. Something is wrong
and I can’t shake this sense of dread I’m feeling.

             
I love her so much, I just can’t imagine life without her. She
is
my shadow, my friend, my baby. We sleep together and we wake up together. Diago tries to relocate her to a little doggie bed on the floor but she sneaks back in and crawls under our blanket to be with us.

             
Diago arrives and sees the commotion
. I see a worried look on his face when
he learns about Taco-Bell
. I
mmediately
, he
joins in the search, focusing on the cliff area. But still, she’s nowhere
to be seen
. I know something bad has happened to her and I hate the thought of her being in pain.

             
Sunrise
, 6
AM. H
aven’t slept at all and we’re resuming the search for my precious puppy.

             
Then I hear shouts – they found her. Dead. She’s been run over by a car. I
walk over to her and
pick her up
. Gently, I
cradle her stiff body then place her in a little shoe box.
I learned a long time ago that if you clench your jaws you can stop yourself from crying. My jaws are clenched tightly right now.
 

             
Diago walks in and
stops
at the sight of Taco-Bell lying dead in the shoebox. He squeezes his eyes shut.
Slowly he walks over to me
his shoulders stooped.

             
‘Payton,’ he whispers. ‘I am so …’

             
‘I ... I’ve never had a puppy when I was little,’ I whisper. ‘Elaine ... she said ... said
they were too much trouble
…
w
ould
not get along with
Paris
’s kitten.’

             
He cocks his head to one side and looks at me
then
opens his arms to me. I silently melt into them
and we
hug for a long time. 

             
We bury Taco-Bell her in the garden that afternoon.

             
Diago takes me by the hand to his room and lies with me on
his
bed.

             
‘I get you another puppy,’ he says, kissing my forehead.

             
‘N
o
!’
I say and shrug him off.
How dare he offer to replace
my baby
?

             
‘Sorry,’ he
mutters
.

             
‘I never replace anything or anyone in my life
.
’

             
‘
Si
.’

I’m
putting flowers on Taco-Bell’s grave when I hear shouting in the courtyard. I race
over
and see Diago’s men holding a stranger,
threatening to kill him.

 
             
The stranger, who is is
clutch
ing
a large parcel in his hand
,
talks
frantically in Spanish.

             
‘Senorita Payton,’ the man cries
when he spots me
. ‘I have the picture
.
Here it is
.
Tell them, Senorita
. Tell them!
’

   
             
I stare at the man and frown. He mentions me by name, yet I don’t know
him
.
I
peer at the man in peasant clothes
and stiffen
. It
’
s Agent Depp disguised as a p
easant painter
. Stunned, I remember our arrangement: if the FBI urgently needed to get to me, they would call with a painting of Diago and
Troy
.

             
What could be that urgent that Depp would brave these rabid men at Tana Mera?

             
Diago saunters onto the scene and stares at the man, his eyes turning to slits. ‘Wha
t
painting?’ he asks, his eyes darting between Depp and me. 

             
I’m
too stunned to speak under Diago’s scrutiny. Before I can answer, Diago strides up to the man, snatches the parcel out of his hands and rips it open.

             
I gasp
.
Diago
is probably going to
kill Depp right away if he
doesn’t believe his story. H
e’ll kill me too
for sure.
 

             
Diago looks at the painting, then at Depp, then at me. Suddenly, his face breaks into a sheepish
grin
.