GRINGA (97 page)

             
I fantasise about revenge. Me with a baseball bat inside his yacht. Me slicing away at his sails with a razor sharp knife. The thought of that brings a psychotic smile to my face. I’m feeling a little better already.

             
A sound interrupts my thoughts.

             
I walk up to my window and peep through the blinds. In the dark I see
Troy
walking towards his room.

             
I glance at the wall clock. 4 AM. Where can he be coming from at this hour?

We’re at the lunch table. I have no appetite so I absentmindedly move my food around my plate.   Suddenly, Depp bursts inside our dining room. ‘
Austin
’s dead!’

             
I rise slowly to my feet. ‘Wha …?’

             
‘Somebody knifed him on his yacht last night. Left him to bleed to death.’  
             

             
Both Depp and I zero in on
Troy
.

             
Troy
calmly continues chewing, his eyes fixed on his
enchilada.
 

             
When he finally
looks up
, there is a
challenging look on his face
.

             
So that’s where he was coming from early this morning. I should be repulsed with
Troy
’s actions, I should be sad about
Austin
’s horrific death. Instead, I sit down
and help myself to a fajita, ignoring everyone’s stares as I
wolf down my food.

             
Depp sits down and looks at me.
‘I saw your family today,’
he
says.

             
I don’t respond.

             
‘They’ve asked me to bring you there. Said they need your help with funeral arrangements.’

             
My answer is immediate. ‘Tell them to get fucked.’

             
‘They’re going back to LA now. No need for them to stay here.’

             
‘I
don’t
give a shit. And
Austin
,’ I look directly at
Troy
, ‘he deserved what he got.’

             
Depp frowns. ‘Did you have anything to do with it, Payton?’

             
I shake my head from side-to-side.

             
He nods. ‘I too,
don’t
give a shit about his death, but the Mexican police, they
will
question you

and ...’

             
‘I was here all night.’

             
‘And Tr…?’

             
I jerk out of my chair, grab his arm and lead him out of the dining room. ‘
Troy
… now you listen to me Depp -
Troy
was with me
all
night. End of conversation. I have other pressing issues to deal with you know. Like how to tell Maria and Rosa and the men that
Troy
and I are leaving
Mexico
. How to tell them that they no longer have a home cos the police are confiscating Tana-Mera. How to tell Maria that
Troy
is making plans with the FBI to take her precious granddaughter to
Los Angeles
.’

             
He falls silent and purses his lips.
             

I lie in bed that night and think about the five million American dollars hidden in mountains. How do I get that across the border?

    
             
Depp.  He’s the only person I can burden with such a task.

             
‘I need to get some money across the border,’ I say when
next
I see him.

             
‘Okay,’ he says, studying some of
Troy
’s documents. ‘How much?’

             
‘Five.’

             
‘Ok. Five thousand I can do.
You
can do that too.’

             
‘Million.’

             
His head jerks to look at me. ‘Five …five million
?
No way! That’s crazy. No way.’

             
‘You just said you would.’

             
‘Payton, I’ll lose my job. You’re crazy to ask me that. No!’

    
             
‘Depp, I’ll give you two hundred grand. Will come in handy with five kids, I’m sure.’

    
             
His smile is wry. ‘My kids …’ 

    
             
I stick out my hand. ‘Deal?’

   
             
He ignores it. 

    
             
Troy
and I unearth the money.
Seven
million dollars, not five. American. We give Rosa, Maria, Santana and all the ranch hands one hundred thousand dollars each.
That’s a total of $1.8
million dollars. The rest we hand to Depp to take over to LA.

             
I refuse to take a cent. It’s not my money; it’s
Troy
’s. I ignore all his protests.

             
Before I leave
Mexico
, I get a tattoo – three green lines on my arm. I figure, since I wasn’t fortunate to have Diago’s child, I’ll have his stamp forever.  

We’re at the airport ready to board the flight for LAX. Saying goodbye to Santana, Maria, Rosa and Diago’s men is painful and we hold each other and weep. We don’t care about the other passengers giving us curious looks.

             
‘Do not forget us, Gringa,’
Rosa
says.

             
‘How can I?’ I sob. ‘You are my family. Come visit me.’

             
They promise to.

             
Soon, Depp, Grey,
Troy
and I board our flight. As
Mexico
disappears from my sight, I stare out the plane window and a tremendous sense of loss washes over me. Would I ever come back to
Mexico
? To what? Diago is dead,
Troy
is with me and Santana, Maria,
Rosa
… they will move on and pretty soon I will be a vague memory no doubt. 

             
Troy
’s nervousness is tangible so I squeeze his hand reassuringly every now and then. Although he has money, he will be working at a liquor store and will share an apartment with two other immigrants – courtesy of Depp. To ease him into society, I guess.

             
I glance at Depp. His head is bent over
Troy
’s paperwork. I’m somewhat grateful for all that he is doing – smuggling
Troy
’s money into
America
, arranging a visa for
Troy
and even assisting Isabella with hers. I guess guilt is making him very helpful. But I’m still angry at him and Grey for their part in Diago’s death. They started it.

             
He looks up and catches me staring at him. Neither of us smile and I know he’s reading my mind. I turn away and stare out the window again.

             
We land in LAX and Depp and I settle
Troy
in. After that, I sever all ties with Depp – ignore his calls and refuse to leave a contactable address. I have no desire to see or hear from him again. 

    
             
I move in with Madison and Kelly, my former room mates. It’s been almost two years since I saw them but they are really excited to have me back. ‘Nobody parties like you do,’ they say.  

             
Madison
says and brings out a bottle of peach schnapps. ‘60 % alcohol - let’s get shitfaced.’

             
‘Yeah, like old times,’ Kelly says.

             
I think of Maria and
Rosa
and our daytime drinking sessions and I feel a dull ache in my chest.  I miss them so much. I miss Tana-Mera. I miss
Mexico
. But most of all, I miss my Diago. 

             
No time to brood though. ‘Borroms up!’ I say and down a shot of schnapps. 

             
Within an hour, we down seven shots each. Soon, I’m legless and crying. Madison and Kelly put their arms around me and cry as well. Luckily they are too smashed to question my tears. 

             
I cry for my man and what should have been.

             
I cry for my family who I deleted from my life.

             
I cry for Payton the lost, lonely, unloved little girl.

             
I cry for Payton, for the broken woman she is today.

It’s a week since I arrived in LA. I’ve spent most of time sleeping and luckily I had jetlag to blame.

             
Now it’s time to ease back into my former life. It’s hard. All these girls talk about are guys – finding them, having mind-blowing sex, finding more at the next party, the problem with them. Usual crap young women talk about. The stuff I used to talk about before
Mexico
.

             
They’ve no idea what I’ve been through, how much I’ve lived and I don’t share my experiences or my pain with them.

             
Some days, I get up, make myself a cup of coffee then crawl right back under the covers. I miss Diago so much, I just want to die. I ache all over as if I have been overdoing things at gym.
             
Generalised malaise, they call it.