Page 12 of Digital Desire

The driver looked around nervously, his eyes darting from one man to another on the dark street. “Thirty minutes, no more.”

“Thank you,” Will replied and exited the car.

He had rolled up his sleeves to show the array of tattoos on his forearms. He had learned a lot in juvie—the most important being that you needed to fake it and be the person they wanted you to be and never show fear. Showing fear was what got people killed more often than not in jail.

The bar looked like a cracked concrete slab with a small neon sign that said La Cantina above the door.

Stepping into the La Cantina, he glanced around at the long bar that ran from the front all the way down the left side. There were small wooden stools in front of it along the right side which was separated by only a metre at best from more stools and shelf where people could sit or stand there drinking.

The walls were covered in beer mats of every kind, the shelves behind the bar had glass that reflected the orange and yellow of the walls making it feel marginally bigger. Two men turned to look at him with suspicion written all over their faces. He was not welcome there, and he knew it.

Neither spoke as he walked to the bar and ordered a beer from the pretty young barmaid who was barely old enough to drink. Her face was full of make-up, her eyes filled with the tiredness and apathy of a much older person. She had accepted her lot in this life already, not even out of her teens and she was done with life. Her short skirt and midriff top barely covered her thin frame.

“Beer, please,” he asked without making eye contact. Anything could set these men off, and if she belonged to one of them, he didn’t want her getting into trouble because of him. He took the beer she gave him and laid the money down on the counter then moved towards the back wanting a clear view of the door. He watched as three men walked from out the back and noticed there was a rear exit that probably led into the alleyway that ran parallel to the road. The men gave him the once-over, doing nothing to hide the fact they were stacked to the eyeballs with weapons.

The men were barely out of their teens but already by his estimate they had tens of kills under their belts. It was the way of it here, the only way for them to make a life that wasn’t leeched in poverty. But once they were in, there was no out, and they spent their usually short lives either killing or terrified that they would be killed. Most of these men would not be around long enough to see their babies grow up.

It was the sad truth in Colombia, the Cartels ruled here, and you either worked with them or starved. As he watched the men leave, he saw Pierre walk in. His friend looked so out of place as to be comical in any other situation, but here, he was literally taking his life in his hands.

Will nearly fell off his stool when the two men at the bar smiled and greeted him with warmth. Pierre seemed to have their respect, and that instantly put Will on edge. What could clean-cut Pierre possibly have that garnered so much respect from these dangerous men?

“Will,” Pierre greeted with a relieved smile as he made his way to the back of the bar.

Will stood and greeted him with a handshake and a back slap. “Good to see you, man. How you been?” Will asked Pierre, looking at the enormous pupils of his friend’s eyes and feeling his gut twist at the evidence of drug use.

“Good, good,” Pierre said looking around nervously even though these men seemed to pose no threat to him.

Will had no idea what was going on, but he knew it was bad. “So, what can I do for you?” he asked as he watched another two men walk in the front door and make their way to the back. They made no pretence of giving him the once-over, making their suspicion of him evident. Will felt his neck bristle with tension. He shouldn’t have come here, this had been a mistake.

He looked back to Pierre who was also watching the men as they retreated into the back door before glancing back at him and taking a swallow of the tequila that had been placed before him by the pretty young waitress. “Hey, Pierre,” she said shyly, and Pierre grinned at her.

“Hi, Camila,” he responded as Will watched the interaction with genuine interest.

There was something between these two, and they were trying to hide it. Will watched Camila walk away, and Pierre followed her every move with his eyes before turning to Will.

“I’m in trouble, and I need your help to get out of here,” he said in a rush.

“What kind of trouble?”

“The kind that gets you dead if you say no,” Pierre hedged.

“I need more than that,” Will said casting his eyes around the room constantly, the feeling of being watched not unusual in a place like this, but this felt different, and he didn’t know why. He watched Pierre look at Camila again, and his face softened telling Will more than his words ever would.

“Camila is Esteban Perez’s niece. He’s Santiago Rojas’ second in command.”

“And?” Will asked keeping his eye on the door as he heard gunfire in the distance.

“Camila is not like them, she’s sweet and kind. We fell in love, and when Esteban found out I thought I was dead, but he said he was fine with it, that he would give his blessing if I started doing some small jobs for him at the embassy,” Pierre said in a hushed tone.

“What’s changed?” Will asked, instinct telling him something had.

“Camila is pregnant, and I don’t want our child raised in this hell,” Pierre said his voice laden with despair.

Will finished his beer and looked Pierre dead in the eye. “If I help you, will you promise to get clean?” He held up a hand before Pierre spoke. “And don’t even think of lying to me.”

“Yes, I will get help. Just please help me get her out of here. She will die here, and I can’t bear that for her or our child.”

“Fine, tomorrow night be ready, both of you. I’ll contact you with the details at the embassy before noon.” Will stood, and Pierre rose with him.