KILLING SARAI(2)

Javier’s confident grin disappears from his face. He swallows hard and straightens his back awkwardly, but tries to retain some confidence over the situation. For all he knows, that might be exactly why the American is here right now.

“My reasons are not important,” Javier says.

He takes another sip from the mug to hide his discomfort.

“You’re right,” the American says so calmly. “The only important thing here is that you tell Guillermo back there to lower the gun from behind me and that if he doesn’t within three seconds he will be dead.”

Javier and one of the men standing behind the American lock eyes. But three seconds goes by too quickly and I hear a near-silent shot resound and a pop! as a splatter of blood sprays the other man standing beside him. ‘Guillermo’ hits the floor, dead. No one, not even me, seems to know how the American pulled that shot off. He hasn’t even moved. The man standing next to the dead man freezes in his spot, his black eyes wide beneath his oily black hair. Javier purses his lips and swallows again, having a harder time hiding that discomfort of his every unnerving second that passes. His men outnumber the American, but it’s obvious that Javier doesn’t want him dead. Not right now. He raises a hand palm up to order the others to lower their weapons.

The American pulls his hand from inside his trench coat and places his gun on his leg for all to see. His finger remains on the trigger. Javier glances down nervously at the gun once.

Lydia is digging her fingernails into my ribs. I reach down carefully and move her hands away, feeling her body relax now that she realizes what she’s doing. Her breathing is rapid. I drape my arm around her shoulder and pull her into my chest. She’s not used to seeing people die. Not yet. But one day she will be. Cupping one side of her head within my hand, I press my lips against her hair to calm her.

Javier gestures with the dismissing wave of two fingers and says, “Clean this mess up,” to the other gunman standing behind the American. The gunman seems more than happy to oblige, not wanting to end up like his comrade. Every eye in the room is on the American. Not that they weren’t before, but now they are more obvious, much more observant.

“You’ve made your point,” Javier says.

“I wasn’t trying to make one,” the American corrects him.

Javier nods in acknowledgment.

“Three million American dollars,” Javier says. “Do you accept the offer?”

It’s obvious that the American has done more than take Javier down a few notches. He may not be running away in fear or cowering in the corner, but it’s clear that he’s been put in his place. And this is not easy to do. It worries me what Javier might do in retaliation when he feels he has the opportunity. It worries me only because I need that American to get me out of here.

“What are they saying?” Lydia asks, frustrated that she has a long way to go before she will be able to decipher anything said around this place.

I don’t answer, but I squeeze her shoulder once to indicate that I need her to stop talking.

“Three and a half is my price,” the American says.

Javier’s face falls and I think his nostrils just flared. He’s not used to being second best.

“But you said—”

“The price went up,” the American says, leaning his back against the chair again and tapping the butt of his gun softly against his black pants. He offers no more explanation and doesn’t need to. Javier already seems accepting.

Javier nods. “Sí. Sí. Three and a half million. Can you have it done in one week?”

The American stands up, his long black coat falling about his body. He is tall and intimidating with short brown hair buzzed around the back and slightly longer and spiky on top.

I pull Lydia away from the door and shut it softly.

“What are you doing?” she asks as I rush over to the rickety chest of drawers that holds all of the clothes that she and I share.

“We’re leaving,” I say as I shove whatever I can down inside a pillowcase. “Get your shoes on.”

“What?”

“Lydia, we don’t have time for this. Just get your shoes. We can make it out of here with the American.”

I stuff the pillowcase half-full and move to help her since she’s slow to understand what exactly is going on. I grab her by the arm and push her against the bed.

“I’ll help you,” I say as I kneel in front of her and go to slip her bare feet into her shoes.

But she stops me.

“No…Sarai, I-I can’t leave.”

I let out a heavy breath. We don’t have time for this but I need to make time long enough to convince her that she needs to leave with me. I look up into her eyes. “We will be safe. We can get out of here—Lydia, he is the first American I’ve seen in years. He’s our only chance.”

“He’s a killer.”

“You’re surrounded by killers. Now come on!”

“No! I’m afraid!”

I shoot up from my kneeling position and thrust my hand over her mouth. “Shhh! Lydia, please listen to me—”

She places her fingers over mine and peels my hand from her lips.

Tears stream from her eyes and she shakes her head rapidly. “I won’t go. We’ll get caught and Javier will beat us. Or worse, Izel will torture and kill us. I’m staying here.”