Shooting Scars

“ID,” the bouncer said. I handed him my passport and tried to take in his features without looking at him too deeply. I wondered if he worked for the club, for Travis, or both. I wondered if I’d be seeing this man, with his big fat head and coal-black eyes again, in other circumstances.

He scanned my passport and handed it back to me. He nodded his fat head at the door. “You pay cover there, 250 pesos.”

Ouch, that was steep. I didn’t say anything, just nodded politely while he looked over my head at the people next in line.

I paid the girl at the door and when I stepped into the club, I was met with a wall of smoke and a blast from the past. The club was blaring a bumping remix of the Nine Inch Nails song “Wish.” The very song tattooed on Javier’s wrist. The song I picked out for him, the one, Trent Reznor sings, without a soul.

“Miss?” one of the security guards was waving me over to him. I shook myself out of my daydream.

“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I need to be screened?”

“It will only take a second,” the man said and started waving the metal detector over my arms and legs while another man went through my purse. As predicted, the detector beeped when he scanned my chest.

The guard looked a bit embarrassed. “Uh, are you wearing a metal bra?”

“Does it look like I’m wearing a bra?” I said, pushing my chest out, making him notice that the dress was cut down to my navel. “It’s my nipple ring.”

The guards exchanged a look while the other gave me back my purse.

“Do I need to show you?” I asked. Even in the dark blue lights of the club, I could tell his face was darkening. “I mean, if you look close enough, you can see through the fabric.” I stretched it across my breast so he could see the shape of the ring poking through. That was enough for him.

He waved me away. “That’s okay, you’re clear.”

I smiled and thanked them, making my way over to the large bar by the dance floor. It was still a bit early so there was a stool available at the end. Besides, it looked like most of the people there were in groups, filling up booths or yelling “Fist fuck!” out on the dance floor. I ordered a rum and coke from the bartender and watched everyone, the sweaty moves, the flying hair, the lust for each other, for Mexico. I was being speared by small bouts of jealousy, that these people could be having fun and finding love and living life and I was about to offer myself, a lamb to the biggest baddest wolf of all.

I stared down at my drink, lost in my thoughts, in my shame. I was only interrupted to be hit on by a few Mexican guys, the “porteños” that Javier “warned” me about. They were local but harmless, not drug lords, just young guys having fun and looking for American tail.

It was when I finished my second drink and had to break the seal that it happened. I was leaving the bathroom, heading back to my spot at the bar when I saw him.

Travis.

Oh my god, Travis.

He was walking down the stairs leading from his private area at the top.

He was looking right at me.

I only had a second to recognize him, to take him in. That’s all I allowed myself or I would have frozen there on the spot and given myself away. I would have lost it all.

He was as I remembered him, but almost taller in a way. I know that was impossible but that’s what it was like. Thin, straight up and down, in a black suit that made him look slightly sideways. He looked about sixty years old, grey hair slicked back with gel that accentuated his widow’s peak; a handsome man who carried the same kind of feral elegance that Javier did. I could see people underestimating him, not seeing the danger.

But here, in this city, everyone knew who he was. Everyone knew the danger. He could order anyone in the club to be shot and there would be absolutely nothing anyone could do about it. It wouldn’t even get reported to the police and if it did, the police would turn a blind eye. This man held the power of a small universe in his thin, tanned hands.

And he saw me. Or, at least he saw my dress. While his dark, cold eyes were distracted by my breasts, I looked at the bar and kept walking. I didn’t dare look at him again or anywhere else. I kept my sweating hands as loose to my sides as possible, trying desperately not to clench them in case he was watching my every move.

When I got back to my seat, the bartender asked if I was alright. I smiled quickly and told him I’d better slow down my drinking. He gave me a bottle of water and a glass of orange juice.

A million feelings worked their way through me as I felt my heart lower itself into my chest, my lungs widening enough for air. I’d seen him and survived. But this was only the beginning. There was no telling what I’d have to do.

It was funny, when I heard Javier tell me what happened to his sister and her family, I felt anger and sorrow for them. When I heard Amandine explain the decline of her beloved city, I felt the need to straighten out the injustice. Yet I did not feel the anger and the horror of my own wounds, my own place in all of this. It was like what he did to young Ellie Watt had happened to someone else, some poor eleven-year-old girl whom I felt bad for but had no connection to.

Now, now it was all different. Now I felt the rage pulsing through me. I felt the urge to grab the nearest sharp object and spear it into his jugular. I wanted to cut his balls off and feed it to him. I wanted to make him pay for everything he did to me, that one act of violence to a helpless child, an act that ruined her life, her character, her very soul. I wanted revenge for that, for the pain I still felt in my leg when it was raining, for the scars I had to endure, that showed the world just how ugly I was inside, how ugly he made me.

I had to get out of there before I did something stupid.

I leaned over to the bartender and slipped him a twenty dollar bill as a tip.

“Thank you for your service, have a good night.”

And then I left. My eyes were cast on the ground but I still felt Travis looking at me, from somewhere.

The feeling followed me down the street until I turned the corner and got in Javier’s car.

CHAPTER TWENTY

CAMDEN

There was something different. The car had stopped. In the distance, I could hear people hooting and hollering.

Gus was getting out of the car.

“Wait,” I cried out, my voice groggy. “I’m going with you.”

He paused and looked at me. “You look like shit, Camden. You have to stay here.”

I shook my head and sat up. My shoulder ached, my head hurt, everything was moving out of the corner of my vision. I didn’t care.

“I am going with you. I will not let the chance to see Ellie go by. What if …” What if it’s my last chance to see her again?, I finished in my head.

Gus waited a few beats, chewing on his lip, his bushy mustache moving in and out. Finally he said, “I couldn’t stop you even if I tried. I don’t think anything will ever stop you.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. He helped pull me out of the car and I let out a small yelp of pain as my shoulder got caught on the seatbelt.

“Easy now,” he warned.

“Got any of those painkillers?”

He brought out a packet from his pocket and shook it. “Oxymorphone. You can’t drink on it. That’s what Carlotta told me. Of course it doesn’t say that on the label because not many dogs drink.”

“Just give me the drugs,” I grunted.

He thrust them in my hands and I chewed two, grimacing through the bitterness.

“Also, you’re only supposed to take one,” he added.

I glared at him. “Unless you’re the guy who got shot, shut up.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if you collapse in the middle of Veracruz because of an opiate high, you’re on your own.”

I had a feeling he meant it.

It took no time at all for the high to kick in and the pain to go away. We had a long walk ahead of us into the city though, having parked in a small suburb close by. I felt like I was bouncing on air instead of dirty streets, the garbage blowing in the light breeze looking beautiful. Everything was beautiful, from the perfume of hot asphalt and night-blooming flowers to the ornate streetlamps that lit up the colonial-style buildings as we got closer to the city. Really fucking pretty.

It was about that time that the euphoric effects of the drug started to wear off and the dirt and grit of the city became a reality. The pain was gone but the picture became real. We were here. We were going to a drug lord’s nightclub to find my woman and bring her home.

We got a few curious glances from people as we walked through the city but not enough to arouse suspicion. Gus looked like your average grumpy fat man in his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt, a different print than the other, pink and orange. He must have had a closet full of them. I had my black cargo shorts and a long-sleeved plaid shirt that Gus must have pulled from deep inside my bag when they cut off my old shirt to operate. I still had my arm in a sling, but at least it was black. I looked like a hipster that broke his arm at a Vampire Weekend concert or some shit like that.

The Zoo was at the Zócalo, a square on Independencia Street near the harbor. It was pretty, black and white tiles in the middle, lined with busy cafés, palm trees and beautifully arched buildings that glowed white and yellow in a slew of lights. A stoic cathedral looked over the whole scene. People were dancing, music was playing. It was Friday night in Veracruz and we were two of the few tourists not looking for a good time.

“How’s your arm?” Gus asked.

“I’m no longer high but I’m not in any pain.”

We were approaching The Zoo, a small building at one end of the square. The line-up outside looked ridiculously long. I hadn’t been to many clubs in my life time, but back in LA I knew a line-up like that meant at least an hour wait. There was a chance we would miss her.

“What are your thoughts?” I asked, looking around as we walked together. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary but then again, I didn’t know who else I was looking for aside from Ellie. I didn’t know what Travis looked like, though I sure as hell remembered Javier.

I choked back a rush of anger. A busy square in Mexico wasn’t the place to lose it. I needed to keep my head clear and sharp. I could daydream about a million ways to torture Javier Bernal after I saw Ellie.

“Going into the club might not be a good idea,” Gus said. “I don’t know what their plan is but us strolling in there might put Ellie in jeopardy. It would probably be almost midnight before we got inside anyway.”

I nodded at a café nearby. “How about we sit there and have a few beers, just two guys kicking back. Keep our eyes open.”

Considering how packed and popular the area was, we had to wait ten minutes before one of the outdoor tables finally cleared, but when it did, it was worth it. The table was right along the edge, giving us a great view of the club’s line-up. We were far enough away that we would blur into the café crowd if anyone was looking at us, but close enough that I could spot Ellie or Javier if I had to.

As much as I wanted us to look like two guys kicking back, tourists having a nice night out in Veracruz, I was a nervous, anxious wreck. I couldn’t even drink because of the drugs so I had copious cups of strong coffee which really didn’t help. I sat there, my leg bouncing up and down, trying to converse with Gus, unable to tear my eyes away from the building.