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“I’m not staying here.” I shook my head. “I’d rather sleep in the sewer than risk getting whatever the hell your mother gave you when you slipped out of the gaping hole she calls a man trap.”
The driver rubbed his mouth and muttered, “I could do so many creative things to you.”
“But you won’t.” I looked over my shoulder at the man behind me. He looked to be passed out, his stupor probably brought on by the tequila bottle still clutched in his hand. I weighed my options with the driver. “Because your boss Bruno needs me to find that child. Thanks to my connections, I can, but if you so much as lay a hand on me, you can kiss your job goodbye.”
“You think you have Bruno all figured out, don’t you?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about Bruno.” I looked away. “I just want to get my cameraman back so I can get back to my own job.”
“Do you really think he’ll let you leave after?” He laughed darkly. “None of us get to leave.” That was an interesting comment. He seemed to catch what he just said and tossed his cigarette butt out the window. “Go in first, ask about the girl. La madre was seen here after she left Mexico City. It is possible they know something. Once you get the details, book us two rooms. I’ll be watching, so don’t try anything.”
I bit my lip and wondered why the child’s mother would stay at such an awful place. I figured it was a waste of time, but at least they had power here, and power meant a phone. I needed to play this correctly.
“You think some loser who spends most of his day looking through a peephole in the rooms he rents is going to remember some woman and her baby from, what, a year ago?”
“It’s a lead.”
“It’s a stupid lead. Bruno wants me to use my resources to find the kid. This,” I pointed to the motel, “is a waste of our time.”
“Maybe so,” he leaned over me and opened the door, “but we start here, and we stay here.”
“Whatever.” I grabbed my bag, but he reached for it and pulled it back.
“You try anything, and I kill you.”
I yanked my bag free and stepped out of the truck.
The smell of rotten food and cigarettes hit as I opened the door, which made my eyes water. The yellow-brown stains on the curtains confirmed the tobacco use, and the wood paneled walls were peeling at the top and bottom. I hit the bell on the desk and cringed as the soles of my boots stuck to the fibers of the rug.
“You’re an American?” a man’s voice barked. I looked up at the camera and nodded.
“We rent by the hour, señorita. Condoms are in the vending machine out back. Do you want the honeymoon package or the birthday package?”
“Do you have a burn this place down to the ground package?” My voice dripped with sarcasm, but I reined it in fast as a massive man stepped out of the office. His stomach peeked out of his t-shirt, and his belt held on for dear life.
“She might not be much, but it’s all I got.” He dropped a logbook on the counter.
“You speak very good English.”
“My mother was an American. What can I say?” He shrugged. “Your pimp give you that?”
“No, the dipshits in the truck did.” I touched my face then pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “I’m looking for any information on her.” I put the picture on the counter and felt a shred of sadness, knowing the baby’s mother was dead. Not that I was about to share that. “She’s a friend of mine, and I think she might be in trouble.” I got good at lying over the years. It was part of the job and one of the things that helped keep me alive.
“I get a lot of women coming and going from this place.” At my surprised expression, he shrugged again. “I don’t ask questions as long as they pay and don’t destroy the rooms.”
“I can’t imagine many would come to this place with a baby. No offense.”
He picked the photo up and held it close to his face. “Yeah, sure, I remember her.” He slid the twenty off the counter, and I knew he was lying. “She said something about heading to El Salvadore.”
I leaned forward and dropped my head into my hands with a long sigh. “Look, man, I’ve been through the wringer with those two morons outside. Things went from good to absolute shit once I hooked up with them. You want to know why I’m in this country?”
He shrugged but then curiosity got the best of him. “Why?”
I pulled out my press badge and handed it to him. “Finding her isn’t for my job. She’s my friend, and I need to know they are both all right. They,” I pointed over my shoulder at the truck, “have their own reasons for finding her. That’s a problem I haven’t figured out yet, but they have my cameraman hostage, and I’ve become a pawn in this entire shit storm.” I gulped in a breath. “Right now, I just want to know my friend isn’t dead with an infant in her arms. I also need a hot shower and a bed, so I beg you, please help me out.”
He studied the photo again, then looked outside, then back at me. “They did that?” He pointed to my face, and I looked away to drive the point home that I wasn’t in a good situation. “How anyone can hit a woman is,” he squeezed his eyes shut and I saw some compassion I wasn’t expecting, “sick.” He then opened his logbook, flipped back a few pages, and turned his back to me. I quickly scanned the page and stopped at the letters, TC. I traced my finger along the line and read room 402.
“She was nice.” He held out a key. “The baby was cute too. Never heard it cry the whole time.” He reached under the counter and set a cold water bottle and a prepackaged gas station sandwich in front of me. “It’s not much.” He shrugged.