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The passenger nods, relaying to the driver what we’re looking for.
Three hours in a van with three strange men and I get fucking nothing. It feels like a waste of time, but I do know that we’re currently driving through a city that is very much an epicenter for crimes against people. If I can’t find my adventure with Ryder, then I know it won’t take long for me to find it elsewhere.
Just the thrill of going out on my own, knowing I can’t call Alan any longer when I get in trouble, makes my blood pump harder, my heart race faster.
Maybe this adventure will be my last. The idea of it makes me smile.
Ryder takes it as me being pleased with him as the van rolls to a stop near the sidewalk. The sun has gone down, and that means the smarter, more diligent civilians of Tamaulipas are safely tucked away at home. The people remaining are the ones looking for trouble. This is my kind of place.
As we step inside, the bar isn’t too crowded, but it does take a while for the bartender to give us an ounce of his time. I glare at the man when he looks me up and down, his gaze locking on my chest before finding my eyes. Nice doesn’t always get the job done. Sometimes you have to be mean, push a little, to get the desired results.
This bartender knows things, knows people and their business. I want to be on his radar.
Ryder? He’s a fucking chump, but from the whispers going on around me, he may not be as safe as he’s convinced himself he is. According to one man, he’s in the way of getting me on my back. His friend agrees, but neither of them make any moves to rid me of Ryder.
With as much of an American accent as I can manage, I call the bartender an asshole in Spanish when he finally slides my drink over to me. The guy chuckles, shaking his head as he walks away.
I get nothing from him but bad service.
I’m not going to find what I need in this place, but at the same time, I also feel a little guilty at leaving Ryder to the wolves. American women are considered a profit around here, easily exchanged for goods or services. The feistier they are, the more money they bring. American men are looked at like the police, useless and in the way. They spell trouble and are sometimes taken care of quicker than the women. You chase ants with a magnifying glass. The game is torture. Snakes have their heads cut off because they pose the real danger.
Boredom sinks deep inside of me to the point I’m actually starting to regret coming along for this lackluster adventure.
I could be trying to find Angel and killing him for the shit he put me through last night.
Making love?
The man really is a fucking psycho, unlike all the idiots in this fucking place.
“I’ve got to go to the restroom,” I tell Ryder, leaving my glass on the bar.
He nods at me, his eyes on the television above the bar, showing replays of a soccer game.
I won’t be coming back, and that’s a shame because there’s a real chance someone, not likely Ryder’s dull ass, will drug my drink. I just can’t stomach the lackluster way my day has gone.
The women’s bathroom is just as disgusting as I would’ve predicted. The floors are sticky and it reeks of piss. It’s clear the men use this one as well. There’s no toilet paper in the doorless stall, nor any paper towels at the discolored sink.
This place is a shithole, exactly what I was hoping for when Ryder suggested a bar in Mexico, but I’m growing increasingly underwhelmed.
Of course there’s no latch on the window, meaning anyone can come and go as they please.
Cold, night air hits my face as I climb out.
I wonder how long Ryder will wait for me to come back or if the guys in the bar will even give him a chance before they drag him out back and beat the shit out of him.
I stumble, the tip of my shoe catching on a rock in the uneven sidewalk, as I make my way to the end of the alley.
I hear a couple catcalls, but the words translated in my head don’t seem like they will offer me what I’m looking for.
The street is crowded on either side, with buildings that practically share walls with each other. They could either be homes or businesses, or a combination of both. Concrete locks in the warmth of the sun from earlier and lacks any breeze that tries to get past.
It’s a weird vibe of quiet but not silence at the same time.
I swallow thickly as I sense someone approaching in a rush and feel just as relieved as I do disappointed when a man rides past me on a bike without so much as acknowledging that I’m there.
My heart is pumping as I wander, avoiding small groups of men who look dangerous, but give me that rape-and-kill vibe. The whole point of getting abducted is working toward taking down the men that run the organizations. Getting killed in the middle of Tamaulipas without hurting some of those men who think they can do whatever the fuck they want is never the goal. It serves no purpose. It doesn’t matter that I’m no longer with the FBI, I still want to help as much as I want to give my demons the nourishment they deserve.
I know if I do get lucky enough to end up trafficked, it’s going to be even more lackluster than the time I spent with Ryder at the bar.