Zona 8, the passing buildings turned bleaker and the streets narrower. The driver pulled up to the bus station and Meredith paid him, climbing out with one eye on her surroundings. The sun had come out and it was steamy, the smell of dust and smoke heavy all around. There was always something burning in Guatemala City. She entered the bus station and the haze actually seemed stronger inside.
Five hours later she got off the bus in Huehuetenango.
She went into the nearest bathroom and took off the jeans and T-shirt she’d traveled in, replacing them with the short skirt and tight halter she’d bought earlier that morning. Lining her eyes with a dark pencil, she added another layer of mascara, then pulled her hair to one side with a wide rubber band. She took her shoes from the bag last of all. They were custom-made heels; the sole was as thin as a wafer and so was the blade it concealed. She checked the edge and handle carefully and then slipped the weapon back into its hidden compartment.
Judging from the looks she got when she came out, her transformation was a good one. She hoped the guards at the prison would think so, too, but her thoughts were interrupted as a man approached her.
He appeared familiar, then she remembered that Barrisito had told her he was sending his brother to meet her. The dark eyes that met hers were a mirror image of the man who’d warned her against coming.
His gaze went over her body then came back to her face. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
He was as outspoken as his brother. “I can take care of myself,” she said. “You just get me in.”
He led her to his vehicle in silence, their conversation over. A few minutes later he pulled up in front of a small run-down hotel. A fountain bubbled quietly in the courtyard beside the street and the walls were covered with a thick green vine but nothing could hide the air of seedy despair that hung over it. A group of women were huddled next to a waiting van and they looked up as Barrisito’s brother pulled his SUV up to the curb.
“That’s them,” he said.
Meredith ran her eyes over the scantily clad women. She would have known who they were without his input.
“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She turned back to the man beside her. “Don’t be late. Will this be the vehicle?”
“No, this is my car. I’ll have another one for you.”
“Make sure it’s gassed up. I don’t want to have to stop between here and Guatemala City. Do you know where to leave it?”
“Sí, entiendo.” His voice was sullen. He didn’t like taking orders from a woman. “It will be there and the tank will be full. But you will not be needing it, I tell you the truth.”
She paused, her hand on the latch. “And why is that?”
“You won’t be coming back,” he said smugly. “Menchez’s men are no fools. They will know you are not who you say you are.”
Leaning toward him, she held his gaze in the rearview mirror. “There’s only one way they would know that and that’s if you tell them. Should that happen, I’ll return to make sure you don’t do it again.” She waited for her words to soak in. “Do you understand me?”
“I understand.”
She didn’t smile. “Bueno. I wouldn’t want to have to give your brother bad news when I return to the city.”
“I would not want that, either.”
“Then keep your mouth shut,” she said, her voice hard. “And have my car waiting.”
THE WOMEN DIDN’T greet Meredith. They were experienced enough, if not old enough, to know it was best to ignore her. She represented the unknown and therefore, the dangerous. Still, she found herself wondering which one of them had told Barrisito’s hooker about the gringo she’d seen. It wouldn’t have hurt to have a friend in the group, but Meredith knew even better than they did that strangers were to be avoided.
The driver herded them into the van, passing out dirty black scarves as they climbed inside. Meredith watched as one by one, the women wrapped the rags around their eyes. She followed suit but when she saw the driver wasn’t going to check she left hers loose enough to see through. The woman beside her did the same. They exchanged a quick look before the woman turned away, Meredith’s impression of her forming quickly out of necessity. Bored and already jaded, she was probably in her thirties but she could just as easily have been nineteen or fifty, her dark, long hair and slanted eyes giving away little more than her Indian heritage.
The van took the main road out of town, then went north about three miles, the pavement giving way to a dirt-rutted road. Meredith noted the intersection then turned her eyes to the foliage outside the window. The farther they went, the thicker it became, the branches of the rubber trees leaning over and scraping the windows as if to ask for sanctuary from the endless jungle. The driver slowed after five long minutes then turned left sharply. The van ground to a halt shortly after that, the brakes’ squeaky protest announcing their arrival.
The women pulled off their masks and their purses came out, the smell of cheap perfume filling the air as they sprayed their necks and reapplied their lipstick. When the van’s door opened, they passed through it in a cloud of cloying sweetness and Max Factor.
Ten yards from the bus, a single guard stood beside a rusting metal fence while another one sat behind a rickety desk. The women presented their purses to one and their bodies to the other, each searched with a thoroughness that would have done the airport screeners back in the U.S.A. proud. Meredith’s turn came up quickly.
The man’s hands were rough and impersonal as he patted down her sides and hips then felt under her breasts. His breath was a mixture of stale beer and strong garlic. She let him do his job, then she stepped back and sucked in a lung full of air. He threw a comment over her shoulder to the man at the desk. His words were in Mam, a local dialect but the meaning was clear; she’d passed. She stared straight ahead like the novice she was supposed to be, moving only after he jerked his head for her to go on, switching to Spanish. “Pase adelante.”
She stepped inside the prison and surveyed the grounds.
The description she’d gotten from the hooker had been accurate, she saw with relief. A fenced-in area opened out before her, the lot roughly forty-by-forty with a packed dirt floor and abandoned guard towers at either end. To her right was a cracked sidewalk lit by a row of bare lightbulbs hanging overhead. A half-dozen concrete benches were nearby, two broken-down picnic tables beside them. On the opposite side of the sidewalk was a small, open-air cinder-block building with peeling paint and four doors made of hanging fabric. An ancient fan sat on the crosspiece above each scrap of material, their blades rattling softly. This was where the women saw their clients.
She looked past the immediate area to the prison beyond. Behind another fence was a larger building that obviously contained the celdas and a second open area that looked like a soccer field. Men were filing into it slowly. The only guards she saw were the two behind her, but she assumed there were others nearby. There were no offices or administrative structures, in fact, there was nothing around that looked official in any way. Barrisito’s explanation had been right on target.
When the visitors were all inside, the gate squeaked open at the other end of the compound and the prisoners spilled out into the courtyard. The women pushed forward and Meredith allowed them to carry her the same direction. The two groups met in the center of the dust-filled yard and chaos took
