Page 15 of The Perfect Stranger

Chapter Five

Six and half hours later we landed in Ecuador. Before we headed to our final destination, I had one very important stop to make. After giving our driver the address of our first stop, he put on the brakes, waved his hands and repeated one word.

“No.”

I expected this. Most folk wanted to keep their noses clean and in the seedy parts of town, only the brave ventured.

“I have family,” he pleaded.

“You will be safe,” I guaranteed, meeting his gaze in the rear view mirror. He gave me a pointed look, unconvinced of my assurance.

“It’s too dangerous. No one…” he gestured around at all the other drivers waiting for passengers, “…will take you to that, barrio.”

“Just drop us off a block before and wait for us.” I took his hand and placed two hundred US dollars in his palm. His eyes widened in wonderment, fingers tightly circling the bills.

“One block before and no further?” he asked.

“And you wait for us?”

“Yes, I will wait.”

Forty minutes later, our driver pulled over, stopping on a busy road. The traffic flowed in a manic fashion and beggars lined the streets hassling others in the same financial predicament as them for money. Gangsters huddled around those they were striking deals with and the place reeked of sewerage and month old garbage.

“Choice, bro,” Jase announced, tone loaded with sarcasm. His gaze scanned the street sussing out any potential threat.

Leaning forward in the backseat I eyeballed our driver in the rear view mirror. “What’s your name?”

“Benito,” he answered cautiously.

“Benito, I don’t know how long, but stay here until we return.”

“Yes, yes.” He nodded with urgency, wishing for a quick end to his shift.

Jase and I hit the pavement at speed dodging beggars, abandoned screaming children and drug-hazed prostitutes. The heat bore down on us, the undesirables of the city watching us with keen interest. After asking some begrudging bystanders if we were close to the address, we finally landed in front of a numberless ramshackle of a building in the back streets. While traffic was scarce in these parts, we could feel eyes watching from every dark crevice. Somewhere in the neighborhood, a dog’s irate bark was echoing between the buildings.

“This is where people disappear, bro.” Jase’s forehead was beading in sweat under the unbearable sun.

“Let’s just get in and out.” I knocked twice on the heavy metal door that had lines of paint stripping off. “I’d like to say this was our biggest challenge, but…”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck doing things in halves.”

“You know it.”

The small eye hole slid open, and a pair of bloodshot eyes met ours. “Que?”

“En busca de Enrique.”

“You American?”

“Yes.”

“Name?”

“Antonio Suárez.”

The eye disappeared, the hole recovered. We waited, a cautious glance passing between us. Eventually, the deadbolt unlocked and the creaky door swung open. Greeting us was the man with the bloodshot eyes, bearing an AK-47 over one shoulder, a finger caressing the trigger.

Another man emerged from the shadows and through the door causing us to take a step back on the cracked pavement.

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