Page 25 of Saving Hanna
Chapter Eighteen
HANNA
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re taking about. I don’t work for anyone. I am a waitress and don’t know anyone.” What was the matter with these losers? Didn’t they get it?
Laying in the back seat of the car with a Hispanic guy holding a gun to my head to make sure I remained there, I had no idea what they wanted with me. The way they were questioning me, it was almost as if they thought I was staking them out. I knew I should have ignored the gunshot and minded my own business. These guys must have been high or stupid because nothing I said was getting through to their fried brains.
As afraid as I was, I wasn’t about to let them know that. I could string them along until someone found me, but I didn’t know what information they were looking for. I’ve watched enough cop shows to know that once you gave them the information they needed, you were dead. I guessed I could lie to them and tell them what I thought they wanted to hear.
Thinking about what I could say, I realized the only person that could help me out was Aiden. I needed to think about how to use this situation to my benefit. It was then that I came up with an idea. A way that I could bring Aiden to me and not get killed. Knowing the intellect of these men, they would probably believe anything.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “You will never find him. He only talks to me, and only in person.”
There were a few words exchanged and I wished I paid more attention in my Spanish class. There were only a couple of words that I knew:puta, coño, creer,all of which gave me a pretty good idea that they didn’t believe me.
Pretending that I knew exactly what they were talking about, I said, “Look, I don’t care if you believe me or not. It’s your choice. And for god’s sake, would you please stop calling me a cunt bitch?”
“How do we get in touch with thispendejo?” the driver asked.
“He will only talk to me, so I would need to call him,” I replied, knowing that I didn’t have my phone. “Pull over and I will call him right now.”
I think that the driver was deciding on whether to pull over or not. When he began shaking his head from left to right instead of up and down, I knew there was no way he was going to pull over. I had no idea where I was going, but maybe I could at least convince them to let me sit up.
“My body is getting pretty cramped down here. Can you please let me sit up?”
Once again, a few words were exchanged and after everything had been said, I was allowed to sit up. Looking out the front window, I wasn’t sure where we were, but I knew that we were in Houston. Tall building could be seen, and even though I knew we weren’t on a busy road, we were close to downtown.
Leaning against the back seat, the driver’s eyes met mine in the review mirror. I wasn’t sure what his deal was, but I could tell that he was thecabecillaof this whole thing. The other guy holding the gun didn’t seem smart enough to be the ringleader, and the way his eyes kept opening and closing, I wasn’t sure if he should be the one holding the gun.
There were no more words said and the silence was killing me. I hated not knowing where we were going or what their plan was with me. All I knew was that the dead guy in the trunk needed to be taken somewhere. Maybe they already knew what they were going to do with him. Turning down a residential street, the driver of the car stopped suddenly as though he had reached his destination.
“Juan, give me the gun and help our friend to his home,” the driver commanded as he put the car into park.
“How come I always have to do the dirty work, Fernando? You’re the one who shot him.” Juan questioned.
These guys were really stupid because now I knew their names. Maybe they didn’t care. Maybe it didn’t matter since they were going to kill me. Staring down the barrel of the pistol, I sat still. The last thing I wanted was to make any sudden moves and have a bullet in my head like the poor guy in the trunk.
Turning my head slightly, I watched Juan drag the limp body up the sidewalk and to the porch. As I looked around, I saw that this was another not-so-desirable area of Houston. Most of the homes had bars on the windows and the doors. I remember reading in history class about these kinds of neighborhoods and the statistics that went along with them. Kids growing up in poverty areas like these have no chance at a real life. If they aren’t initiated into some sort of gang, they end up being killed in the crossfire, or in the dead guy’s case, becoming a drug dealer.
When Juan returned to the car, leaving the dead guy propped up to the front door, Fernando honked the horn and sped away before the door to the house opened. I looked out the back window and could only imagine how the family of the house felt. When the outside lights came on, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of a woman screaming. I never saw her face since the door had blocked the view, but there was no doubt she was either a mother, sister, or wife.
~*~*~*~
It seemed as though we had been driving for hours when Fernando finally stopped in front of another house that looked like a shit hole. Getting out of the car, he ordered Juan to make sure to keep the gun on me and to shoot me if I tried to get away. Even if I did manage to get away, where the hell would I go? This neighborhood was even scarier than mine.
As we walked to the door, Fernando in front with me in the middle and Juan behind, I could see that there were lights on in the house. I was afraid to see what was on the other side of the door. Opening the door, Fernando began yelling, “Ese.”
Giving another Hispanic guy a shoulder to shoulder hug and a weird handshake, I knew that this guy was his homie. Stepping in the house behind Fernando, there was money all over the place and lots of it. Hispanic girls were lined up at a table, placing piles of bills onto a bill counter and bundling them. I had no idea that selling drugs could bring in so much money. I guess I was pretty naïve in that sense. If it weren’t for the fact that I was straight up and never got so much as a parking ticket, I would have loved to make the kind of money that was being handled. There must have been hundreds of thousands of dollars on the tables.
As they walked me toward the back of the room and down a narrow hallway, I peeked inside the rooms and found mattresses on the floors with no frames to hold them. There were pillows and blankets on them, which told me some of the people in the house must have slept there. It was actually pretty disgusting. Sharing a bed with the three cockroaches that made their appearance from under one of the blankets was not my idea of fun.
Stopping in front of a closed door in the kitchen, Fernando said, “Take her to her new home until I can deal with her,” as he looked at Juan, who was no longer pointing the gun at the back of my head.
As we headed down the stairs, I could tell they were steep and each step was the width of a two-by-four. I guess the money that came in didn’t allow for necessities, like a safer staircase to the basement. If Juan continued to shove me the way that he did, I would certainly tumble down the steps.
“Can you ease up a little? I can fall down these stairs on my own. I don’t need your help,” I spat sarcastically.
“Cállate,” he said loudly, not giving an inch to my request.
When we reached the bottom, he pulled a string that was hanging from the ceiling that turned on the light. The one and only room was filthy. There was garbage everywhere, like it had been the used as a dumping ground for all the trash. Kicking the bags of garbage to the side, he made a path to the other side of the basement where yet another mattress laid on the floor. Above the mattress were handcuffs, which were dangling from a pipe that had been secured to the stone wall. It was then that I knew where my new home would be.
Pushing me onto the bed, Juan ordered me to cuff myself. Grabbing each cuff, I slapped them around each wrist. As I sat on the filthy mattress, I wished I had never looked out the front window of my house.
