But, by the sixth day, I was bored. I decided to spend some energy preparing for Rex’s return—I talked Maria into making his favorite foods, and I wanted to show off what I’d learned in his absence. As I looked through my outfits, I found the perfect dress to wear for him. Rex loved my curves to be wrapped in soft, billowy fabrics, so a gorgeous emerald green silk gown would be perfect. Except…it washed out my pale skin. With an idea in my impulsive head, I searched the expansive house until I found Nate.
“I need you to take me into town—I want to buy some makeup for Rex’s welcome home.”
He stared at me—my attempt at sounding casual didn’t work.
He shook his head slowly from side to side. “No way—you can’t leave the compound.”
“Ugh!” I stomped my foot like a toddler. “Why?” I whined.
“You can’t be recognized.”
“Coolio—we’ll disguise me. C’mon, please?” I tried to work the pouty lips on him.
“Penny,” he sighed, “Rex will kill me.”
“He won’t know. I’m going crazy in the house! You both said I’m not a prisoner—I live here. I can leave here as I please, Rex said so himself.”
“I’ll go get you makeup, babe. The village isn’t very big, there aren’t many choices anyway.”
“No, I want to pick it out. If you won’t take me, I’ll go alone.” I crossed my arms. I meant it—I was getting out of the house for a few hours, no matter what.
“Penny, you’re determined to get me into a lot of trouble. Come on, let’s find a hat. I think the gardener is small; his clothes might fit you. Keep that blonde mane of hair under the hat, and don’t take off the sunglasses.”
Half an hour later, with my disguise in place, Nate drove us to town in a pickup truck used by the landscapers. The village was small—I’d never seen anything like it. There were fruit stalls, vegetable vendors, a man selling live chickens, and a few small mom and pop type shops littering a dusty main road. “This is it?” I asked incredulously. “Yeah, we live out pretty remote, but it’s not that far to Medellin. That’s where the plane is, and if we need more supplies than the town can provide, that’s where we head. We also order stuff—delivery is pretty good. Your clothes came from Bogotá pretty quickly.”
We parked the truck along the side of the road and walked along a dirt path toward a small drugstore. “This is it, babe—all the makeup in the village.” We wandered the dusty store, the young woman behind the counter addressing Nate by name in English. “Juana, this is my cousin, James. Oh yeah, he’s here to go to Rex’s survival trek. Listen, we want to buy some cosmetics for a costume thing we’re having.” She smiled wide at Nate and scurried over, excited to have his attention and completely ignoring me. I pointed to a few things, and within fifteen minutes we were leaving the small shop with a paper sack full of drugstore makeup. I’d never been so excited about getting a ten dollar eyeliner in my life. In fact, I’d never actually worn a ten-dollar eyeliner.
“Happy now?” He slipped the paper sack into his rucksack. “Yes,” I nodded, leaning up to kiss him before he held his hand up to stop me. “Whoa, cousin James,” he reminded me. “Oops,” I giggled. “Let’s get some fruit salad,” he said, guiding me across the street to a fruit stand. “That sounds too healthy,” I moaned—I liked junk food. “Not this, you’ll see.”
“Do you speak much Spanish?”
“No, a few words here and there I’ve picked up. Rex is fluent, though.”
We walked up to the rickety wooden fruit stall. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to eat the food there. “Dos ensaladas de frutes, por favor,” he said to the vendor. The man put two large scoops of ice cream in two Styrofoam bowls, covered them in cream, added chopped fruit, and finished the concoction with some sort of creamy cheese. He put a plastic spoon in each and, after Nate paid for them, handed them to us. I was skeptical, but the treat was delicious. “I’d eat this every day,” I raved. “See? I’ll confess I’m not a huge fan of Colombian food, but there are some gems.” I took a big bite, and confessed, “I guess I expected tacos, margaritas, tortillas, and—”
“Penny, you do realize that Colombia is not in Mexico, right?”
“Yes, it’s just—I guess I’m not very well traveled when it comes to Central or South America. I’ve been to Europe, but my parents usually left me with nannies when they traveled.”
“I remember your mom,” Nate said, “she seemed like a decent lady. I’m sorry you lost her so young.”
“Me too,” I said with sadness. “Mom was amazing, but my father never really seemed to have much use for me, and as she got weaker with illness, he had less and less use for her, too.”
“That’s horrible. Listen, Penny, I don’t want to go into it here, but there’s stuff about your father that you’ll find out that will shock you. His business…Well, I’ll just say he’s involved in some pretty shady stuff.”
“Is that why someone wanted me kidnapped and killed?” I asked him pointedly.
“Yes. I don’t know the details, but I’m sure it’s tied into your father.”
We walked along the dusty road, eating our fruit salads and watching the kids play in the street. “What else is there to do here in the village,” I asked, kicking a rock out of my path. “Well, there’s a fight club up the hill.”
“A what? Like in the movie?” I was shocked.
“No, it’s more like a boxing gym, but they have a ring where guys will sometimes fight. The locals place bets, it’s great practice—and you’ll need practice soon.”
“I’m not fighting anyone, Nathaniel, no fucking way.”
He laughed and patted me on the shoulder. “No, cousin, of course not yet. I was teasing. Not as a boy, anyway. I wouldn’t mind getting a round or two in before we go back, though.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s a really bad idea. Let’s go on back…”
He grabbed my arm and tugged me to the end of the street, through a run-down fence, and down a long path strewn with garbage. At the end, a large metal building sat. It looked more like a massive industrial storage facility than a gym to me. “So you train here?” I asked nervously. “I’ve done some training with these guys, but I mostly come here to practice. A few quick rounds of bareknuckle, and back we go.”
He knocked on the heavy metal door, and when a large man answered, he gave a password and we were allowed in. The place was hot—hot, wet, and reeked of sweat. I had to cover my nose to avoid vomiting. Nate pointed to a folding metal chair at the side of an elevated boxing ring surrounded by a metal wire fence. “Wait there,” he instructed.
Nate walked over and talked to a skinny man who seemed to be in charge, who pointed to another man about Nate’s size who was working out on a shredded punching bag hung from the ceiling with a chain. Nate nodded, and began to undress. My hand was still over my nose—the stench of the place causing the cream from the fruit salad in my stomach to churn.
A group of men, most dressed like cowboys and smoking cigarettes, gathered around the ring where Nate, stripped down to a pair of white boxer-briefs, and the other man, in a dingy pair of briefs that appeared to not have been washed in decades, prepared for their fight.
The men placed their bets with a smoking man at a cash window, and stood around the ring. Nate and the man began to box, bare fisted, which quickly turned to kicking as well in some sort of mixed martial arts type sport. The man, who the spectators called Tito, got a good kick into Nate’s face, and his nose bled as they continued to fight. The sight of bright red blood flowing down Nate’s perfectly chiseled face upset me, and I worried about our safety as the men became louder and more aggressive.
The fight seemed to me to go on forever, with Nate emerging as the superior fighter. Tito flailed, and threw constant kicks and punches, but Nate was more of a tactician and waited to get the most impact from his efforts. As the fight drug on, Tito was visibly tiring. The throng of men howled and jeered, shouting at Tito—they’d bet on him and weren’t happy about losing. I stood up from the metal chair as the men got more animated and angrier. I crept to the door and stood facing the ring. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up even though it was steamily hot in the gym. We were in danger, and I was ready to run. If I had a cell phone, I’d have called Rex for help.
Nate’s designer underwear was coated with blood, but it was Tito’s blood. With a solid hit to his nose, the man fell and didn’t get up. I was relieved; it was nearly over. Until—another man walked into the ring. Fully clothed, wearing heavy cowboy boots, he swung at Nate, hitting him hard across the cheek, blood spurting from the cut. The gang of men didn’t care about the rules—they were going to beat the shit out of the rich white American. I screamed for Nate, begged them to stop, but the fight continued. Nate was holding his own, but I was horrified of what would happen if Tito stood up.