I open my eyes. It's morning.
I leave the motel after breakfast. The map and guidelines given to me by Hugo 1 and the receptionist lead me to a city. A village. A town? I should probably call it a villa, but that cannot describe this place. It's a city in a city.
I hit a road block in front of the villa- city in a city would be a better name, I guess. Perfect. I have to go through security. But what do you expect from a group of people planning to destroy the Earth?
A man in a black suit walks up to me. 'Who are you? What business do you have here?'. His expression is askance and his voice is super-harsh. 'I'm looking for a job. I heard that this place has a lot of workers. I want to be a plus one'.
Wrong lie. That's probably not how things work here.
He looks at the car.
Yup, not how things work here.
'And you have such an expensive car?'.
Good point.
'I had it before I lost my job'. 'And who told you we're looking for new workers? If we need, we'll post them online'. I nod. 'I agree to the fact that I was wrong. But please. We're talking about me here. I'm useless. I slept in this car last night, and the night before. And the night before that. And...'.
He raises a hand, indicating that I keep quiet. I belie my smile as I hold my mouth. He's taken the bait. 'I will inform the head. Stay here, or leave if you want to'.
Like I would, I say in my head, then move my head up and down twice, looking as innocent as I can.
He goes away, and after some minutes come back. 'You are not permitted. Leave'. 'What?'. After all my hard work. I'm itching to bring out my gun. I'll just shoot and run. It's easy, isn't it?
'Oh come on sir. I can't sleep in the car again. Look, this clothes are my last good pair. I have no other one. If I can't get money in two days I'm going to rot. Please. You know the meaning of hunger and thirst, don't you?'.
The man does something I've hated ever since I landed in the orphanage; he brings out fifty pesos. 'Here. Chew on this. When we need someone, we'll contact people'. He throws it into through the window and moves away. I stare at the money for some time, not believing my eyes, then I literally jump out. Next thing, in the twinkle of an eye, the man is lying on the floor and I'm running like I'm almost to the finish line of a race. I'm running the race with thirty other people. Thirty other people who want to kill me.
So I shot the guy. So what?
I look back for a second and frown when I see that two of the men have entered into my baby, then fire twice at the front tires. I can cry later. The car swerves to a cluster of trees. I hope it's the end of the story for those guys. But not for my car. It had better not be the end of the road for my car.
Three men overtake their counterparts as they pursue me. I look for an exit; a crack, anything. It's like luck had to bounce against me today; there's none.
So I keep running because my life depends on it, and shooting at them because my life depends on it.
Finally, I see a diversion. Some Cuban dancers. Hey, they're dancing the Habanera. Perfect. I dive headfirst into their group, then join the dance. Told you it'd come in handy.
I move to the rhythm, almost forgetting that there are twenty-eight men on my trail. Then I hear something thrust into someone. I know that sound very well. Everyone around me stops dancing and looks in my direction. I turn back too. One of the men just stabbed a dancer. I see why. I have a lookalike. Unfortunately for the lookalike I also have haters.
The culprit of the murder drops his knife and looks at everyone too. The corpse falls to the floor, her expression one of shock. The dancers stand still, looking like they are trying to process what just happened.
Immediately I sidle out of the crowd, partially looking around to be sure there aren't some other men with daggers waiting for me in the crowd. Three minutes later I hear shouts and scrapings. That guy will not live long; I tell ya.
I keep running until I bump into a huge guy. As he turns, I recognize his outfit. Bad guy. I sneak past and take off again. By now, I'm dripping of sweat and I stink. I need a bath. But not when there are over twenty humans looking for me.
I spot some of them trying to make their rifles hidden while I'm gasping for breath. One sights me and signals to his counterparts. I sigh. Not again. I start running and they follow me.
I find some drums arranged from smallest to biggest. The owner must be very neat and orderly. Well, sorry to burst his/her bubble. I hit the biggest and the others follow. I jump over them and keep running. So I was taught hurdling during my training with Ryan and Ian Deville. To be honest I learnt how to play every sport or game there is in life. Even the ones that don't exist.
I look back and see some of them trip and fall. Great. But there's no time for a smirk. Cuban children look at me as I run. Black and white children. Some look Mexican. They speak in rapid Spanish and laugh. I grimace and enter an alley. They appear at the right time.
I'm able to lose the remaining men and I make my way to the motel. My baby's missing. My baby's missing! Note; By my baby, I mean my car. If I find those men who took it still alive, they're going off the face of the earth. I walked almost a mile and ran through the rest. It's not easy.
The receptionist smiles at me as I walk in. I'm too tired to smile back. She hands a little towel and an envelope to me. I use the towel to wipe my sweaty face- not that it does anything to it- then concentrate on the envelope.
'Who sent this?'. 'It was a lady, ma'am. She said that you'd identify her the moment you read it'.
And you collected it?! I'm tempted to yell. Instead I force a smile and leave the reception.
I close the door and stare at the envelope. It's like an anaconda is in front of me. I can't open it.
Open it, my mind says.
I can't.
Why?
Shut up, I reply and toss the envelope into a miniature shredder I created for myself. One of its contents flies out and I jump. Then I look closely.
Someone has been taking shots of me.
I quickly stop the shredder and look through the half photos. Me with the dancers. Me running. Me shooting. Me.
At the bottom of each one, there's a letter. P.
P? Of all the codes to crack I was given P? There's Paul, Praise, Paolo...Jeez so many names. Who knows if this is a name anyway?
Sometimes I just wish to see and ice the person. Then I'd be done with it. Right?
I know I'm not safe again. I pick my bag, arrange my belongings, and leave the room. Once again, the receptionist manufactures another smile. I might get a headache from seeing them smile like this. Is there a smile-training school or something around here?
'You're leaving; I suppose', she says, still smiling. I nod. 'Yes. Thanks a lot for your hospitality'. 'But you paid for a week. It has only been three days'. 'Let's just say the rest is a bonus for this place. Bye'. I slide a tip and pass through the exit.