“Everything’s fine,” he said as he strode toward the only yellow cab.
Power lines zigzagged above the busy road. People crowded the street, carrying grocery bags, sitting in plastic café chairs, or scrolling on their phones while standing at a dingy bus stop. Shops and cafés were painted in shades of yellow, blue, and purple, and in different stages of deterioration. Some buildings were in better upkeep than others, but all had iron bars across windows and doors, and some had circular barbed wire on their roofs.Lovely. Hopefully, wherever we stayed tonight would be in a nicer part of town.
“Last night, I read that tourists are supposed to arrive at Medellin or Bogotá airport to go through immigration,” I said. “This place doesn’t look like either of those cities. Did you bribe that man?”
We stopped at the car and a man climbed out to stand beside the open trunk.
William pulled me into a side hug and stretched out his arm, holding his phone. “Our first selfie in Colombia. Say cheese.” He grinned at the camera while I scowled at Andrew, who was showing the driver a piece of paper, presumably explaining where we needed to go. The man nodded and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Andrew loaded his bag, then took hold of my suitcase, but I didn’t let go.
“Explain your questionablebehavior with border control, or I’ll be happy to fly back to Costa Rica.”
“There’ll be time later to answer your questions. Now, please let go of your bag.”
We both knew I was bluffing. Damn it. I needed that money. I relaxed my grip, marched around the car, and slumped into the back seat. William helped Andrew load his luggage, then slid in next to me.
“This looks like a cute town,” he said.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” My stare bored into Andrew’s back as he stood outside and typed a message on his phone.
“You said the same thing when we flew into Moscow,” William said, looking for a seatbelt and then giving up because there wasn’t one.
My hand nervously twisted the bracelet on my wrist. “We didn’t have to bribe anybody to enter the country.”
Andrew took the front passenger seat and said,“¡Vámonos¡”
Never in my life had I wished more that I’d paid better attention in Spanish class in high school.
ChapterFour
The taxi zipped through the traffic as if our driver was making up the driving rules as he went while simultaneously rattling nonstop in Spanish. Perhaps he prayed because he was scared of grazing cars, jumping into oncoming traffic lanes only to swerve back into our lane, nearly missing a collision, and making me squeak “fuck!” each time. Wind from his open window tore through my unsecured hair, thwacking it against my face and making me eat some of it, too. My hands grabbed the oh-shit handle with so much force that I was sure with the next turn it would rip off.
Someone’s phone rang.
Unfazed by this death-on-wheels situation, Andrew fished his phone out of his pocket and swiped to answer.
“Hi, care bear,” he answered with a smile in his voice. “Well, that’s exciting. Did you enjoy it?” He listened, his body hardly swaying with car movements as if he were riding in a Rolls-Royce, whereas I was inside a tumbling dryer. On a roller coaster. Sideways.
“We are on our way to a museum,” he said. “Yes, similar to the one we visited in London.” He was quiet for some time. “I love you, too. Send my love to your mum.”
My heart expanded with warmth at how sweet he was to his little girl, and then it shrunk back to its prune size. If my father had ever expressed any love for me, I’d been too young to remember it. Andrew hung up, looked out the window, and took a deep breath.
For another ten minutes, we flew down narrow streets until the taxi made the last turn onto a cobblestone street and stopped next to a prominent three-story building with massive columns. Andrew spoke to the driver for several seconds and then twisted in his seat to face us.
“We shouldn’t be long. The driver will wait for us,” he said, then threw the door open and exited the car.
Oh, for crying out loud. I would rather walk than have another ride with that crazy chauffeur. I ran my fingers through my hair a few times, trying to calm down the outer—and inner—craziness the previous twenty minutes had produced. On shaky legs, I plodded to where William and Andrew were waiting for me.
“Are you okay?” William asked me as I got closer. “You look a bit pale.”
“I think I need to see a surgeon to untangle my organs after that ride,” I mumbled.
His eyes went wide. “Wasn’t that fun?”
I shot him anare you out of your mindglare. “That wasnotfun at all.”
William gripped my forearm and leaned in. “Just kidding. I’m in serious need of new underpants. If only I’d been allowed to bring all my luggage…”
Leaving the taxi idling on the street, we went up the grand stairs and entered the Museo de Historia. The hallway we filed into had little conditioned air, if any. The time-worn parquet extended down a long corridor with various doors to the left and right and a staircase at the end. The building appeared to be empty, just like its ticketing counter, but then swift steps resonated, and a stubby, round, older man with dark eyebrows and a gray, neatly trimmed beard and hair marched in our direction, his right hand stretched out in front of him.
