Brodie turned away as Taylor removed her pants and panties, but he glanced at Emilio, who was smiling.
Brodie stood with his back to Taylor as Emilio satisfied two of his desires—seeing the pretty woman naked, and humiliating her and her husband at the same time. But Brodie wasn’t humiliated; he was enraged—though he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Maybe later.
Emilio spoke to Taylor and she bent down, retrieved the keys, and walked the few feet to Emilio and handed them to him, giving him a closer look at her body, and a view of her rear as she walked back to the log.
Emilio said something, and Taylor translated: “He wants you to know he likes my body. You are a lucky man.”
“Fuck him.”
He felt Taylor’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”
Brodie looked at Emilio, who was now looking at his watch—Brodie’s watch—and Emilio barked two words at Taylor that Brodie assumed were “Get dressed.”
Obviously they were on a schedule, which could mean the boss was waiting.
Taylor quickly put her clothes and shoes back on. Brodie was sure that if they’d come into a different kind of camp—a narco camp—Emilio wouldn’t have stopped at just having Taylor strip. But this place was run by a former Army officer who, apparently, at least half remembered what he’d been taught about the treatment of prisoners, and maintaining discipline, and keeping to a schedule.
Which didn’t mean Emilio wouldn’t have his way with Ms. Taylor later. He just had to wait until the boss man gave the green light. Brodie was sure that the worst shit that happened at this camp happened by Señor Kyle’s hand, or on Señor Kyle’s order.
Emilio walked toward the door and motioned for them to follow.
They exited the hut into the glaring sun, and as Brodie’s eyes adjusted to the light he recognized the same five men from the platform who’d brought them to the prison hut.
Brodie expected that he and Taylor would have their hands bound, because hands were the most dangerous weapons, but Emilio seemed tothink that his five men with AKs were all he needed for these turistas, one of whom was a woman, and therefore not in his equation.
Emilio motioned for them to follow and he led the way, single-file down the narrow trail, then past the clearing where the Pemón women were still at work tidying up the huts—the barracks—while the men were shooting up the jungle. Brodie pictured these ladies making beds in Kavak. Maybe he’d run into them later when he and Taylor were saying good-bye to César on their way to the airstrip. Maybe not.
Emilio was taking a slightly different route through the maze of jungle paths, but still heading in the downslope direction of the river. Maybe they were going to Mercer’s quarters, and Brodie wondered how Kyle Mercer treated himself here.
As they walked, the path widened and Taylor came next to Brodie and held his arm. He didn’t know if it was a gesture of affection or if she was getting wobbly. “You okay?”
“I’m okay.”
Brodie yelled out to Emilio. “Agua!”
Emilio turned his head and nodded. “Sí, agua.” He pointed to a large hut ahead that Brodie could see through the trees. Apparently Emilio thought he owed the lady something for his three minutes of fun. In fact, if they weren’t getting out of here—and Brodie didn’t think they were—Maggie Taylor had something to barter. She understood that, and he hoped she used it to survive, then to break out.
They reached the small clearing in front of the hut, and Brodie saw a few green tables and chairs, the same as those on the fishing platform. To the right side of the hut was a small bamboo structure that looked like a two-seater outhouse. To the left was an outdoor shower—four canvas buckets with showerheads suspended from a long pole, and surrounded by half-walls of bamboo for privacy—if anyone cared.
In the clearing were also three hammocks strung between trees, and in one of these lay a woman in a short dress and white tank top. The woman glanced at them, then sat up and called into the hut.
Emilio stopped and lit a cigarette.
From the open door of the hut came six young women in short skirts, tank tops, and shower clogs.
They weren’t Pemón, and it didn’t take Brodie long to figure out that the ladies were not camp nurses.
Emilio shouted at them, and one of the women went back in the hut and returned with two plastic water bottles that she offered to Emilio’s guests, looking curiously at Brodie, then sizing up Taylor as a possible roommate.
Taylor, an officer and a lady, thanked the woman for the agua. Brodie, too, said, “Gracias.”
Emilio said something to Brodie, and motioned toward the ladies.
Taylor started to translate, but Brodie, who understood “Take your pick” in any language, said, “I got it.”
Emilio laughed.
Taylor finished her water in one long swallow, and Brodie drank half and pocketed the bottle in case there weren’t any more hooker huts along the way.
