14.1 Infidel

Nobody said a word on the way back to CABA other than that Calima in the backseat expressed her thought to go to Colombia after her sister.

“If you want to go, madam, you should not tell the embassy or the police why you go,” Jamal spoke from the passenger seat.

“Why?” asked Calima.

“You let them know, they go arrest her before you touchdown.”

“Arrest her!”

Jamal demanded, “Can you stop at the American Embassy. I want to meet someone to check if my documents are through.”

Maria rolled the Lancer to Av Colombia and parked in the shade by the curb. “It won’t take long. I’d just call a guy,” he climbed out.

Calima put a hand on the backrest and whispered, “Did you notice that he harassed that woman!”

Maria sighed throwing a hand and not looking behind.

“Do you think we can rely on him?”

Maria waved and began to twirl her hair with her elbow rested on the window seal.

“Do you think we should take him with us?” Calima went on.

“Why not?” Maria gave a shrug, “There is no one else, Cal.”

“Can’t we find another one?”

Maria glanced, “You spent a lot of your money on this guy,” she spoke in a soft voice, “You have to take him.”

“I’m terrified.”

“He is not going to do anything to you,” she returned to curl her hair.

“I’ll have to check with the embassy if I could travel to Colombia on my passport.”

“You know, Bogotá is a wild place.”

“Wild place!”

She turned sharply, “Haven’t you heard of drugs, guns, cartels, crime, violence? I think you need a very smart guy.”

“I don’t think I can trust him.”

“Oh Cal!” she returned to face front.

“What is this place like, Santa Fe?”

“It’s a very rough neighbourhood.”

“Have you been there?”

“No!” Maria turned briskly to reach her bag on the backseat and grabbed her folder. In the brash, a couple of cotton balls jumped out of the bag. One landed on Calima’s lap and the other hit the floorboard. She picked them and pressed in her hands. There she noticed an ink label in red; ‘SUNDAY’ on one and ‘TUESDAY’ on the other.

“What are these?” uttered Calima, “You dropped them from your bag.”

Maria did not turn back to look.

Calima saw a third one in the bag and picked it. “THURSDAY!” she read aloud, “SUNDAY!”

Maria turned with a little smirk on her face, “My panties,” she said.

“Your panties!” uttered Calima, “Why is this SUNDAY and this TUESDAY?”

“I like to tag them. I wear each piece on each given day.”

“I understand. You rather not mix them because they are all white.”

“Yeah, I wear white panties,” admitted Maria Taylor, “and blue shirt all the time.”

“Do you keep a different shirt for every day?” enquired Calima.

“No,” she frowned, “only panties.”

“So that you can wash every week,” she guessed.

“I don’t wash them!”

“You don’t!” she was still holding them.

“In seven days, it absorbs everything, it turns clean.”

“Filthy!” exclaimed this young germophobic lady, “THURSDAY! The one you dumped yesterday!” She threw them quickly into the bag and wiped her hands on the skirt. “Why do you keep them in the bag?” she laughed.

“All my stuff is in the bag.”

“Your shirt too?”

“My shirt, my bra, everything.”

“Why do you wear blue?” asked Calima.

“I kind of got used to it. Now I feel very uncomfortable to change. I am not so much into fashion.”

“Where do you sleep?”

She glanced with a cute smile, “Why do you want to know?”

“You have parents, don’t you?”

“No,” said Maria still looking at Calima, “I have a sister. She lives a little far. I keep my things there and sleep in the office.”

“Well, Maria,” said Calima, “I think you are right about Jamal. He will help.”

Maria said in a meek voice, “Yes, he will help genuinely, Cal,” and turned to face front and twirl her hair, “Only if you will say nothing to nobody.”

Jamal climbed the car, “I could not get anyone there.”

“We will meet this evening at dinner at my hotel,” announced Calima.

“Dinner!” uttered Jamal and rubbed his broad hand on his grizzly hair.

“Yes!” she paused for a response but he said nothing in return.