Kimber Chin

“I take this bus here?” Stacy gestured back at the minibus. It wasn’t much of a bus but then neither was the one she’d exited at the Belize border.

“Yes, yes,” the short man replied in slurred Spanish, sliding the back door open. “This is the bus you take if you want to go to…,” His voice dropped, he tapped the barrel of the gun slung around his shoulder, and the men circling him laughed.

They were all armed. And sweaty. And leering. She didn’t want to get in there alone. “Ma’am, are you taking this bus?” she asked the elderly senorita, the only other woman continuing on.

“No.” The woman frowned at the men standing around the bus. “I stay here. You stay here too, miss. Take next bus.”

She could do that. Though here was nothing to talk about. A couple tables and chairs. Water coconuts being slashed open with machetes. Some men talking.

Stacy’s gaze was drawn to the large man in the black dress pants. He watched her, they all watched her, but not with his intensity. As though he knew her, really knew her. That was impossible. She touched the ring on a chain around her neck, the diamond carefully hidden under her cotton blouse. She didn’t even know herself.

“When is the next bus?” she asked the old woman.

“Tomorrow. Next day.” A shrug of frail shoulders. “It will come when it comes.”

Stacy had been traveling in Central America for three weeks and knew that wasn’t a joke. She’d been stuck in Cobán for two days when a bus broke down. But that had been a larger town, accustomed to travelers, she’d found a place to sleep. This wasn’t even a town. It was a little more than a bus stop.

She glanced back at the bus. “The bus is leaving soon, pretty lady,” the short man called out. He was the leader of the group, not the bus driver. The bus driver sat in the vehicle.

“You don’t want to get on that bus, little dove .” A deep voice lilted musically. He stood by her side, the big man with the black pants.

She looked up, and up, and up, past miles of broad chest, a thick neck, square chin, sharp nose, until she reached dark, brooding eyes. “I need to get to Dangriga.”

“There are many ways to get to Dangriga. This is not the best way.” He stared over her shoulder and frowned. The laughter at the bus faded away.

“It is the only bus.” Was he a taxi driver? Everyone seemed to know him, they had called out greetings, had shaken his hand.

“We will drive you.” As he turned to his equally large friend, she spotted the gun handle sticking out of the back of her new companion’s pants. This was no taxi driver. “Isn’t that right, Javier? We will take the lady to Dangriga.”

“The Boss said nothing about Dangriga, Eduardo.”

The Boss? Were they talking about a mafia boss?

“Let me worry about the Boss.” Eduardo smiled at her, his teeth white in his dark face. “We will take you to Dangriga, little dove.”

“I don’t know.” Stacy hesitated. She had three choices. She could go off with two huge men carrying guns, working for a man they called Boss. She could get into the bus with five leering men also carrying guns, men the old lady didn’t trust. Or she could wait here in the open for the next bus that may, or may not, come… ever.

Read Part 2