34

WHEN HE REMOVED the blindfolds from the captive dentist and his assistant and walked them into the house, Aguilar could hear Escobar complaining before the door even closed. He hoped his boss would let the dentist examine him and not simply shoot him on sight.

It turned out that Escobar did allow the examination, although he complained every time his mouth was free from intrusive hands and instruments. He had broken a tooth, irreparably, and Mesa had to extract it and perform a root canal. In less than ideal circumstances and without his proper chair, it took almost two hours. Aguilar tried to stay out of shouting range for the duration.

Then it was over. Hearing that, Aguilar came in to check on him. Escobar whined about the pain, and immediately lit a joint to help dull it. Dr. Mesa assured him that in a week or two, he would forget that the tooth had ever existed, except when his tongue found the hollow spot at the back of his mouth.

“You’re saying it’ll hurt like this for a week?” Escobar demanded.

“A little better every day, Señor,” Mesa said. “I can prescribe painkillers if you’d like.”

“I don’t need drugs,” Escobar said. “I need a competent dentist.”

“I assure you,” Mesa replied, “that I’ve done for you what any good dentist would. The source of your pain is gone; what’s left is residual. It will fade in due time.”

“You’ll fade in due time,” Escobar said. Eyeing Maribel, he added, “You, perhaps not so much.”

Maribel didn’t crack a smile. “We should get back,” she said. “There are other patients.”

“Fine, get out of here,” Escobar said. “Jaguar, take them home.”

“Blindfolded?” Mesa asked.

“Of course,” Escobar said. “Why would we blindfold you one way but not the other? It’s for your own good. If I were you, I’d keep my eyes closed under the blindfold, just in case.”

“Let’s go,” Aguilar urged. If El Patrón didn’t start feeling better in a hurry, he might start shooting after all. Aguilar didn’t want Mesa harmed, but he felt especially protective of Maribel. She had maintained her biting humor all the way to the lab site. It was probably her defense mechanism, he thought. She was afraid—anybody would be, in that situation—but rather than showing fear, she kept up a brave front.

He blindfolded the pair and put them in the truck. Trigger had wandered off somewhere—maybe back into the bedroom, staring at nothing again—and Aguilar didn’t see either of the captives as a threat. He could handle them.

“Where’s your little friend?” Maribel asked when it was obvious that Trigger wasn’t joining them. “Back to primary school?”

“He’s not that young,” Aguilar said.

“Chronologically,” Maribel said. “Maturity and intelligence-wise, I’m not sure he’s advanced that far yet.”

“He’s a poor kid from a poor neighborhood. He didn’t have your advantages. Leave him alone.”

“What makes you think I had any advantages?” Maribel snapped. “Or Dr. Mesa? I’m not even from a poor neighborhood, I’m from a poor village that only had the one neighborhood. None of us had any money. We struggled for everything. But I wanted to get out, so I worked and fought and earned my way to dental school.”

“And then you moved to a similar village,” Mesa said. “Proving that some people don’t have sense enough to go in out of the rain.”

“I wanted to help my people! What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, dear,” Mesa replied. “I’m only teasing you.”

“You should talk,” Maribel said. She turned toward Aguilar, which was a little comical considering she was blindfolded and couldn’t see him anyway. “He came from Bogotá’s worst comuna. Like me, he had to scrap every centimeter of the way, but he got out and became a respected dentist. Then he moved to the village because he knew the city had plenty of choices, but no one was taking care of those deep in the jungle. He works from dawn to dusk. He’s paid in chickens, in coca leaves, sometimes in nothing but words of thanks, but he stays at it. Dr. Mesa’s a hero.”

“My boss is a hero, too,” Aguilar said. “He helps others out of poverty. He’s built entire developments for people who had nothing, who were living in junkyards. He’s created clinics and hospitals where there were none, provided free soccer fields and parks for the poor. He’s a great man.”

He stopped, thinking he might have already said too much. Of course, unless national news didn’t penetrate this far into the jungle, they had likely recognized Escobar. His political campaign had put his picture on front pages and news broadcasts in every city in Colombia.

Then again, what did it matter? El Patrón had enemies everywhere, but he was surrounded by friends, sicarios who would give their lives for him. And even if Mesa or Maribel meant him harm, they had no idea where in the jungle he was, only how long it took to reach him.

“You should know,” Maribel said after a little while—almost as if she’d read his mind. “There are people in our village, and others nearby, who resent your boss. He’s buying coca leaves from farmers in the area, and paying next to nothing. Meanwhile, they’ve stopped cultivating other crops, because earning that paltry amount is easier than hauling produce to some market in a far-off city and possibly dealing with unsold goods, or bandits, or damages. So the people are short on food because the farmers have stopped growing it, and the farmers are being cheated out of what they should earn for the coca. Some think if we ran the cocaine labs ourselves, we could all make more money. Why should all the profits go to Medellín instead of staying here, in the community?”

He had suspected that she had known, but this confirmed it. “So you knew all along.”

“Of course,” she said. “Who else but a gangster’s henchman would come into a dentist’s office with guns and fat wads of money, demanding immediate service? And everyone around here knows that Pablo Escobar runs a cocaine lab in the area.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Only generally. I know the basic direction it’s in, twenty-five kilometers or so from the village. Everybody knows that.”

“But the blindfold…”

“That’s your charade. We went along with it to humor you, but we were just being polite.”

“Well, I appreciate that,” Aguilar said. “But you could have told me earlier.”

“Why? You weren’t going to kill us; your boss was in excruciating pain. Dr. Mesa could have made his pain much, much worse, but instead he acted like a professional, and helped him. We aren’t your enemies, Jaguar.”

“You can call me Jose,” he said.

“You can call me Señorita Restrepo.”

“Not Maribel?”

“Are we friends?”

“I thought, in some small way…”

“You kidnapped us—Jaguar. Yes, you were a gentleman about it. But you’re carrying a gun, and you threatened us. That’s a strange basis for a friendship.”

“I didn’t threaten you, Trigger did. And I told him not to.”

“Not all threats are explicit,” she said.

“Well, I’m sorry if you felt threatened. That wasn’t my intention. And I did pay you well.”

“Yes, you did,” Mesa said. Aguilar had almost forgotten he was in the truck as well. “And Señor Escobar gave us more. People in the village will eat well for a few weeks.”

“You’ll share that money?”

“Of course,” Maribel said. “If we hoped to get rich, we’d be working in a city. Our basic needs are met; beyond that, we try to help our people.”

“I guess you’re both heroes,” Aguilar said.

“Hardly. Just human beings, doing what people do.” She paused, then added, “Some people.”

“But not me, you’re saying.”

“I don’t know you well enough to say either way, Jose.” He noticed that she didn’t call him Jaguar. The sound of his name coming from her lips sent a jolt through him.

“You could.”

“Are you living here now, or just visiting?”

“Visiting, I guess. But I’m not sure for how long. A while longer, I think.”

“Maybe, then.”

“Maybe what?” he asked.

“Maybe you can call on me. But no guns, no blindfolds. If you want to get to know me, it’ll be as a person, not as some gunman.”

“Do you really mean it?” Aguilar asked. “You two aren’t…?”

Mesa laughed. “Us, a couple? Thank you for the compliment, but no. I’m far too old for her, and far too crotchety. And my wife would object, as well.”

“His wife’s lovelier than him, anyway,” Maribel added.

“I just wanted to make sure you were serious.”

“Don’t push her, son,” Mesa warned. “She made the offer. She wouldn’t have if she didn’t mean it. But I can tell you from experience, if you act like a fool, she’ll retract it.”

“He knows me too well,” Maribel said.

“I’m with you—what did you say? Dawn to dusk, every day. Of course I know you well.”

Aguilar made a turn, and they were at the plaza. The dentist’s office sat just ahead. He considered driving around the village a few times, just to spend a few more minutes beside Maribel. But smells from the plaza’s food vendors had begun to permeate the cab, and he feared they would catch on.

Instead, he braked the truck beside the office. “We’re here. You can take off the blindfolds.”

They did. Maribel looked at Aguilar, blinking in the sudden late afternoon light.

“Thank you for the ride, Jose. And for not taking advantage of us. You had money, guns, blindfolds… many men would not have acted so honorably. That—not your silly nickname, or your reasonably handsome face, under the spots, or your position in the employ of a drug lord—is why I’ve agreed to see you again. If you would like.”

“I would. Definitely.”

“Find me at the office, then. If I’m not there, I’ll be at home. Everyone in the village knows where that is. I’ll pass the word to cooperate if you ask for me.”

Mesa climbed out of the truck before Aguilar made it around to his door. Maribel was just getting out, so he extended a hand to help her down, and she took it. She graced him with a smile, and said, “I hope I’ll see you soon.”

Then she was gone, inside the office. Aguilar closed her door, feeling almost dreamlike. Had that really happened? A woman he’d essentially kidnapped, on Escobar’s orders, had invited him to see her again? He practically floated back to the driver’s door, grinning.

Before returning to the lab, he drove through the villages and all the way to San Vicente del Caguán before he found a motorcycle for sale. He paid what the owner asked and a little more, made sure it worked and was full of gasoline, and put it in the back of the truck.

If he was going to make regular trips to the village, he didn’t want to do it in a big flatbed truck.