Faded With A Stranger

Chapter 3: Dealing & Distractions

The sun was a fiery ball sinking into the horizon as Chris and Doug drove away from Laredo. The sky had turned into a sprawling canvas of reds and oranges, casting an otherworldly glow on their journey. The van's engine strained under the weight of its load—both the illicit cargo and the tension between the two men.

"We've got a bit of a detour," Doug said, glancing at Chris. "Diego set us up with some contacts who'll help us get across the border and keep things... interesting."

Chris raised an eyebrow. "Contacts? What kind of contacts?"

Doug gave a half-smile, revealing a hint of mischief. "The kind that'll make the ride to Mexico City more... enjoyable."

They turned off the main road onto a narrower, less traveled path, heading towards a dingy strip of businesses that seemed to cater to those looking for less conventional entertainment. The area was populated with neon lights flickering above signs advertising various services, their garish colors cutting through the encroaching twilight.

The van pulled up outside a modest building with a neon sign that read "La Casa del Sol" in flickering red lights. It looked more like a rundown bar than anything else. Doug parked the van and turned to Chris.

"Stay here," Doug instructed. "I'll be right back."

Chris watched as Doug entered the building, the door swinging shut behind him. He could see through the grimy windows that the interior was dimly lit, with a bar along one side and a few scattered tables. The whole place had an air of faded glamour, with dusty red velvet drapes and old, mismatched furniture.

After about twenty minutes, Doug emerged from the building, accompanied by two women. They were dressed in revealing outfits that spoke more of function than fashion. Doug introduced them briefly, his voice tinged with a mix of authority and casual camaraderie.

"These are Maria and Ana," Doug said. "They're going to join us for the ride."

Maria and Ana climbed into the back of the van, their presence adding a new, vibrant dynamic to the cramped space. Maria was tall with dark hair cascading over her shoulders, and Ana was shorter with striking features and a confident demeanor. Despite their glamorous appearance, there was something weary in their eyes—an indication of the life they led.

Chris shifted to make room for them. The van's interior was filled with an assortment of items, from bags of drugs to a cooler stocked with various drinks. The women settled in, and Doug quickly handed them a couple of drinks from the cooler—a mix of mezcal and Coca-Cola.

As the van rumbled back onto the road, Maria and Ana began to chat with Doug. Their conversation was a mix of Spanish and English, punctuated with laughter and occasional bursts of animated storytelling. The atmosphere in the van grew more relaxed as the women shared anecdotes and engaged in light-hearted banter.

Chris, who had been apprehensive about the addition of the women to their journey, found himself gradually easing into the conversation. Maria and Ana offered him a drink, and despite his reservations, he accepted. The mezcal was strong, and its warmth spread through him, dulling the edge of his anxiety.

The van's interior soon filled with the scent of perfume and the faint aroma of the various substances they had on hand. The women pulled out a small stash of pills from their bags, offering them to Chris and Doug. The mood shifted as they passed around a mixture of ecstasy and cocaine, the atmosphere becoming charged with a new kind of energy. The van, loaded with drugs and a sense of reckless abandon, chugged along the road towards their next destination—a warehouse where Doug promised they would meet Diego.

As they rolled up to the warehouse, it was clear that this was a place accustomed to clandestine activities. The structure was nondescript, blending in with its surroundings, but the armed guards stationed outside and the high fence hinted at the significance of the operation within. Doug parked the van and motioned for Chris to stay inside while he went to meet Diego.

Chris watched from the van's dusty windows as Doug approached the warehouse. The meeting was brief but intense. Doug's body language was serious, and he spoke rapidly in Spanish, his hands gesturing with urgency. Chris could only catch snippets of the conversation—words like "cartel," "smuggle," and "Mexico City"—but the tension was palpable.

After what felt like an eternity, Doug returned to the van, his expression a mix of relief and resolve. He carried a large duffel bag, its contents hidden from view. Doug climbed into the driver's seat and turned to Chris.

"Got what we need," Doug said, his voice low and urgent. "We're heading to the border. We need to cross into Mexico and make our way to Mexico City. Diego's going to help us get there."

Chris's heart pounded. "Diego? What's his deal?"

Doug's face darkened. "He's connected. Works with the cartel. We're going to need his help to get across the border. And it's not going to be simple."

The van lurched forward, leaving the warehouse behind. The sky outside had darkened considerably, the sun now a distant memory. The air in the van was thick with the scent of stale smoke and the faint, metallic tang of anxiety.

As they drove towards the border, Doug's demeanor grew increasingly tense. The highway stretched out before them, a ribbon of asphalt that seemed to lead into an abyss of uncertainty. The van's engine roared in protest as they pushed it towards its limits, but the vehicle was old and unreliable.

Suddenly, the van began to sputter and groan, the engine's protests growing louder with each passing mile. Chris's heart sank as he glanced at the gas gauge, which had dropped dangerously close to empty.

"Doug, we're almost out of gas," Chris said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Doug's face was a mask of frustration. "Damn it. We'll have to walk the rest of the way. There's no other choice."

They abandoned the van on the side of the road, grabbing what essentials they could—mostly the stash of drugs and a few personal items. The night had fully settled in, and the temperature was dropping. The road stretched out ahead of them, a dark and desolate path that seemed to lead into the unknown.

The journey on foot was grueling. The road was rough, and the darkness made it difficult to see. Chris felt a growing sense of unease as they approached a small town near the border. The town was a shadowy silhouette against the night sky, its few lights flickering like distant stars.

As they reached the outskirts of the town, they spotted a small Spanish man sitting by the side of an old, rusted truck. The man's appearance was rugged, his face weathered by years of harsh sun and hard living. He looked up as Doug approached, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Doug engaged the man in a rapid exchange of Spanish, their voices low and urgent. Chris could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the night pressing down on them. The conversation was terse and filled with an undercurrent of urgency. The Spanish man's eyes kept darting back to a van parked in the distance, revealing a couple of women leaning against it, waiting impatiently.

After a few minutes, Doug turned to Chris with a weary expression. "We're getting a lift from this guy. He's going to take us the rest of the way." As the truck rumbled towards the border, the conversation among the women and Doug was lively, filled with laughter and occasional bursts of Spanish that Chris could barely follow. The women were engaging and seemed to be accustomed to the rough lifestyle. They offered Chris a few drinks from a cooler they had brought along—mezcal, cocaine, and a variety of pills—contributing to the sense of reckless abandon that permeated the night.

The truck pulled into a grimy, poorly lit motel on the outskirts of town. The place was run-down, with flickering neon lights and a general air of neglect. Doug negotiated with the motel clerk, who eyed the group with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

Inside the lobby, the clerk handed over a key to Doug. "You can stay here for the night. It's not much, but it's safe."