Cosmogyral | Scorpion

two

Carmelita Lopez could not believe her awful luck. She had caught the tourists perhaps seconds after they had been robbed. She sucked her teeth in annoyance, making a clicking sound, and rolled her eyes. Despite her mood, Carmelita was still able to find some pleasure in watching the tourists' shocked expressions as she removed the helmet.

"We are never telling Cabe about this," One of the guys, the one wearing a bowl hat, said.

The girl beside him smacked him in the back of the head. Her onyx eyes were ablaze with a mixture of annoyance and endearment towards the man.

"What?" He asked. "I'm serious."

"That's what worries me," the woman grumbled.

"How old are you?" Another woman, the only other in the group, asked.

"Fifteen," Carmelita answered nonchalantly.

The woman's brown eyes widened in surprise, then softened with pity. Carmelita hated to be looked at like that. She didn't need pity. The woman's eyes revealed feelings too pure and too kind to be wasted on a girl like Carmelita. The raw goodness and compassion in the woman's gaze felt like it was stripping Carmelita of her ability to move. It was too real.

Carmelita shook her head, avoiding eye contact with the woman. Instead, she turned to focus on the obvious leader; a man with dark hair and tan skin who wore a black backpack. He was her real source of concern.

"You aren't tourists," she noted. It was obvious by this point. First off, tourists didn't come to a place like this. Second, they didn't have suitcases; the cartel would never have stolen suitcases, they would have ransacked them and searched for money, sure, but not taken them. Third, the group geld themselves like men and women on a mission. A failed mission.

"How would you know?" The leader asked. Carmelita rolled her eyes, it was kind of obvious.

"No one comes here for vacation unless they want to be broke and dead by morning." Carmelita answered, "and judging by how panicked you were when you saw me, you value your lives. If I had to guess, you value your money as well, by the depressed state you've all been in, I'm assuming, since well before I got here."

"Where did you learn to speak English so well?" The man in the terrible hat asked, curiosity written across his pale face.

Carmelita thought back to afternoons with her Abuelo long ago. Carmelita's grandfather had been deported from America as a child. His parents had come illegally, and though it was not the fault of Abuelo, the man had been sent back. He had lived in America for six years. In those six years, he'd become fluent in English. He had trained Carmelita to be fluent in English from a young age.

Instead of telling a stranger all this, Carmelita said, "Just be happy I did."

The man squinted at her in puzzlement, as if trying to read her mind. "Huh."

Carmelita shrugged, "So why are you here? Do you work for the American government? Are you journalists? Rescue workers?"

The last possibility was the product of hope that Carmelita thought she had buried deep down long ago. No one was going to save her. The sooner she truly learned to believe that, the better.

"We work with the US," a shaky voice replied. Carmelita looked to the source. It was the man whom she had taken hostage moments. His face was pale and slightly green. He recoiled slightly as her ebony eyes found his face.

"Sylvester!" The leader hissed. The man, Sylvester, flinched. He couldn't meet the leader's brown eyes. Instead, he looked at the ground.

Carmelita tsked in disdain. Her guilt censors went off like flares at his stance. The man's shifting gaze paired with an inability to look at guys leader dead in the eyes showed her there was more to the problem than the man revealing their employer.

Deciding that she wouldn't pick much more up from Sylvester than a strong sense of regret, Carmelita turned to the leader. His penetrating gaze met her own piercing stare like metal on metal. The man's head was held high, revealing a dash of arrogance. He gripped his backpack tightly, it probably contained something of great importance. No, it would have been stolen in the robbery if that were truly the case. It was his backpack. The leader held his backpack because it had, presumably, always been with them. In all likeliness, the man was used to it carrying important items.

The leader was a creature of habit. Maybe that was where his problem with this Sylvester man came from. It would make sense. The longer Carmelita watched the man clutch his bag, there more it appeared to be a security blanket rather than a backpack. The backpack was the leader's center point. It symbolized stability. It protected him from the change Sylvester seemed to have just brought him.

Carmelita bookmarked this in her head, saving it for later. It could be useful.

"So, can we go? Or..." The man in the hat asked, startling Carmelita back into the present.

"Huh?"

The man repeated himself. Carmelita nodded along, trying to focus on his words. Sometimes when her mind went to other places it was hard to bring it back to where she needed it. Unfortunately, her senses were wandering, despite Carmelita's best attempts at drawing them back to her.

The man nodded. His eyes had lit up with a certain amount of recognition at the word 'proposition'. It had triggered something in him. Carmelita thought over what it could be. She gave him the once over before considering gambling. He held himself like a betting man. Most, unfortunately, don't just enjoy betting, they live it. Carmelita doubted that this man was the exception. She mentally bookmarked this.

"I help you all with whatever you need, and you take me to America, where it's safe," The girl explained.

The leader frowned, looking to the woman with the pitying brown eyes. Carmelita knew she had to convince him to let her help them, she just didn't know-how.

Fortunately, the answer presented itself moments later as the man gazed at the woman with soulful eyes filled with love or something close to it.

All Carmelita needed to do was convince the brown-eyed woman. Luckily, she already pitied the girl. All Carmelita needed was to give the woman that final push.

"It's not safe here," Carmelita said sullenly, the perfect tug on the heartstrings.

The woman bit her lip with compassion, frowning. "Walter..."

"I know this town like the back of my hand. The places, the people, all of it. I could be a valuable resource," She told them, shifting her focus onto the leader.

"She did manage to almost rob us at gunpoint-," the gambling man acknowledged.

"There's a lot more where that came from," Carmelita interrupted. She shut her mouth as quickly as she had opened it. Dang it, now they'd just see as some kid who couldn't keep her mouth shut.

Instead of losing credibility, the girl just seemed to gain it with that, however. "I have survived this place for fifteen years. I could be useful. Just give me a chance."

The man looked at the woman. She didn't pay him much mind though, instead, she studied Carmelita with great focus. She was a mother, Carmelita realized. That was why the woman was so worried about Carmelita's age and well being. She was probably imagining what she would want someone to do if Carmelita was her child instead. Carmelita found this ironic all things considered.

All it took was one look at his lady friend for the leader to agree, "Well, we'll have to know your name if you'll be working with us, Miss-"

"Lopez. Carmelita Lopez." Carmelita answered triumphantly. She fought off the grin that threatened to claim her face.

"Well then Ms. Lopez, I'm Walter O'Brien, welcome to Scorpion."

1,326 words