THE ANGELES VICE

Dancing with death,part 4

The journey from Colombia to Miami isn't just a marathon; it is full of life neither woman has ever seen and full of moments in time neither woman has ever experienced. Secretly crossing from Colombia to Panama on a cargo boat, stealing horses from ranches like giggling kids and racing with them in the middle of nowhere for days, robbing tourists and small banks in rural areas of Costa Rica, then hitting two others in Honduras and a small business in Guatemala.sleeping off the road in a stolen pickup truck when they didn't have the money for a motel; hitting up the local bars and having a few too many drinks, causing scenes with the other patrons, stealing the food off people's plates, and escaping with a buffet to keep themselves full. The money they stole, they couldn't spend. They still needed to pay for gas, nights to shower and change clothes after the robberies, and have.a big chunk of change leftover for the connect that would take them on a boat ride from Cancun to Cuba and then to the Florida Keys.

Sasha Morí has proven herself to be a good investment for Lauren since the day she restored her wounded leg back to health and came clean about her intentions toward the former gang leader. She confessed that she had been stalking Lauren for days when word got around that there was a foreigner in town stirring trouble between the feuding cartels, realizing that that was.her golden opportunity to save a life in turn for a one-way ticket to the US for a better life. And when things got tough with Lauren, she acted, no questions asked or concern for the possibility that she may regret it. That's the story Sasha went with. And if Sasha can follow somebody like Lauren around for so long without being detected, and handle that many men with sloppy help, Lauren believes Sasha can do so many other things for her when she gets back to Miami.Important things.

Sasha vowed to follow Lauren anywhere, do whatever, and be whatever she wanted on two conditions: Lauren provides her with a place to stay where she can live comfortably and never have to return to Colombia, and the second to always protect her since it was only fair that that's what she'd do for Lauren until her last breath. She never got into her history, refused to explain why she needed such things, didn't bother telling Lauren who she was in depth, or anything about a family.she may or may not have. As far as Lauren knows, Sasha truly is whatever Lauren imagines or desires her to be, in every sense of the word.

One brisk night in Santa Amalia, Mexico, Sasha sits alone in the aged white Ford pickup truck under a galaxy of stars, parked about 40 yards away from the main road that would get them to Marina Puerto Isla Mujeres. Fist shoved into her cheek, elbow on the armrest of the car door, herunfocused gaze on the lush patches of greenery planted in the flat, sandy terrain, Sasha waits an eternity for Lauren to return from the thirteenth mailbox on this trip. The tattooed Cuban-American often travels by foot for this part of her day, super secretive about who she's writing to and why it's so important to send these letters. She also often goes long hours without saying a word, thinking hard and miserably, sometimes even going as far as crying about it when she assumes Sasha is passed out in a deep slumber. Lauren's life is also a mystery to her; the only things she knows about Lauren are her reign in Los Carnales, her travels to Sicily, and how she is currently outrunning the Cipriani mafia run by her former good friend Sugar "Lovelace" Cipriani. She also knows that Lauren is the most haunted, traumatized person she has ever known based on personal observations.

Stirring in the burning leather passenger seat, sighing from the dry heat exhaustion, Sasha moans and sucks her teeth, banging her head against the headrest. The sound of footsteps scuffing against the tiny rocks in the sand diverts her attention back to the window where Lauren appears as a small figure in the distance, one hand holding a bag of goodies and the other hand shoved in the pockets of her black cargo shorts. The only pop of color on her body is the small gold Guadalupe chain around her neck, shining brilliantly with the assistance of her large black t-shirt. She constantly looks over her shoulder, even though she has all the assurance in the world that no one is present in these parts except the two of them. Her ponytail whips back around as Lauren throws a hand up to Sasha and jogs around the hood to climb back into the driver's seat. "Sorry. That's the last time," she says. She holds the bag up between them and lets Sasha sift through the items first. "To make up for it, I got us both freezing cold beers, some water, and, um, limon chicharrones, if you like them.""I've never had them," says Sasha, turning the bag, scanning the words and designs from front to back. "Are they good?"

"Yeah, here," Lauren takes it from her and opens it. She helps herself to one first, then tilts the bag for Sasha to dig in. Their loud crunches and hums of delight say it all. Lauren leaves her with the chips for a bottle of Modelo she snaps open with her pocket knife, then she downs half of it to quench her thirst."You ok?" asks Sasha. The girl's body has to be 99% alcohol and 1% water at this point; she's always drowning herself with booze. Lauren merely shrugs and drinks some more, staring lifelessly at the windshield. "Are you ever going to tell me who those letters are for? Each time you come back, you are weird. More than you already are. You seem very sad after. Why?"

"It's complicated."

"Why?""It just is."

"Is it a family member that you miss?"

Lauren snorts and rolls her eyes, gently shaking her head.

"A lover?" Sasha squints and leans over the console, smirking when Lauren gulps and doesn't respond. "Who is he?"

"She."

"She?? You are gay??" Sasha shrieks with surprise, full-on grinning now. "This is interesting, I never saw this coming from you. Que raro. So who is she? Are you two together or not?" (How weird.)"We're not together. And I really want us to be, but I don't think she still feels the same after the way I left her. It's been so long, and...I'm kind of...still grieving. I'm not the same person this girl fell for; she wouldn't like me now," Lauren takes another swig."Why?"

Lauren glances at Sasha, questioning her intelligence. "Do you know who you've been on the road with this past week? I'm repulsive. I'm a drunk, I'm not so fun to be around, I barely smile, and I don't talk much. You think that qualifies me to still be the winner of someone's heart?"

Sasha frowns, contemplative, tilting her head to the side. She looks back at Lauren. "Maybe. You just said you are grieving. This behavior is normal, isn't it?""Someone who loves you knows this and accepts this."

"Hmph. I don't think so."

"Who are you grieving?"

Lauren's eyes instantly water. Her lips part, and she inhales a shaky, fortifying breath. "Someone I loved... very, very much. I'll grieve her for the rest of my life. She was... everything to me."

"But you love someone else too? I don't understand.""Because it is a long story and not one I'm interested in telling. I don't want to talk about the woman I lost, I don't want it to take over my life the same way the death of two other people took over it when I was very young. All I want right now is to get back to Miami, get my girl, make my money, and lay low. That's it."

Sasha accept this response and live it alone for sometime.