Free with You

Chapter 10: Strings

Sammy POV

“That fucker!” Max slams his fists on the desk. He’s looking as livid as ever over the video call with his cold steel blue eyes, making me feel uneasy.

With my smart phone in my hand, I turn my face to avoid his glare. I’m not sure what to say and an awkward silence follows.

“Fine… we can’t afford anymore delays,” Max moves to his keyboard, “Sam, account and routing.”

I tell him the details, as I slowly take off my uncomfortable black suit, that’s sticking to my skin like a bandaid. I meticulously hang each piece back into the closet of the hotel room to dry.

Max is typing away, probably getting the wire set up, but I can tell there’s something else that’s bothering him.

“What is it, Max?” I say looking back at the camera, but he’s not looking at me.

“You didn’t get his name…” He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, “—he’s next in line, Sam, that means he’s potentially more dangerous than the head.”

“I promise…I promise that I’ll get his name,” I say while removing my weapons from the holsters on my body. “—I’ve got 17 days to get it, shouldn’t be that hard.”

I shrug away whatever tension he’s rubbing off on me. I want this call to end—like right now.

“You would think,” he says. Now he’s just being difficult.

“What are you saying?” I ask irritation building up inside of me.

“This guy… he sounds like trouble for us. I need you to keep your eyes on him, gain his trust, do whatever you have to,” he says. Now he turns to look at me. “But, he’ll know something’s out of place, if you come on too strong. I don’t need to tell you to be discreet.”

“Sure, roger that,” I say sarcastically finding myself squinting and smiling to piss him off. Now it’s Max’s turn to squint at me.

“Where are you headed for the rest of the evening?” Max asks clearly annoyed.

“I’m just going to kick it here,” I say.

It’s a lie.

I’m going to explore the town, but I didn’t want to ruffle his feathers again.

“Ok. Sam. You have a goodnight then,” at that Max abruptly hangs up.

I shake my head.

“The s**t I have to deal with.”

**

*One hour later*

**

“Señorita! Mira! Mira! (Miss, look! look!)” an old man points to a handmade basket hat, “—hermoso sombrero para una belleza! (beautiful hat for a beauty!)” I shake my head and he starts pointing to other things at his makeshift stand.

I find it silly that he wants me to buy such a girly hat when I’m clearly dressed in a white T-shirt, combat shorts, a dog tag around my neck, and military style boots.

I’m walking here, alone, in the evening, against orders… but, honestly, it would be weirder to be escorted by a group of well…asian men in black suits.

Besides, if someone were to try and f**k with me, they probably won’t live to tell the tale. I know better than to attract unwanted attention to compromise the mission though.

No need to make a scene.

Outside the flea market, it’s pretty dark. But, as I continue to make my way down the brightly lit narrow pathway, I am enchanted by the sparkling glow that each stand emits from the various bursts of color.

The sweet scent of warm sugar wafts into my nose, which I can only guess is from the sugary bites, ice cream, and assortment of fruits people are selling. My mouth salivates from the temptation, but I do my best to resist.

I see men and women talking amongst themselves and laughing at each other’s jokes. Their attention moves to me, as I get closer to their stand, saying a few words to entice me to their miniature handmade treasures.

I can’t hear them though. The only thing I hear is the overbearing sounds of childrens’ laughter at every corner.

Despite the fact that this market is a means to their very survival, the amount of community and will to live is contagious.

I smile to the sellers, nod my head, passing from stand to stand. I’m pretending to look at the trinkets they’re selling, but what I’m really doing is absorbing as much energy I can get from this place.

As I pass the last stand at the end of the pathway, it eventually opens up to a sort of plaza. This plaza has some dried up bushes and wooden benches nested in each of the four corners, with the entrance of a small church on the opposite side of me.

There’s a flock of pigeons picking at the stone steps walking up to where the double doors are wide open.

I can see that it’s dimly lit inside the church and doubt anyone is really inside at this time. As I get closer, I notice how eerily quiet it is.

I can only hear the pigeons cooing to each other, as it seems the sounds of people’s voices and laughter have faded away in the darkness behind me.

I know it’s probably not a good idea to be walking into a church at night, but I can’t help myself.

“Of course I’d be THAT character,” I face palm while thinking about those curious characters who get killed in horror movies. I quietly make my way up the stairs and slowly step my foot inside the church.

Immediately, I feel a gust of wind blow against my face. In hot weather, you would think that wind would help one relax—you know, to cool off.

But, this feeling was one that caused a tense chill that spread from my neck to my lower back. I wrap my arms around myself shivering, afraid that something is going to pop out and f**k with me.

As I walk forward down the aisle, I see a man sitting at the very front row on the left side bench, muttering some words into his tattooed fists, while his head is down.

He seems to be deep in prayer, and out of respect, I don’t want to interrupt him. I take a seat at the back row on the opposite side, looking straight ahead at the altar before me.

What the f**k am I doing here?

What do I have to pray for?

Money, power, love?

Nope.

A quick death on this mission?

Yep.

But how?

I find myself playing out different scenarios of my suicide, when I suddenly feel a strong hand… on my left shoulder.

Startled, I look up to see an old priest standing before me. I’m frozen, but he creepily smiles, like he’s seeing right through to my soul.

Something about him scares the s**t out of me. I find myself unable to speak.

As if he can sense that I’m afraid of him, he walks away and starts walking up to the man upfront. He leans down to whisper in the man’s ear, before he walks away to the back room.

The man upfront remains seated, but he slowly lifts his head and looks up at the altar in longing. I can’t see his face, but he moves his hand from his head to his chest, then side to side, before he kisses his fingers.

As he stands up, I’m surprised to see that he’s quite tall, very tan, and toned from the flex of his back muscles and arms. He’s got dark tattoos running down the length of his limbs and neck, and he’s wearing a black shirt with black jeans…

Oh, wait a minute…

This motherfucker!

I feel the heat rise up my cheeks, as I realize, who I was just checking out.

He turns his body to look straight at me, but I can’t seem to meet him eye to eye. I know he recognizes me. I can feel his gaze piercing into my skull, but I sit still in my seat looking at the pamphlet tucked into the back pocket of the bench in front of me. My eyes are glued on the gold lettering, as I am looking anywhere except at him.

In my peripheral vision, I see that he makes a move, walking ever so slowly down the aisle, without so much as a pause when he passes me.

When I hear his footsteps grow faint behind me, I let out a breath I was holding in, relieved that I just managed to slip past an encounter with this frustratingly attractive and vile man.

The ends of my lips curl into a smile and I lean back on the bench, only to find myself startled again at the sight of the priest sitting to the right of me.

“You have to stop doing that,” I say with a bit of venom in my voice.

“Excuse me. Don’t be afraid Miss. Maybe, I can help you?” the old priest says with a heavy hispanic accent. I feel uncomfortable with how close he is sitting by me, but I’ve been trained to defend myself in closer combat before. I give the priest a slight grin and pat my knees with my palms to wipe off the sweat.

“Uh, no… I was just leaving actually. It’s a beautiful church. I just wanted to see inside. That’s all,” I say as I stand to leave. The old priest gives me that eye, like he’s questioning the real reason I’ve walked in here. He turns to face the altar, like he’s talking to God.

“A lot of people from ALL around the world come here, yes. This is a small church, but uh, it’s a strong one,” he says grinning, “—many come here to pray for more life. More life for family. More life for a lover. More life for oneself,” he says. He moves his body slowly to face me and I’m feeling like his black eyes are piercing into my soul.

“So…it is rare to see, you know, when I see…one praying for death…” these words coming from his mouth strike me like a heavy boulder just landed on my shoulders.

How in the world does he know that I was praying for that?!

The f**k is his deal?!

I feel the anger billowing in waves inside me, about to burst.

How dare he judge me like this?!

He doesn’t even know me!

No one understands!

God da-…

“Do you know that man?” the old priest suddenly asks, interrupting my barrage of insults.

Huh?

I look up to see he’s staring at the spot where that rude guy was sitting earlier.

Oh…he’s asking if I know him?

Oh s**t, the priest was probably talking about him this entire time. The hairs on my neck are standing up as I try to calm myself.

“No. I don’t know him, well not really.” I say quietly, as I turn with my head down in shame. The priest is silent for a minute.

“Be careful with that man,” he suddenly whispers as he stands up.

His cold and dry hands abruptly grab mine and I flinch at the contact.

We are now eye to eye, his face paling, as his grip on me gets tighter.

“The strings—you saw them didn’t you?!” he looks over his shoulder with genuine fear in his eyes. “They were on his back! They’re very strong!” his eyes are watering like he’s about to cry, his trembling voice laced with desperation.

“Mija, por favor! You have to believe me. Stay away from him! Or else, He…he will never let go! Never!”

OKAAAYY.

I’m officially freaked out now.

I forcefully pull my hands out of his iron grip and walk out of there quickly. Actually, I almost jump out.

Suddenly I find myself panting in the middle of the plaza with my hands on my knees.

What in the actual f**k just happened?!

“You met the crazy priest then?” asks a stranger in the shadows.

Startled, I look up from where I’m standing and turn around to the voice behind me.

Of course… it’s none other than the rude guy, just relaxing with his muscular tatted arms laid across the length of the wooden bench comfortably.

I can’t see all of his features in the evening, but just his body size takes up half the bench. He would be quite intimidating in a fight.

His eyes seem to glow white in the darkness, like a tiger that’s about to strike its prey. I don’t know if he can see me, but I nod in response.

“Que te dijo? (What did he tell you?)” he asks calmly.

“He said you have strings… on your back,” I say, feeling stupider by the second. I just stand there with my arms crossed.

He moves his fist over his mouth and squints like he’s about to sneeze. There’s a silence.

Then he bursts out—laughing…

Maniacally, I might add, like a high pitched hyena.

“Well…ain’t that some…crazy s**t,” he says between pants after he’s had enough. He rubs his eyes like he’s had a long day.

“Need a ride? It’s not safe for ladies to walk alone at night ya know, at least around here,” he says with a smirk. Now he crosses his arms to mimic me.

I look back to see that the flea markets are all closed and the lights are out. I can hear the voices of drunk men and hysterical laughing in the distance, sending chills down my spine.

“How do I know, you won’t try to do something funny?” I ask.

“Don’t flatter yourself…” he says.

Fucking asshole.

“Look, if something happens to you, it’s bad for business. Come,” he gets up and waves to his motorcycle.

“Oh, I thought you had a car…” I say feeling some heat in my cheeks. I’m glad it’s pitch black outside.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he says handing me his helmet. “Don’t let go of me, understand? I go fast,” he says.

I can only imagine the smirk he’s giving me right now.

“First of all, I don’t even know your name. And second of all…” he doesn’t let me finish.

“Call me Puppet,” he says. I tilt my head and feel an urge of laughter about to spill over but I keep my cool.

“Your REAL name please,” I say knowing that Max really needs this information.

“Puppet,” he says again. This guy is really f*****g with me.

“Seriously? Dude, I know that’s not your real name,” I say with irritation.

“It really is my name,” he says kicking his bike into gear, “—are you hopping on or walking?” he asks looking up at me.

At this moment, as I stand mere inches from him, I can see his grey eyes more clearly, as they glow in the moon light.

There’s something gentle and soothing about his demeanor right now. He isn’t the threat I thought he was from our earlier encounters.

I can trust him…

I place my hand on his left shoulder for support and lift my body over his bike. I hesitate to figure out where to put my hands, but I can sense he’s eager to get going so I wrap my arms around his waist.

The cool scent of his minty cologne mixed with the heat from his enormous hard frame is lighting up the furnace within me.

I feel like his body is inadvertently tugging at me, the thin piece of fabric on his back the only thing separating my skin and his.

Am I being engulfed in flames right now?

“Are you okay?” he asks softer and lower than I’ve ever heard his voice.

Wait, why is he being so nice?

“Yep. Ready,” I say nodding into his back. I hear the engine roar and the bike kicks forward with such abrupt force that my chin hits his shoulder blade.

I’m so embarrassed at this close contact with… Puppet… that I don’t realize how fast we’re speeding down the town road.

When we finally make it to my hotel, I hop off quickly and hand him his helmet.

“Thanks… Puppet,” I say as I sprint toward the hotel doors like it’s my run of shame.

“I’m too f*****g old for this.” I say to myself as I make it to the elevator smiling.

I don’t know why, but I’m feeling giddy over the evening I had tonight. The elevator *DINGS!* and I make my way carefully to my room and slip inside.

I walk over to my side table where my phone was left charging. It shows I have a missed message. I open my phone.

Max:

“Wires been sent. Prepare for departure. 48 hours.”

I set my phone down and plop on my bed. I stare at the ceiling fan above me. The words of the priest replaying over and over in my head.