Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,63
Alejo out the door into the hallway.
Without turning around, he answered carefully, “I don’t think so. I would never forgive myself.”
Their taxi sped along the highway towards Sacaba, the same route they had taken to say good-bye to the Martirs. Not even halfway to Sacaba, Alejo directed the taxi driver to veer off the highway towards a gravel-covered incline. With a sharp tap of the brakes, the driver darted in front of oncoming traffic on the highway’s opposite lane and bumped onto the more uneven road. He then punched the gas, letting the shiny, newer taxi climb up towards wherever their final destination would be.
Spanish pop music filled the clean, gray interior of the taxi, and the young driver, wearing a peach polo shirt, tapped a muscular forearm against the steering wheel to keep rhythm. This under-maintained road took them higher and higher up one of the mountains at Cochabamba’s northern edge, the bumps and ruts jolting the taxi with more violence the farther along they went. Three iridescent CDs hung from the top of the windshield on gold cords, dangling and swaying with each jolt of the car.
“A los moteles, no amigo?” The taxi driver’s eyes met Alejo’s in the rear view mirror.
“Yep,” Alejo nodded to him, mouth turning up. “El Cupido.”
Wara glanced over at Alejo sharply. They were entering an area where the dusty road was pock-marked with rocks and shaded by eucalyptus trees. On either side, brightly-painted walls rose up, sporting neon signs with names that did not appear to be those of respectable hotels: Safari, the Oasis, the “Park Drive-In”, and Lover’s Paradise.
Wara stared in disbelief, and then her eyes fell upon a towering sign of a glowing cupid, complete with heart-tipped arrows. And underneath, a giant closed gate painted the color of red hot candies with an enormous pink heart.
Oh, this was not good. Someone had once made a comment to her that in some part of Cochabamba there were “motels” where one could pay for rooms by the hour, usually for romantic encounters. The taxi that held Alejo and Wara had pulled up in front of the looming hot pink heart, which now filled the entire windshield. Their taxi driver honked twice merrily and waited, still tapping the steering wheel to the rhythm.
You have got to be kidding me, Wara gaped, then snapped her mouth shut and whirled towards Alejo.
“What is this?” she hissed.
He tried to appear unfazed, obviously having known Wara would react this way. “This is the only place where you can stay without having to show ID,” he whispered in her ear. Alejo scooted closer and slung an arm around her shoulder. “Just act natural, ok? I had to lie through my teeth to get Danny back at the Salta to let you stay without ID, and he only did it because he’s a nice guy. We’ve got these nice, dark tinted windows. That’s why I picked this taxi.”
Alejo motioned fluidly towards one of the windows, as if waiting for Wara to take in how they were invisible to prying eyes outside the taxi and stop being angry that he had brought her to a motel called El Cupido. Then he continued, squeezing her close against his side for the taxi driver’s benefit. “Probably just some kid will come out to take our money, and then we’ve got a room. If the guys from my team would come here, no one has got our ID. Plus, this place is pretty secretive. I’m sure you can imagine why”
Wara swallowed hard. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, mortally embarrassed, doing her best not to rip herself away from Alejo’s grip. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it a moment longer, the huge wooden door of love swung open by some invisible hand and the idling taxi drove inside.
The courtyard they entered was grassy, shaded with trees, and mostly dark. Off to the right, Wara could see a long row of motel rooms, each sporting a pair of hearts painted on the red hot, numbered doors. Stifling a groan, Wara leaned her head back onto the seat back. Alejo winked at the driver, who seemed to be enjoying this.
“You’ll talk to the boy for us, right? Just slit the window so no one’ll see us.”
“No problem,” the guy in the peach shirt nodded, and with one touch of a button the cobalt glass glided a few inches lower, revealing a brief glimpse of a young boy with chocolate skin and a