THE TRADE - Chapter 3

The third chapter of my unpublished, Bolivian-set thriller novel!

Chapter 3

It was already dark by the time she got back to her room in the Gato. She’d wanted to call for the car service to take her, but Vasquez had insisted otherwise. He’d lost some of his easygoing charm, along with his patience, and she didn’t have the energy put up a fight.

She sighed and closed the door behind her, leaning against it. She ran her fingers through her sweat soaked hair and felt the congealed dust collect under her nails. She grimaced and headed straight for the bathroom. She ran the shower until the tiny room was filled with steam, and then got in.

The hot water hit her and she closed her eyes, letting her mind wander. Though, it only seemed to want to go to one place - to Marisabel.

Yuri drove through the plantation at breakneck speed, making it hard to see anything at all, let alone make notes, but she guessed that was the point. She’d spotted a couple of things she wanted to document, and asked Yuri to stop each time, but he’d only sped up in response and asked whether she’d said something after it was far too late to turn back. Every time she pulled out her camera or tried to scribble something down anyway, he’d step on the brake, pull the wheel violently to the left or right, or change gear with so much force that the resulting jerk would cause whatever she was trying to snap to fly out of frame. He was definitely under instructions to do so. Though, he could just be this much of a prick.

As she mulled it over, adrift in a sea of steam, she didn’t know whether it really mattered which was the case.

She watched the dust run into the plughole in brown streams and let her mind drift again. Fortune had smiled not long after - on her at least. Andrea pointed to a large, rundown building that looked like an old farmhouse and asked Yuri if it was the workers’ quarters, or something else. He yanked on the wheel automatically and veered off in the other direction, down a random gravel track. He cursed loudly and Andrea’s hands hit the dashboard as the jeep skidded to a halt, spraying the coffee shrubs with stones. A truck lay overturned in the road, its filthy underside exposed. The rusted flatbed was overloaded with sacks and had dipped a wheel in the drainage ditch. It was lying on its side and a mountain of yellow beans covered the road. Yuri ground his teeth so hard they almost split. But, whether they did or not, there was no getting past - at least, not without destroying half a truckload of product by driving over it. While the Russian was to be under strict orders to keep her away from anything and everything, the idea of destroying any of Vasquez’s product was a far worse prospect. Andrea didn’t wait for the jeep to stop fully before she took the chance to jump out. The second her feet hit the dirt, he turned into her and her knees clattered into the fender. She’d stumbled and swore in shock. But, by the time Yuri had climbed out and circled the vehicle, she was already on her feet. She dusted off her jeans and pushed him away, ignoring the pain in her legs.

‘I’m fine,’ she said emphatically.

But it wasn’t an apology she got. He cursed in Russian and gesticulated wildly. ‘Is that what women do where you’re from? Jump from moving cars?’ he sneered. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t run you over.’

‘Yeah,’ she laughed, picking up her dropped satchel before Yuri could grab it. ‘Lucky.’

He turned away and spat through his teeth, muttering something vulgar under his breath. She watched as his eyes swept the truck and the road, before resting on the jeep. She could tell he was torn. His eyes flitted to her, but all he caught was her checking her camera for damage. He needed to get her away, but should Vasquez find out that one of his trucks had spilt his product into a ditch, and Yuri hadn’t done anything about it, well, she didn’t like to imagine what the consequences would be, no matter how pertinent they might be to the report. Men like Yuri weren’t the sort she’d come to protect. He was on the other side of the stick.

She wiped dust from the lens with the hem of her flannel shirt and looked up to see Yuri storming towards the overturned truck. The overweight driver was sitting on the ground next to it, holding a rag to his bloodied head. The skin was split above the left eye, no doubt from hitting the steering wheel. She pursed her lips and looked to make a note of the registration plate. She could check if it was the sort of vehicle that was up to standard, but it was missing.

The driver was muttering something to himself and periodically checking the rag. ‘Dios’ was the only word that Andrea caught as she limped forwards, following Yuri. She counted five people involved, all in all, and Yuri was letting none of them escape his toxic gaze. There was the driver, who looked bruised and dazed, but mostly just upset. There were two young men inspecting the truck itself, and lastly were two women. One was half buried in beans, and the other was trying to dig her out. They were both giggling as they splashed around in the yellow mound. She couldn’t help but smile as their laughter cut through the dust soup air. For a second, she let herself believe that perhaps things weren’t so bad here. But that thought evaporated as quickly as Vasquez’s patience had. Andrea checked on the bleeding driver first, watching as Yuri circled the crash site like a vulture, hands on his hips like crooked wings, sweat stained shirt swinging from his arms.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

He jolted and scrambled away in the dirt, blabbering in broken English. ‘Si. Yes! I’m fine. I… I just resting a moment. I get back to work. I’m sorry… I…’

Andrea raised her hands, trying to quell him. ‘It’s alright, you’re just in shock. You need to stay still, please.’

She went after him as he pushed himself backwards across the road with his heels and free hand, still clutching the rag to his head, eyes wide. ‘Tell Señor Vasquez that I pay. I promise. I make it up to him.’ He wheezed like an injured pig and rolled to his knees, his stomach dragging in the earth.

‘Shh, it’s alright, I don’t work for Vasquez,’ Andrea said in a hushed tone, trying to make sure that Yuri wouldn’t hear. It didn’t work.

‘You may not, but I do,’ he hissed, appearing from behind the truck like a shade.

‘Por favor! Señor Semenov, tell Señor Vasquez I make it up to him!’ The man yowled as if Yuri was about to put him down like a lame racehorse. The truck didn’t even look that damaged.

‘You can tell him yourself.’ Yuri smirked. ‘I’m calling this in. They’re coming to get you.’

‘No, no, por favor!’ The man began to wail, clawing his way towards Yuri’s feet. He stepped back out of reach and kicked gravel over him. Something harsh and Russian pierced the air and she watched speechless as the man huddled into the foetal and began to cry. She drew breath to give Yuri what for, but by the time she turned, he was gone, heading for the yellow mountain of beans.

Coming to get him? Who? The boogie men? She was reading too much into his words. She had to be. He wasn’t first language English, after all. Surely he meant that they were sending help - medical assistance, a crane maybe, to right the truck.

Before she could come to any solid conclusions, Yuri turned his attention to the two women. Their laughter burnt away in the hot air as he planted himself in front of them. The one who was free of the beans abandoned her friend and scuttled away.

‘You think this is funny?’ he snarled.

The trapped woman hung her head, thin streams of beans trickling down around her waist. ‘No, Señor Semenov, lo siento - it’s just-’

‘It’s just what? The thought of losing thousands of Boliviano is funny? You see me laughing?’ he spat in thick English, their common tongue. Andrea wasn’t sure Yuri spoke Spanish, but she was certain the woman didn’t speak Russian.

The second woman who’d abandoned her friend watched from the drainage ditch, wringing her hands, but made no attempt to intervene.

‘Get back to work!’ Yuri yelled, catching her eye.

She melted into the wall of coffee plants. Friend or not, it wasn’t worth it.

‘And you,’ he said, turning back to the buried woman who was now making a concerted effort to push the beans from around her hips. ‘Get the fuck out of there!’

He snatched her wrist and turned like a tow truck, dragging her free with no regard for how tight his grip was - like a vice, judging by the way she yelped. He released her and spat, twisting on his heel. She landed at his feet and stayed on her knees.

Andrea winced at the dull sound of bone hitting gravel. She watched as the purple welts on her wrist quickly darkened in the Bolivian sunshine. Yuri didn’t care that he’d damn near broken it. The woman curled down until she was almost a ball, tucking her hands under her chest so they were out of reach. Dark spots blotted the ground under her cheeks.

Andrea bit her tongue, her notepad warping in her fist. No. Just watch. Let it play out. It’s better for the report. She hated herself for thinking it, but it was true. She half turned away as Yuri crouched, resting his hairless forearms on his knees. His lips peeled back over his pale yellow teeth and he muttered something to her too quiet for Andrea to hear.

She cursed under her breath and moved towards them to try to catch the words that were making the woman whimper like a beaten dog.

Yuri’s head turned slowly and he watched her come, a vague look of indignation at the interruption carved into his stony face. He mumbled something in Russian and stood, brushing the dust off his jeans. The woman stayed where she was as it rained down on her.

‘Yuri,’ Andrea said, stopping out of what she thought might have been arm’s reach. ‘Don’t you need to call someone, or something?’

He stared at her in silence for a few seconds before moving off slowly, back towards their jeep and the walkie sat in the holster on the dash.

The woman on the ground looked up and Andrea’s heart sank. She must have only been in her early twenties. Andrea had guessed she was double that from the other side of the truck. Her skin was cracked and freckled from the sun, her forehead burnt, face thin - gaunt, even. Malnourished. Andrea’s fist closed around the notepad again and it buckled this time. Was she even being paid enough to keep herself fed? Only one way to find out.

She turned her back on Yuri, who was jabbering into the walkie next to the jeep, eyes glued to them. ‘How do you find it working here?’

The woman stared through her legs at Yuri, the tears cutting lines in the dust on her cheeks. Andrea didn’t turn, but she didn’t need to. She knew he was glaring at her.

‘She needs to get back to work,’ came his accented voice from the jeep.

‘Considering she was almost just crushed to death,’ Andrea scoffed, turning, ‘I think she can take a moment.’

‘She must fill her quota for the day. If she doesn’t, she will not get paid.’ Yuri’s voice was almost airy, but the tone of arrogant condescension rang like a bell.

‘Then I’ll help her. Five minutes of her time for five minutes of mine, helping her pick beans. We’ll make the time up.’

Yuri grimaced and bared his teeth, half listening to whatever the person over the walkie was saying, and half thinking of his next snide retort.

‘And anyway, it’s the driver you should be concerned about, not this poor girl.’

Yuri’s bottom lip twisted out.

‘He’s injured, and nearly killed someone, too. But that’s hardly his fault - there’s no way this road is fit for a vehicle of that size. And what’s the maximum carry load for this truck? When was it last inspected and serviced?’ She shook her head, her expression blank. These types of violations were commonplace, but rarely did they result in serious incidents. Still, they made good ammunition. ‘Someone needs to take a witness statement, fill out an accident report, file insurance statements,’ she rattled off, as she’d done so many times before, counting them on her fingers, ‘inspect the vehicle for proper maintenance, have a physician to-’

‘If all that shit is so important, then you do it,’ Yuri cut her off, shook his head, and smiled to himself.

Andrea ground her teeth. ‘I don’t work for Vasquez.’

His smirk quivered.

‘But if you’d rather avoid all that legal shit, then I’ll simply add that to my report, instead.’ She kept her teeth clenched to stop them from chattering. Yuri was leaning on the windshield of the jeep, walkie in one hand, the other propped up at the elbow, fingers hanging just next to the grip of his pistol. Maybe she got shot by some of those bandits. Who would say otherwise? All other witnesses were killed in the crossfire, too. Yuri was lucky to get out alive himself. She swallowed hard, wedging that thought down. She held his gaze for a second or two more before he looked into the stark blue sky and laughed.

‘Fine. I’ll make the arrangements. We wouldn’t want to fall ill of the law.’ He made a faux curtsy, and pulled the walkie to his thin mouth.

Andrea turned back to the woman, kneeling so that her eye line with Yuri was broken. She was determined to get a few words in. ‘Let’s take a walk.’

The woman stared into her eyes and Andrea saw fear. She’d seen it before. It was a hard thing to forget.

The woman shook her head and tried to crawl towards the field. ‘No, I must get back to work.’ Andrea laid a hand on her shoulder and she jolted, shrinking away.

‘Hey,’ she said, dropping to a whisper. ‘You don’t need to be afraid of him.’

‘You don’t know,’ she said quietly, keeping her eyes down.

‘Come on, walk with me. Then I’ll help you make your quota.’

The woman cast her eyes to the jeep. Yuri had turned and walked a few paces down the road, no doubt to get out of earshot. Whatever he was saying into the walkie wasn’t for Andrea to hear.

She took the chance and leaned in, putting her hands under the woman’s arm. Andrea pulled her up, trying not to think about how light she was, or how pronounced her ribs were through her shirt. ‘Come on, just give me thirty seconds,’ she smiled, but it wasn’t as much of a question as it was an explanation as to why Andrea was frog marching her to the otherside of bean mountain.

‘Where you take me?’ the young woman asked in broken English, looking back at the shrinking jeep.

‘Just a little further.’

The girl struggled against her hands, but she didn’t have the strength to pull away. Andrea wondered when she’d last eaten or drunk something.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Marisabel,’ the woman said.

‘Ok, Marisabel, I need to ask you some questions, ok?’

‘Questions?’

‘Yeah.’ Andrea smiled again. ‘Easy questions.’

‘What sort questions? I don’t know nothing,’ she muttered, wriggling a little again.

‘You’ll do fine. Trust me.’ Andrea’s smile waned, her voice cracking. She blinked the quickly forming sheen from her eyes. This wasn’t part of her ordinance, but while they were within striking distance of the Russian cobra, she knew she’d not get anything out of her.

She paused and circled the woman so she had her back to the beans and Yuri, now a line in the distance. ‘I just need some simple answers, that’s all.’ She opened her bent notebook and scribbled the date, pulling her phone from her pocket as she did. She unlocked it and opened the audio recorder, hitting the red button and resting it on her notebook in one practised movement.

The woman swallowed and nodded, obviously not accustomed to disagreeing with anyone on the OV Plantation.

‘Marisabel? Am I saying that right?’

She nodded again.

‘Ok, Marisabel,’ Andrea tried to hold her smile, keeping one eye on Yuri. ‘What’s it like here? How do they treat you?’

She drew breath and stared into space, her eye twitching a little as chose her words. ‘The conditions are very good,’ she began woodenly. ‘We get regular breaks, and are never refused food or water. And, we only work our contracted hours.’ She finished and nodded in confirmation that she’d repeated it correctly. The memorised speech would do nothing for her report, though it spoke volumes. Vasquez had time to prepare. He knew she was coming. He was ready. It had been drummed into them.

Andrea sighed and lowered the notepad. ‘Do you enjoy working here?’

‘Yes,’ came the programmed reply.

‘And they treat you well?’

‘Yes.’

‘They pay you for your work?’

‘Yes.’

‘The right amount of money?’

‘Yes.’

‘As is stated in your contract?’ Andrea asked quickly, watching Yuri pace, still holding the walkie. He was waiting for instructions.

‘Contract?’ Marisabel looked up, her brow crooked.

‘Yes. You said that you work your contracted hours, which means you must have a contract, right?’

Marisabel looked down and thought intensely for a moment. ‘No, I don’t have… What is contract?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Andrea smiled sadly. A hollow victory.

The word came in and Yuri took off towards them.

Andrea cleared her throat and tried to grin at Marisabel. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. ‘Thank you. Just… Just don’t tell anyone what you told me, ok?’

Marisabel looked at her, not understanding. As far as she was concerned, she’d not said anything she shouldn’t have, and Andrea wanted to keep it that way.

‘We must go,’ Yuri said bluntly as soon as he was close enough to be heard. ‘You, girl, get back to work.’ He flicked his hand towards the fields like he was swatting at a fly. Andrea opened her mouth, but Yuri had already stopped and turned back, his boots grinding in the stones.

Marisabel slinked away before Andrea could thank her again, and vanished into the shrubs.

Andrea looked after her, at the shaking storks of the coffee plants, and then back at Yuri, who was making hooked movements with his fingers. ‘Come. There’s much still to see.’

‘But what about the truck, and—’ she stopped, realising that the driver, and the two men who’d been surveying the truck, had also disappeared. One glance from Yuri had been enough to send them running.

‘People are coming,’ was all she got in reply.

She sighed and looked down, pressing the red record button with her thumb. It clicked off.

Andrea stood still for a moment, staring at her blank notepad. She jabbed the page with the nib of her pen, making tiny blue dots. She wondered whether there was anything to write. All she had were suspicions. Well-founded ones, but still. If she left the scene, there’d be no way to corroborate whether the correct procedures would be followed, but she didn’t think she had much say in that decision. And when it came to Marisabel, she’d said that she didn’t have a contract. And what would that amount to? Half the workers in England didn’t have one, let alone Bolivia. She pursed her lips, but there was only one word that came to mind. And it was the only word she found herself able to write.

Shit.