𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝟒𝟖. 𝐃𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

I rested my hand on the rough paintwork that coated the door and pushed it. Rough wooden splinters cut into my palm, shards of black paint crumbled to the floor. The hinges squealed as though they were a warning, but their plea was silenced by a wall of noise.

Conversations swirled in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stench of cigarettes hid within the collaboration of mephitic odours. A sharp smell of drink wafted towards me, like black plumes bellowing from the windows of a burning house. There was even a hint of sick tainting the fragrance of the room.

We had before us an underground bar filled with men and some women. The first thing I noticed was the smell of the smoke coming out of the cigar. It was so bad, it was as if someone had put a piece of coal into my lungs. Looking at the man happily inhaling the smoke, I wondered whether my nose was sensing the wrong smell as the man looked as if he was inhaling flower scented deodorant or something.

The barista had the swagger of someone I didn't even want to lock eyes with, let alone cross. His arms were more ink than skin and his blonde hair so closely cropped that from a distance I had mistaken him for being bald. Beneath his pierced brows his eyes were as direct as I expected, not even blinking as much as the average person. Then from the shadows came three men just like him, but not so pale.

"We want to see Derange," Elliot said with a stern voice.

"Yo! Elliot my man you know Derange can't see you like that," the barista laughed with his copies.

"It's serious," he simply said. "The girl needs his help."

The barista looked at him and thought for a moment until he spoke again.

"She'll come alone," he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me with him.

Elliot touched my hand and whispered to me to be fierce and not let them get to me. The barista still held me by the hand dragging me with him at the back of the bar. We passed a red curtain and stopped in front of a big red painted door.

"You're on your own now woman," he whispered in my ear and then left.

I didn't know what I was supposed to do, maybe knock. I slowly knocked on the door without having any other options. Someone opened the door and I took a step forward entering the room. The walls were all painted red and in the middle was a big black desk with a red leather chair turned on the opposite side of me. I immediately assumed that someone was sitting on it. The black glass surface of his desk was uncluttered. On it there was a computer, a leather notebook, and a framed photograph of a young boy.

"¿Quién es ella?" the man sitting on the chair said in a language I didn't understand.
( Who is this?)

"Ella vino con Elliot." the man who opened the door replied.
( She came with Elliot.)

"Elliot? ¿Ese bastardo me robó mucho dinero y ahora tiene el coraje de venir aquí?" he laughed with a sinister laugh. I hinted anger in his laughter.
( Elliot? This bastard stole a lot of money from me and he has the courage to come here?)

"¿Qué le puedo decir jefe? Él es más tonto de lo que pensábamos." the other man laughed too.
( What can I say boss? He is more foolish than we thought.)

I was just standing there without daring to move a muscle. Standing there confused, watching these two men talking in Spanish, I figured later. I didn't know whether speaking would be good or not, so I preferred staying silent. Suddenly in a quick but soft movement the chair turned and in front of me a man with black glasses and a black suit appeared.

The man if anything, was fitter looking than I expected. His face tell of a lean body beneath his suit and his expression was serious but not unkind. He introduced himself formally, extending his hand and so did I. Though I would have surely made the deal even if he would look like a fermenting potato, it just made things more pleasant that he was so inviting to look at, to flirt with.

"Everyone calls me Derange and so will you," He said, his voice clear and deep. "So I hear that you came with our dear friend Elliot?" he asked me without cracking a smile.

"Yes, he wanted help and brought me here," I replied without taking my eyes off of him.

"What kind of help would a girl like you possibly want?" he asked me intrigued.

"I need a fake ID and a fake passport," I answered with a wary smile.

"Ella quiere una identificación falsa y un pasaporte falso. Necesitamos saber por qué." he said to the man next to him.
( She wants a fake ID and a false passport. We need to know why.)

"How long will you continue this? I am here you know, and I am asking for some help. I know that a fake ID and a fake passport will be nothing for you."

His accent was Spanish and intriguing, he was very sexy. He was handsome from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice.

"So let's see," he exclaimed. "You want a fake passport and a fake ID but the question is, what will you do for me to get what you want? How will you pay me?" he almost laughed enjoying every moment.

A heavy silence settled over us, thicker than the uneasy tension in the atmosphere. Unsettled eyes glanced unceremoniously around and tried to avoid catching other glances that passed by. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and grasped my sweaty, nervous hands.

"What can I do to pay you?" I finally asked without showing any fear.

Derange laughed and looked at me. My mouth was almost too dry to speak. I just looked at him like an idiot and then I croaked out "yes?"

"Let's see. You know, here we don't use our real names so we have to find a name for you. How does Inanna sound?" he asked me while signaling to the other man to leave us.

"Honestly?" I reluctantly asked him.

"Being honest is always hard but worth it," he replied while leaning on his desk.

"I don't like it then."

Derange's laugh came like a newly sprung leak. Timid at first, stopping and starting. He wasn't done yet though, I could tell from the way he rolled his eyes and half bit his lip.

"Inanna is the name of a goddess associated with love, beauty, sex, desire, even war and political power. You should be proud that I gave you that name. I give the names around here," he said in an almost poetic way as if he enjoyed talking about his knowledge. "Your friend's name is Cutie Wootie, don't ask why."

A look of shocked surprise came into my face, until I realized that I had leaned back in my chair and was laughing uproariously. Derange was kind of enjoying the fact that he made me laugh with the only person I knew in Detroit. I didn't know their history and I wasn't interested in learning it. I had come here for a reason and I was sticking on it.

Now that we were alone it was far easier to observe him discreetly, as he talked. It was natural for me to look his way while we talked. I toyed with the idea of testing my steps on him but I stopped myself short. He wouldn't buy it. Should I tell him the truth? That question went back and forth in my head.