Wild Case

by Tripp Ellis

  “I’m sorry, honey,” she said snidely, “but I’m not a cheap blonde. This hair is salon dyed. Do you know how much it costs to maintain color like this?”

  “Last time I checked, I didn’t really care.”

  She scowled at me.

  “Sometimes we all have to make sacrifices for the good of the mission.”

  Her scowl deepened.

  She picked up the box of hair dye and examined the ingredient list. She groaned. “Ugh, this is terrible! Do you know how toxic these chemicals are?”

  “And the ones in the salon aren’t?”

  “What did you pay for this? $9?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You couldn’t get a wig?”

  “I’m sorry,” I replied, snidely. “I didn’t see one in the grocery store.”

  “You understand, it will be almost impossible to go back to blonde after this. I’ll have to let the whole thing grow out. I’ll be stuck with this crappy color for months. Plus, this cheap stuff is going to dry my hair out and make it brittle. I’ll have terrible split ends. This is very damaging.”

  “Use more conditioner.”

  She growled in frustration, then finally relented with a long, exaggerated sigh. Frankie stared at me like she was expecting me to do something. “Well, I can’t do it by myself. You’ll have to help.”

  I didn’t know the first thing about dying hair.

  18

  I watched a YouTube video to prepare myself, which, of course, made me an instant expert in the art of dying hair. I read the package instructions carefully, suited up with latex gloves, and draped a towel over Frankie’s shoulders to keep from staining her sundress. When I left Coconut Key, this wasn't how I anticipated spending my afternoon.

  When it was all said and done, Frankie had dark hair. The towel was covered with dye, and the basin was stained with drips.

  Frankie wore an annoyed scowl the entire time. She left the dye in her hair for the recommended time, then I helped her wash it out in the sink. Afterward, she dried her hair, and when she was finished the towel looked like an ink toner cartridge had exploded.

  "Happy?” she barked. “I’m a brunette now."

  "I think it looks good."

  She rolled her eyes and stormed out of the bathroom.

  Isabella called. "Okay. You're set to meet Dragonfly in an hour at Café La Delicia.”

  "Send me a picture of him so I know who to look for," I said.

  "Will do."

  "Are you sure this guy is trustworthy?"

  "He's the only option you've got right now."

  "Thanks," I said, flatly, then hung up the phone.

  A text from Isabella came through a moment later with a picture of Dragonfly. I studied the image for a moment.

  "What's the plan?" Frankie asked.

  "The plan is you're going to stay here. I'm going to meet with Dragonfly."

  She frowned at me.

  "There's no sense taking unnecessary risks. We know operational security has been compromised. I could be walking into an ambush."

  "You're right. I think I'll stay here. If you're not back in three hours, I'll consider you dead."

  “If that happens, I’m sure you won't be too broken up about it."

  Frankie sneered at me.

  I left the angry brunette in the hotel room and strolled down the hallway to the bank of elevators. I climbed aboard the lift and zipped down to the lobby and walked to the sidewalk.

  Café La Delicia was only a few blocks away, and I arrived early. I held up across the street and scanned the area, looking for potential threats. The street was busy with traffic, and pedestrians ambled on the sidewalks. Trees ensconced the roadway, providing a canopy of leaves overhead. The dappled rays of the afternoon sun beamed down through the leaves, painting patterns on the ground. There were several shops, clothing boutiques, and cafés. Small apartments were perched over storefronts. Mopeds and bikes were parked in a designated area along the curb.

  It was a nice block, and I milled about, walking up and down the sidewalks, keeping an eye on the café. La Delicia was a two-story building with an open patio area. Patrons enjoyed coffee, sandwiches, and snacks. If people weren’t trying to kill me, and steal the case, I'd think it was a nice place to visit.

  A few minutes before the meeting time, Dragonfly entered the café. He walked across the patio, ordered coffee from inside, then took a seat at a table outside after he was served.

  Dragonfly was maybe 5’6”. He had a round belly, long dark hair, and wore a loud Hawaiian shirt, dark sunglasses, and cargo shorts. I had to chuckle to myself. He reminded me of a Colombian version of Jack.

  I watched him for a few minutes. He pulled a silver flask from his pocket and poured a little something extra into the coffee. I wondered what Isabella had gotten me into. Dragonfly sipped his coffee, and looked around. I walked onto the patio and took a seat at the table across from him. "It looks like rain later this afternoon.”

  “It does indeed," he replied.

  It was the code Isabella had established. There wasn't a rain cloud in the sky.

  "Isabella tells me you need safe passage to Santiago."

  "Is that something you can arrange?"

  Dragonfly grinned. "I can arrange anything. Girls, guns, transportation. You name it.”

  I was skeptical.

  “What you ask is risky,” he said.

  “Isabella will reward you handsomely.”

  "You have seen the dangers of the city. But you have not yet experienced the jungle."

  "I'm aware of the FRP."

  "They are an organization to be feared. They control many of the jungle roadways. Kidnappings have been on the rise. I would not recommend venturing to Santiago’s compound in a car. The way is treacherous.”

  “Cars haven’t worked out so well for us so far."

  He smiled. “Don't worry. I have a solution. I can arrange for a helicopter to take you to Santiago's compound. There will be a small fee, of course."

  “Isabella will pay whatever is necessary."

  "I must warn you, the area surrounding Santiago's compound is heavily controlled by the FRP. They are well equipped, well-financed, and they are relentless in the pursuit of advancing their goals."

  “I’m not planning on spending any time in the jungle,” I said.

  “My pilot flies gringos on tours around the city. He will not fly into Santiago’s compound, but I can arrange to have him drop you at a relatively safe distance.”

  I grimaced. "How soon can you arrange the helicopter?"

  Dragonfly shrugged. "Tomorrow. I will contact Isabella with the exact time and location."

  "Contact me directly,” I said. “Let’s keep everyone else out of the loop for the time being.”

  Dragonfly smiled. “You are a cautious man.”

  “Not cautious enough.”

  We exchanged numbers.

  “Is this your first time in Medellín?" Dragonfly asked.

  “No.”

  “So you know all that my city has to offer?"

  I nodded.

  “Are you staying close by?”

  I said nothing.

  A sly grin tugged his lips. “There is great nightlife here. I can arrange for good times.”

  “I think I need to keep focused.”

  “In a profession such as ours, every day can be our last. My philosophy is to live every moment to the fullest.”

  “Not a bad philosophy.” I thanked him for his assistance.

  "Any friend of Isabella's is a friend of mine. If there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask"

  “Actually... I need ammunition. 9mm, 124 grain hollow points.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “And, maybe you can help me find someone?”

  Dragonfly grinned. “I can find anyone.”

  “Esteban Rivera.”

  The name hung in the air for a moment.

  “I can find him. But w
hy? He is not a major player anymore.”

  “Personal reasons.”

  Dragonfly stared deep into my eyes, searching for my motivation. “Just so we’re clear, am I helping you to find him so you can... how shall I say... dispose of him?”

  “Somebody’s got to take out the trash every now and then.”

  “Must be very personal indeed. I will see what I can find out.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality.”

  He smiled. “Until tomorrow.”

  “Until tomorrow.”

  19

  “You’re not dead,” Frankie said, feigning surprise as I entered.

  I carried a bag from a clothing store that was across the street from Café La Delicia.

  “Disappointed?” I asked.

  “Eh, I’ll get over it.”

  She lay on the bed watching TV. There was nothing else to do. It looked like she hadn’t moved since I left.

  I was relieved to see her, even if she wasn’t thrilled to see me. If the thugs hadn’t stormed the hotel room by now, I felt relatively assured they weren’t going to. The Faraday cage was working. The GPS tracking signal from the case had been disrupted.

  I moved to the foot of the bed and set the shopping bag atop the comforter. I dug into it and pulled out a pair of stylish camouflage pants and tossed them to her. Camo was fashionable this season, and though they weren’t jungle fatigues, they’d blend in well with the verdant foliage in case of emergency.

  I tossed her a ribbed olive tank top. She caught it and looked at the size of the garment. I flicked a camouflage ball-cap across the bed. It spun like a frisbee and landed by her side.

  Her top lip curled with disgust. “You make me die my hair, and now you give me a hat? Don’t you think we could have figured that out before the bad dye job?”

  I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  From the bag, I pulled out a shoe box that contained hiking boots. I slid the box across the bed. “I think that’s your size.”

  She adjusted the box and looked at the size on the side label. She gave a mildly impressed look of approval.

  I tossed her a toothbrush and toothpaste.

  “You think of everything, don’t you?” She tried to hide a grin.

  I moved to the other double bed and unloaded the clothes I had purchased for myself. Same stuff—camo pants, hiking boots, drab T-shirt, and camouflaged ball-cap.

  Frankie tried on the boots. She laced them up tight, then walked around the room.

  “How do they feel?” I asked.

  “Like they need to be broken in. But not too bad.” She gave a look of approval. “Can I hire you as my personal shopper? I mean, your fashion sense needs a little work, but you are spot on with the sizing.”

  “I’ll have you know, I have great fashion sense. Camouflage is all the rage in the jungle.”

  She looked oddly cute standing there in a sundress, holding a case covered in aluminum with hiking boots on her feet.

  “I take it the meeting went well?” she asked.

  “We are on for tomorrow.” I filled her in on all the details.

  She expressed all the same concerns I had. “Do you think we can trust this guy?”

  I shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  I fumbled around the room, looking for a room service menu. I found one and handed it to Frankie. She perused the entrées.

  “Anything look good?” I asked.

  “Bandeja Paisa.” She read the description. “A hearty mix of red beans, white rice, chicharrón, shredded meat, chorizo, fried egg, avocado, morcilla, arepa, and a plantain.”

  “Sounds good. Order two.”

  Frankie sat on the bed by the nightstand and used the house phone to dial room service. She placed the order, and 30 minutes later there was a knock on the door.

  I peered through the peephole, then pulled open the door. The server rolled our meal in on a cart. He uncovered the steaming plates of food. I took them and placed them on the desk, along with two bottled waters and silverware. The server smiled as I handed him a few bills. He rolled the cart out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him.

  I served Frankie her plate, and she propped it on top of the case and used that as a dinner table while she sat in bed.

  I sat at the desk and ate. The food was good and filling. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and my stomach had been churning and gurgling for most of the afternoon.

  The sun dipped down over the horizon, and the lights of the city glowed. I leaned back in the chair, fat and happy—for the moment.

  When Frankie was finished, I took her plate, gathered up the silverware, and placed the remains outside the door in the hallway. I pulled the door shut, latched the security chain, and moved back into the room.

  “I feel gross,” Frankie said. “I need to take a shower. Will you give me a hand?”

  The offer hung in the air for a moment.

  I arched a curious eyebrow and tried not to let my enthusiasm for the project show. “I guess I could be forced to assist.”

  Her eyes narrowed at me. “Don’t get any funny ideas. It’s not that type of shower. I’m pretty sure this case is waterproof, but I’d rather not test the theory. If you could hold it outside the stall for me while I shower, that would be fantastic.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Frankie unlaced her boots and kicked them off. She climbed from the bed and sauntered to the bathroom.

  I followed behind.

  She handed me the case. “Hold this. Close your eyes.”

  With arms outstretched, I cradled the case and let my eyelids drop down. With a tug of the string, Frankie untied the straps of her sundress and let the fabric pool at her ankles. She stepped out of the dress, then she pulled her lace panties over her hips and down her toned thighs. I wasn’t watching, mind you, but I could hear the fabric slide across her smooth skin, and the sound painted a visual picture in my mind.

  She unclasped her bra and slid it down her arm. The frilly thing dangled against the handle of the case.

  She reached in and twisted the knob, and water sprayed to the tile. Within a few moments, steam began to fill the room, and dampness saturated the air.

  Still keeping my eyes closed, I moved with her as she stepped into the shower stall. She pulled the glass door as far as it would go, leaving just enough room for her left hand to stick out.

  Water pooled on the tile, swirling down the drain as she showered. The patter of droplets smacking the tile filled my ears as they echoed off the stall.

  I stood there like a good boy, holding the case, imagining the water glisten on her silky skin. I didn’t peek once.

  I promise.

  20

  I needed a cold shower after that. Even though I hadn’t seen her naked, the vision I had created in my mind would dance around in my brain all night long.

  Dragonfly texted me with the rendezvous point, and Frankie and I settled in for the evening in our separate beds.

  “If you get scared in the middle of the night, you’re welcome to come over to my side,” I said.

  Her eyes turned into tiny slits. “Thanks, but that sounds like a nightmare.”

  “Suit yourself.” I fluffed my pillow and rolled over.

  Frankie stayed up late watching TV. She was the kind of person who liked to fall asleep with the TV on and leave it on during the night. That didn’t bother me. I could sleep either way.

  In the morning, we got dressed. I had to cut the strap of Frankie’s tank top to get it over the case, then I used a safety pin to clasp it together. I tried not to ogle her form during the process. But I did take the opportunity to mess with her a little. “You know, you talk during your sleep.“

  “I do not!“ she protested.

  I could see the uncertainty behind her eyes.

  “What did I say?“

  “I don’t think you want me to repeat it.“

&n
bsp; She rolled her eyes. “You’re lying.“

  “Am not. You might want to get a handle on that. You could divulge secrets during your sleep.“

  She sneered at me. “I don’t often sleep with the enemy.”

  “You snore, too.“

  “Now I know you’re lying.“

  I shrugged. “How would you know if you snored? You weren't awake.”

  “I think I would know,” she said with a sneer.

  We ordered breakfast, then headed to the rendezvous point. The designated LZ was the roof of a nearby luxury high-rise. We made our way to the rooftop and waited. There was a clearing just large enough for a helicopter to land.

  Before long, I heard the patter of rotor blades overhead, pounding the air into submission. The black helicopter appeared on the horizon and drifted toward us. It glided over the rooftops, growing larger.

  Wind swept across the rooftop as the helicopter descended. It was black, with a red stripe down the side and the logo of a tour company on the door.

  It was a Bell 407—a single engine, four blade utility helicopter. It was a derivative of the popular 206 and had several civilian and military uses. They quite frequently ended up as tour vehicles, news copters, emergency vehicles, and transports moving offshore oil rig crews to and from the platforms. Developed in the '90s, it had a typical seating capacity of five passengers, a cruising speed of 152 miles an hour, and a range of 372 miles.

  The skids touched down on the rooftop, and Dragonfly opened the door with a beaming smile, wearing a loud shirt, proud of delivering a helicopter as promised.

  We crouched low and ran across the roof. The rotor blades sliced overhead, and the wash blew Frankie’s hair in all directions. I helped Frankie aboard, then climbed in after her.

  Dragonfly introduced the pilot. "This is Andrés.”

  He gave a wave of acknowledgment, then lifted from the rooftop.

  The engine whined, and the fuselage rocked, dangling from the rotor blades.

  Frankie and I put on a pair of headsets, and we buckled into our safety harnesses. The passenger area had nice bucket leather seats. The bulkheads were cream-colored and the maroon leather accented the color well. The vehicle looked relatively new, and well-maintained. The large windows offered stunning vistas, enabling tourists to snap photos.