The Mule: An Erotic Romance in Colombia

by Storm Chase

  “Salad with lunch?” she suggested. “There are some ripe tomatoes.”

  Connor nodded. “Cleo, talk to me for a moment.” She was looking up at him in surprise. She was softly rounded again, glowing with good health and filled with energy. She looked so enchanting that he felt a momentary cowardly impulse to avoid getting to the bottom of this. Maybe he should just take her to bed instead. Then he steeled himself. “Did seeing him upset you?” he asked abruptly.

  “No,” Cleo said calmly. “In fact, I was wondering what I ever saw in him.”

  “Good!”

  Cleo looked at him with a small smile. “I’m over him, Connor. Don’t worry.”

  “You’ve been a bit down here and there the last few days.”

  “I’m ok. Really.”

  Connor thought of the perfect way to cheer Cleo up and to celebrate the fact that she was over that bastard. “Shall we go to town for the weekend?” he suggested. “Dancing, dinner, the works?”

  Cleo jumped up excitedly. “Yes!”

  They drove down to Medellin after lunch, with Cleo almost vibrating with excitement in her seat. Connor booked them into the Park Ten, a comfortably opulent hotel at the opposite end of town from the Garcia Riviera’s hotel, The Emerald Majestic.

  After checking in, Connor sent Cleo to the spa with instructions to enjoy herself and to join him at the bar when she was done. To his surprise, Ffrench was there, drinking a tall gin and tonic.

  “Oh hello,” Ffrench said with forced jollity. “How’s life in the jungle?”

  He always asked the same question in the same irritating tone of voice. Connor knew Ffrench was nervous around him so he just nodded. “Fine.” He was moving away when Ffrench bleated at him.

  “I heard an extraordinary rumour,” he said. “About you and that silly little stripper from London, you know, the mule. The one who was sentenced to eight years. You asked me all about her last time we met.”

  Connor felt a wave of dislike for Ffrench. “You mean Cleo Davidson.”

  “Was that her name?” Ffrench warbled. “I forget. I mean, she’s one of the great unwashed, as the poets used to say. No class, no breeding and no brains. Well, anyway, I heard that she was living with you!” From his hyena-like laugh, Ffrench clearly expected horrified denial.

  “Quite true,” Connor said coolly.

  Ffrench almost choked on his gin. “You can’t be serious! It’s impossible!”

  “Tengo palanca.” Connor saw with satisfaction that Ffrench was silenced. “I’ll see you around.” He picked up his drink and went to sit at a table overlooking the lobby. Minutes later, Luis turned up. He waved cheerfully at Ffrench and sat down with Connor.

  Seeing the unloving look Ffrench gave Connor, Luis grinned. “Ffrench pissing you off?” when Connor shrugged, Luis laughed. “I like him. He’s nosy, believes everything he hears and he never stops talking. Whenever I need a rumour to spread, I talk to Ffrench in confidence.”

  “Glad our embassy is of some use to you,” Connor said sarcastically.

  “Don’t let him get under your skin,” Luis advised him.

  “He was talking about Cleo.”

  “Ah!” Instantly Luis looked serious. Then he sighed. “My friend, I have to say that it looks bad. When you asked for my help, I said to myself, “Luis, this is something you do for your friend and then you don’t ever think about it again.” I felt like I had sold a human being into slavery. I felt dirty. But I have seen her and you, and I have changed my mind. You have saved each other!”

  Connor was startled by his friend’s lyrical enthusiasm. “Been reading chick lit, Luis?”

  For a moment even Luis’ perfect English was challenged. Then he rallied. “Soap operas,” he said darkly. “My wife’s an addict.”

  “Cleo is glued to the TV every afternoon,” Connor grinned. “God awful rubbish but she loves it and her Spanish is improving rapidly.”

  “You’re happy,” Luis observed. “You’re out of your depression.”

  Connor never liked talking about his feelings but Luis was a friend. “You know how it is,” he said lightly. “Getting back in civvy street is a bit of challenge for pongos.”

  “Would you like me to smile diplomatically and shut up or do we talk about how many snipers end up committing suicide?” Luis asked.

  “We smile diplomatically and have another drink.”

  “Waiter! Two more!”

  “And two more for me too!”

  Laughing, the two friends talked about local events.

  “The Garcia Riviera brothers are going down for tax fraud,” Luis said.

  “Good.”

  “Can’t get the old man though.”

  “Maybe you should shoot him.”

  “Possibly, but if we took out every drug dealer, we’d end up shooting half of Colombia.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “My minister will be involved in another sex scandal.”

  “Again? The man needs to put a padlock on his prick.”

  “Possibly. But it’s good news for me: revolving ministers means I can work uninterrupted. By the time they catch up on what’s going on, they’re too worried about the next election to interfere.”

  Connor tried to look interested. He had always hated the politics that were part of business. He was glad he was out of it.

  Over at the bar, the embassy crowd joined Ffrench. His high-pitched bleat was easily heard across the room. “Don’t look now but you heard about the mule and the assassin? Well, that’s him over at that table!”

  Luis looked worriedly at Connor but to his amazement his friend wasn’t raging but grinning.

  “Ffrench is in the wrong business,” Connor said lightly. “He should be writing soap operas.”

  Luis was thoroughly taken aback. “You have mellowed! I thought by now you’d be on your way out, too frightened to stay in case you lost it and killed him!”

  “Kill Ffrench? Oh come on! Even at my worst I wouldn’t do that! That ageing pansy isn’t worth it.” Unfortunately there was a momentary silence that ensured Connor’s voice carried to the group at the bar.

  Ffrench heard and went bright red but said nothing.

  Connor tried to be sorry but wasn’t. He couldn’t stand Ffrench.

  Ten floors up, having had her haircut and a manipedi, Cleo looked in a mirror and twirled around. She was looking great. Her hair was glossy, her skin perfect and she was bursting with energy and without the help of a toot. In fact, Cleo couldn’t remember exactly why she’d ever liked coke.

  Idly, she counted up the days she’d been clean. It took a bit of figuring but she decided she’d been with Connor for 3 months. That meant she had 93 months to go. Cleo laughed. She didn’t think it was a bad thing. She was having fun.

  Cleo bounced downstairs and spotted Ffrench at the bar. She didn’t want to talk to him so she carefully didn’t look his way as she joined Connor and Luis.

  Luis stood up and kissed her on both cheeks. “Que linda!” He handed her a letter. “I was going to forward this to you. It arrived today.”

  Cleo took it with surprise. It was from her mother. “How did you get this?”

  “You are technically resident in the jail but I have had your letters rerouted to my office. I also sign papers every week to say you are helping us with our enquiries. Then just in case anyone asks to see you, all the paperwork is in order.”

  “Oh.” Like all Connor’s friends, Luis acted super casual and he smiled a lot but Cleo suddenly realised how powerful he was. She looked at the letter as if it was going to bite her.

  “Open it, love. Better to know than to worry,” Connor advised her.

  On impulse, Cleo handed it to him. “You look. If it’s nasty, throw it away.”

  Connor instantly opened it. “It’s very dull,” he told her. “A lecture on Christian charity.” He turned it over and read to the end. “And some good news. Your mother says she’ll forgive you if you’re clean.”

  Cleo shrugged. “Bet
ter throw it away,” she said to Connor.

  Not wanting to discuss it in front of Luis, Connor stuck the letter in his pocket and changed the subject. “We’re in the mood to party,” he announced.” Anywhere new we should check out?”

  Several hours later, flushed from dancing, giggling after several cocktails and holding onto Connor’s arm, Cleo skipped back into the hotel.

  “One more drink before bed?” Connor suggested. “There’s a good band in the bar.”

  “Yes, please!” Cleo was having a blast.

  The small dance floor was bursting at the seams. The crowd was lively and friendly. Cleo was soon teaching a group of English tourists to salsa. Seeing she was happily occupied, Connor took the opportunity to slide out for a breather.

  Every table was taken but Connor found space at the bar. Unfortunately, Ffrench was still there, drunk and at the belligerent stage. “You,” he said blearily at Connor. “You insulted me.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Connor said peaceably. He was watching Cleo whoop it up with a smile.

  “You don’t respect me,” Ffrench slurred. “Nobody does.”

  Connor quietly began to edge away. He hated whiney drunks.

  “Whoohoo!” Cleo was dancing with a lanky Englishman with two left feet. The two of them clowning about were attracting a laughing crowd.

  Ffrench glared across the room. “Huh, what a little tart!” he said with loathing.

  “Shut up, Ffrench,” Connor spoke without anger but Ffrench decided discretion was the better part of valour. “I don’t get it,” he whined as he got up to go. “You act like you like her but if you did, you’d send her back to England.”

  “Go home, Ffrench,” Connor said.

  “I don’t know why I bother,” Ffrench muttered. “I mean, she’s practically a prostitute but to see a girl forced into slavery and by an Englishman! I just hate seeing it.” He staggered off, bouncing from table to table on his way out.

  Connor shrugged and ordered another rum sour. It was odd to hear the word slavery twice in one day. First Luis and now Ffrench. Connor took a sip of his rum. Luis had admitted he got it wrong and Ffrench didn’t know what he was talking about, Connor decided. Cleo didn’t love housework but she hummed as she worked in the garden, sang as she exercised and there were plenty of village fiestas for them to go dancing. Also, she was off the coke, forever, if Connor was any judge. No, Cleo was fine. Ffrench just didn’t get the whole picture.

  Cleo came dancing over, trailing several new friends. “The band’s taking ten,” she announced. She leaned companionably up against him as she chatted away.

  “This is Dotty and Dave and Fiona and Gavin and Ron. You know The Pink Pussycat in London? They know it well and I used to work there! And in Glitter next door.”

  Cleo turned round and was chatting away again. Seeing she was hot, Connor signalled the bar tender to bring another drink and a bottle of water for Cleo. When it arrived, Cleo was caught up on the London club scene. “It seems like a thousand years that I was home.”

  She sounded a little wistful. Connor’s ears pricked up.

  “Do you work here?” The lanky one with two left feet, the one who might be Gavin, asked.

  “Well, I live here now,” Cleo said vaguely. “I’ll go back home one day.”

  “How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Another 93 months!” Cleo laughed.

  “You’re on contract?”

  “Kind of.”

  Connor held his breath, wondering what Cleo would say next. He handed Cleo her water. “Thanks, Connor. “

  “He’s tall, dark and yummy,” one of the girls sighed. “Are you married?”

  “Erm, I live with him,” Cleo equivocated. “It’s kind of a strange story.”

  Connor hastily interrupted her before she could entertain her new friends with the tale of the mule and the assassin. “What brought you to Colombia?” he asked the lanky one with the two left feet.

  Much later, Cleo collapsed into bed, still damp from her shower and watched Connor undress.

  “Enjoy yourself, love?”

  “Yes!” Cleo snuggled into the pillow and smiled. “It was awesome.”

  Connor shook out his trousers and put the letter he’d tucked there earlier on the bedside table. When he got back from the shower, Cleo was reading it, although squinting a bit with drink.

  She put it down with a sigh. “My mum,” she said evenly. “She was always a bit religious but nowadays she’s a walking lecture on Christian principles.”

  “Maybe you can make up.” Connor got into bed and held up an arm so she could snuggle up to him.

  Cleo made herself comfortable and yawned. “She’s disowned me before,” she murmured. “If I turn up, she’ll take me back.”

  “Why not call her?” Connor suggested.

  Cleo shook her head. “She never answers unknown numbers. She’s got a thing about it.”

  “You can write to her.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Cleo didn’t want to talk about her mother. As they’d never gotten along well, it was a painful subject. Every time the two met, they’d stalk carefully around each other and then fall out. Even thinking about her mum made Cleo uptight.

  Connor mistook her reluctance, thinking she was missing her family. “Would you like to see her?” he asked gently.

  Cleo shrugged. “One day, I guess.” She decided that Connor’s new chattiness was a pain in the arse and changed the subject. “Can we go to the market tomorrow?”

  “Sure. What do you need?”

  “Nothing,” Cleo yawned. “I just want to be with crowds and crowds of people.”

  “Do you want to go back to London, Cleo?” Connor asked.

  “Hmmm. Yes. I really miss it, I’m even missing the rain and the traffic.” Cleo’s eyes were closing. She added softly, unaware she was speaking aloud, “I even miss my mum, old battleaxe that she is. When I get back, I’ll give up dancing and take a decent, boring job. That will make her happy.”

  He had to ask. “Are you happy with me, Cleo?”

  “Hmmm, yes. You saved me from prison. I would’ve killed myself if it hadn’t been for you. I’ll always be grateful.” Her eyes were closed and she was dropping off to sleep. “You’re very good to me Connor,” she mumbled. “I had a really good time today. Those 93 months will go quite fast, I think.” Cleo was asleep.

  Connor felt his heart sink. They had all been right. That idiot Ffrench, and especially that fucker Garcia Riviera had seen the truth. His friends who had worried about her at first had not seen past the fact that Cleo always masked uncomfortable truth with her own fantasies. She convinced herself that every one of her lousy lovers was all right at heart and she’d done the same to him. She acted happy and probably told herself she was happy but she was simply grateful to him. Secretly she yearned for London. And her family. So much so that she was willing to give up her dancing and settle for a job she’d hate.

  Connor looked down at her. Cleo was fast asleep, her auburn hair spilling over his chest, her arm curled around him.

  He loved her and he knew he had to let her go. It was four o’clock. No point in dragging this out, better bite the bullet and make this fast.

  Connor edged out of bed, got dressed and went to the concierge. Two hours later, he had a ticket and was calling Luis. “I need you to alert your airport security contact.”

  Cleo woke up, surprised to see it was just past dawn and that Connor was standing fully dressed by the bed. “I thought we were sleeping in,” she yawned. Her mouth was dry and her eyes a bit blurred. She had a touch of hangover. Connor looked a little grim. Hastily, Cleo examined her conscience. She had been a bit happy the night before but she couldn’t remember doing anything wrong.

  “It’s still early, love,” Connor said evenly. “But I want you to get dressed.”

  “Anything wrong?”

  “No. Just get dressed.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were walking out of the hotel. Cleo
noted with bewilderment that Connor had packed her bag and brought it along. An official looking car stood waiting.

  “What’s going on?” Cleo whispered, suddenly afraid. For a moment she wondered if Ffrench had complained because she wasn’t in jail.

  “You’re going home, Cleo, to London.”

  “London?”

  When Connor motioned her into the car, Cleo got into the backseat. Connor slid in next to her. “London?” she asked again in amazement.

  “Yes.” Connor brought out an envelope, showing her tickets, passport and some British pound notes. “Your flight leaves in two hours. Luis has organised for a friend to walk you onto the plane. No need to worry about anything. It’s all fixed. You won’t show up on any computers. There’s enough money in this envelope to keep you for a night or two. And here’s a cheque. Cash it when you get to London. It will keep you for a month or so.”

  Cleo stared at him. “But, it’s only been 88 days, not even three months.”

  So she’d been counting that closely. That hurt but Connor didn’t show his feelings. “It’s ok, love, just promise me one thing: no more drugs.”

  “I won’t, not ever,” Cleo said vehemently. “And no more dancing either. I want to work in a garden centre or a herb farm maybe.”

  “Good.” So she had planned her future. That hurt too but it showed she would be all right.

  “And talk to your mum.”

  “Yes.”

  “And call me if you need anything. Any time. My numbers are there on a list, and I’ve put down Ray and Dylan’s contacts too.”

  They were at the airport. Not at the front with all the other passengers but at a door in the back.

  When Cleo got out of the car, a sense of unreality enveloped her. One minute she was in bed and the next, here. It seemed like a dream. An official in gold braids greeted Connor. This wasn’t the man who’d found the coke in her suitcase; this gold braids had a ponytail. They talked for a second in Spanish but too fast for Cleo to follow. Then Connor hugged her. “On you go, love. Have a good trip.”

  Before she could speak, he was back in the car and gone.

  The ponytail grinned a lot and walked her through some corridors before leaving her in a large, bustling cafeteria. He informed her that her flight was delayed and ordered her a large latte. Then his radio crackled and he had to rush off.