Page 7 of Jude

Luisa pulled me into a shadowed corner behind the 7/11 where we met a twitchy man called Marcos behind a dumpster.

He was a skinny hombre in a stained denim ensemble, shiny crocodile-leather shoes, and a squint in one eye above his huge mustache.

With a snarl, he threw two fake driver’s licenses and a gold credit card into Luisa’s lap.

‘Use it to pay for your flights at the desk.’

He brandished a silver, gleaming gun in my face and then drew it across his throat. ‘You better play along, bella, or else you bleed.’

I jolted as he laughed maniacally.

‘She won’t cause us any problem, she’ll do as I say because she’s all sweetness and light,’ Luisa grinned as she grabbed the card.

Marcos took off into the fog with a swagger and a scowl.

Luisa pushed me towards the bus stop, and we got on a local shuttle bus.

We were all alone except for the driver and a homeless woman with a trolley full of plastic cans, who gave off a rank stench.

Alighting at the terminal entrance, we walked through the sliding glass doors into a bustling hall.

The floors were polished white tile.

Everything seemed so organized under the warm wooden beams of the Vermont architecture, which only added to my worry that we’d soon be found out.

I tried to make sense of the airport signs, but Luisa seemed to know where to go.

Still, fear swept over me in waves.

As I walked alongside her, I slid my hand to my nape to the thin silver chain resting on my collarbone and rubbed the small, weathered eagle-shaped amulet.

It was smooth from years of my anxious stroking it for comfort.

Now I also hoped it would be my shield.

I needed all the protection I could get.

Travelers wrapped in heavy designer winter coats and wheeling huge suitcases walked past us without acknowledging us as we edged toward the airline counters.

With no warning, Luisa stopped, clutching my arm to halt my progress.

Her eyes were fixed on a man in a brown uniform standing near the TSA checkpoint a few feet away.

Her face turned pale.

‘Who’s he?’ I whispered.

‘Someone who knows my face all too well.’

‘How?’ I asked, for he appeared to be a cop of some sort.

‘None of your freaky business, chica,’ she hissed.

She whipped her head around, her eyes searching the concourse.

‘Go to the service desk,’ Luisa whispered, dropping my arm and shoving the gold card into my hand. ‘Buy the tickets. I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll meet you at the gate. Try to run, and I’ll come after you. Remember I’m armed!’

She vanished into the airport crowd in seconds.