“There are hacks that can fake that.”
“Fine. I’ll turn it off, put it on the floor. Wait until we get out. If it’s warm, it’s still on and bugged. If it’s cold, it’s fine.”
Her mother pursed her lips, then nodded. “Fine.”
Nita powered the phone off and placed it on the carpeted floor of the taxi, then used her foot to shield it and prevent it from sliding her mother’s way.
They continued riding in silence for the next few minutes. Her mother’s fingers drummed a steady rhythm against the car door, and Nita’s fingernails dug into the fabric of her sweatpants.
When the taxi approached an intersection, her mother opened the door without warning, and the taxi driver cried out.
“We’re getting out here.” Her mother pulled money out of her pocket. Purple money, and plasticky, like it was from a board game.
“It’s the middle of the road!” the driver yelped, but she took the money.
Her mother jerked her head, and Nita picked up her phone from the ground and followed. The surface of the phone was cool to the touch.
Nita mentally let out a sigh of relief as she pocketed it. Not bugged.
Her mother raised an eyebrow at the phone. She pursed her lips but said nothing, just wove between the honking cars until she hit sidewalk. Nita followed.
They were out of the downtown core, and the sun was once again visible. The buildings on the street seemed to be two or three stories, mostly made of faded red brick. Quirky signs advertised boutique shops, and restaurants with lavishly painted entrances invited people to come in for dinner.
The streets were crowded with people, long queues of chatty teens and university students gathering in front of the bubble tea shops, many restaurants full to bursting. The crowds on the street itself were heavy, and they flowed like water, pushing people along at the same pace. A small Asian girl stopped in front of a storefront with a squeal of glee, grabbing her hijabi friend and tugging her toward the store, and the people continued to flow around them, never stopping or slowing, just adapting.
Behind the cheery street, rows and rows of towering white and gray condo buildings clawed their way toward the clouds and, beyond them, the not-so-distant monolith towers of downtown.
A streetcar trundled by, or Nita assumed it was a streetcar. It went along rails set into the road, and it was red and black, but it was smooth and streamlined like a high-speed train.
Nita’s mother snapped her fingers, and Nita spun to her and glared. She hated when her mother did that.
“Come, Nita.” Her mother’s frown vanished into a thin, sharkish smile. “Are you hungry? Why don’t we get lunch?”
Nita’s stomach rumbled before she could respond, and her mother’s smile stretched. No, not sharkish. Snake-like.
Her mother merged seamlessly into the crowd and Nita stumbled in behind. They passed dozens of restaurants, but her mother didn’t look at them. There was even an outlet store called “The Black Market,” and for a moment Nita wondered if that was where they were going, but her mother strode past it without a glance.
When they finally stopped, it was in front of a restaurant that advertised authentic Venezuelan food. It was the first restaurant they’d seen without a line out the door, and Nita had to admit waiting in line in these kinds of crowds held no appeal.
The inside was small and dark. A large round table was occupied by a group of laughing college students, and a series of smaller square tables lined the wall. The whole place echoed with the noise of dozens of people all trying to talk over each other, covering the faint music in the background. The counter looked more like a coffee shop than a restaurant, with a till and a row of glass containers with muffins and cookies. There was a coconut cream cake in a display case that looked particularly good.
Nita’s mother chose a sheltered table for two. The waiter appeared in an instant with the menus. Her mother didn’t even look at them as she ordered a cocktail and an arepa. Nita blinked down at the menu and ordered the first thing she saw, the special of the day. She liked ceviche and was too ravenous to wait for the waiter to come back later. She hadn’t eaten since Bogotá.
Once the waiter was gone, Nita shifted in her seat. Across from her, her mother was still, a faint smile on her face as she examined Nita.
Nita cleared her throat. “I—”
Nita was interrupted when the waiter returned with her mother’s midafternoon cocktail.
Her mother swirled the drink and took a sip. “I’ve heard you’ve had quite the adventure.”
That was one way of putting it. “Yes.”
Her mother smiled. “I’m very impressed, Nita.”
“About what?”
“You.” Her mother put the drink down. “You managed to not only break out, but eliminate the culprits. I’d expect nothing less of my child.”
Nita felt a buzz of pride at the praise, and she sat up straighter. Compliments were few and far between when it came to her mother.
Just as soon as the buzz came, though, it was gone, replaced by an oily, heavy sludge in her chest. “Why didn’t you come?”
“Hmm?” Her mother sipped her drink casually.
“Why didn’t you come help me?” Nita’s voice broke a little. “You knew where I was. You had to know.”
“I did.” Her mother looked down at her hands. “I knew.”
“Then why?”
Her mother sighed. “I’m sorry, Nita. I confess, I thought you’d run off after our little tiff over the prisoner. I didn’t realize until I saw the online video that you’d been abducted.”
Nita clenched her jaw. If she’d truly wanted to run from her mother, she’d have done it when she was freeing Fabricio.
“Fine. But then why didn’t you come when you saw the video and had confirmation I’d been kidnapped?” Nita pressed. “I was there a long time after it was uploaded.”
Her mother leaned back and pursed her lips. “I tried, Nita.”
“You tried?” Nita’s voice went high and sharp. What kind of lame excuse was that?
Her mother’s jaw tightened further, and she snapped, “I have a lot of enemies, and going to Mercado de la Muerte is difficult at the best of times. I flew into Tabatinga to hire a boat and encountered some . . . problems.”
Nita raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You were run out of Tabatinga? You.”
Her mother ground her teeth. “I’m not a god, Anita. I’m not all-powerful.”
Nita had never expected to hear her mother admit anything like that. She was too proud. Nita swallowed, trying to fathom what could have stopped someone like her mom. “What happened?”
“An old enemy of mine made it . . . difficult for me to stay in Tabatinga. It’s not important.” Her mother brushed it aside. “I survived.”
Nita crossed her arms, “And then what, you gave up?”
“No, I was in the process of hiring someone else to pick you up for me when I heard the market had been destroyed.”
Nita looked away, her anger melting.
Her mother had tried to come for her. Just knowing that set something tight and painful loose inside. The childish, relieved part of her wanted to cry, but the rest of her knew that her mother would only get angry if Nita started weeping on her.