“Deal.” The man grinned, stepped aside. “Come in.”
He shut the door behind them, his gaze still on Sister María. “What do you need?”
Dylan poured out their story in all of its tragic detail. “I’m taking my sister, Gabriela, to Colombia with me to get her away from the bastard, but those guys who stole her handbag took her driver’s license with it. We’ll never make it past all these fucking roadblocks without it. What the hell is going on out there anyway?”
Sister María stayed silent, her gaze downcast, her dark hair spilling like a veil over her face, an air of vulnerability around her that hadn’t been there before.
The man frowned, seeming to notice her bruises for the first time. “Why don’t you just kill that son of a bitch? The fucker deserves it.”
“As far as I know, that’s still illegal.” Dylan grinned.
The man, who said his name was Ender, laughed. “Too bad, eh? Let me get my wife. She can fix up your sister’s face, and I’ll make her an ID so perfect that even SEBIN wouldn’t know the difference.”
He shouted for his wife, asked her to bring her makeup kit. “Andrea used to work in a salon before it closed. Now she cuts hair in the neighborhood.”
Andrea was a tall, full-figured goddess of a woman, her dark braids piled high on her head and wrapped with a bright red scarf. She examined Sister María’s face. “Oh, what bastard did this to you? He should have his balls cut off.”
Sister María gave her a shy smile, as if this sounded like a good idea to her.
Well, if she ever gave up being a nun, she could become an actress.
“I hope the son of a whore pays for this.” Andrea went to work with concealer, cooing to Sister María as she made the bruise on her face disappear and hid her split lip with lipstick. “You look as beautiful as you ever did.”
Sister María smiled. “Thank you, Andrea.”
Ender led them to his basement, where he had a little shop set up with a scanner, a camera, a backdrop, and a fancy laminator. “Put that blouse on over your shirt. You don’t want the ID to show the exact clothes you’re wearing today.”
Dylan had to give the man credit. He knew his business.
Sister María slipped into a white blouse, buttoned it, and then stood in front of the backdrop.
Click. Click. Click.
Then Ender went to work, hip hop playing in the background.
Sister María slipped out of the blouse, came to stand beside Dylan.
“How do you feel?” He touched her arm, a gesture of brotherly concern that he instantly regretted, the heat that arced between them, taking him by surprise.
She stiffened, clearly not prepared for physical contact. “I’m okay. Just a headache.”
Ender turned to them, handed Dylan the ID. “See? What did I tell you? Perfect.”
Dylan studied it. “I’m impressed.”
He handed it to Sister María then pulled the cash from his pocket and the cigarettes from his sleeve. He had already taken the payment out of his backpack, not wanting to give anyone a glimpse of the money, gear, and ammo inside.
Ender took his payment, sniffed the cigarettes, and gave Dylan a homie handshake. “Thanks, man. Safe travels.”
* * *
It was toolate to catch a bus to San Cristóbal, where they would stop before heading toward the Colombian border, so their priority after Gabriela’s fake ID was finding something to eat and a place to spend the night. They walked toward the downtown area with its upscale restaurants, the night warm with just a hint of a breeze. It might have been pleasant—if they hadn’t been running from bad guys, and if signs of hardship weren’t visible everywhere.
People crowding around black-market stands. Families digging through garbage for food. Armed vigilantes, calledtupas, standing on the street corners with weapons.
Despite all of that, Gabriela hadn’t felt this free since the day she’d taken the veil.
Dylan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “You’re smiling.”