Read Online GRINGA by Eve Rabi - Free Book Online Page B

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                  I glance at him, wanting to give him a grateful smile. But he does not look at me. He ’s sullen and morose and focuses on his drink. He too has three tattoo lines across his forehead.
                  I feel like the new kid at school, minus the buddy system. Diablo’s the school bully, Santana and Christa are the mean girls, Tongue is the class clown and the long-haired, surly guy is the cute , dark dude who smokes behind the school toilets.
                  After a while, conversation resumes and I’m left alone. The men are talking to Diablo – reporting, more like it. I release my grip on the table and sit back. I want to look at Diablo but I’m scared. I don’t dare lock eyes with him.
                  It is safer to concentrate on the colourful conversation around the table. Almost every sentence the men speak is littered with profanity. Me, I’m skilled in the art of profanity and I’m tough. I have to be – I’m going to be an FBI Criminal Profiler some day. Besides, look who raised me – a she wol f called Elaine, remember?
                  But now, I cringe as I eavesdrop. I can’t help it – they’re talking in both English and Spanish over me. Conversation between two hairy men on either side of me goes like this: 
                       ‘Where da fuck you been t’day, dickhead?’
                       ‘Wh y you fucking questioning me, fuckhead?’
                       ‘I fucking wanning to fucking know, cunt!’
                       ‘Why you fucking wanna know where I fucking was, ma’fucker?’
                       ‘Because yo’ mother was sucking my dick and she ask me. ’
                       ‘Ma’fucker, you should tol her I was beesy fucking yo mother in the nalgas !’ He stands up and thrusts his hips suggestively.
                  Diablo looks at me, then at him and the man shuts up.  
                    Christa guffaws at his obscene gesture. What a cool mommy.
                      Maria and Rosa bring out dinner and a small riot ensues. The men wildly attack the food as if it is alive, stuffing their mouths and chewing loudly, trying to maintain their swearing and cursing while eating.
                       The change in Maria and Rosa during dinner intrigues me. Maria is quiet and seldom makes eye contact with anyone at the table. Rosa stays in the kitchen and when she does help out in the dining room , it’s obvious, she can’t wait to scurry back to the kitchen.
    At first, I assume they’re terrified of Diablo, like I am. But after a while, I realise it’s not Diablo they’re afraid of , it’s Christa. In fact they always talk endearingly of Diablo and that adds to my confusion.
                               
    I quietly study the food. Chicken? Well, it looks like chicken and it smells like chicken, so I assume it’s chicken, but ...
                       I notice Diablo and Maria talking , their heads together. Diablo nods slowly, his eyes never leaving my face.
                  ‘E at !’ he suddenl y shouts. His voice sounds like it is being emitted from his gut, not his larynx. I tense at his addressing, the reef - knot in my stomach tightening.
                  Maria nods at his instructions.     
                       I shake my head and mumble something about being a vegetarian, which I’m not. After my months of vegetable broth with Juan and Enfermera, I wanted steak and sausages and shavings of ham and …
                  I would need forensic analysis on this food before I touch it. 
                       ‘E at !’ he bellows so loudly, conversation around the table halts and all eyes dart between Diablo and me.