It was dark in there when he woke up. Something smelled. He tried to move, but he was bound. And it was cramped in here, for sure. He tried to shake the fuzziness from his head, he needed an aspirin....Or a drink. Either one would do.
Gradually Guevara began to realize he was in a trunk. Where were they going? The vehicle was moving and he could hear waves outside.
This couldn't be good.
Suddenly, the car stopped and he heard car doors open. Two sets of feet stepped in the gravel and voices began talking in the dark. He smelled cigars being lit up. God, how he wanted one now! Guevara heard another car drive up and another car door opened. Gravel crunched under leather soles, voices laughed in the dark, low and treacherous.
Suddenly the trunk opened. Three men looked down at him, smirking, knowing. The three uttered obscenities at him, spitting each time and laughing at his predicament. He didn't understand their words, he caught some, but not everything. But he caught their meaning clearly.
The trunk shut and he felt the car move again. Funny, he hadn't heard it start. He heard a splash, and then a car starting...but it wasn't his...
In Memoriam: RIP: Guevara