A shady ride to the Havana airport

It was 11:25 am on the dot. The little green Lada car that I was watching for rolled up to the curb where I was standing with my cumbersome bag on my back. 

Lada car

I had been staying at a small apartment inside the home of a sweet Cuban lady named Susana. It was a cute place and I even had my own kitchen. When Susana asked me how I was getting to the airport, I told her I was going to take a taxi. She explained that her friend could give me a ride for a discounted price. "Ok, if it's not too much of a hassle", was my response. 
She immediately ran to the phone and rang her friend. The answer was "yes", they would bring me to the airport the next day. 
Done deal. 

I never like to rely on someone else, especially someone I don't know, so I figured that I could just hail a taxi if they didn't show. 
I did a quick character analysis on the middle aged man and woman that had just rolled up in their little green car. 
No red flags. 
We exchanged "Buenas dias"'s. I slung my pack into the trunk and jumped into the back seat. There was no English spoken. They asked what airline I was flying and what time my flight was. After those questions, there was only silence. The silence made me paranoid. It was a good 40 minute ride to the airport, which is an awful long time to sit in silence. I watched out the window, soaking in the last sights of this city I had really grown to adore. I knew I'd be back again one day. 

With the windows rolled down, diesel smoke billowed in and seeped into my already polluted lungs. 
The scenery whizzing by didn't look familiar to me. Was this an alternate route? There were no signs that said "airport this way". 
I scanned the car for clues on what type of people they were. 
A pack of cigarettes. Some coins in the counsel. Susana seemed like such a sweet lady, I would have been very surprised if she had any criminal friends. 

The woman and man started murmuring something to each other in Spanish. I couldn't decifer what was being said. All of a sudden, the jet black-haired woman twirls around in her seat, puts out her hand and sternly says "you need to pay now". 

My heart immediately starts beating faster. I feel that uncomfortable rush of adrenaline rush through my veins. I was in fight-or-flight mode. 

These are the thoughts that ran through my head:
Dagnabit! These guys really got me. How could I be so stupid?!
These monsters are going to rob me. And I can't even report it because I'm not even supposed to be in this country! 
I know I can take the girl, but probably not the guy. I'm not giving up my small pack with my passport and phone. They'll have to really fight me for that. I can run faster than them. I'm younger and in better shape. They can have my big backpack if they want it. 

"Donde esta el aeropuerto?" (Where is the airport?), I spouted back with too much of a paranoid twinge to it. 
"Muy cerca" (very close), the man spoke up. 
I didn't believe him. I searched the sky for any planes. 
None. 
My heart was beating like a drum in my chest. 
So this is when it happens. All those months of travel and it's finally happening. I guess it was inevitable. As long as they don't take my life.....
I hide my suspicion and dug a 20 dollar bill out of my purse. I slapped it into the woman's hand, making sure I made direct eye contact with her. I was on to her. 

5 minutes felt like 5 hours. I was ready to react quickly to any shenanigans they tried to throw my way. In awkward silence, the man could sense my unease. 
He peered at me through the rear view window. 
I met his eyes with confidence. 
After a long pause, he explained how he didn't have a taxi permit and that the police could give him a fine if they found out he was giving me a ride and getting paid for it. So I must pay him away from the police's eyes.
I felt my muscles relax. Now I get it. Everything is going to be just fine. Soon we pulled into the departure area and I jumped out, unscathed. The man retrieved my bag from the trunk. Playing along, I said "adios amigo!" in earshot of a curious policeman. 
It all made sense to me. The average wage of a Cuban is $60/ month. They are charged absurd fees for any kind of services they provide, so a lot of times they do them under the table. 
I was merely a paycheck for them, but hey, I'm glad to have helped out a little with their income.
My nerves were shot. 
Relieved, I trot off to catch my plane. Until next time Cuba!!