“Well…ahhh…you see, ahhh it’s like, you know, I left him asleep and maybe I shouldn’t’ve.”
“Shouldn’t’ve left him asleep…or shouldn’t’ve left him? Which is it?”
“He’s bound to be angry, just leaving him that way. He spoke of dinner tonight and mentioned something special, a gift. Perhaps a ring…”
“He has a steady income, position. He’s reasonably attractive. A woman could do far worse than to marry him.”
“You couldn’t possibly understand-you’re a man.”
Benilo laughed at this. “I think the real question here, Quiana, is do love him?”
She immediately and emphatically replied, “Short answer? No.”
“And the long answer?”
“We’re good friends, but right now, that’s all we are.”
“Hmmm…I myself…I was never able to settle for friendship either. From an outsider’s viewpoint, I can only say, time is often the best path to follow.”
She began walking in a small circle, reminding him once again of her mother, Rafaela, muttering to herself, “I don’t want to hurt him, but…I don’t want to be anyone’s little woman or even a doctor’s wife. I’m a detective. I have a right to my own career.”
Benilo stood, put his coffee cup aside, and walked to where she paced. He stretched out a hand to her and softly patted her shoulder. “Just call him, cancel dinner. Give yourself all the time you need.”
“Sure and while I’m at it, I’ll say I solved the whole damn case, so he can stop worrying,” she joked.
“How can such a retiring woman as you be so worrisome to Dr. Montoya?” he teased. “In the meantime, we do have a case to solve.”
She gritted her teeth in response as she pulled out her cell phone. The Jarre composition ended, replaced by Hans Zimmer’s score for the film Blackhawk Down. The title amused Qui as it reminded her of the spluttering relationship with the black-haired Montoya still asleep at the hotel. The title also recalled her father’s latest photography project, black and white images of the hawks of Cuba.
“Oh…by the way…I want you to come tomorrow to our Miramar house.”
“Really…and why?”
“We’re celebrating my father’s birthday.”
He stared noncommittally at her, and then raised his shoulders and eyebrows at once. “After so many years? Would I be welcome?”
“Absolutely, yes! My father has never spoken ill of you.”
“All right…perhaps it is time, after all.”
“Yes! Time for you two old friends to reunite,” she effusively said. “Besides, Doctor, I want you there.”
He smiled at this.
“Besides…if you are there, maybe he won’t press me about dropping the case.”
“Perhaps, I can make him understand that this case needs us both.”
The sounds of Zimmer rose and fell in the background. She attempted getting Montoya on the phone, but he wasn’t answering. She left a message that she wouldn’t be seeing him tonight, explaining that she’d promised to spend time with her girlfriend Liliana instead. It was as good an excuse to gain some time away from Estaban as any.
16
Saturday night at the Palacio
She moves like a professional dancer far more than she does a cop, Julio Roberto Zayas thought again as he watched the woman on the Palacio’s dance floor. He recalled her from that moment their eyes had met at the Capitol Police Headquarters the first time he’d gone there.
The music, fast and loud, pulsated with a tempo that made it hard to resist moving. The rhythms invited everyone onto the floor, making it impossible not to move. She had partnered with two loud guys, each wearing a tropical shirt taken to the extreme-blindingly bright, patterned with flowers of blood red, mango orange, and canary yellow. Zayas felt a bit surprised she’d chosen to dance with these two, as she seemed more discriminating and professional in her own dress and demeanor, but it became increasingly clear that she enjoyed joking with this pair, calling one Enrique the other Pedro. Maybe it was their dance skill, something Zayas had been polishing lately with the lovely blonde blue-eyed Liliana, a dance instructor at the hotel. On the dance floor, he felt less foreign, and it made up for his failure to jog since leaving Miami several weeks earlier.
Convinced he’d gone unnoticed where he sat off the end of the bar half hidden behind some sort of potted plant, he sipped at the hotel’s specialty drink-a papaya and mango daiquiri. After a day of bureaucratic double-talk, he felt comfortable in this dark corner booth that’d lately become his evening lair. Is it mere coincidence that the lovely detective should show up here, or is this fate?
From where Zayas sat, his back to the wall, he commanded a clear view of both bar and dance floor. His trip to the Excalibre with its unsavory managers fresh in mind, he couldn’t help but feel a creeping paranoia. A paranoia that he instinctively knew affected a man’s behavior; he hoped such foolishness would not surface when he sought out the pretty PNR officer-something he’d been contemplating since watching her dance.
Graceful, lithe, sultry-interesting, very interesting. Now if I can just convince her to like me. Still watching her dance, he wondered if she were still armed. When all he saw proved soft contours without a single telltale bulge, Julio decided she was unarmed. For the moment, he sat content, nursing his drink and watching the action- her action in particular. Damn, she recalled to his mind the proud, distinctive walk of a young Sophia Loren, a real beauty in her day. Another thing he missed about Miami-his collection of classic films.
“Another?” the cute dark-eyed waitress inquired, her features painted with the brush of fatigue. She’d been his waitress several times here in the bar, and he had begun to feel he knew her. “Lucinda, you’re yawning. End of your shift?”
“Damn, do I look that tired? Did double duty today. Restaurant, now here.” She sighed, then added, “Long day. You?”
“Nothing but frustration the entire day.”
“Some days are like that.
“Something in the air maybe.”
“Yeah, like this heat!” She laughed. “Refill for your troubles?”
“No refill just yet,” he replied with a smile. “Check me later.”
Despite the combined pleas for just one more dance from the two young peacocks, the police woman left them standing on the dance floor. They brought to mind a pair of hungry howler monkeys in a zoo, Julio thought nastily. Inexplicably proud of her dance skill, he felt secretly glad the two monkeys had been rebuffed. She joined Liliana, his dance instructor, at a table where the two obvious friends shared drinks and a laugh.
As he watched Liliana place a cigarette to her lips and reach for matches, a hand with a lighter appeared along with a Rolex Submariner watch, the anniversary edition with the green bezel. The man’s booming voice carried across the room to Zayas, his Texas accent a giveaway to his American roots.
“Hello little darlin’s,” the tourist said, his eyes glued to Liliana’s companion, an errant hand squeezing her exposed shoulder. The detective immediately reacted, brushing the hand away. “And can I light your fire, too, Miss, Miss?” He stared down at her, his eyes roaming.
Kind of creep who gives Americans a bad name, especially here in Cuba-pushy jerk with more money than sense. Even from across the room, Zayas grimaced at his countryman’s bad lines.
“I don’t smoke,” she replied staring back.
“Quiana,” said Liliana, “this is Mr. Colton, the man I told you about yesterday.” Liliana smiled up at the man.
“Ahhh…yes, the American.”
“Ahhh, so you’ve been talking about me? This is a good thing. I watched you dance, Miss,” he said to Quiana, “and I gotta tell you, you really know how to move-move a man, that is!”
“Thank you.” Now go away, said her tone.
“Rumba, tango?” asked Liliana, offering her hand. “If you wish to learn the dances of passion, Mr. Colton, from the best in Havana, I am at your disposal. And you can teach me all about America.”