by Autumn Piper
Settling my back against the bar, I sipped at my drink.
One chick in an orange Charro-esque outfit with her wild, curly hair all pulled to one side seemed to be teaching a guy to dance. He might have learned more if she’d stepped away from him, but then she couldn’t have groped him so much. Every time she grabbed him, the poor guy nearly jumped out of his snug white t-shirt. They soon had a small audience, whistling and clapping each time she goosed her victim. When he attempted to escape the lesson-gone-molestation, another woman joined the fracas, amid laughter from the crowd.
“Delicia,” Ramón said behind me. “She has found a new…how you say?…toy.”
Now Delicia got serious about her lesson, pressing against her ‘toy’s’ backside to show him the masculine moves while the other woman performed the female dance steps along with them.
As his arm swept high in an arc like she’d showed him, his shirt pulled even tighter over a wide, strong-looking shoulder. I pictured the arm doing a butterfly stroke in water, attached to…Mitch. Geez. Even here, in Little Havana, he came to mind. Mitchell Goodman sure as hell was not here and it wasn’t likely I’d be seeing him again. Period. To wash away thoughts of him, I guzzled the remainder of my sangria.
“Señorita?” Ramón said with a tap on my shoulder. “For you.”
I swiveled round.
He presented me with a drink of a different sort. “From the gentleman,” he said, pointing down the bar at a youngish Latino guy with slicked-back hair and a white suit the guys on Miami Vice would have envied. “It is a mojito.”
“Umm, thanks,” I murmured. After a pleasant sip of it, I nodded my gratitude toward ‘the gentleman’. A tasty drink, and with any luck, the rum in it would dull my senses and I’d be able to quit thinking of Mitch. The dance student on the floor wore a bandana over his head, biker-style, and he was too far away for me to make out his facial features. But I kept imagining his nose looked like Mitch’s. His smile, too.
Before long, Ramón was replacing my mojito with another.
I sucked the rum from a lime slice as a guy wearing black jeans and a black shirt unbuttoned to the waist led Delicia’s Toy from the floor.
By the time my father returned to escort me from Club Conga, I was on my third mojito, compliments of Tino, who stood quite close to me and proved to be an accomplished flirt. In fact, the closer he’d gotten, the cuter Tino turned out be. His nearness made me acutely aware that I was a divorcee in sore need of satisfaction. He’d just asked me to dance when dear old dad reappeared.
“Sorry Tino,” Dennis said. “But we gotta roll.”
Tino obediently stepped out of the way. “Business first, always. And tonight you train the new guy. Señorita Drew, until we meet again,” he said with a sexy wink. Clearly, any mission of Keen’s held top priority.
I struggled to keep up with Dennis’s long strides on the way out to his bike. “Um, where are we going now?” Very smooth, Drew. Direct questions were not part of the master plan.
“For a ride.”
We’d gotten our helmets on when another bike rumbled up next to us, its rider clad in all black. Dennis nodded to the other rider—the new guy?—and turned his ignition on while I threw my leg over behind him. As usual, he took off like a shot, and I barely remembered to tighten my grip. He wove in and out of lanes, revving his engine and squealing his tires as often as possible when taking off at green lights. Whenever I tried to look back for the other biker who’d left the Conga lot just behind us, I could not see him. Were we racing him or trying to lose him?
Traffic thinned and the air seemed to thicken. Even inside my helmet, I could smell ocean. Street lights became a rarity, bigger buildings a common sight.
Here and there, giant worklights shone on docked ships as cranes or workmen unloaded cargo. Dennis made a series of turns which left me completely confused as to our direction, then he parked in what had to be the darkest corner of the entire port. The other bike purred up beside us and the new guy killed his engine.
The only sounds were the popping and creaking of cooling exhaust pipes.
Dennis chuckled. “Too fast for ya?”
Whether he expected an answer or not, the other rider didn’t give one, but unbuttoned his creaky leather saddle bags and handed them over without a word.
Dennis disappeared inside. And we waited in the dark.
Way too quiet for my taste, but I’d had some time to sober up during the ride. Unsure what was taking place around me and even less sure I wanted to know, I seized the opportunity to keep my mouth shut.
Beside me, New Guy left his helmet on, as I had. I could hear his rapid—nervous?—breathing. In–rasp, out–rasp. In–rasp, out-rasp. Lord Vader came to mind, and I struggled not to giggle.
Okay. Maybe I was still more tipsy than I thought, because as he breathed in and out, I kept trying to make the connection between Vader—In-rasp, out-rasp—and his son, only in this case it was Vader—In-rasp, out-rasp—and my father… My father, who thought he traveled with some sort of force which allowed him to know where the cops were. Always, as he’d said.
In-rasp, out-rasp.
Keen was so cocksure of himself, his ability to avoid the police…oh my hell. Was he using his ability to avoid cops to scout for something illegal? Some kind of delivery?
In-rasp, out-rasp.
My father acted as a scout, probably for drug-runners.
In-rasp, out-rasp.
And here he was, coming back out the door of the warehouse with New Guy’s—In-rasp, out-rasp—much heavier saddle bags. Probably filled with weed or coke or whatever was the drug du jour in 1980 Miami.
In-rasp, out-rasp.
I’d unwittingly joined forces with the dark side.
* * * *
Outside Conga, New Guy pulled up beside us, then handed over his saddle bags, and Dennis dumped the contents on the pavement between us.
New Guy flipped up his face shield and growled, “Sand?”
I may not have known New Guy, but I could tell—as opposed to my own joy at seeing we’d only transported ordinary beach sand across Greater Miami in the deep of night—he was not at all happy.
Dennis shrugged and chuckled. “It was a dry run, to see if you could take the heat.”
New Guy laughed, but it sounded empty, forced…familiar?
“If you think you can handle the real thing,” Dennis said, “let’s roll.”
Both bike engines roared to life and we were off again, before I had a chance to excuse myself. Real thing? My head hurt with not wanting to know precisely what that was, but knowing I already did, in fact, know.
The docks seemed even more deserted this time around, warehouses staring down at me with their dark, condemning eyes. If I got arrested for transporting drugs in 1980, would Grandma bail me out so I could run back to Sedona and the future? Would it go on my record?
As soon as Dennis was inside the warehouse, New Guy cleared his throat. “So. You been doing this long?”
So. New Guy talked! “This?” I’d had on the helmet entirely too long. Time to take it off and get some air. I hated to think what my hair would look like. At least it was dark here. Even darker than last time, it seemed.
Beside me, his bike squeaked as he stood up and then settled again. He began jangling what sounded like coins in his hands. “Hanging out in dark and dangerous places.”
“Um. No.” I fumbled with my chin strap. “Actually, I just got into town today.” My thumbnail broke on the strap’s snap, and I blew a disgusted raspberry.
“Yeah? Where from?” His voice sounded curious and friendly.
I got this irritated feeling, as if I’d packed for a trip and left some crucial item behind. Still, he waited for my answer. “Arizona.”
“Arizona?” Curiosity had changed to incredulity. The coins stopped jangling. “Wh-what part?”
With a nice pop, the snap opened and the strap flopped aside. “Sedona.”
Coins clattered on pavement.
/>
The door squeaked open, sending a rectangle of light out as Dennis emerged.
From beside me, “Hell.”
“What’s that?” Dennis asked, handing over the laden leather bags.
“I said, ‘Miguel’,” New Guy fibbed. “Your, ah, girlfriend and I were introducing ourselves.”
Dennis straddled his bike and leaned forward to start it, so I worked on refastening my chin strap. Over his shoulder, he said to Miguel, “Her name’s Drew. And she’s not my girlfriend.”
The engine roared to life, cutting off any replies.
* * * *
I followed my father up the sidewalk toward his mother’s dimly lit front door. No lights were on inside, so it seemed he’d been correct in guessing Grandma was sleeping over at Stu’s.
I shivered while he unlocked the door. All the late night traipsing around made me wish I could go inside and take a long, hot shower and collapse on the couch for twenty hours or so. Being up the previous night, my wild trip, and all the emotions of the day had really taken their toll on my energy. But once we’d gotten back to Conga and his cargo was safely delivered, Miguel had hinted about being new in town until Dennis had invited him over.
Thus, blocking the wind behind me stood a nice, tall drug-running Latino dude, come to hang out with my cocky cop-sensing Dad and I. Swell.
Miguel’s jacket creaked as he fidgeted behind me. In his shadow cast by the street lights behind us, his hands reached up around his head.
I followed Dennis inside, and trying to be inconspicuous about checking on my backpack, sat near it on the couch.
Chapter 16
Below the bandana Miguel was still retying around his head—the one I’d seen on the dance floor so close to Delicia’s breasts at times—was a face I knew I’d never forget.
“You!” I gasped. “You’re the new guy?” His skin was darker, maybe a bit more sunburned than brown, but at least it wasn’t orange. The features were familiar. All except his eyes, brown instead of the pretty green I knew. And judging by the exasperated way he gritted his teeth, he was not pleased at my cover-blowing outburst.
Dennis cleared his throat. “You two know each other?”
“No!” We both answered at the same time. “Um, I meant,” I explained, “I saw him dancing with Delicia tonight.” Proud of my quick thinking, I went on. “I didn’t realize it was the same guy. You know, with the helmet and all.”
“Oh. Yeah,” Dennis muttered. “Delicia has it bad for every new kid on the block. Enjoy being the flavor of the week while you can, man.”
Miguel merely grinned as he eased his jacket off his arms and tossed it over the back of the couch near me. How long was he planning to stay? Maybe he thought he’d be chaperoning my entire visit here.
How the hell had he managed to find me?
“You two want something to drink?” Dennis headed for the kitchen. “Think I can scrounge up some screwdrivers, if ya want.”
I didn’t want a screwdriver. I wanted ten minutes alone with Mitchell Goodbody so I could tell him to hit the road and stop checking up on me. To go mind his own business and see to his all-important case. To not even think about trying to come between me and my father.
“Um, Drew?” he called from the kitchen doorway. “Care to join us?”
I entered the kitchen just as Dad topped three tumblers of orange juice with several ounces of vodka. Arg. Could be a long night.
He handed each of us a glass and held his up. “To a job well done,” he said, tapping each of our drinks with a flourish.
We echoed his sentiment and drank, our eyes meeting.
I got a mouthful of pure vodka. Yuck! He hadn’t mixed the drinks at all.
“Whatsa matter, Cuz?” Dennis laughed. “Hey, you kids hang out here awhile. I’ve gotta run to the little boys’ room.” Drink in hand, he headed down the hall.
Alone at last. And Mitch looked livid. Even behind what had to be brown contact lenses, his eyes flashed dangerously. I refused to be intimidated. After all, if he hadn’t been such an ass about his case, I wouldn’t have risked my life shooting across the space-time continuum all alone.
At the sound of a door clicking closed down the hall, he stepped closer. “I cannot believe you took off in the night and came here all by yourself.”
“What choice did I have?” Trying to play it cool, I took another swig of my drink. Nasty. Definitely in need of stirring. “Besides, it looks like you made it here on your own.” How could he chastise me for traveling solo, when he had too?
“I found Sudo and told him what you’d done. He was worried sick about you.” He jabbed a finger in my direction, took a swig.
Geez. Poor Sudo! “I didn’t mean to worry the Professor.” But hadn’t he left that bag for me on my door? It had seemed like he expected me to use the stuff in there before the Feds came.
Mitch wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “This is the worst drink I’ve ever had!”
“Here. We just need to stir them.” I pulled open a drawer in search of a spoon. “Somebody brought me a bag of all the stuff I’d need to travel. I think Sudo meant for me to use it.”
“So you do have a radio? Why the fuck didn’t you call and let somebody know you’re okay?”
Wooden spoons and spatulas stared up at me. I closed the drawer and pulled open the one beside it.
“Randi?”
“Drew,” I corrected.
He stepped to the doorway and listened. “He’s on the phone with somebody. Goddammit, I should be down there listening to what he’s saying. Instead I’m in here arguing with you.”
A silverware drawer. “Bonanza!” After proudly displaying an iced tea spoon, I sunk it into my tumbler and mixed.
“Sudo did not intend for you to run off half-cocked and use his method solo. He probably hoped you and I would take off together. So did I, when I found that bag on my doorknob. The first thing I did was go to your room. Only to find out you’d split.” Lip curled, he snatched the spoon from my drink and stirred his. “How do you think that fucking made me feel? Walking into your room and realizing you ran off?”
“How you feel? Pfft! You made it perfectly clear how you felt. You were pissed at me for messing up your precious case.”
“You didn’t say anything...” He rubbed his eyes and took a long, long drink. “You just don’t leave like that.” He looked miserable. Abandoned.
Damn it, he’d hurt me too. “Oh, you were pretty damn dismissive. There was no reason for me to stay.” I met his glare head-on, challenging him to say what I wanted to hear.
“You need a reason?” He set his glass down on the counter, hard enough for some of its contents to slosh over the side. Then his hands held the sides of my face. His lips, hot and hard, told me we’d both been cheated out of our night together.
But I’d still been willing after getting rid of David. I’d gone to Mitch’s room ready to pick up where we’d left off. And he’d attacked.
With both hands on his chest, I pushed him away. “That’s a compelling reason. But after our argument, I had a choice between waiting for morning and the FBI, or taking a risk to complete my mission.”
“Speaking of missions.” He shook his head. “You’re in the middle of my case. This isn’t going to work.”
Back to his infernal case. “Go work your case from a different angle,” I all but hissed. “I’ve got one father, one chance to figure out what the hell happened to him. I’m going nowhere.”
“Jesus Christ, Randi! You can’t be in the middle of all this drug dealing—”
“Drew. My name here is Drew. You wouldn’t stop calling me that before.”
“Look, Drew.” Again, his finger pointed at me. “You are not getting involved in this drug cartel.”
“It’s the only way for me to get close to my dad.” I stood up taller as I spoke, chin lifted at his attitude.
“You can’t rescue him from this.”
“You can’t stop me from trying.”
> He stepped toward me. “I could. You know I could.”
Why had I stepped back? I should be showing no fear.
“I could haul your ass to my shitty little apartment,” he breathed as my back bumped against the fridge, “and lock you in a closet ’til I’m ready to go home.” He pressed into the front of me. “I should have you picked up and put in protective custody.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because I know how damn much this means to you, meeting him. Because I’d feel like a shit. Because…” His eyelids covered those dark brown contacts and his forehead leaned on mine. I felt three fast thumps of his heart and then his lips were on mine again, his hands sliding down from my shoulders to my hips.
God help me, I still wanted him. So I opened, accepting his tongue and offering mine in return. My palms left the fridge beside me and I slid them up to his hard, muscly neck. He tasted of orange juice, smelled of leather and motorcycles, felt so good I thought I’d melt.
His hands slid around, grasped my butt, and visions of him taking me there on the kitchen floor made me moan. He kissed harder, faster. My heartbeat sped up. Fire raced through parts of me he seemed adept at waking. He took my lower lip between his teeth, and coughed.
No, that was not his cough.
We pulled apart and looked toward the door, where my father stood with his arms over his chest.
“You’re a smooth operator, Miguel,” Dennis snarled.
“Uh.” Mitch stepped back, leaving me deprived of his warmth. “You said she’s not your girlfriend.”
“She’s not.” Dennis’s shoulders opened and his hands hung at his sides as if he was ready to fight. “But she’s…” His forehead wrinkled. “…from out of town. I don’t want her getting mixed up with the wrong kind of guys.”
Was my father actually screening my dates?
He seemed as shocked about it as I did. “No offense, man,” he mumbled. “We don’t really know you well enough for you to stick your, uh, tongue clear down her throat.”
Mitch had the decency to look apologetic. “You’re right.” He reached out to shake Dennis’s hand. “I’d better call it a night. See you tomorrow.” And with barely a nod in my direction, he left.