Marion E Currier

by Linked (retail) (epub)

  For a split second, I considered turning around and running to Tee for help. But two things stopped me from doing so. For one, I might have had thirty years to get used to his way of talking and so felt very comfortable with the idea of considering him a friend. But the truth was Tee didn't know me from a rock on the ground, and I couldn't risk him calling the cops to arrest the crazy woman who burst into his shop. The other was Santiago. If Valentín had him in the trunk of his car and would drive off with him alone, I would have no idea where to find him and how to help him. A smirk marred my face. Like I had any idea how to help him now. But I had to try.

  The piragua vendor where I had bought the last of my snow cones was still hawking his goods, and I hurried to get one more. Then I called Valentín back.

  "I'm on Calle Vicente Rodríquez, between Calles Acueducto and Fernando Colón," I said. "I'm having a snow cone, so just look for the piragua vendor. I'll wait for you here." To emphasize my not untrue claim of low battery life, I hung up again before he could answer and sat down on the curb. It wasn't long before the Mustang appeared and just then I realized the silver bracelet we both had stared at yesterday now hung very visibly around my wrist. Bringing the arm down, I wrestled the pin out of its shaft and dropped the bracelet into my purse. The car came to a stop in front of me.

  I got up, resisting the urge to stare toward the trunk. "Good timing," I said, mustering a smile. "I think I did enough walking in the sun today." My heart thumped nervously as he did not return my smile, but glanced from my snow cone to the bag dangling on my wrist.

  "Found the tostonera," I said, giving the bag a little nudge as I passed the snow cone on to Valentín so I could settle into the seat. "So you're all done working you said?" I asked while facing the door and fussing with the seatbelt, as I was afraid that the panic tightening my chest might be visible in my eyes.

  "Yeah, all done," Valentín said, helping himself to a good portion of the piragua before handing it back to me. "You sure walked a long way through all housing area. Why did you pick this road?"

  I busied myself with the snow cone for a moment. Think, think, think. "Hm," I said, chewing on the shaved ice, "I asked the guy behind the counter at the store where I bought the tostonera where there would be more shops. He mentioned some on Avenida Luíz Muñoz Marín, but now I realize that where the road curved, I turned on the wrong street." From the corner of my eye, I watched Valentín's face while mine was hidden behind the paper funnel from which I slurped the remainder of the cone. I prayed that he bought this tale I invented on the fly.

  If he not, then he didn't let on, but kept his eyes intently on the road. He still looked too intense for me to be able to relax, and I figured I'd try chatting about something light and inconsequential to see if I could get him to appear less scary to me than he did right now.

  "You know, I'm a very stubborn person," I said, smiling wide. "So you can rest assured that it pains me to have to admit that you might have been right. Shopping probably should be done in San Juan."

  The corner of Valentín's mouth lifted. "Guess you should learn to trust a local when he tells you where things are."

  "Guess I should," I replied. "It's just that shopping in San Juan would make me…an ordinary tourist."

  "Can't have that now, can we?"

  After my feeble attempt at a conversation died down again, I made myself as comfortable as I could. Perhaps the antagonistic or distrustful vibes I felt coming from Valentín were just a figment of my overly sensitive imagination. We rode in silence for a few miles, which was just as well as the overwhelming thought circling in my head was, Santiago is lying in the trunk. Did any of the air conditioned air from the car's interior make it into the trunk or had the heat already suffocated him? The mere possibility was forming a sob in my chest. Had I made a mistake by not calling the police? What good did it do the boy if I would be able to testify after his death?

  Lights had come on along the Expressway, making homes brighter and the untamed greenery inbetween darker. I clung to the hope that with nightfall, it wouldn't be as oppressively hot in the trunk. We were about half way back to San Juan, and I kept rooting for Santiago's young body to be strong enough to get by with breathing shallow hot air. The uncomfortable thought crossed my mind that Valentín would drive me back to the hotel and then take off with his victim to who knew where. Would I be able to hail a cab quick enough to shout, "Follow that car!" and stay on his heel?

  An abrupt turn took me by surprise, and I grabbed the door's armrest to avoid knocking into Valentín.

  "Sorry," he said. "Gotta go to the bathroom."

  We pulled up to a poorly lit gas station that sat huddled against the darkness of uninhabited nature. Valentín didn't pull into one of the spaces by the entrance, but parked the car in the shadows by the side.

  "Do you need to go too?" he asked, looking at me.

  I shook my head, although after all of today's snow cones I would have liked nothing better than a bathroom stop. "No I'm fine," I replied. "I could go for some chips, though. Would you mind picking some up? I'm too pooped to walk any further."

  He looked at me for too long and the frantic beating behind my ribs began again. It seemed like an eternity before he nodded. "Sure, no problem." He lowered the windows, then took the key out of the ignition. "I'll be back in a minute."

  "I'll be right here," I said, knowing full well that was the very last place I wanted to be when he returned.

  The second I heard the station's doorbell chime, I threw myself across the driver's seat and fumbled for the trunk's latch. If ever I was being given a chance to get Santiago away from Valentín, this was it. I slung my purse sideways like a postal bag around my torso, careful not to let the door slam shut as I slipped out of the car. The knot in my stomach seemed to be made of baker's yeast as it doubled in size. Assuring myself that there was nobody else around, I lifted the lid of the trunk. There lay my darling little boy from the ice cream counter. I swallowed hard, knowing there was zero time to get sentimental. Santiago's hair was plastered to his head from the sweat in his hot prison. I noticed a bottle and rag by his side and assumed it was the chloroform Valentín used to knock him out.

  Reaching under Santiago's arms, I dragged him out of the trunk, huffing under the dead weight of his drugged body. I pushed him up onto my hip, relieved to feel his warm breath on my neck where his head came to rest. Once the trunk lid was almost in closed position again, I gave Santiago one more nudge so that I could interlock my hands underneath his behind. His arms hung limp over mine, but I felt his weight securely enough against my chest that I set off in as much of a jog as I dared in the complete darkness that stretched in front of me. There was a bit of a trail and I followed it. My pulse was pounding in my ears, and I was so scared out of my mind that I was unable to form any kind of plan other than moving as far away from the gas station as possible before Valentín would reappear. I prayed that all of the endless hours spent jogging at a comfortable pace on a treadmill in an air conditioned gym would be worth something here in the jungle with a knocked-out child hanging on my chest. I hadn't gotten as far as I wished before the detective returned to the car. I heard his heartfelt cussing behind me and the slamming of trunk and door.

  "I knew it!" He followed his useless epiphany with a scream so guttural that it almost stopped my blood from circulating. I immediately veered in a northeasterly direction off the path, hobbling as best I could inbetween trees and through ankle-slapping brush. My breathing was already getting labored and my arms struggled with Santiago's weight. I repositioned him onto one hip as if he were an overgrown two-year-old, so that I could brush away branches and feel our way forward with my freed arm.

  "Melissa!" Hearing my name yelled like a threat into the woods sent much needed adrenaline through my body. I pushed forward. My name was followed by such unflattering words that I wished I could shield the young boy's ears from them, not to mention my own. What had I done? I would get both of us killed!

&
nbsp; "You think I'm going to let you get away?" Valentín's voice was closer than before and I changed directions, moving eastbound and away from the Expressway. "You are good, I give you that. Letting someone do your dirty work for you and then walking off with the prize."

  I wondered what in blazes he was talking about. Each breath burned my throat, and my sympathy went out to every deer which had ever been frightened out of its wits by a hunter. I could not imagine a more unpleasant feeling, which was only heightened by the magazine I heard Valentín slam angrily into his gun. Why could I not have met someone with a less volatile job? One that did not come with privileges like guns and bullets and training on how to use them. I stumbled along the base of an incline.

  "You're not the average tourist alright," Valentín shouted somewhere behind me to my right, encouragingly enough not sounding much closer than before, but unfortunately also not any farther away. "Nice understatement. When you were doing that fainting act at the jewelry show, I kind of figured something was up. Of all the stands of jewelry where you could have been." He laughed. Not in a funny ha-ha way, but in a crazed I'll-blow-your-brains-out-if-you-give-me-half-a-chance way.

  I kept moving, still not sure that I completely understood what he was rambling about. Putting distance between him and the boy and me was all I could think of. I paused just long enough to swing Santiago onto my other hip, throwing the arm numb from carrying him forward to take over the duty of feeling our way in the wilderness.

  "You screwed up when you wanted to go shopping in Cayey," Valentín spit out. "That's where the brat's father's shop is. Don't you think I know that? But I beat you to getting the kid, didn't I? Taking him from me was a huge mistake, you hear me? Huge!"

  Despite my labored breathing and fiery throat, my jaw slacked. Did I just hear that correctly? Did Valentín honestly think I was some kind of mastermind thief who happened to target the same jewelry as he did? He couldn't be serious. A crazed laugh escaped my mouth. Almost inaudible, but I had to let it out. How else could I deal with that absurd of an idea? Here I was running for my life to protect an innocent boy from an apparently underpaid cop who felt it was okay to augment his lack of funds by committing kidnappings and robberies, and that very same person thought I was a threat? A criminal like him, out to do the job for him? It was the most laughable thing I had ever heard. And I wished I could just sit Santiago's increasingly heavy body down and do just that, laugh about it. Explain to Valentín that nothing was further from the truth, that I wanted nothing to do with his shady business. But I knew the gun in his hand wouldn't permit anyone to laugh about this ridiculous misunderstanding.

  A branch snapped at a short distance behind me, and Valentín cursed mightily as he crashed to his knees. I realized it was more miracle than actual athletic ability that prevented the same thing from happening to me. But I also knew the detective would be up again in an instant and my strength was definitely on its way out. I couldn't feel my arm anymore with which I held Santiago and had to switch sides again.

  The baseline I'd been following converted into a less angled stretch, taking us further eastward. A thick drop of rain slapped my arm, followed by another and another. Within seconds the skies unleashed bucket loads of more drops onto us. I slipped around dangerously and had to use my free arm to steady our movement. Visibility was zero as I blinked through the downpour. One plus, I mused. If I couldn't see anything, neither could Valentín.

  I tilted my head as I thought I'd heard him swearing again. The rain was noisy and it was hard to identify his voice among all of the splattering on the abundance of leaves around us.

  "This isn't over, you hear me?" His voice was farther away than before, as though he had slipped and skidded again. "You are not going to get away with this. I'll be there when you try to cash in on the kid."

  I flinched as a blast rang in the woods. My free arm wrapped protectively around Santiago as more shots were fired. Every bullet from Valentín's magazine was accompanied by the eeriness of his rage-filled roar tearing through the rain. I hurried away from the scream in almost a crouch, as much as the boy's body allowed me to get down while still moving. My arms were wrapped tightly around Santiago's drenched body and tears mixed with rain water on my face. I buried my head in his hair.

  "I'm so sorry," I muttered. "I was only trying to protect you." I clung to him, not sure which one of us was the life raft to whom, waiting for Valentín's footsteps to become audible behind us. My body was exhausted and aching in ways I never thought possible. Yet the gunfire stopped and other than the rain continuing its pounding, I heard no other sound. No more yelling, no footsteps, no snapping branches. My frazzled brain cells revisited the detective's last words. Could he really have given up? For the night at least? I slowly lifted my head and came to a stop, staring in the direction from which his words had come, but I saw nothing.

  Did he go back to the car? A shred of hope wove itself through my tired body. It was so tempting to lean against the nearest tree, cuddle Santiago against me and allow both of us to rest up. But what if Valentín would resume the hunt once the rain stopped? I kept moving.

  I didn't know how much time passed by the time a soft moan rang in my ear and Santiago's formerly limp arms regained life. His head bobbed back and forth as he tried to focus on my face.

  "Hello Santi," I whispered, brushing wet hair out of his face. "How are you feeling?"

  He moved his head heavily back and forth, and I worried that he would panic once he realized that he had no idea where he was. Or who I was. I helped him onto his feet, holding on to his hands to steady him.

  "I'm the woman who bought you ice cream this afternoon," I explained. "Do you remember that?"

  He nodded, his head still too woozy to be a hundred percent controllable.

  "My name is Mel," I continued. "Melissa Ricada. "Do you remember the man who took you?"

  Santiago shook his head.

  "Well, he is a bad man. Do you understand? But we got away from him, so that's good, right?"

  He nodded.

  "Do you think you can walk?"

  He nodded again, and I wished I could better meet his beautiful eyes. "Come on," I said, dredging up every last ounce of energy I could muster to start moving my feet again. "Let's walk a bit more so that the bad man can't find us again, okay?"

  I wrapped my hand around his and we moved slowly forward. The rain had gone down to more of a drizzle, and I hoped that soon it would stop altogether.

  "Where are we?"

  I looked at the little boy who stared up at me. "Good question," I replied. "I'm not really sure, to tell you the truth. I just ran as fast as I could into the woods with you so the bad man wouldn't catch us."

  "I'm hungry." Santiago's voice was small, followed by a yawn. "Can we eat something?"

  "I wish we could," I said, his words making my own stomach aware of the fact that three snow cones did not a meal make.

  "I want my daddy." Santiago stopped in his tracks, looking up at me again.

  His voice had gotten a bit louder, and I feared that he might start yelling in a panic if I didn't say the right thing now. I pulled him over to a toppled tree, sat down and stood him in front of me so that he could see my face easier. We both were accustomed enough to the dark now to see at least each other's shadowy outlines.

  "What's your father's name," I asked, although I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to that question.

  Santiago remained quiet, and I wondered what his father had taught him about not talking to strangers.

  "It's T.J. Guardán Rivera, isn't it?" I said.

  The little boy nodded. "I want to talk to my daddy

  I dug around in my purse until I found my mobile phone. "We'll call him together, okay? What's the number?"

  I pushed the lit buttons as Santiago listed each number, my heart beating faster once the familiar voice sounded on the line.

  "Hi, this is Melissa Ricada," I rushed to say. "I don't know if you remember me. I was at th
e sales exhibit yesterday, feeling a bit woozy at your stand. I have your son with me."

  "Yes, I know," Tee replied in a tone so sharp that it felt like a slap. "Your boyfriend already called me. Let me talk to my son."

  "I…No!" My voice rose two octaves, and I jumped to my feet. "Valentín is not my boyfriend."

  "Let me talk to my son!"

  I bristled at the coldness in the voice I only knew to be warm and supportive. "Not until you listen to me." I felt evil saying this, imagining how worried sick Tee must be. But I had to explain, I needed him to understand that I was not one of the bad guys.

  "Valentín is a police detective," I blurted out before my Rafael's voice could cut me to the quick again. "I swear to you I had no idea that he was going to kidnap your son. When he stopped,…I'm guessing to call you…I took Santiago and ran."

  There was silence at the other end.

  "You have to believe me." My throat tightened, and I wiped the back of my hand across my eyes. The tension from the last few hours threatened to crush me. Having Tee, having my Rafael, hate me — the mere thought was too overwhelming. "Please," I whispered. "Please."

  "Let me talk to my son," he repeated. Maybe it was just wishful imagining, but it seemed to me that his voice lost some of its edginess.

  "Here." I knelt down and gave the phone to Santiago. "Your father wants to talk to you."

  I dropped onto the ground, pulling my knees close to my chest. The rain had finally stopped, but between the exhaustion and my wet clothes, I started to shiver. How could all of this have gone so very, very wrong? I closed my eyes, longing for Rafael's face to look back at me, to see me the way Tee had seen me only a day ago. I needed him to look at me with kind concern that said he understood that I had nothing to do with the kidnapping.

  "I'm alright," Santiago said, nodding for emphasis. "We're wet…No, the bad man isn't with us…she's shivering." He nodded again and handed me the phone. "My dad wants to talk to you again."