Metro Girl

  “Charts?” Hooker said.

  “Yeah. Charts. But they got stolen. Or maybe she took them. Or maybe someone took Maria and the charts. The apartment was trashed the night she disappeared, and so far as I can see the only things missing are the charts from her room. And I know this is really weird but the apartment got broken into and trashed a second time two days later. How’s that for shitty luck?”

  “Do you mind if we look at her room?” I asked.

  “Knock yourself out. I have to get ready for work. I’m waiting tables until I get my big break into modeling. Don’t mind her room. I tried to put it back together the first time, but I haven’t gotten to cleaning up the second time.”

  Barbie disappeared into her bedroom and we all trooped into Maria’s room.

  “This is a mess,” Rosa said. “Maria would die if she saw this. She was real organized. That’s why she was so good with the cigars. She was neat. And she had good fingers.”

  “You won’t really get fired, will you?” I asked.

  “Nah. They’re already down Maria. And there’s not many people can roll a cigar. Most young people don’t want to learn. Rather work at Burger King. When my generation retires they’ll probably close down the factories.”

  I was combing through the clutter, looking for anything interesting, anything that might tie Maria to Bill. Rosa was doing the same. Judey, Hooker, and Brian took the rest of the apartment.

  Judey danced into the bedroom and waved a little leather book at me. “I found her address book,” he said. “I am the master detective. I am the Magnum of South Beach.” And he handed the book over to me with a flourish. “I also found bags of chips and boxes of crackers in the microwave. And you know what that means.”

  I had no idea. “What?” I asked.

  “Cockroaches,” Rosa said. “They got roaches as big as a barn cat in here. They keep the chips in the microwave so the roaches don’t get them.”

  Damn. “Do they fly?”

  “I’ve never seen them fly,” Rosa said. “But I wouldn’t be surprised. We’re talking major mutant roaches.”

  Hooker ambled in. “What’s up?”

  “Judey found an address book. Rosa and I didn’t find anything.”

  Hooker looked around, his attention focusing on the small desk. “She has a laptop. Let’s see where she goes on the net.” He turned the laptop on and studied the icons at the bottom of the screen. “No AOL. Looks like she uses Explorer as her browser of choice.” He went to the top of the screen and clicked on the phone connection. When he had a connection he hit the Explorer icon and the home page came on. He had several choices at the side of the page. He hit history and a chronology of Maria’s Internet use appeared.

  “Wow,” I said. “I’m impressed.”

  “Not that impressive,” Hooker said. “I have a lot of downtime, and I kill time by surfing. I lucked out here. Maria uses the same browser I use, so I sort of know where to go.” Hooker started working his way through the dates. “Okay, I’m getting a little freaked,” he said. “She’s pulling some nasty stuff up. She started out with Cuban history. To be more specific, the Kennedy Missile Crisis. From there she went to sites detailing Soviet munitions brought onto the island. She looks at nuclear warheads. And then she goes to sites detailing chemical agents.”

  “Maybe someone else used her computer,” Rosa said. “Like her roommate.”

  We all stared at Rosa.

  “You’re right,” she said. “What was I thinking?”

  “She’s also been reading up on gold,” Hooker said. “Weights and measures stuff.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nothing interesting. As you can see, the rest is more typical. Mostly eBay and weather.”

  Hooker shut the computer off, and we all trooped out of Maria’s bedroom. We called goodbye to Barbie and let ourselves out. We silently entered the elevator and dropped to the ground floor. No one said anything until we were out of the building, at curbside, standing next to the Porsche.

  Judey had been holding Brian the whole time. He put Brian down and Brian lifted his leg and peed on the Porsche’s right rear tire.

  “What a good boy,” Judey cooed to Brian. “He had to go pee, and he held it all that time.”

  “You know there are places where they eat dogs,” Rosa said.

  I thumbed through the address book. “Bill’s name isn’t in here,” I said.

  We were on a corner, and just for the hell of it, I took Bill’s keys out of my purse and pointed the automatic lock gizmo down the street. Nothing. I turned and tried the cross street. A red-and-white Mini Cooper, two cars away, beeped at me.

  “Do it again,” Hooker said.

  I pointed the gizmo at the Mini and got the same response. The Mini flashed its lights and beeped.

  “I don’t get it,” Rosa said. “What’s with the car?”

  “It’s Bill’s,” I said. Leave it to Bill to drive a Mini Cooper.

  We walked over to the car and looked inside.

  “No bloodstains,” Hooker said.

  “That is so gross,” Judey said.

  Rosa made the sign of the cross.

  “It looks like Bill and Maria were together the night they disappeared,” I said.

  “Maria was excited about a dive project and her charts are missing. Plus Hooker’s boat is missing. So I’m guessing Wild Bill and Maria are off on a sunken treasure hunt,” Judey said. “Mystery solved.”

  “It must be the mother of all treasure hunts,” Hooker said. “They both walked out on their jobs. Two different groups of people are after them. And one of those groups includes Salzar. A night watchman was killed at the marina. They ‘borrowed’ my boat. And Maria’s been researching gold and warheads.”

  “I don’t know anything about a night watchman getting killed,” Rosa said. “And why is Salzar involved?”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t read about the murder in the paper,” Judey said. “It was splashed all over.”

  “I live in a neighborhood where murder isn’t big news. Guess I overlooked the fancy pants marina murder that was in the paper. I was probably in a hurry to see what Snoopy was doing.”

  “Monday night my brother and Maria went clubbing and it looks like they left together, took Hooker’s boat, and disappeared. That night the watchman at the marina was stabbed and killed outside the dockmaster’s office. And one of Salzar’s employees broke into Bill’s apartment last night and tried to kidnap me.”

  Rosa gave a single shake to her head. “I don’t like this. Maria is mixed up in something bad. Such a nice girl, too.”

  “I’d like to know about the dive project,” I said. “Maria must have talked to someone about it.”

  “Maybe family,” Rosa said. “She hasn’t got a lot. Just a cousin. She’s never seen her father. She doesn’t talk about it, but I think maybe he was killed or maybe put in prison. She has a hatred of Castro. Her mother died four years ago. That was when Maria left Cuba.”

  “No sisters or brothers?”

  “No. Her mama never remarried.”

  “Do you know the cousin?”

  “Felicia Ibarra. She lives a couple blocks from me. I know her from Maria, and sometimes I see her at showers and things. She’s probably at work now. The Ibarras own the fruit stand on Fourth.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Judey said. “Look at the time. I have to go. I have a dinner date tonight. I hate to punk out on the investigation, but this guy I’m dating knows someone at Joe’s Stone Crab. And you know how hard it is to get into Joe’s.”

  “Do you need a ride home?” I asked him.

  “No. I live one block from here.” He took a card out of his wallet and scribbled a number on it. “This is my cell phone. And my home phone is on the card, too. Call me if you need help. I’ll get Todd to sniff around on Flex.”

  I gave Judey my cell number. “It’s been great seeing you again,” I said.

  Judey gave me a hug, and he and Brian left.

&nb
sp; I opened the driver’s side door on the Mini, and Hooker grabbed me by the back of my T-shirt.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.

  “I’m going to the fruit stand on Fourth.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Sure.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I was going to take Rosa.”

  “Remember me? I’m the guy who’s been driving you around?”

  “Yes, but I have a car now.”

  “And you were going to leave me standing here?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hooker smiled. “You’re teasing me. That’s a sign of affection, you know.”

  Actually, I hadn’t been teasing.

  “Don’t forget about me,” Rosa said to Hooker. “I could really give you a sign of affection. I’m a divorced woman. I’m desperate.”

  “Everybody in,” I said. “Let’s see what this little guy can do.”

  I positioned myself behind the wheel and felt like I was in a sports car whose growth had been stunted in childhood. The Mini had black leather trim and black leather bucket seats. It was deceptively comfortable and had great visibility. I turned the key and stepped on the gas, and the car leaped forward. When I’m at home I drive a Ford Escape. Compared to the Escape, the Mini had the feel of a turbocharged roller skate.

  I rocketed to the corner and hung a left without braking.

  Rosa had both hands braced on the dash. “Holy mother,” she said.

  Hooker slid off the backseat, righted himself, and reached for the shoulder harness.

  “Corners like a dream,” I told them.

  “Yeah,” Hooker said, “but you drive like a nightmare. I don’t suppose you’d want to relinquish the reins on these horses to me?”

  “No chance.”

  I took the Causeway Bridge into Miami, sailing through traffic, enjoying the feel of the car. The car handled like a hummingbird—hovering at a light, zipping ahead, cutting in and out of gridlock.

  The reality of my life is that I love to drive, and I probably would have been happier driving a truck for a living than I am working for an insurance company. But you don’t spend all that time and money on a college education so you can drive a truck, do you?

  Little Havana was busy at this time of day. It was Friday afternoon, and people were on their way home from work, running errands, gearing up for the weekend. I followed Rosa’s directions to the fruit stand and pulled into the lot. I parked the Mini and heard Hooker mumble from the backseat.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “You’re a maniac.”

  “You’re not used to being a passenger.”

  “True,” Hooker said, climbing out of the car. “But you’re still a maniac.”

  And that was probably also true. By reputation, I was the sensible, smart sibling. But that was only by comparison.

  The stand was packed with people buying produce, fried polenta, and pulled pork to go. Rosa found Maria’s cousin and brought her over to Hooker and me.

  Felicia Ibarra was from the same mold as Rosa. A little shorter. Just as round. Different shoes. Ibarra was wearing wood clogs. Probably in deference to the smushed fruit that littered the pavement around the fruit stand. Ibarra was older. Maybe in her early sixties. And Ibarra had a heavy Cuban accent. Clearly, not U.S. born.

  “Rosa tells me you’re looking for Maria Raffles,” Felicia said. “I have to tell you, I’m worried. She has so much trouble behind her. And now she’s missing. I worry that this is more trouble. Heaven help her.” And Felicia Ibarra crossed herself.

  “What kind of trouble?” I asked.

  “Just trouble. Some families carry the trouble. It happens. They have a curse. Or an obsession. Or just bad luck.”

  “And Maria’s family?”

  Felicia shook her head. “They have Cubano trouble. Sometimes it can be bad on the island. And what I know are only things whispered. Not from Maria. She never says anything. But I hear from my cousin who hears from her sister, Maria’s mother, rest in peace. I was told there was trouble with Maria’s grandfather. Enrique Raffles. He was a fisherman. He fish from a little town to the west of Havana. Nuevo Cabo. He owned a boat and sometimes he would use the boat for other things. Sometimes a boat would come from Russia and the cargo would be best kept secret. Maria’s grandfather was good at not seeing things, so he would go out to the big boat and let them put things in the hold of the little boat to be taken ashore. He would do this at night, when there was no moon. And he would also bring things from Cuba to the Russian sailors.”

  “Maria’s grandfather was a smuggler?” Rosa asked.

  “Yes. And he work with another man because the boat was too big for one man. But I don’t know this other man.

  “Then one night the men went out to get special cargo, and somehow the little fishing boat ran into a reef and went down. The one man got to shore, but Maria’s grandfather did not.

  “Maria’s father, Juan, was fourteen years old when this happened. He took a vow to bury his father and he started diving, looking for the boat. Many people looked for the boat, but no one found it.

  “Juan married, and still he kept diving, even when his wife was pregnant. It was the vow to bury his father. And then one night, a month before Maria was born, the police came and took Juan away. He was never seen again. When the relatives came to help with the birth of Maria they found a fresh grave in the little backyard and a cross with E. R. hand carved into it. And everyone knew Juan had found his father.

  “Some say there was gold on the boat that night it went down. Gold that belonged to Castro. And that’s why Juan was taken away. Because Castro wanted his gold. And there are other rumors too. Rumors about a very bad weapon. Something new the Russians were sending into Cuba.

  “Maria’s mother never remarried. She stayed in the little village, always hoping Juan would return. She died four years ago. That is when Maria escaped the island and illegally sailed her little boat here to Miami.”

  “Such a tragic history,” Rosa said. “I had no idea.”

  “She was marked by her family history. Like a thumbprint on her forehead. How you say it in this country…destiny? She was called to dive. Like her father. Always looking for the shipwreck.”

  FIVE

  I took Rosa home and then I took Hooker back to his car. I parked behind the Porsche, and we sat in silence for a couple minutes. Both of us thinking about Maria.

  “Fuck,” Hooker finally said on a sigh.

  I nodded my head in agreement.

  “Your brother is involved in some serious shit,” Hooker said.

  “We don’t know for sure.”

  “You’re worried.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Never fear,” Hooker said. “NASCAR Guy is here to help you.”

  Hooker was a nice guy, I decided, but he wasn’t James Bond. I needed James Bond.

  Hooker looked at me, his eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses. “Don’t underestimate NASCAR Guy.”

  “Does NASCAR Guy have any ideas about where to go from here?”

  “Yep. NASCAR Guy thinks we should go to Monty’s. Get a sandwich. Have a beer. Hang out. NASCAR Guy has some other ideas, too, but he’s going to wait until he gets a beer in you before he shares those ideas.”

  “Do you want to follow me over?”

  “You follow me. We’ll use the garage at my condo. It’ll be impossible to get a parking place at Monty’s at this time of night.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”

  Now here’s the thing, this wasn’t the first time I’d gotten a middle-of-the-night call from Bill. Usually he was stranded somewhere and needed a ride home. Usually there was a woman involved. Twice he needed me to bail him out of jail. Neither of those incidents was serious. When I couldn’t reach Bill after this latest call I was concerned enough to get on a plane, but truth is, I wasn’t a wreck over it. I’d suspected it was business as usual. I thought I’d find Bill, he
lp him out of a messy situation, and go home. When I discovered his apartment had been ransacked, I was thinking irate husband or boyfriend. When there was a murder at the marina I was trying to convince myself it was a meaningless coincidence. Pukey showing up to kidnap me raised my level of alarm by about two hundred percent.

  Now I was thinking Bill had finally done it. Bill had finally managed to get himself involved in something serious. He’d put his nose someplace it absolutely didn’t belong. He’d stolen a boat and gone off with a woman who was diving for God-knows-what.

  I had a gnawing ache in my stomach that wasn’t going to be fixed with pizza. I was afraid I might not be able to clean up the mess this time. I was afraid it might be too big and I might be too late.

  I looked at the Porsche, turning into the parking garage in front of me and admitted to myself that I was happy to have Hooker involved. It didn’t have anything to do with Hooker being NASCAR Guy. In fact, gender wasn’t the comforting factor. It was just nice not to be afraid and alone.

  Hooker and I parked and walked over to Monty’s. The sun was starting to drop in the sky, and another day was passing without word from Bill.

  Hooker slung an arm around my shoulders. “You’re not going to cry, are you?” he asked me.

  “No,” I said. “Are you?”

  “NASCAR Guy doesn’t cry.”

  “What are we looking to accomplish at Monty’s?”

  “We’re going to eat. And while we’re eating we can check out the boats. Who knows, maybe Bill will come cruising in.”

  We sat at the bar, and we looked at the boats. We watched the people. We looked down the pier at Flex. Not much happening. No Florida politician or Cuban businessman in sight. I ordered a Diet Pepsi and a turkey club. Hooker got a beer, a cheeseburger, fries, a side of potato salad, and cheesecake for dessert. Plus he ate the chips that came with my club.

  “Where does it go?” I asked him. “You eat enough food for three people. If I ate all that food I’d weigh seven hundred pounds.”

  “It’s about metabolism,” Hooker said. “I work out, so I have muscle. Muscle burns calories.”