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.”
“I think that can be arranged, but your friend here,” he paused to glance at Qui, “Ms. Aguilera, must agree to have dinner with me.”
“How do you know my name?” instantly on alert Qui demanded, her voice cool and imperious.
“Information around the hotel is cheap.”
Tiring of the direction of the conversation at Liliana’s table, Zayas motioned Lucinda back from the bar with a wave and said, “See Liliana and her friend over there?” he indicated their direction.
Glancing over, she nodded and replied, “Yeah. That creep’s a real jerk. He was hitting on me earlier. Know what he asked?”
“What?”
“If he could take me to dinner when my shift was up; said his money could buy us both pleasure. Crude.” She smiled at him, then added, “Not a bit like you.”
“Then, let’s see if we can make the jerk leave. Send a round of drinks to the ladies, and make it clear that they came from me.”
“Okay. Your money, your trouble,” she grinned at him. “One Havana Especiale for Quiana and a virgin Daiquiri for Liliana.”
“So, her name is Quiana? What can you tell me about her?”
“Well, she’s Liliana’s friend, loves to dance, and is a PNR officer. Comes from old money, but she’s OK.”
“Is she married?”
“Not yet. Why? You interested?”
“Could be. Maybe. Possibly.”
“She dates a doctor, but he never comes ‘round here. Liliana can’t stand him. He’s a phony like Liliana’s dance partner.”
“Ahh, yes. And has Liliana’s partner, the popular, always-late Antonio, arrived yet?”
“As usual, delayed at his makeup table!” They both laughed at the common joke about Antonio’s habitual narcissism.
“Time I ate dinner. Better bring me my tab.”
“Still on American time, I see. You can carry the tab into the restaurant,” she suggested.
“Rather settle up here first. See if the jerk leaves.”
She nodded in understanding. “Be right back.”
He watched her deliver and serve the drinks to Quiana and Liliana. By this time, the American had insinuated himself further by sitting at their table. All three followed Lucinda’s finger when Qui asked who’d sent drinks. A smiling Zayas raised his glass in acknowledgement as he rose from his semi-hidden table to his full height. The tourist got the silent message-a code between men-and in a moment the American bid a quick and polite good evening to the women.
While Qui sat expressionless, Liliana’s features spelled gratitude as she motioned Julio Zayas to their table.
Leaving money on the table, Julio picked up his drink and walked over. As he approached, Liliana smiled up at him and said, “Jazzy, I didn’t see you over there! Bad boy, hiding! Come, join us. This is my friend, Quiana. She’s a new Lieutenant Detective and insists she doesn’t like Americans, but don’t let that fool you, she’s really very nice! Quiana, this is-”
“Julio Zayas, also known as JZ or Jazzy among friends,” he quickly added, extending his hand to Qui.
“You’re among friends now, Jazzy!” replied Liliana, bubbling over.
Qui offered a brief smile, and said, “You’re the new security officer with the American Interest Section. You were at the stationhouse the other day…Pena’s missing persons case.”
Surprised she’d remembered him, JZ smiled before replying, “I noticed you, too. You work cases with Pena?”
“So far, thankfully, no.”
“Good. I can’t imagine a less pleasant experience, except maybe dealing with your colonel!”
Liliana laughed at the characterization, while Qui raised her glass in a toast. The three drank to the colonel’s
