Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
No, no, no! I told myself, walking towards the processing desk. Do not fall into that trap again.
Camilla's sex appeal was what had caused me to return to her every time I had broken it off before. There were a number of times that we had broken up, only to get back together again because I missed her sex…iness.
So while I waited for her to finish up the paperwork, I steeled myself against the magnetic pull I felt drawing me in.
As soon as Camilla finished the paperwork, I grabbed it and hurried out the door before her dark force could suck me back in.
Arriving at my apartment, I peeled off my grungy clothes and took a shower. Once that was done, I felt one hundred percent better and decided it was time to go to lunch.
As I was heading out, I stopped just inside the front door. I had a feeling that I had forgotten something. I turned around and looked over my place, trying to figure out what it was.
I live in a two-bedroom, one bathroom apartment with outdated appliances, worn vinyl floors, and thrift store furniture. Not much to look at, but it felt comfortable in a Bohemian kind of way.
After taking a good long look at my rented place, I still couldn’t figure out what I had forgotten. But just as I was about to turn back to the door, I realized what it was. How could I have forgotten? I forgot to say hello to my chameleons… Judy and Jody.
Their terrarium sat on the end table farthest from the door, within sight of one of the front windows, so they had something to occupy them while I was away. And when I was home watching TV, they could enjoy it as well.
After saying hello and goodbye to Judy and Jody, I looked over my little rental apartment one more time. I decided I was mostly happy with the place and headed out the door in search of a delicious lunch.
I stepped out onto the front steps of my little place and looked left and right, trying to decide which way to go this time. My place wasn’t far from Calle Ocho in Little Havana, so I had quite a few choices of restaurants within walking distance.
I made my way to the right where I knew I would find Gordo’s Restaurant, which had my favorite mouth-watering dishes.
As I meandered down the sidewalk, my friend Bob came walking out of one of the local convenience stores a few shops down. He turned around, looking back into the shop, and said something to the owners in fluent Spanish.
“Bob!” I called out to him.
“Hey, PK, what’s happening?”
“Want to join me for lunch at Gordo’s?” I asked him.
“Of course. Lead on McDuff.”
Bob and I had known each other for the past couple of years. He would show up in town after being gone for days or weeks at a time. He never told me where he had been, or what kind of work he was doing, so I’ve always been curious about his life, but he would never share much about it. Still, I considered him a good friend.
As we got underway, I heard the classic Cuban song, Guajira Guantanamera by Compay Segundo, coming from a shop. I started shuffling to the infectious beat. I probably looked goofy doing it, but I didn’t care. I was enjoying myself.
It was fortunate that Gordo’s was only a couple of blocks away from my place because we were already sweating when we arrived.
As soon as we stepped through the door of Gordo’s, I knew I was in the right place. It had just the right mixture of aromas that only an authentic Cuban restaurant could have, and the decor was pretty much nonexistent.
Just a few tables and chairs with barely enough room for people to snake in between, and a couple of paintings of Old Cuba were pretty much the extent of the furnishings. It was a little before noon and the place wasn’t yet packed, so we found a table without too much trouble.
The beautiful waitress, Mariposa, sauntered over to our table with a huge smile and took our orders.
“Where have you been this past week?” I asked Bob.
“Oh, here and there, like usual,”he said with a smile and changed the subject.
We made small talk until Mariposa brought out piping hot dishes along with my usual Diet Coke and Bob’s coffee. I got a diet drink because I had to make up for all the calories I was going to consume during dessert.
As we dug into our delicious meals, Gordo himself came out and made the rounds, asking everyone if they were enjoying the food. He stopped by and asked us as well. I gave him a thumbs-up because my mouth was full, and Bob responded likewise. Gordo smiled, nodded, and continued on his way
The name Gordo means Fatty or Fatso in Spanish. Although we no longer used those terms, it was quite a popular nickname in Latin American countries. And yes, Gordo lived up to his name. He was only five foot six, but he probably weighed in at 300 pounds. I’m guessing he definitely enjoyed his own cooking.
As we finished our meals, Mariposa came to the table with two plates of Tocino del Cielo. A delectable dessert similar to flan, but richer. The name means “Heavenly Bacon”. That was why I got Diet Coke. There was enough sugar in that dessert to put a person into a sugar-induced coma, but OMG it was good, and our customary dessert when dining at Gordo’s.
After finishing dessert, Bob offered to pay as usual. He was pretty well off from some mysterious source that he had never revealed to me.
We parted ways, with me heading back to the house to grab my car and drive to the office. I needed to get my paycheck and put some money in the bank to take care of some overdue bills.
I arrived at the office without fanfare but with a body receipt in hand.
Hans Schultz, the owner of the establishment, named aptly enough, Hans Bail Bonds, was just returning from the restaurant where he had his huge German lunch. Unfortunately, he usually brought leftovers back to the office with him, so the place all too often smelled like sauerkraut and liverwurst.
Marcia Manalon, the Filipino receptionist, was in her usual place, sitting daintily at the desk to the right, which was angled between the entrance and Hans's office.
Lolita, the Cuban lesbian bounty hunter, who was sometimes my mentor, and sometimes a bodyguard for Hans, was kicking back in a dilapidated La-Z-Boy recliner while reading a magazine.
Then there was me, the pasty, chunky white boy. All in all a typical day at the office.
"I just brought in Jamal Washington single-handed," I said.
"I am wery glad to hear that you are doingk your job," was the reply from Hans in his thick German accent, despite living in Miami for the past twenty years.
Hans looked a lot like Schwarzenegger if Ah-nold let himself go without another workout for a couple of decades. He had the same height and similar looks, but the rest of him was far out of proportion. Remove about half of Ah-nold’s muscles, add double that weight in flab, and that was Hans.
"You brought him in all by yourself, you big, strong hunk?" asked Marcia.
"I could have done that with one hand tied behind my back," was the reply from Lolita. She probably could have, considering her five-eight frame, which carried about 250 pounds. Similar to my body size, but much more compact and solid, like a fire hydrant. She was stronger than me, and if I were to be totally honest, probably more manly, but I didn't want to dwell on that thought for very long.
"Vhen are you goingk to bring in Natasha… Smirnoff, zee Russian mobster's mistress?" Hans asked, confusing Natasha Smirnova's last name.
Miss Smirnova was Vladimir Baryshnikov's latest in a long line of beautiful Russian women who came to Miami looking for the good life and ended up with rich thugs like him.
"Wait, if you are going after that bombshell, I want to go as well, cabrón," Lolita chimed in.
"I would, except I don't have a work or home address for her yet," I said, to which Marcia replied, "I have that information for you right here, sugar."
"Then I guess we are on our way," I said to Lolita, who bolted out of the recliner like a linebacker on his way to... wherever linebackers went. I’ve never followed sports much, in case you couldn't tell.
Lolita, on the other hand, could quote names, weights, and other statistics on every player in the NFL, especially those with the Miami Dolphins. In fact, if they ever allow women to play professional football, she would be at the front of the line, kicking some serious ass on the field.
Off we went in my lame-ass Volvo with no air-conditioning, with me in my shorts and Hawaiian shirt. Lolita was wearing a black cold shoulder top with a V-neck that went all the way down, revealing acres of cleavage. Below that she was wearing skin-tight black jeans.
I was still wearing my flip-flops, while Lolita had decided that black paratrooper boots were the best match for her fashion statement. She had to be sweltering with such a get-up, but she didn't seem to be bothered by it. I guess Cuba is even hotter than Miami, so maybe this heat was nothing to her. As for me, my sweaty shirt was sticking to my back and the vinyl seat.
We headed to the South Beach area, with its beautiful beaches and beautiful people. It is famous for the amazing ocean views and the timeless beauty of the Art déco-style buildings.
Vladimir and his entourage stayed in a large suite at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. His “entourage” included a couple of big Russian thugs he used as bodyguards and the beautiful Natasha. She was currently filling the place as his girlfriend slash trophy piece to show off at parties. I understood that she also occasionally filled in as his secretary when he got angry and fired the usual one, which he did quite often. I suppose he just needed to show his people who was boss, but why his secretary put up with it I couldn’t imagine.
On to the Ritz-Carlton I drove, with Lolita reclining the passenger seat back halfway and me leaning forward, trying to peel my shirt from the seat and get a modicum of a breeze on my sweaty back.
Traffic in the early afternoon wasn’t too bad, so it only took us about twenty minutes instead of the typical hour during rush hour or on the weekend. We Floridians, and the tourists, do love the beach, so traffic along A1A, the main highway that cruises along the Atlantic through Miami and beyond, becomes a virtual parking lot on a nice sunny weekend day.
Arriving in the lobby of the hotel, we continued walking straight to the elevator as if we were staying there. I've learned if you act like you belong in a nice place most of the staff would simply assume that you really did belong and allow you to pass right on by. This time it worked as planned, so we pushed the UP button for the elevator, staring at the door like any other bored resident.
The doors opened, allowing us into a nicely mirrored car. I pushed the PH button, and we waited while the elevator carried us quietly up to the top of the building.
The elevator opened into a nice vestibule. One of Vlad's thugs stood in front of a chair, deciding if we were to be allowed into the inner sanctum. He was scowling, but I wasn't sure if that was his resting bitch face or if he was thinking about kicking us out.
My query was answered when he put his hand up in the universal stop gesture and started to open his mouth. Before he could speak, Lolita walked right up to him, and with her hands on her hips and her enormous chest thrust forward, she started in on him.
"Who are you, and why are you trying to stop me from seeing Mr. Baryshnikov about the job opening he has for a new bodyguard?" she said with a menacing tone. This surprised me almost as much as it did the goon standing in front of us.
We hadn't talked about what our strategy was going to be when we got here, mainly because I had no strategy. Like I've said before, and I'll say again, my biggest asset is Lady Luck, and I let her take over every chance I get.
Lolita had another plan in mind, so I let her roll with it. She was always better at making up stories on the fly than I was, anyway. So here she was complaining to this guy about keeping her from seeing Vladimir regarding some bodyguard job opening. Where did she come up with this stuff?
"Wh-wh-what... Opening of job?" the thug stammered. "Is no opening of job here," he finally got out in his limited English.
"Well, there will be if you don't let us in to see the boss," Lolita said with a smirk, walking right past him.
