Now and Always (3 page)

Connie stared at the phone for a second after Carmen ended the call, wondering what her sister was keeping to herself. Then she grabbed her things, slipped them into a well-worn knapsack that had seen her through law school and now nearly thirteen weeks at the FBI Academy. She hoped that in another two weeks, she would retire the knapsack forever as she left the academic realm and jumped into the real world.

That was, if she could nail all her exams. She rose, heading to the library for another long night of studying. This was too important to leave anything to chance.

#

Connie stared at the results posted on the bulletin board and smiled. Her joy was short lived, however.

“So, Speedy Gonzalez. Think you’re one up on us, don’t you,” she heard from behind her.

She looked over her shoulder and upward as she stared at the man who had been the bane of her existence for the last two and a half months.

Paul Stone was handsome, intelligent, wealthy, and he made sure everyone knew it with his inbred arrogance. A native Floridian, he had grown up in, as he said it, Myah-muh, and considered Connie just one of the thousands of Cuban cockroaches who had invaded his city.

“You have a problem, Stone?” She faced him and crossed her arms before her in a challenging pose.

He leaned closer, towering over her as he looked at the test grades and standings. “You’re number one. I’m number two, but not for long,” he said as he shifted away, but still remained close.

“That self defense test.” He tsked and shook his head in chastisement. “Pretty little thing like you is going to have a hard time, darlin’.”

Connie, barely over five feet, craned her neck to examine his six foot plus height and too broad shoulders. “Well, you know what they say. The bigger they are —”

“The harder they fall,” he finished for her with a decidedly assured masculine smile. “Not this time, Speedy. Give me a call in Myah-muh from wherever you’re assigned.” He waved and was about to walk away when Connie stopped him by laying a hand on his arm. She took a piece of paper from a pad, jotted down a number, and handed the slip to him.

Stone took it and scrutinized it for a second, a deep furrow across his brow. “What’s this?”

Connie smiled. “It’s the number for the Miami Bureau office,” she said, pronouncing it Mee-ah-mee as the Cubans did. “Call
me
, Stone and I’ll let you know how things are going in Mee-ah-mee.”

She left him standing there, open-mouthed. But even as she tried to put his words out of her mind, she knew he was right. The self defense test tomorrow would be the hardest challenge. Especially if their instructor decided to test her mettle by pitting her against someone like Stone, who had at least a foot of height and a hundred pounds on her.

But she could do it, she reminded herself. She was a black belt and well-versed in martial arts.

She would knock Stone flat on his ass if she had to in order to get back home.

#

She stood on the mat in her
ghi
, waiting as the instructor explained the scenario to the class. Also dressed in the traditional martial arts garb of a loose white jacket and pants, a black belt around his waist, he walked around the circle of men and women who would one day be FBI agents. His hands were held loosely behind his back as he strolled and dictated the terms of the test.

“Class. As I indicated earlier, there will be bodily contact in this test just as one day in the field you will be required to defend yourselves. Of course, it is to be light bodily contact. We don’t want anyone to be injured during the exam.”

The instructor returned to the center of the mat and faced her. “Gonzalez. You have earned the honor of being the first one tested today. Let’s see,” he said, looking around the circle of students once more.

He smiled and Connie cringed as his eyes settled on her worst nightmare.

“Stone, please join us. You will be the perp in this scenario. Also, please bring that pipe with you,” the instructor said, pointing to the long, heavy, hard rubber rod used in lieu of the real thing.

Stone grinned, picked up the rod, and tossed it into the air, where it flipped end over end before landing in his hand with a loud slap. He remained on the edge of the circle, five or so feet from Connie and the instructor, who outlined the remainder of the test.

“Gonzalez, you have chased the perp into a confined area. You have also lost your firearm along the way. Having cornered the perp, he has grabbed the nearest weapon — a piece of pipe. It is up to you to disarm him and get the cuffs on.”

The instructor tossed her the handcuffs which she tucked behind her back into the black belt around her waist.

Stone moved a little closer and flipped the hard rubber rod into the air again.

Connie backed away, wanting to keep him at a distance where hopefully her smaller size would give her the ability to outmaneuver him.

Stone maintained the space between them, circling, the “pipe” held loosely in his hand. A too satisfied grin on his face, as if he had already beaten her in the exam.

“Did I mention that the perp is a psychopath who has just gunned down two other agents and who will stop at nothing to get away?” the instructor advised.

Stone smiled with undisguised glee. Despite the earlier words about no injuries, the instructor had pretty much just given him free rein during the test.

A sickening feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. It lasted for about a second.

Stone charged at her, arms open wide, but she skipped away from his lumbering attack and delivered a quick punch to his ribs.

Stone grunted in pain and faced her, his grin gone and anger blossoming at the chuckling and murmurs from their classmates that she had gotten in the first strike.

She put her hands up in a fighting stance, waiting for him to rush forward again, but having felt the bite of her punch, he acted more cautiously. Feinting that he was going to attack, he tried to draw her in, but she would have none of that. With their size difference, she couldn’t allow him to get a hold on her.

“Class. Notice how Agent Gonzalez is keeping her distance. Being patient to wait for the right moment,” the instructor advised.

She tried not to let his words distract her, keeping her eyes on Stone. Circling him, but Stone’s patience was clearly at an end.

He heaved the rubber rod to distract her. She shot her left arm up to block the blow and the rod connected with a sickening thud, then a snap. Fiery pain seared along her arm from her wrist to elbow and black circles danced before her eyes as waves of pain engulfed her.

Sensing her weakness, Stone rushed her.

Through the agony, years of training and instinct took over.

She feinted that she was going down as he came at her. When he was near enough, she snapped up and kicked out. Her foot caught him straight in the groin. He stopped short, like a bull elephant shot dead in its tracks, and she completed her task. With a quick jab to his face with her good right hand, she knocked him out.

He hit the mat hard beside her, obviously dazed.

Cradling her one arm to her stomach, fighting the roiling nausea caused by the pain, she grabbed the cuffs at her back, sat on Stone’s behind and slipped the cuffs over one wrist and then another.

Circles of dark and light danced in front of her eyes from the shards of agony shooting through her left arm. She took a deep breath and somehow managed to push upright.

From the mat, Stone roused, moaned, and mumbled a curse. He fought against the handcuffs, but she had the restraints on securely.

Facing the instructor, her vision fading, she nodded to confirm she was done with the test.

Then she landed with a thud on the mat beside Stone.

Chapter 3

Victor entered his waiting room, already twenty minutes late for his afternoon appointments thanks to an emergency surgery he’d had to finish.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he called out to Carmen as he smiled at the patients waiting for him, noticing one who was not familiar.

He entered his office and jerked to a stop. A tuxedo and shirt hung on the door of his closet. He stuck his head back out. “Carmen, can you help me for a second?”

Carmen scooped together the files for the first few patients and headed into his office.

Victor sat at his desk, shuffling through some papers. As Carmen walked in, he pointed to the closet door, and she looked at the clothes hanging there.

“Nice monkey suit,” she said, smiling, and handed him the files.

He flipped open the first one and took a moment to review the details for the first patient. “Please put
Señora
Rivera in Number One. Now, let’s get back to that,” he replied, motioning in the direction of the tuxedo once more. “What is
that
doing in my office?”

She made a face, and Victor knew the answer even before she spoke. “My mother came by to make sure I didn’t forget her latest little social function.” He didn’t want to do anything tonight but go home and get some sleep. It had been a difficult week at the hospital and the demands of his private practice had been steadily growing.

“There’s a special ballet tonight to raise money for the hospital. Your mother wants you at the Convention Center at eight o’clock.” Carmen made another face and handed him the next patient’s file, which he took and reviewed as well.

“Room Two,” was all he said, until she began to walk out the door.

“Carmen,” he called out.

She stopped and turned. “Yes, Victor.”

He rose and walked over to her. He placed a hand along her shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t let my mother get to you.”

Carmen blushed and glanced away. “Your mother makes me feel like something she should scrape off the bottom of her shoe.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her about her attitude.”

Carmen waved her hands to stop him. “No. No way. I don’t need you fighting my battles. If and when she crosses the line, I’ll do the talking, believe me. But in the meantime, my parents raised me to be a lady, so I’ll bite my tongue.”

He gave her shoulder another friendly squeeze. “Thanks. My mother should have more of your class.”

She smiled. “Even if I’m a poor, no account
balsera
?”

Victor sighed. His mother, as well as some of the older Cuban exiles, had strong, generally bad feelings towards the later exiles that risked their lives to cross the Florida straits in rafts. That didn’t mean his mother had to be rude, especially to someone like Carmen, who had worked hard to make something of herself. “I think my mother could learn a thing or two from you, so don’t let her get to you.”

Carmen nodded and handed him another file. “I’ll have them in the examining rooms in a few minutes. Let’s get going or you’ll never make the ballet.” She did a quick pirouette out of his office, leaving him laughing.

Victor grabbed the patient’s file and sat back down at his desk. He took a detailed look at it before slipping on his white lab jacket and heading into the first examining room.

#

He and Carmen worked a ballet of their own, pulling files, checking out patients, and scheduling new appointments and tests.

After two hours, just one patient remained in the waiting room — the unfamiliar woman he had first seen as he had walked in. As he left the examining room, Carmen handed him a brand new file and closed the door to his office as he sat at his desk.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he leafed through the medical record in the patient’s file. “I don’t get it.”

She blurted out, “She’s not one of your regulars. Actually, she probably can’t afford your rates. She’s on Medicaid and getting treatment down at one of the free clinics. But she’s my parents’ neighbor and friend and she’s been having problems.”

He raised his hand and stopped her rambling. “You know I don’t take patients like her.”

Carmen bristled. “She has a name.
Señora
de Castro. She’s eighty-six and has pain everyday from a wrist that hasn’t healed properly since she fell and broke it six months ago.”

Victor held his hands out to her, pleading. “You know how it works. No matter what I may want to do, they’ll refuse to pay for tests and treatment. I won’t be able to treat her the way I want to.”

“You know that we can get things covered if we battle enough,” Carmen urged and braced her hands on his desk and leaned forward to emphasize her point.

“You just said it.
Battle
. I don’t have time for battles.”

She raised one artfully tweezed brow. “You don’t have time for an eighty-six year old woman in pain? That’s right. It’s more important to be at the ballet.”

Victor raised his hand in a stop gesture, hating it when she was right, and knowing she would not stop until he gave in. “Fine. Please put her in Examining Room One and tell her I’ll be with her in a few minutes. Who’s the lady with her?”

“Her daughter.”

He nodded. “Ask her in also, so she knows what’s going on.”

Carmen reached over the desk and hugged him impulsively. “Thank you, Victor. You’re a good guy under all that money.”

“Yeah, right. Just this once, okay?” He waggled a finger at her, but it was clear it wouldn’t sink in. He just wondered how many more stray patients Carmen would drag in.

After a quick look at
Señora
de Castro’s wrist, he was certain of what to do to help her.
Why hadn’t her regular doctor seen the same?
he wondered. Still, all that mattered was that her pain would be gone. As the old woman passed a gnarled hand across his cheek and thanked him, he remembered for a second what it was about medicine that had drawn him. And he realized how far he had gotten from the ideal that he had prized so deeply.

But not today.

By the time he finished examining the older woman it was close to eight. He would be late for his mother’s little event, but despite the tongue lashing he would surely receive, he didn’t care.

He quickly changed into his tuxedo, a smile on his face, and left Carmen behind to close up the office.

“Hey, Victor,” she called out from behind the receptionist’s desk as he walked by.

“Yes, Carmen. What is it?” he stopped to ask, straightening his hastily done bow tie.

“You’re too cute when you smile, you know. Watch out for all those debutante sharks. They’ll eat you alive.”

His smile broadened. “Go home, Carmen. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said with a parting wave and left the office located in one of the nicer downtown areas. Within minutes he had reclaimed his car from the parking lot and was driving the red Corvette convertible — a gift to himself after his third year in practice — across the causeway and into the South Beach area.

Instead of turning down Washington Avenue to head straight to the Convention Center, he kept on going, slipping onto Ocean Drive instead for a slow cruise through the Art Deco section with all its renovated buildings sporting bright pastel colors. Their neon lights brought the night to vivid life.

He cruised past the Colony, Breakwater, Lario’s, and further down at the other end of the strip, Versace’s former mansion and the Cardozo, all decked out in their finery, with new life teeming again. At the end of the strip, signs proclaimed the availability of new condos and rentals in the upscale high-rise buildings that had just been finished.

Victor had to admire the spirit of the enterprising souls who were keeping South Beach’s rebirth going strong.

Minutes later, he was at the Jackie Gleason Convention Center. He wheeled his car in front of the building and handed his keys to a valet with a warning about the care of his precious automobile. The valet, a young man of about eighteen, nearly drooled as he got behind the wheel of the souped-up Corvette and pulled away from the curb, the exhaust emitting a sexy growl.

Victor walked up the steps of the Convention Center. As he entered, he noticed the people still lounging around in the vestibule and was glad he wasn’t so late as to have missed the start of the show.

“Victor. Victor, over here,” someone called and he turned in the direction of the summons.

His mother waved at him from a few yards away, the diamonds and gold on her fingers and wrist winking beneath the bright lights in the lobby. He walked over, gave her a tight hug, and shook his father’s hand.

“We were worried you weren’t going to make it,” his mother admonished, brushing away a speck of imaginary lint from his lapel.

“I had some last minute patients.”

His mother shook her head. “More than likely that incompetent little nurse made you late.”

“Mother, Carmen is a wonderful nurse. I’ll probably keep her on after Yolanda comes back.”

“Please, Victor. That girl is so low class,” his mother said and looked around the room, waving gaily to someone across the way.

Victor examined his mother, taking in the expensive designer gown. Jewelry dripped at her ears, throat, and wrist. Thirty years ago it hadn’t been there. Thirty years ago she had cleaned someone else’s home and babysat the neighbor’s kids while his father had tried to earn a living.

When had she forgotten about all that sacrifice?

“I’m keeping her, mother,” he warned, as if Carmen were some toy they were fighting over.

She flipped her hand dismissively, bracelets jangling, and ended the disagreement. “Fine, Victor. If that’s the kind of people you want to socialize with, what can I say?”

He should have pointed out that he didn’t socialize with Carmen, he employed her. But that wouldn’t make a difference to his mother.
She preferred this element
, he thought, looking around. Everywhere people smiled, chatted cheerily with companions, but he wondered how many of them would have rather been somewhere else, just as he would. He suspected Carmen, or her family, might have little need for this kind of show. If and when they went to the ballet, it was because they wanted to, and not just because it happened to be an event on this week’s list of things to do. If and when they wanted to have fun, they would.

Not like this elegant, decidedly boring gathering
, he thought with a wistful sigh, recollecting the much more joyous parties of his childhood.

He would run around in his modest home, chased by an assortment of cousins and friends, engaged in game of tag. Adults mingled and as he played, he would hear the snippets of conversation about Cuba and Fidel. About last night’s Yankees game and whether Miami would ever have its own baseball team or when it had finally happened, if they would ever win a Series.

In the kitchen, the women would be preparing mounds of food redolent with aromas that spiced every molecule of air in the house and even wafted outdoors.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head. Those had been the days of fun and good times.

His mother grasped his forearm, startling him out of his reverie.

“Time to go in, Victor,” she said.

Victor turned to go with her, but then he spotted the woman at the far edge of the crowd. He was lucky to have seen her, he realized. She was all of five foot, two or three inches over, at a maximum. Petite, but with curves that a sequined, sapphire blue gown clung to lovingly. She took a step and the gown parted, revealing a surprisingly long, well-shaped leg for someone that petite. Desire roused and he took a deep breath to control himself.

“Victor, come on,” his mother chided and plucked at his arm.

He spared one last glance at the young woman and wondered what her shoulders would look like when she removed the short gold bolero jacket that hid them from his eyes. He would have to track her down after the ballet. He noticed with amusement that beneath the sleeve of the jacket there was the clear bulkier line of a cast that continued downward to her wrist. A perfect way for him to start a conversation.

Later
, he thought, and reluctantly followed his parents into the hall.

#

Connie checked out the crowd, searching for her suspect. The vestibule was nearly filled, people packed back to back, making it difficult to identify the man for whom they were searching.

“Well, Gonzalez? Any luck?” she heard over her earpiece.

“No. Are you sure your informant’s reliable?” The hidden mike registered her voice, sending it to her partner. She strolled to the edge of the crowd as they filtered into the hall for the ballet.

“He’s always been right on before,” came the loud reply in her ear.

“Easy, Roberts, or everyone will hear you,” she joked and hoped he would take a hint and tone it down to save her hearing. She walked around slowly again, remaining in the lobby as the last stragglers filtered in for the performance.

“No luck. I’m on my way in,” she replied and headed out to the mobile communications unit parked behind the Convention Center. Her partner, Jeff Roberts, a fifteen year veteran of the FBI, met her in the truck, which was being manned by two other agents. Portable cameras had been set up as well, providing views of the entrance and the back of the Convention Center.

“Didn’t see him outside,” Jeff advised and reached for a cup of coffee.

“Maybe he’s a latecomer,” Connie replied. She sat down on one of the stools and took off the three inch high heels necessary for the dress. “I’ll be glad when tonight is over. My feet are killing me.” She accepted a cup of coffee from one of the agents monitoring the cameras and radio.

“I bet he shows for the end of the benefit. He’ll have the money and his contact will have the plates,” Jeff advised.

“I hope you’re right. If those plates get into the wrong hands, there’ll be a lot of fake hundreds hitting the streets,” Connie acknowledged, then sat back for a moment of quiet before having to return to the crowd. As she rested, she stole an occasional glimpse at the grainy color monitors. There was little activity going on at the moment. In what seemed like minutes instead of an hour, she was back at work, strolling around inside with the fundraiser patrons while Jeff waited in a car outside in case they needed to go after the suspects.