Murder With A Splash Of Rum: A Puerto Rican Thriller Page 2

  Fernando slowly became comfortable with the idea of calling this frolicking ‘gay’, particularly after meeting his friend Maria. The two had become best friends, and she had confided she was lesbian early in their friendship. Her friendship made it easier for him to come to terms with being gay, but he was still at the stage where he wasn’t prepared to let the entire world know.

  Nevertheless, he had determined to try to maintain the façade for as long as possible. Eventually the family, particularly his despicable paternal grandmother, began to badger Fernando about girlfriends. The old bat inquired each time he visited her house about who he was seeing and when he would bring her to meet the family. Fernando had learned to cut short the uncomfortable meetings with his grandmother, usually making the excuse that he was meeting friends at La Placita, just to satisfy her curiosity.

  For residents of the San Juan metropolitan area, La Placita was the place to be on weekends. Fernand begrudgingly allowed his mother and father to think that he was ‘sewing his oats’ with women on the weekly Saturday night treks he made to San Juan. Fernando lived for weekends, and the high point of his week soon became the few hours he would spend nursing a drink at Lila’s, gazing wistfully at the men of all ages arrayed before him. Fernando had an outgoing, vibrant personality. But for some reason, he was oddly shy when it came to approaching other men. So, most nights he would hang around outside the bar, and then find his way back to his car and go home, always alone.

  Thoughts of tonight at Lila’s went through Fernando’s mind as he turned to view his profile from the opposite side. He strutted around his bedroom shirtless in his jeans for another half hour, passing by his small round mirror dozens of times to see the look of his jeans at various angles. After dinner, he showered and put his jeans on again, this time putting on his shoes and shirt. He pranced around in front of the mirror adjusting the shirt collar, rolling and unrolling the sleeves, hiking the jeans higher then lower to emphasize the perfect frame for his bulge.

  Finally, at 7 pm, Fernando jumped into his car and headed for San Juan, kissing Titi goodbye as he swept through the door. After a half hour drive, Fernando finally arrived at La Placita. His music spilled out onto the street from the open windows as he pulled into the parking lot. After parking, he proceeded down the stairs and around the corner towards Lila’s. He noticed everyone around him, watching the crowd through the corner of his eye to catch any stares in his direction. He knew that he was attractive, but with his new clothes, he might finally find his soul mate.

  Fernando knew that the love of his life was just around corner, some undiscovered face in the crowd who would introduce himself and set the world right. Tonight would be Fernando's night. He was certain of it. He stopped to adjust his shirt collar one last time, and then proudly turned to march towards Lila’s doorway. As he turned, he noticed a group of men gathered around a well-dressed blonde guy leaning casually against the window of the cigar bar next door. As he approached, the blonde man turned, and look directly at Fernando.

  Fernando stopped dead in his tracks, unable to move.

  Standing there was one of the most handsome men Fernando had ever seen. He had blonde hair with a hint of reddish brown, freckled skin, and a tight toned body. His penetrating blue eyes pierced through Fernando. The man was perfect. His appearance was so confident that it was majestic. Everything and everyone around him seemed to be just props which fell away as he stared into Fernando’s eyes. Fernando’s knees buckled, causing him to stumble as he entered the threshold to Lila’s.

  After recovering himself, Fernando ducked his chin downward and broke eye contact. His penis had already begun to respond to the excitement, going from flaccid to fully engorged in seconds.

  Fernando's new clothes suddenly felt unimportant. He stumbled into the bar simply because it was the direction in which his body was heading. Fernando’s legs carried him to the decorated pillar in the center of the room. His body seemed to know where it was going, but chose not to share that information with his mind.

  He propped himself against the column in the center of the room, staring back at the doorway to see if the blonde would follow him inside.

  Unknown to Fernando, this night would change his life forever.

  ‹3›

  Phillip Winthrop noticed Fernando the moment he rounded the corner. His eyes lingered as Fernando passed him and entered Lila’s. But instead of following Fernando, he returned his focus to the small group gathered around him. He nodded, smiled, and chatted. Then, as if prompted by some hidden timer, he excused himself and walked towards the entryway to Lila’s.

  Phillip was not a newcomer to the bar scene. Nor was he new to picking up men. He hailed from Boston, Massachusetts. He had arrived in Puerto Rico with a travelling companion named Paul Channing. His companion was a much older gentleman who had been to Puerto Rico many years before, when the gay scene in San Juan had flourished.

  Puerto Rico remains the most gay-friendly spot in the Caribbean and no passport is required for Americans. This permitted Channing to travel back and forth over the years without anyone being able to track whereabouts. Particularly his clueless wife. It had been easy to convince Phillip to travel to the Spanish-speaking island. Channing had offered Phillip free lodging in the San Juan condo he had owned for twenty years.

  After arriving, Phillip decided he liked the island. Phillip remained in Puerto Rico after the vacation was over.

  Six months later, Phillip was still enjoying the tropical delights of the Caribbean. He was now securely ensconced in Channing’s Puerto Rico hideaway.

  Phillip was horny. Tonight, he would score a hot man. His first stop had been La Placita. He had no intention of going home alone.

  Phillip was able to pigeonhole Fernando within seconds of first seeing him: shy, unmarried, probably still living with his parents, and obviously sexually inexperienced. Fernando would do just fine. He was five-foot nine, had swarthy jet-black hair, olive skin, and a toned muscular body. He was evenly proportioned between pecs, legs, and a rounded firm ass. Phillip’s trained eye immediately registered the eight inches that Fernando sported underneath his new skin-tight jeans. Phillip wanted an easy score, and this had a high probability of being an all-nighter. Phillip would wake him up around eight, go for one more round, and then kick him out at tenish, just in time for the beach.

  Phillip Winthrop was a chameleon. He had the ability to make himself the center of attention in a room without uttering a word, or render himself nearly invisible amidst dozens of people. Tonight, he chose to focus he talents on Fernando. As Fernando entered the door to Lila’s, Phillip zeroed in on his prey.

  After Fernando had clumsily faltered at the doorway, Phillip knew it would be a short hunt. Phillip subliminally calculated the timing for his entrance. The Puerto Rican was too muscular and his appearance too tidy to be an alcoholic. Unlike the older patrons, whose behavior Phillip could just as easily predict, the young Puerto Rican would enter the bar and circle it once. He would then order a drink and finally settle into one spot against a wall to take stock of bar patrons. The other patrons, gays over forty and heavy drinkers, always got their cocktails first.

  If the young Puerto Rican circled the bar and left, the chase was over. Phillip would not waste time pursuing him in the street or in another bar. If the Puerto Rican met up with friends inside, the chase would be too difficult. Tonight’s hunt needed to be quick and clean. But if the Puerto Rican propped himself up against an empty spot on a wall, the prey had exposed himself and the hunt was already over.

  So, Phillip waited.

  Three and a half minutes after first contact, Phillip entered the open doorway into the bar. He glanced around at the most likely parking spots. Fernando was perched against a brightly festooned pillar at the center of the bar His oversized crotch was clearly outlined in tight-fitting jeans. His toned muscled arms were crossed and resting under his sculpted chest.

  Phillip waited patiently for bar patrons to move their bod
ies out of his line of sight. Then he stared directly into the young Puerto Rican's eyes.

  Fernando immediately noticed the blonde American. Those ice cold blue eyes pierced through Fernando. His blood raced in a deafening firestorm of anticipation. He clumsily sipped at the bar straw in his cocktail and looked away to break from the intensity of Phillip’s stare. Then he looked back to find the blond American approaching him.

  “Hook, line, and sinker”, Phillip muttered smugly to himself as he walked toward Fernando.

  ‹4›

  Fernando curled his legs around an oversized pillow and turned, exhausted towards the nearby window. Morning had come, and the courtyard outside of his window glowed under the rising sun. It’s gentle rays slowly roused flowers and birds with cheerful yellow-tinged caresses.

  Fernando had spent his first full night with another man. He smiled and closed his eyes, replaying the highlights from the greatest night of his life. Phillip had approached Fernando the night before, and his beaming smile and cultured mannerisms immediately won the young Puerto Rican over. The two had danced, chatted, and downed a few cocktails.

  Watching Phillip dancing in his tight jeans was almost too much for Fernando. During the evening his cock had become so engorged that Fernando had been forced to face the wall or hold his drink in front of his pants. Phillip had been amused by Fernando’s plight. He had noticed Fernando’s cock pushing through the front of jeans almost immediately. With a smile and wink, Phillip at one point grabbed Fernando through his jeans, and whispered “save that for me” into Fernando's ear. That had both horrified and excited Fernando, but his self-consciousness faded after a couple of cocktails. He began to take mischievous pride in letting bystanders catch a glimpse of his hardened penis as Phillip gyrated slowly in front of him on Lila’s small dance floor. It had been a night to remember.

  In the end, Phillip had invited Fernando over to his condo for a drink. Fernando eagerly accepted. Fernando had never been to an actual Condado apartment before.

  Sometime during the morning hours, Phillip had disappeared. He had stayed gone for nearly two hours, leaving Fernando alone in the bed. Thinking that he had said something wrong, Fernando began replaying their last conversation in his mind, trying to identify what he said that would cause Phillip to leave.

  Just when Fernando was ready to leave and swear off ever staying overnight with someone again, Phillip returned. He said nothing but returned to his favorite spot, nestled in Fernando’s chest. Phillip had then gently caressed Fernando's neck below the ear, something that was becoming a signature gesture between the two.

  Fernando had volunteered his ass only once during the night, contingent on Phillip wearing a condom. Fernando had never bottomed before, and was unable to accommodate Phillip’s cock. The two agreed to reverse positions. Phillip eagerly accommodated Fernando's cock. Phillip was entirely unfazed by Fernando’s eight inches, absorbing Fernando’s first thrust without even a groan.

  Over the course of the night, Fernando learned that Phillip was the son of a wealthy developer from Beacon Hill. Beacon Hill was apparently a very wealthy area in the city of Boston, Massachusetts. With that knowledge, he better understood his surroundings. Fernando had marveled when they first arrived at the well-appointed apartment. He was amused by the gay-themed décor: an oil painting of the of two nude gay men resting on each other, a black and white photo of a very muscular car mechanic, and a phallic Polynesian statute. Crystal vases and knick-knacks were sprinkled throughout the condominium.

  Midway through the night Phillip admitted that he was very impressed with Fernando's grasp of the English language. The two had spoken exclusively English since the moment of introduction, when Phillip attempted a mangled “hola me llamo Phillip”. Fernando had immediately switched the conversation to English to accommodate the visiting northerner.

  “We have to learn English in school”, admitted Fernando. “The rest I learned from television”.

  Sometime during the night, as it turned into morning, Phillip had sleepily rolled over and whispered “hold me”. The plea had melted Fernando. It was at that point he knew this was his ‘forever’ guy. Visions of their future together began to play in Fernando's mind. He smiled and rolled again towards Phillip. He had smiled the entire night.

  As Fernando watching the morning glow outside, he made Phillip promise they would meet as soon as Fernando got off work later that afternoon. Phillip responded by smiling and caressing Fernando’s neck. The caress and smile were all it took.

  “Want to go for a third time?” Fernando quipped. Phillip winced and wrapped his legs around Fernando.

  “Okay, you talked me into it.”

  -----О-----

  An hour later, as Phillip was shooing Fernando out of his front door, across the lagoon in Miramar a bearded man with a pock-marked face was slowly gathering a strand of white cord. He wrapped it carefully into two-foot lengths between his elbow and thumb. He tied the length of cord midsection and secured the ends. He then forcefully threw the bundle into the bed of a rusted red jeep pick-up truck. His sinewy muscles strained against the rusted truck bed as he slammed the tailgate shut. He had forgotten the white cord last week, he wouldn’t do so again.

  The tailgate refused to latch. He hurled all 225 pounds of his muscled body into the effort and slammed the tailgate shut with a force that jarred the entire vehicle.

  He had something to do after work, and tonight he made sure the he hadn’t forgotten the white cord.

  ‹5›

  Alexandra Vargas stared at the mound of papers on the small table in front her. She was seated uncomfortably on an overturned steel trash can over which she had laid a cushion from her house for comfort. When an officer crosses Colonel Reynaldo Garcia, the officer is usually assigned desk duty. When the officer is female and crosses Garcia...that boundary had never been crossed…until now. The penalty apparently was desk duty without a desk. Or a chair.

  Alexandra had followed through at the crime scene. Her sense of duty had compelled her to point out to Garcia that the victim was probably a tourist. Then she had gone an extra step; she had requested that a more thorough sweep of the crime scene be undertaken. Now, she was paying the price. Alexandra’s new office was in a dingy room on the hot southwest corner of the police station. No writing instruments or telephone were provided. She improvised by whispering pleas to sympathetic co-workers. Two of her closest friends gifted her an unused side table and the rusted trash can she turned over and converted into seating. To have given her anything more than those two items would have invited the wrath of the vindictive Garcia. Her new assignment was to collate and log every criminal case in the northeast Precinct and submit them for monthly updates to the Police Commissioner. Alexandra had been forced to provide her own paper, pens, and rubber bands.

  All the police records were handwritten. All logs of those records were hand written. All cross-referencing materials linking those records were handwritten. The Puerto Rican government has always taken a relaxed approach to recordkeeping. Records may or may not be recorded on any given day. If recorded, the records generally reflected the taste, prejudices, and general attitude of the writer. If gaps exist in the records, the general feeling has always been that the records never existed.

  Her first report to the Police Commissioner was due in a week. She would assemble her report, give it to Garcia, who would give it to the Commissioner. The Police Commissioner, Arnaldo Padilla, had never actually read the monthly update logs or synopsis report, nor did he care. In fact, he hadn’t seen an actual report in years. The monthly update meeting for Arnaldo Padilla meant that he had a calendared excuse to get away from his office and grab a bottle of rum and a hooker.

  Homicides are rampant in Puerto Rico, primarily due to the drug trade. Most Puerto Ricans ignore the almost daily shootings unless someone famous is murdered, or a child or emergency responder is killed. When such a high-profile case hits the news, the standard formula is to placate the public
, say nice things about the victim, promise an investigation, and provide assurances to whichever politician is feeling the heat. If an officer actually makes an arrest, the officer and his supervisor are given a promotion.

  That rarely happens. Padilla was happy with a homicide closure rate of 22% and he had no intention of making efforts to improve it. There was no reason to. Until the opposition party came in to power, his job was secure.

  The moment Alexandra was assigned this dead-end job, she knew her career was dead. Transcribing notes from illegible police reports into a record that no one would ever read meant that she would never break another case. Unless she was somehow able to escape the all-seeing eye of Reynaldo Garcia, she would never receive a promotion or pay raise, and eventually she would quit or be forced to resign.

  Alexandra woke with a heavy pit in her stomach each morning, and went to bed with the same sense of dread and regret. She had cursed herself a thousand times since her demotion. She could barely meet the eyes of her fellow officers when she arrived at work each day.

  Now, almost two weeks later, the embarrassment had started to give away to resignation. A sense of dread and doom persisted. Alexandra had car payments due, two credit cards that were maxed out from holiday shopping, and $756 in her checking account. Her mother’s illness had drained both her and her father’s assets. She had just finished repaying a personal loan that had used for burial expenses and paying off thousands of dollars in ambulance fees. Her mother’s precarious health had required pickup and delivery for each chemo session, and the bills had mounted. The demotion occurred just when Alexandra was getting her head above water.

  Alexandra counted her monthly bills off in her mind, trying to arrive at a minimal amount on which she could survive if she had to take a job as a house cleaner. Housecleaning was the only other job available in Puerto Rico’s abysmal economic climate. As she calculated the numbers for the twentieth or fortieth time, she yawned and stood up to shake off the afternoon drowsiness. She examined her slacks and shirt for wrinkles. A dust bunny was caught on the sleeve of her immaculately clean, pressed jacket. She removed it with her perfectly manicured nails. A couple of minutes later she sat down to attack the next ream of paper.