Murder With A Splash Of Rum: A Puerto Rican Thriller Page 7

  “I don’t know anything about him, I’m sorry. All I know is that he is Tony from Fajardo. He usually doesn’t talk to people, he just stands there, has one drink, cruises guys, and then leaves. I’ve never seen him go home with anyone, to be honest. He is usually a little drunk by the time he gets here. I was too busy to chat Friday night, sorry,” Cookie was clearly upset.

  “You say he usually arrived drunk. Do you know where he would drink before he would get here on the other occasions?” Any clue, even inconsequential ones, could turn out to be the break she needed.

  “San Juan, one of the gay bars. They have so many I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

  Alexandra paused, and tapped her notebook with her pen. This had been a very fruitful interview, but she was determined to uncover every piece of information she could. “You say that there are a lot of gay bars in San Juan. Can you tell me where they are?”

  Both Cookie and Lydia chimed in, naming a half-dozen bars in the city of San Juan known to cater to gay men. Alexandra eagerly jotted down their names and approximate addresses. This interview had turned out to be a goldmine of information.

  After they had exhausted their knowledge of the San Juan gay bar scene, Alexandra thanked Cookie and Lydia. The three sat in the restaurant’s court yard a few more minutes chatting about Luquillo and their memories of the many years each had spent coming with family and friends to the beach. Then Lydia rose and returned with a menu, offering it to the police woman. “Anything on the menu you want is on the house. Us women have to stick together.”

  Alexandra suddenly realized that she was famished. “I can’t accept free food, but I would like to bite. I’m starving. What do you suggest?”

  Lydia smiled approvingly. “Try the alcapurrias. A friend of mine, Titi, makes them. They’re pretty good.”

  “I’ll take Titi’s alcapurrias, then,” smiled Alexandra.

  ‹13›

  “Fernando. There’s a guy here to see you.” Raul Pena waved his hand at Fernando and pointed towards the entrance of the warehouse with disgust. Raul was a bitter middle-aged employee who definitely had an issue taking orders from Fernando, the new manager half his age. He mumbled under his breath and shuffled away.

  Fernando had just completed his weekly inventory, a monumental task that required six hours of fast-paced but accurate counting with the assistance of his friend Maria Suarez. Maria and Fernando had known each other since grade school. Over the years Fernando had faced increasing pressure from his family to “get out and find a girl”. Conveniently, Maria and he were close friends. They had been since high school.

  Shortly after his sixteenth birthday, he and Maria had been walking through La Placita in Santurce when Maria turned to him and announced simply “I know you’re gay. It’s ok, you don’t need to pretend with me.” Stunned, Fernando had twirled to confront his friend, only to see her looking back at him intently. “I’m a lesbian. You don’t have to hide with me.” Since that day the two had spent a good deal of time together. It was not unexpected or unwelcome that both their families harbored thoughts of eventual matrimony. For Maria and Fernando at least, that shared delusion between their families was gently cultivated.

  “Maria, can you summarize tonight?” asked Fernando, shoving the ream of inventory sheets at her. He was eager to escape the warehouse. Whatever customer was asking for his attention at the front of the store would be dealt with. He was leaving in fifteen minutes, regardless. Tonight, he was going to San Juan and get laid. “Fuck you, Phillip”, he had muttered to himself throughout the week as he anticipated his Friday night at Lila’s.

  Maria could read his thoughts, and knew exactly what was going through his mind. “Sure, go.” She seized the papers and continued towards the small office which doubled as the manager’s office and cleaning supplies closet.

  Fernando strolled in the direction indicated by Raul. He flashed a smile at Juana, a homely unmarried 30-year-old who practically swooned whenever Fernando paid her any attention. Fernando was happy to give her a thrill. He knew from the jokes made by his co-workers that Juana received very little male attention. Fernando genuinely loved to make people happy and feel good about themselves. When other co-workers chided him about his interest in the homely Juana, he simply smiled and encouraged this purposeful bit of misdirection. The auto supply store was a very macho environment, and Fernando lived in constant fear that his double life would be discovered by one of his co-workers. That discovery would inevitably cost him his job. Laws might make discrimination illegal, but he knew from experience that the law wouldn’t stop a bible-thumper who was hell-bent on firing a fag. The owner of his warehouse was Pentecostalist.

  As he approached the entrance to the warehouse, his smile froze…and then dropped. Standing before him, practically beaming, was Phillip.

  “What are you doing here. You can’t be here”. Fernando pulled Phillip behind a large display counter, both angry and terrified. His co-workers would notice something “off” between the two, and might connect the dots. And if the dots were connected, he would be fired. If he were fired it would only a matter of time before his family found out.

  “Relax, baby”, Phillip replied, using the term of endearment he normally only used when Phillip and he were being affectionate. Baby was his nickname for Fernando, or short for “baby’s butte’, an illusion to Fernando’s smooth face.

  “Come with me. Now.” An angry Fernando grabbed Phillip by the elbow and physically dragged him along to the office where Maria was busy finalizing the inventory tallies. When she looked up and saw Phillip, she knew him immediately from Fernando’s description of him. She scowled at him with a glare that only a BFF could muster, and pushed past the pair, almost knocking Phillip to the floor as her shoulder jabbed deeply into his chest.

  Pissing off a dyke is never a good idea.

  “How’ve you been, buddy?” a gleeful Phillip inquired.

  Fernando was unable to control himself. He shoved Phillip against the wall in a torrent of anger. Tears gushed forth and mingled with a stream of incoherent accusations and questions.

  “What, dude, hold up. What’s going on with you?” Phillip brushed Fernando’s face, still beaming a smile.

  Fernando could do nothing but stare at Phillip in sheer disbelief.

  “You totally ignored me the other night, abandoned me, and then broke your promise we would spend the night together. You lied to me.”

  Philip’s smile wavered slightly, and he placed his hand on Fernand’s shoulder.

  “Buddy. I love you, and that is why I am here.”

  The pit in Fernando’s stomach gave away to a fluttering lightness. Phillip had never used the word “love” before. His heart leaped. From the depths of self-doubt and self-loathing he suddenly felt hope.

  “You’re a little needy, buddy. Let’s chill. I told you that. I’m good, but you need to take it a little slower. Admit it, you are pushing things.”

  Sheepishly, Fernando nodded. He knew he was head over heels for Phillip. Perhaps Phillip had a point. He wasn’t a school girl, after all. “I’m sorry Phillip, it’s just….” Fernando stumbled to find the right words. He had planned a speech to deliver to Phillip, and had play-acted a dramatic speech in his mind dozens of times during the course of the week. Now, he couldn’t remember any of the words. Phillip’s scent and closeness melted any ill feelings away. Fernando had no defenses against Phillip

  “I am hungry, want to go for a bite and talk about it?” Phillip nodded his head toward the door, the dazzling smile returning to his face.

  Smiling slyly, Fernando shut the office door, moved a mop out from behind Phillip, and nuzzled his head into Phillip’s neck. They embraced. The two stood silently for a second before Fernando realized where they were. He decided to break the magical moment and suggest that dinner was fine idea.

  They agreed that Phillip would wait outside until Fernando clocked out. As Phillip walked away, Fernando admired his backside through the slit
of his partially open office door. He found himself comparing Phillip’s body to Esteban’s.

  “Stop it Fernando,” he muttered to himself. Phillip represented security and comfort. He might not have Esteban’s body, but he didn’t need to. Phillip belonged to Fernando, and that was all that mattered. As he prepared to clock out, his thoughts turned darker. He found himself thinking about what Esteban had suggested regarding drugs.

  “I choose to believe the best in people until proven otherwise,” Fernando silently told himself. “Everyone has a deep dark secret, probably even Esteban.”

  As Fernando busied himself at the front register with a few last tasks before clocking out, a lonely figure peered in his direction from behind the Goodyear display case.

  Raul Pena snarled and then retreated back behind the stack of new tires.

  ‹14›

  Ricardo Herger buffed away the remaining dried car wax on his Nissan Sentra with a soft cloth. He paused, and lightly buffed the spot a final time. This meticulous attention to detail, arguably leftover from his Austrian forbears, was a Herger hallmark. Even his unmarried sister washed and rinsed her window louvres monthly, something no other neighbor in the town of Barahona did so regularly, if at all.

  Ricardo was the fifth-generation descendant of Heinrich Herger, an Austrian immigrant who fled European turmoil in 1849 at age 20 to seek his fortune in the mountainous regions of Puerto Rico. Heinrich had married a fellow German immigrant named Angela Degener, and together the two pooled what remained of their savings and purchased a modest 20-acre farm on the northern slopes of the Cordillera mountains. Their hard work and focus on farming resulted in a successful union of their assets and lives, and eventually the Hergers owned a one-hundred and fifty-acre plantation in the heart of Morocovis. Their only son grew and married, inherited the land, and passed it on to his son, who passed the land on to their son, Ricardo’s grandfather. Over the years of farming experimentation, the Hergers had become full-time coffee growers. By the time Ricardo’s grandfather had inherited the coffee plantation, the Herger ‘farm’ boasted an impressive hacienda and cattle ranch. In the 1950s under the guidance of Ricardo’s paternal grandfather Pedro, the family had branched out into breeding thoroughbreds, which had established the Hergers as landed gentry and opened doors to politics and power.

  Unfortunately, Pedro’s son Guillermo turned out to be an unremorseful alcoholic. Within ten years of the grandfather’s death, the farm had deteriorated to a state of abject squalor. The once-renowned horses were sold to feed Guillermo’s alcohol fueled spending and gambling sprees. An inevitable divorce from Ricardo’s mother had drained all remaining assets from the Herger estate, and eventually all but thirty acres of the farm were sold off to satisfy the divorce decree.

  Ricardo hated his father and early in his life had committed himself to re-establishing the Herger dynasty. The Hergers were still respected in the neighboring towns. More than a few streets and landmarks bore the Herger name. Guillermo had died three years ago, and the mantle of responsibility as well as substantial debt fell upon twenty-five year-old Ricardo. It was common knowledge in the municipality of Morovis that Ricardo had essentially carried the family for many years, particularly during and after his parent’s divorce. He had managed all of the day-to-day affairs of the small but demanding farm while still finishing high school and then attending classes at the University of Puerto Rico in Arecibo.

  Once Ricardo graduated from UPR, he had used what remained of his family contacts in the state capital to procure a position as an aide to Senator Rios of Vega Baja. It was assumed that Ricardo was grooming himself to be a successor to the aging Senator, an assumption that Rios cultivated.

  It was actually an event for the Senator that had motivated Ricardo to wash and wax his car today. The Senator had scheduled a fundraiser at a strip mall in nearby Manati, and Ricardo was making final preparations for his next appearance alongside Senator Rios. Ricardo’s humble Nissan Sentra might be unimpressive, but for thrifty hard-working individuals like Ricardo, it was the perfect car to navigate the hairpin curves of the Cordillera Mountains. Today, the grey sedan would be polished to perfection.

  As he gathered crumpled paper towels and cleaning supplies from around his car, Ricardo made mental notes of the remaining items on his ‘to do’ list for the Senator’s event: buy a lint brush on the way home from the barber, buy a pair new socks, pick up the shirt he would be wearing from the dry-cleaners, follow up with calls to three regular donors who hadn’t responded to the invitation, stop by the mall to test sound equipment before rushing home to shower…this would be a busy day. He nervously twirled the large gold signet ring around on his left hand as he checked of the list. It was a nervous habit. The signet ring was one of the few family treasures that remained with him, a leftover from the heyday of Herger wealth. It was handcrafted 18 karat gold ring engraved with a flourished “JH”, a momento of his family legacy. “JH” was “Jose Herger”, Ricardo’s great grandfather who had purchased the signet ring in Old San Juan at the turn of the century. He never took the ring off, its presence served as a constant reminder of his duty to restore the Herger dynasty.

  -----О-----

  As Ricardo twirled his ring and dusted off the final spot of wax from his car, halfway across the island Danny Prieto had just opened the gate to Patio de Lila for the start of the Friday afternoon shift. Danny ducked under the partially opened iron gate and coughed roughly at the strong odor of Pine-sol still lingering in the interior from last night’s cleaning. The strong odor and hot stale air inside were more than enough reason turn on the air conditioner and leave the gates open.

  Danny trudged towards the AC controls and his eye caught the stack of black and white flyers on the bar. It was a lost person flyer, Tony Cotto. Tony was an attractive young gay man whose absence had not gone unnoticed. Danny had seen him before at Lila’s, and he knew how much Tony’s disappearance had affected some of his patrons. As a bartender, he had a front row seat to every piece of gossip that crossed the gay collective consciousness – at least that portion which crossed the doorstep into Lila’s.

  He returned to the front of the store front to begin setting up the bar. He noticed a figure outside the door peering underneath the partially open stedeel hurricane shutters. It was another regular. Danny usually had the bar open by now but a traffic accident in Canovas had delayed him. He peered over his reading glasses and waved, whisking in the early afternoon customer.

  “Sorry I’m running late today”, he declared as he circled around the bar. “Bad wreck out past Carolina.”

  “No problem. I can leave and come back, it’s a little early…” offered the visitor.

  “Nonsense. Give me a minute to turn on the lights.” Danny placed a cup in front his customer before walking to the breakerbox. Danny was a professional. He was aware of everything in his bar and was always conscious of the need to make customers feel welcome and comfortable.

  After flicking on the interior lights, Danny poured a drink without bothering to wait for an order. Danny Prieto had been bartending for eighteen years. Prior to Lila’s he had bartended at a place called “Downstairs” in Condado. That job had ended when owner of the Downstairs joined the Radical Faeries, moved to Vermont to discover his inner elf, and left the bar staff and bill collectors to fend for themselves.

  Danny had easily relocated to Lila’s, bringing in dozens of patrons from his old job. He had been introduced to the owner of Lila’s by Lydia, owner of Ely’s Place in Luquillo. Danny and Lydia had grown up together in Carolina, Puerto Rico.

  After two years at Lila’s, Danny could identify nearly every person there on any given night according to their favorite drink. This particular patron only drank cuba libres, specifically Palo Viejo and Coca-Cola. Danny knew when to speak, when to listen, but most importantly how to get them to stay.

  “What’s new?” Danny began.

  “Nothing since yesterday”, laughed the regular, raising his drink to t
oast his bartender. “Lots of work, very little money.”

  “I know the feeling”.

  The patron peered down into his drink, and looked up at Danny. Danny knew his customers, and he could tell that the patron was wanting something. He hoped it wasn’t a request to run a tab, or even worse, a request for a loan. He had probably given out a thousand dollars over the years to down-and-out patrons who promised to repay him ‘next week’.

  “Say, Danny, you known someone named Fernando that comes here?”

  Danny exhaled visibly from relief. He hated saying ‘no’ when asked for money, but the neighborhood bartender always ended up being the neighborhood psychologist, banker, and matchmaker. Today it looked like it was his turn to play matchmaker. At least wouldn’t cost him money.

  “Which one? I think we have two or three that come here.”

  “He works in a warehouse.”

  “Ah, you mean Fernando Amado. Nice guy. Lives out in Rio Grande, I know his cousin.”

  “Is he good people?” the customer inquired.

  “Solid. Friend of the family,” Danny declared, raising a scotch bottle to examine it for fruit flies. He polished the bottle with his bar rag and went on to the next bottle. These two would make a nice couple, he thought to himself. He had seen Phillip’s behavior towards Fernando the week before. Anything would be an improvement.

  A half hour later, the patron finished his early afternoon cocktail, thanked Danny, and walked out into the hot afternoon sun, which by now had thoroughly heated the street and sidewalk. He withdrew a starched white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his brow, and started to walk towards his vehicle.

  “Hey Esteban, wait! You forgot your keys”, yelled Danny from inside the doorway, tossing the keys to the customer. Esteban Arroyo caught the heavy ring of keys and resumed his walk towards his battered pick-up truck.