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Amaury:It’s been too long since I’ve seen youmuñeca. I love you!
I don’t know how to respond to Amaury’s last words, so I don’t. I realize that probably worries him, but I need to protect my own heart.
“Hey Dayi, I’m gonna call it a night.” I slide the stool back and grab my bag from the back of it.
“Already? We just got here,” she exclaims.
“I’m tired, and besides, you’re here to flirt. I don’t want to cramp your style.” I wink. “I’ll see you later.” I kiss her on the cheek and make my way through the crowded area.
When I’m pulling up to my building, I see my car parked along the sidewalk has a flat tire and my heart starts racing. After parking my scooter, I approach my car and notice all four tires are flat—they’ve been slashed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Amaury
Before driving to Sol’s house, I need to drop this package off at the agency. It’s a place in Hialeah I visit once a month to send necessities to my family. My usual packages include bricks of coffee, vitamins, over-the-counter meds, soap, shampoo, conditioner, and toothpaste, as well as underwear or socks. This care package also includes stuff for my father to take to the hospital for his surgery—sheets, a blanket, a pillow and pillowcase, various size needles requested by my father’s physician, and some comfortable pajamas for him to wear while staying in the hospital. I’ll also send some cash for him to have to buy groceries on the black market.
I often wonder how so many families survive with the scarcity on the island. Many Cubans have family in Miami and do what I do, but there are plenty of Cubans on the island that don’t. They have to just live with the little they have or barter with neighbors or tourists to get necessities. I hate thinking about it because it makes me angry each time I do.
When I arrive to Sol’s neighborhood, there’s no parking anywhere near her apartment. No surprise since it’s a Sunday. I pull into a garage near Collins and walk the four blocks to her building. As I approach the mint-colored building I see a dark-haired male walking up the stairs toward Sol’s unit. I fully expect him to turn to the door across from Sol’s place, but he doesn’t. He knocks on her door and stops me in my tracks. What the fuck? Who is this guy?
Rather than continue, I lean against the lamppost and wait to see how this all unfolds. Sol still hasn’t answered and the guy knocks again. I see the door crack open and then quickly close, Sol yelling at the man to leave. Shit! He’s pushing his way into the entryway, and I can no longer hear Sol’s voice. I push off the lamppost and sprint toward the building.
The guy was able to gain entry but he didn’t close the door completely behind him and I push my way into her apartment, leaving the door ajar. I hear the male’s voice from Sol’s bedroom and hurry through the hall to get to her. She’s pinned to the bed, his hands around her neck.
“You bitch! Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” he’s shouting. Sol is kicking her legs and she’s no longer screaming, her face red from the lack of air.
I grab the dude’s arm and pull him back, dragging him off the bed and turning him toward me. I reach back with a closed fist and punch him, landing just below his left eye, the area turning bright red. When he loses his balance, I push him to the ground and straddle him, and wrap my fingers around each of his biceps to hold him in place.
“Llamaal911, NOW!” I shout.
The guy is trying to wriggle his way out from under me and because he’s restricted, spits in my face, “Fuck you!”
“Que singao que eres,” I say to him, before landing another closed fisted punch to his nose, causing blood to spray from his nostrils. Good, maybe that’ll keep him quiet for a few minutes. What kind of spineless motherfucker preys on a woman like this? If I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life behind bars, I’d strangle him, in the same manner he was doing to Sol.
“I called. They said they’re sending someone. The station is a few blocks away so hopefully they’ll be quick.” Sol is exasperated and when I glance up, her chest is heaving and her eyes are wild, with strewn curls and a red face. The guy takes the opportunity while I’m distracted and attempts to knee me in the back but because of the position we’re in his effort doesn’t have much strength. I again strike his face, hitting him near his eye again, which is already starting to swell.
“Who is this?” I ask her.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend, Carmine,” she responds, pulling a curl and wrapping it around her fingers. My heart is racing at the thought of this asshole being her ex. I want to hurt him so bad but know I shouldn’t do anything else until the police arrive.
I look back at his face and it hits me. “You the guy I saw outside a couple weeks ago.”
“What?” shrieks Sol.
Without removing my eyes from Carmine, I say, “The day we were at South Pointe Beach. I went to Alain’s house after, and you no come with me. I drove here afterperoyou were sleeping. I saw him outside, sitting on the wall across the street.”
“I’m so stupid,” whispers Sol.
Thankfully, I can hear sirens in the distance. “Sol, go outside and meet the police,” I command. She does as she’s told and scurries out of the room.
“You lucky I no kill you,come mierda.”
I hear voices again—Sol, a female, and a male. “My boyfriend has him pinned down in my bedroom,” she says.
“Amaury, how are you involved here?” asks the male. When I turn my head, I recognize the man as Officer Joe Torres. I met him a few years ago when we had an incident at the shop on West Ave. Turns out he’s from the next town over from me in Cuba and we have friends in common. We’re not friends but friendly since we run into each other often here on the beach.
“I got here and saw him forcing his way in. I ran upstairs and he was strangling her on the bed. I punched him to control him,” I recount.
