“But for now, since it is Christmas Eve and my sister is in the hospital, I’m free to go?”
Flores peered at her as if she’d never come across anything like her before—which Marisela would bet the cost of a new car that she hadn’t.
“You’re a complex woman, Ms. Morales. I have a feeling you and I would like each other, under different circumstances.”
Marisela tested the door handle. Shockingly, it was unlocked. “I have no idea why you’d think that, detective, but you have yourself a happy holiday. Maybe we’ll test your crazy theory sometime in next year.”
It was the detective’s turn to chuckle. “Maybe we will, Ms. Morales. Maybe we will.”
Marisela found Frankie leaning against Max’s car, parked on the edge of the crime scene. He was dressed again in his standard dark t-shirt and jeans. When she approached, he wrapped a pilfered DEA jacket around her shoulders. Together, they watched the police van cart away the last of the yakuza goons.
“What happened to the paramedics you hijacked?” she asked, marveling at how the rotating blue, red and gold lights on top of the law enforcement vehicles resembled Christmas decorations, something she’s sure she wouldn’t have noticed at any other time of year.
“Max made it worth it for them to say they didn’t get a good look at anyone involved,” he said, tugging an envelope out of his pocket. “Which reminds me. He wanted me to give you this.”
“Max?” she asked, taking the paper out from the unsealed flap. “He left?”
“Said he was still on holiday and he didn’t want to hear from you again until after the the first of January. Or maybe Valentine’s Day. He wasn’t sure.”
Marisela laughed as she looked at the paper. It was hand-written on the back of a torn aviation form, but the message was clear:
You owe me one ambulance and two pay-offs. —Max.
“How much do you think an ambulance costs?” she asked.
“Qué?”
She crumbled up the paper and shoved it in her pocket. “Never mind. I’ll worry about it later. Where’s Belinda?”
“St. Joe’s Women’s. Baby, too. The doctor went with them. He texted that they’re both fine. She going to probably sleep through the night and will need serious rest for a couple of days, but she can go home by tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” Marisela said. “I can pawn off bringing her home for Christmas as a last-minute gift and my parents will never know.”
“What are you going to do with the baby?” he asked.
Marisela climbed onto the hood of the car. Frankie joined her. They leaned against the windshield and stared up at the night sky as if they were waiting for planes to fly over the way they used to when they were teenagers and they’d sneak onto airport property behind the wheel of a stolen car.
“It’s not my decision. Belinda doesn’t want it,” Marisela replied.
“Does it matter what she wants? The baby is here. She’s gotta deal with it.”
Marisela turned her head, the glass cold against her cheek. “Do you think babies should be a consequence or a gift?”
“Dios mio, Marisela. What do I look like? A philosopher?”
“You look like a friend,” she replied. “Maybe my only friend since I nearly got Lia blown up and blinded.”
He chuckled, wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tugged her close. “She’ll forgive you. She always does. And for the record, I think babies should be wanted.”
Marisela nodded. “Yeah, me, too. Luckily, I happen to know a Cuban-Japanese family that already has a bunch of kids. Maybe they won’t mind one more.”
Frankie shook his head, grinning the way he always did when Marisela said something so ridiculously outrageous, it wasn’t worth him attempting to respond. But whether or not he thought she was serious, Marisela intended to call the Tanaka family first thing in the morning. If Belinda agreed, and she had no reason to believe she wouldn’t, they could drop the infant off on the way home.
Marisela had a good job now. She could easily compensate the Tanakas for raising her little niece in their big, loving family. And the baby would be close enough that she could keep an eye on her, maybe have a small hand in making sure she stayed out of trouble—a skill, admittedly, that neither her birth mother nor her aunt had yet mastered.
“Do you think Belinda really believed I’d kill her baby?”
Frankie shrugged. He didn’t understand Belinda’s thought processes any more than she did, but in her heart, Marisela knew her sister had to have more faith in her than that. The ruse had been meant to ensure that the yakuza spent no more time hounding Belinda for their long-lost heir.
This turn of events also solidified Belinda’s plan to place the child in a loving home. Marisela couldn’t send her sister back to England with an infant that might still be wanted by the mob. By the time anyone figured out that Marisela had faked the whole thing, she’d have the child safely hidden and Titan, she was sure, would erase any trail. That was the advantage of working for them. That and the fact that her salary, if she kept shopping at consignment stores and living above the office, might give her enough to pay Max back for his out-of-pocket expenses.
After hanging out until they’d spotted a few planes and a string of helicopters overhead, Frankie and Marisela returned to the safe house, made quick work of cleaning up the mess they’d left behind, then dumped the car and retrieved Frankie’s GTO, which he used to drive her back to her parent’s house. She’d already called them and made a million excuses for being out of touch all day, including explaining that she’d been planning a huge surprise. As they’d already called Spain and discovered that Belinda had planned to return to the States for the holiday, they pretended not to know what Marisela had hidden up her sleeve, which, as a parenting skill, had always served them well.
The new Morales home was lit up as if they owned stock in Tampa Electric. They’d strung icicles of multi-colored lights across every peak and valley in the roof. They’d spiraled strands of bright gold around the trunks of the four palm trees and laced the fronds with green. An inflatable Santa Claus rode an electric train in a circle around a silver and gold manger, complete with a Virgin Mary, St. Joseph and baby Jesus fashioned out of tinsel and twine.
Despite the gaudiness of it all—or maybe because of it—the stress and fear of the past twenty-four hours sloughed off Marisela’s body like dead skin after a sea-scrub. When Frankie wrapped her in his arms on the porch, she was pretty sure she’d already had the best Christmas a girl could ever want. Amid murder and mayhem, she’d had a couple of rounds of great sex, rescued her sister and helped give birth to the next generation of Morales women.
Maybe it wasn’t a pair of Prada boots or a brand new car, but it wasn’t bad.
“I can’t believe your parents put that there,” Frankie said, looking up.
“Put what?”
“Mistletoe.”
She snuggled in closer to him, surprised by how far the temperature had dropped. Belinda had brought a chill with her, which was nice, since it made the weather perfect for snuggling or other heat-generating activities. “Maybe they knew you were bringing me home.”
He snorted. “If that was the case, your father would have ripped it down by now.”
“True,” she said. “I guess you’d better use it while you can.”
Frankie leaned forward. Her mouth watered, her eyes drifting half-shut, in keen anticipation of his lips on hers.
But he’d stopped. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, as if he’d never seen her before.
“What?” she asked.
“Merry Christmas, vidita.”
The huskiness in his voice and the depth in his gaze translated the standard holiday greeting into a more intimate confession—three words he hadn’t said to her, or vice-versa, for a really long time. But she spoke his language. She, like no one else, understood what he meant—what he felt. Why time and again, he laid his lif
e on the line for her, without question, hesitation or regret.
And instead of indulging in the one and only fear she’d never been able to shake, she stretched up on her tip-toes, grabbed the sides of his face and pressed her lips on his, muttering, “Merry Christmas, mi amor. Merry Christmas from the bottom of my heart.”
THE END
Or is it? As an added bonus, Marisela has a few words for you...please read on!
Marisela’s Dictionary of Dirty (and not-so-dirty) Spanish
¡Hola, chicas y chicos! (That means, “Hello, girls and boys!”) Marisela, here. Hope you liked the story okay. I’ve been told by the lady who writes this shit down that some people don’t speak Spanglish on a daily basis the way I do. She thought it would be cool for me to clue you in on the more colorful phrases so that you’ll understand what I’m talking about when I slip into my native tongue.
And by “native,” I mean “natural.” I was born here, but my parents, who were also born here, taught me Spanish first. They didn’t teach me the cuss words, though. I may have picked up a few from my papi, but he’d never admit it. I learned most of this from the streets—the Tampa streets, where most of the cabróns are Cuban-American or Puerto Rican.
I doubt this way of speaking jives with “high school” Spanish. I flunked that. (Yea, I know. Should have been an easy A, but there were about six papi chulos in my class—that’s Puerto Rican for hot guys—so I was sort of distracted.)
I put in a pronunciation guide, too, though it’s hard to explain how to roll your r when there are two put together, like in churro or how to soften your d so that it sounds sort of like a “th.” But give it your best shot…especially if you live in a place where no one call tell if you’re doing it wrong. But if it doesn’t make sense, find someone who knows and ask them how to say it. Though if the word has a * next to it, I’d be careful who you ask. If it has two **, be really careful who you ask.
In the order they appear in the story…
*coño – (CONE-yo) doesn’t exactly translate to English, but probably the closest thing is, “Damn.” If you’re really ticked off and the person you’re pissed at is standing right in front of you, you might go for the stronger:
**coño su madre – (CONE-yo soo MAH-thray) Now you’re cussing out their mother (madre). Anytime you cuss out someone’s mother, you’re really mad.
chica – (CHEE-ka) chick, girl, girlfriend [Chico is the guy version]
*comemierda – (ko-may-mee-YAIR-da) literally, shit-eater. Metaphorically, asshole.
muchas gracias – (MOO-chahs GRAH-see-ahs) thank you (gracias) very much (muchas). Spanish is like, backwards when it comes to adjectives and adverbs. And yea, I know what adjectives and adverbs are. There were no cute boys in Sr. Margaret’s grammar class, so I paid attention.
señor – (SEN-yore) means “mister” or is a term of respect to an older guy. Señora is what you say to a woman. Señorita is a young, unmarried girl.
¿Estás loca? – (ESS-thass LO-ka?) Are you crazy?
Mija – (MEE-ha) short for mi hija, which means my daughter. It’s not always literal. It’s what you might call one of your girls.
mami or papi – (MAH-mee or PAH-pee) This is what Belinda and I call our parents.
mi hermana – (MEE air-MAHN-nah) H’s in Spanish are mostly silent. This means “my sister.”
por favor – (POR fah-VOR) please. Very useful word.
*puta – (POO-tha) okay, this is tricky word. Technically, it means slut. (A word I hate, by the way.) But it also means “bitch,” especially if it’s used with “hijo de”…(see below)
verdad – (vair-DAH) technically, true. Often used as a question to mean something like, “isn’t that true?”
entiendes? – (en-thyee-EN-dess) Do you understand?
Madre de Dios – (MAH-dray thay DEE-ose) Mother of God. Usually used as a curse.
los niños – (lohs NEEN-yose) Babies! I love babies. Los niños applies to boy babies or just babies in general. Little girl babies are las niñas.
*culo – (COO-lo) Butt, ass, moneymaker. You get the idea.
*maricón – (ma-rhee-CONE) Okay, technically, this is a derogative for gay guys. But in my neighborhood, it’s used for any jerk who’s a pain in the culo.
Dios mio – (DEE-ohs MEE-oh) Dios is God. This is “my God.” This is something you say when you’re shocked or surprised or frustrated…it’s a go-to exclamation. My mother says it, so, no star.
Por favor – (POR fa-VOR) please.
¿Es muy guapo, si? – (ES MOO-ee GWA-po, SEE?) He’s very handsome, yes? Guapo is handsome. Si is yes. Muy means very. Lia and I use this phrase a lot, when we’re lucky.
*pendejos – (PEN-day-hose) Literally, pubic hairs. In West Tampa, we use this word for stupid idiots or jerks. Less offensive than maricón, because you’re not challenging the manhood.
vidita – (vi-DEE-thah) If you know your Ricky Martin, you know that “living la vida loca” means “living the crazy life.” “Vida” means life. Spanish people add “-ita” to the end of words to make it cute or personal. Frankie has always called me vidita. I’m not sure when he started or why he still calls me that, but he does. And just between you and me, I like it.
cállate la voca – (KIE-ya-thay la BO-ka) La voca is the mouth. Cállate means to shut. Put them together and it’s self-explanatory, yes?
Las Reinas – (lahs-RAY-nahs) Literally means, “The Queens.” These are the girls I used to run with, aka, my gang.
gracias – (GRAH-see-us) Thank you. Roll the r a little. It’s fun. Trust me. I think there’s a correlation between men who can speak Spanish and the reason why they’re such good lovers. Just sayin’.
machismo – (mah-CHEEZ-mo) The reason for all the problems in the world. In other words, it’s an overabundance of testosterone. Men thinking they’re “all that.”
El silencio está matándome – (el sil-LEN-see-o ess-STAH mah-THAN-doe-meh) Literal translation of, “The silence is killing me.”
hombre – (HOME-bray) A man, a guy.
*garrote – (gar-ROH-tay) You’ve probably heard this word to describe a weapon that’s mainly a thin wire used to choke people. No? In my neighborhood, it’s also slang for a penis. I’m not exactly sure what the connection is—and I’m not sure I want to know.
lo siento – (lo see-EN-toe) The two most important words I’ve ever learned: I’m sorry. I probably don’t use them as often as I should.
lo siento del fondo de mi corazón – (lo see-EN-toe dell FON-do day mee core-a-ZONE) Used for the worst offenses—I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart.
café con leche (caf-FAY cone LEH-chay) Nectar of the gods, baby. Coffee and milk. Only not just any coffee. Cuban coffee. Strong and creamy with lots of sugar. If you put less than four sugars in your café con leche, you didn’t grow up in my house.
que desea – (kay deh-SEE-yah) You wish. Can be used both literally and sarcastically. Guess which one I prefer?
Y yo tambien – (ee yoh thahm-bee-EN) And me, too.
*una puta grande – (OO-nah POO-thah GRAHN-day) A big bitch. Like karma, entiendes?
calmarse – (CALM-ar-say) Calm down.
*tetas – (THAY-thahs) Tits. Boobs. Mammaries. Our word sounds better.
*cabrón – (KAH-brone) bastard, son of a bitch.
Noche Buena – (NO-chay BWAY-nah) One of my favorite holidays! Literally means “good night” but traditionally, it’s Christmas Eve. We eat roast pork with garlic mojo (a sauce made with sour oranges and olive oil), black beans and rice, platanos maduras (overripe plaintains fried to crispy, yet mushy delectableness) and other Cuban staples. We end the night with flan. Doesn’t everyone?
¿Puedo sentarme? – (poo-WAY-tho sen-THAR-may) May I sit down?
Y yo repito – (ee yoh reh-PEE-thoe) And I repeat.
cóme se dice? – (coe-moe say DEE-say) Very useful phrase, means “how do you say?” When you can’t come up with a word, say this. If someone knows what you mean, they’ll fill in the b
lank.
pero – (PEH-roh) But. Should not be confused with perro, which means dog.
mujer – (moo-HAIR) Woman.
mira – (MEE-tah) Very useful verb in Spanish and Spanglish. It means, “Look!”
coquito – (coh-KEY-thoh) Okay, I suppose I should feel some sort of Latina competition with my sisters from Puerto Rico, but let me tell you, when it comes to eggnog, they’ve got us beat. Homemade and with a punch.
*hijo de puta – (EE-hoe day POO-thah) Son of a bitch.
Qué pasó? – (KAY pah-SO) What happened? (Not to be confused with ¿qué pasa? which is a common greeting like, “What’s up?”
Nada, por favor, mi amor – (na-thah pour fah-VOR mee AH-moor) Nothing, please, my love.
*concha – (CONE-cha) I didn’t know whether to star this one, chicas, because I don’t think there’s anything dirty about mine, but as I wouldn’t say it in front of my mother, I starred it. It means the female genitalia, figuratively. It’s comes from the conch shell.
**¡No me jodas! – (noe may HOE-thas) Don’t fuck around with me. I probably don’t use this as often as I should.
cojones – (coe-HONE-ace) Literally, balls. Not baseballs. Boy balls. But it’s sometimes used to mean “courage.” Personally, I think they should concha (see above.)
qué? – (KAY) What?
AFTERWORD
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for purchasing a copy of DIRTY LITTLE CHRISTMAS. I hope you enjoyed it. It was amazing to be able to go back to these characters that I have loved for so long and give them new life! If you would like to see more books in this series, you can help by going to Amazon and leaving an honest review. It only a takes a moment and it is very helpful in spreading the word to other readers! You can click the link here to leave a review
This story would not have come into being if not for the readers who have written to me over the years, asking me for more Marisela and Frankie. With the advent of self-publishing, I was able to re-release the prequels, DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS and DIRTY LITTLE LIES and luckily for all of us, readers responded! Be sure to check them out if you missed them!
Marisela Morales 03 - Dirty Little Christmas - Julie Leto Page 13
